CHAPTER 4 #2
“Choices, choices,” she muttered as she rose and moved to her work desk. The sight of her paints and pens helped calm her mind. Through art, she had the confidence to express her thoughts and observations with a cutting clarity.
While conversing with Wrexford seemed to arouse naught but a tangle of indefinable emotions.
He enjoyed keeping people off kilter, she told herself. Most likely because his own equilibrium veered to all points of the compass.
Taking out a fresh sheet of watercolor paper, Charlotte set to work on a preliminary sketch of Ashton’s murder. As she had told the earl, the people she needed to speak with wouldn’t be awake until well after dark, so she might as well use the time for something constructive, rather than brooding.
Imagination slowly took precedence over intellect, and as the lines and textures took shape, Charlotte lost herself in the creative process.
Though she wouldn’t show them in the final drawing, she had copied the distinctive Z-shaped slashes drawn by Wrexford onto her sketch of Ashton’s body, just to give herself a sense of the actual scene.
And it was then that the realization suddenly dawned on her.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered.
They weren’t just random cuts. The lines formed a crudely drawn symbol.
One that Charlotte was fairly certain she had seen very recently.
* * *
Spotting a flicker of red through the beery haze of tobacco smoke, Wrexford turned back to the bar man and purchased two tankards of ale. The tavern was crowded, forcing him to take a roundabout path to the far side of the taproom.
Griffin slowly looked up from his kidney pie as the earl set the drinks down on the table. His expression gave nothing away, but Wrexford had learned that the Runner’s beefy body and shuffling movements belied the sharpness of his wits.
“Another dead body, milord?” Griffin took a long draught of the earl’s gift. “I would have thought that you’d had enough of the Grim Reaper’s company.”
“A chance encounter,” he replied.
The Runner’s grunt was noncommittal.
Wrexford took a seat. “I imagine Bow Street is no more happy than I am about the discovery of the corpse. The murder of a well-known gentleman never reflects well on the authorities responsible for keeping the criminal element in check.”
Another grunt. Griffin didn’t waste words.
“Your compatriot, Mr. Fleming, is of the opinion that it’s simply a random robbery,” went on the earl. “But I have reason to believe it isn’t.”
The Runner put down his fork and wiped his fingers on his sleeve. “According to Fleming’s account, Mr. Ashton was stabbed and his purse was nowhere to be found. It is, alas, a more common occurrence than we would like when a gentleman makes the mistake of straying into the stews.”
“Did his account also mention the state of Ashton’s clothing and the fact that his body was mutilated?” asked Wrexford.
Griffin took another swallow of ale. “Those details do raise certain questions.”
He made a rude sound. “An understatement, if ever there was one.”
The greasy lamplight caught the sharpening of the Runner’s heavy-lidded gaze. “And you, milord, have answers?”
“That depends on what you’re willing to ask.
” Wrexford held the other man’s eyes for a long moment before continuing.
“Fleming seems stubbornly set on ignoring all signs that this was no ordinary attack by footpads. Ashton’s widow has offered him both a compelling motive and a list of possible suspects who would profit from her husband’s death. And yet he chooses to ignore them.”
“Have you any evidence that this was a premeditated murder. Or merely conjectures?”
Wrexford swore under his breath. “At least agree to hear me out.”
That brought a rare smile to Griffin’s lips. “Very well. But it will cost you another ale.”
The earl waved a brusque signal to one of the barmaids, then edged his chair a little closer to the table.
“Let’s begin with motive. I happen to have been acquainted with Ashton.
He was a brilliant inventor, and according to his wife, he was in the final stages of finishing a new technological device that would have been worth a fortune. ”
“How so?” Griffin’s expression remained neutral, but a slight inflection in his voice indicated his interest was piqued.
“Are you familiar with patents?”
“I’m a humble thief-taker, not a fancy aristocrat,” responded the Runner. “I’ve heard the term, but how a simple piece of paper magically begets bags of blunt is a mystery that only you wealthy toffs can comprehend.”
Wrexford chuffed a low laugh. “Actually it’s a mystery that only the damnable barristers and solicitors can understand. Nonetheless, I shall endeavor to make a brief explanation.”
“For that I’ll need a wedge of Stilton and an apple tart.”
