Chapter 30
“I’ve brought Cordelia a hot posset that McClellan brewed and ordered her to get some sleep,” announced the dowager as she returned to the parlor.
It had been decided that Cordelia should stay at Berkeley Square rather than return to her own residence.
“She must be utterly exhausted.” Charlotte hugged her arms to her chest. “And terrified.”
“Actually, I’m more angry than terrified.” Swathed in one of Charlotte’s night-rails and a woolen wrapper, Cordelia padded in from the corridor to join them, cradling a steaming mug in her hands. “Fear only plays into the hands of a villain.”
Her eyes lit with a martial spark. “The fact that I want to tear out his heart from his chest with my bare hands helps me focus on doing something more useful than wailing or weeping.”
She took a seat on the sofa next to Charlotte. “There must be more that we can do.” A moment of silence ensued. “What haven’t we thought of?”
A tentative smile touched Alison’s lips. “As to that, Eddy and I have been discussing a measure that may come in handy.”
Charlotte edged forward. “Go on.”
“Well, I was quite intrigued by all the pigeon exploits that were flying around this past summer, and so she and I have had a number of long and interesting conversations about the birds and how they are trained.”
“I—I had no idea,” murmured Charlotte.
“You have no interest in pigeons, so Eddy and I didn’t wish to bore you.” The dowager’s smile grew a bit more pronounced. “We’ve had a great deal of fun together, just the two of us, on this project.”
Cordelia raised her brows. “What project?”
“Umm, as to that …” Eddy paused in the doorway, a large wood-and-wire mesh box clasped to her chest. “Aunt Alison and I have created a messenger pigeon network between our residences.” She shifted the box in her arms. “She brought a half dozen of her birds with her this morning, and I am sending the same number of my pigeons back with her.”
“You remember Alfie, the little scamp that Raven and Hawk asked me to hire as my boot boy last year?” interjected the dowager.
“He’s quite clever, and for the last few months, Eddy has worked with him on raising and training a gaggle of young squabs based in a dovecote on my rooftop.
” A chortle. “The little jackanapes has seized the role with great enthusiasm. Indeed, he demanded that his household titles now include ‘House Pigeon Master’ along with ‘Mudroom Attendant’ and ‘Boot Boy.’”
“Aunt Alison had a special tunic made up, with a pigeon embroidered on its front,” added Eddy, struggling to maintain a straight face.
The dowager gave another amused snort. “Yes—and the little devil has also demanded a raise in his salary.”
That made Cordelia laugh.
“Alfie is worth every extra farthing, for we now have a system of communication between our houses that may prove very useful in outfoxing the mastermind,” said Eddy.
“We can message each other within minutes, and it occurs to me that Wrex can use it to keep in touch with Mr. Griffin and exchange information without our enemy knowing of it. Raven is going to explain it all when he meets up with the Runner.”
She peeked through the mesh to check on her pigeons. “We are hiding the bird boxes in food hampers so that to the eye of any observer, we are simply sharing kitchen delicacies with each other.”
Charlotte huffed in admiration. “I daresay the thought has never occurred to the mastermind that a lady might beat him at own devious game.”
“Most men tend to underestimate those of our sex,” said Alison, and then dryly added, “though of course, not those of our inner circle.”
The four of them enjoyed another moment of shared smiles before a look of worry chased the light from Eddy’s eyes. “What else can we do to help?”
Charlotte glanced at the mantel clock. The ticking of each passing minute now punctuated their every thought and deed.
“You two go ahead and get everything in place so that messages are ready to fly. I intend to pay another visit to Mr. Manchester’s antique emporium as soon as it opens, and under the guise of appearing interested in purchasing one of the Girtin paintings, I shall see if I can elicit any information about Ainsley’s recent behavior. ”
Damnation. The thrum and chatter of whirling machinery seemed to echo Wrexford’s inner frustration.
“Have you any idea when Mr. Bramah will return?” he asked over the din of the main workshop space.
The shop manager gave a helpless shrug. “I’m afraid not, sir.
The Prince Regent requested that Mr. Bramah make an urgent visit to Carlton House.
” He cleared his throat with a brusque cough.
“Apparently the prince is sure that some of his servants are pilfering sweets from the pantries and so wishes to install our sophisticated locking mechanisms on all the cupboards.”
“Heaven forfend that Prinny be deprived of his cakes and custards,” muttered Wrexford, before turning away. “I will stop by again later.”