“A small price to pay for justice to be served,” he murmured as he counted out a few more coins.
“And another ale while you have your purse open,” murmured Griffin.
“Very well,” acquiesced the earl. “Now, pay attention. To understand patents and profits we need to go back to 1602 and the Case of Monopolies, which was about a patent for playing cards.”
“A case that is no doubt near and dear to your heart, milord.” A pause. “And that of your friend, Mr. Sheffield.”
“There is, I admit, a certain irony to the fact that we discovered the body on our way home from a gaming hell. But let us not digress.”
The Runner nodded absently, his attention momentarily diverted by the arrival of his cheese and tart.
“The idea of patents was not new,” continued Wrexford. “King Henry VI issued the first letter patent in 1449 to a glazier for his special formula for making colored glass. It took another hundred years for the second one, again for a glass-making technique.”
“Then, in 1598, Queen Elizabeth issued a patent to Edward Darcy, one of her courtiers, for a monopoly on the import and sale of playing cards. Darcy then sued a merchant who was doing the same thing. The defendant in turn challenged the patent in court by right of common law.”
Griffin broke off a morsel of Stilton. “And what happened?”
“Fierce arguments were presented by both sides to the chief justice. The crux of the merchant’s defense was that the Crown couldn’t grant a patent merely for the personal gain of an individual.
Only an idea that created some actual improvement to the making of playing cards could be protected,” explained Wrexford.
“In other words, a patent was for some new invention or unique innovation, not merely for commerce.”
“I wonder how many Runners have the privilege of getting an Oxford education along with their supper,” murmured Griffin through a mouthful of custard and apples.
Wrexford found the parsing of intellectual concepts endlessly interesting but was wise enough to recognize that not everyone shared his sentiments. He could see that he was in danger of losing the other man’s interest.
“Bear with me—I’m almost done,” he said. “Darcy’s patent was thrown out by the court and in 1623 an Act was drafted to clarify the rules of patent grants. Known as the Statute on Monopolies, it still serves as the basis of our modern day patent laws.”
“I take it you are now going to explain to me why Ashton was about to become a very rich man.”
The earl smiled. “Yes.”
Griffin leaned back in his chair and unfastened the bottom two buttons of his scarlet waistcoat.
A low belch ended with a twitch of his lips, which may—or may not—have been meant as a smile.
“Do try to make this quick, milord. Unlike you, I must eventually rouse myself from the table and go back to earning my living.”
“Very well, but to fully understand the laws today, there’s one other key concept that comes into play,” explained Wrexford. “It’s based on the ideas of the philosopher John Locke concerning property.”
“I’m a pragmatist, not a philosopher.”
“Which is why it behooves you to listen just a moment longer,” replied the earl.
“Locke believed the concept of property rights was derived from man’s labor.
To whit—a farmer possesses the right to his harvest not because he owns the land but because by the sweat of his brow, he’s created the crops. ”
The Runner’s expression of boredom altered.
“Locke’s thoughts on property, labor and the accumulation of wealth were very influential around the turn of the last century.
In 1710, the Copyright Law was passed, which was in a sense a complement to the Statute of Monopolies.
In a nutshell, it said that in addition to hard goods, ideas were property too, and could be protected by law. ”
Griffin let out a grunt. “It’s hard enough for me to protect the silver and jewels possessed by the beau monde. Now I must also worry about what goes on inside the heads of you fancy aristocrats?”
Despite the quip, Wrexford could sense he had the man’s full attention.
“The Engravers Act was passed in 1735 protecting the work of artists,” added the earl.
“And now, we come to the heart of the matter. In the past, inventors, along with a great many other intellectuals, were often very secretive—they were loath to share their discoveries or innovations for fear of them simply being stolen. But now, with the right to protect their ideas, such valuable information flows more freely to the public. And in the case of practical inventions, they offer ways to stimulate the economy and create wealth for both the creator and the people who will use the innovation.”
The lamplight flickered as a draft stirred the smoke-filled air.
Wrexford set his elbows on the table and leaned in a little closer.
“For example, imagine an invention that makes steam engines more powerful. All manufacturers of engines will want to add it to their products because everyone who owns a steam engine will want the latest model. And they will have to pay for the right to use the inventor’s patent. ”