The flickering light in the corridor seemed to have turned a shade dimmer as he hurried toward the entrance foyer. Despite his show of confidence for Cordelia and their inner circle, the earl was aware of what a desperate game of mental chess he was playing with the mastermind.
Sheffield was merely a pawn … and the most expendable piece on the board.
But I won’t—I can’t—think about that—
A dark shadow suddenly fell across his path. He recoiled a step and then felt a rush of relief on seeing it was only one of the workmen carrying in a bundle of drawing paper and drafting supplies.
Once he was back on the street, the earl drew in a deep breath and shoved aside his misgivings.
Every precious second must be put to good use.
Quickening his steps, he headed for the Royal Institution as it suddenly occurred to him that his inventor friend, William Hedley, might be able to give him some useful information.
“Wrexford!” The greeting rose above the clatter of moving metal and spinning gears. “Do come in!”
After batting away the cloud of steam hovering over his worktable, Hedley appeared in the flesh a moment later and began wiping his hands on an oily rag. “What intriguing scientific questions do you have for me today?”
“Alas, I’m afraid my present queries are of a mundane nature.” Hedley’s expertise in mechanical engineering had been key in helping Wrexford solve some serious crimes in the past. “However, they are important.”
He shut the door behind him and secured the latch before approaching the inventor and his still-spitting model steam engine.
“And confidential, it seems.” Hedley lifted a hand to his mouth and mimed turning a key. “My lips are as tightly locked as one of the late Joe Bramah’s complex creations.”
“Funny you should mention Bramah …” murmured the earl.
He took Eddy’s sketch out of his pocket and smoothed it open on the table.
“Do you recognize this man? I understand that Timothy Bramah, like his father, purchases metal rods from him to use in milling his workshop’s precision screws.
He’s currently away from his workshop, but it occurred to me that you also might be a customer. ”
Hedley put on his spectacles and subjected the pencil drawing to a long scrutiny before looking up. “Sylvester Arlington.” He made a sound in his throat—something between a snort and a growl. “The artist has created a good likeness of both the outer and inner man.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” observed Wrexford.
“It wasn’t meant to be, milord.”
“Might I ask why?” he pressed.
“I am not in the habit of repeating idle rumors,” replied Hedley. A glint of lamplight winked off his glass lenses as he met the earl’s gaze. “But nor are you in the habit of asking idle questions.”
“Correct,” said Wrexford softly. “I would appreciate hearing what you’ve heard. But it’s imperative that Arlington doesn’t get wind of my interest in him.”
“It goes without saying that you can count on my discretion.” A smile. “You wouldn’t be here if you doubted that.”
The inventor leaned back in his chair. “As you clearly know, Arlington owns the Vulcan Foundry, which supplies bulk iron and steel to various engineers and machinists for use in producing their creations. His material is all standard formulas—he does none of the chemical experiments that you do to create highly specialized metals for a specific use. But it’s good quality, and my guess is he turns a handsome profit. ”
“Do you purchase from Arlington as well?” asked Wrexford.
“I did for a time.” His lips thinned. “But then I heard some disturbing rumors last year. You see, Arlington also had a longtime contract for supplying the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich with stock gun barrels for the standard issue Brown Bess musket used by our infantry troops. It seems his cousin worked as a senior administrator at the General Quartermaster’s Office based there, which is how he secured the job. ”
Hedley picked up one of the wooden-handed chisels on his table and spun it between his palms. “Six months ago, an enterprising filing clerk at the Arsenal discovered a packet of old bills and shipping manifests hidden within a crate of documents marked for disposal. They seemed to indicate that finished muskets were siphoned off from the main shipments to our soldiers during the height of the Peninsular War.”
His tone tightened with anger. “There wasn’t enough actual proof to accuse Arlington and his cousin of sending weapons to the enemy, but the evidence all pointed to the fact that some very unsavory—and possibly treasonous—business had taken place.”
“The Royal Arsenal,” mused Wrexford. Which meant that Philip Stoneham, who had worked regularly for the head of the arsenal during the Peninsular War, would likely have known Arlington and his cousin …
“Arlington and his cousin must have been quite cunning and skilled at subterfuge to have stolen weapons from under the quartermaster’s nose. ”
Indeed, it had all the hallmarks of the daring heist that the mastermind had pulled off against the Bank of England.