CHAPTER 20 #2
“Excellent,” replied the earl. “Sheffield has ascertained that Lord Kirkland is playing cards at White’s and will be there for the rest of the afternoon.
McKinlock is attending a lecture at the Royal Institution, and my footman has confirmed with Miss Merton that Mrs. Ashton hasn’t left her townhouse.
So we may put the surveillance into place. ”
The boy nodded alertly, but to Wrexford’s eye, his expression looked a little clouded.
“Is something amiss, lad?”
Raven hesitated before answering, “Skinny hasn’t been seen since the day before yesterday, and it isn’t like him te be gone from his spot sweeping the muck on Silver Street.”
“Perhaps he’s feeling poorly.”
“Naw, that wouldn’t keep him from work,” replied Raven. “Ye can’t afford te be ill.”
Friends were friends, reflected Wrexford, no matter what age or social standing. “Let’s give it another day, then we’ll see what we can do.” Though there was precious little, he feared. The perils for an urchin living alone in the stews were too numerous to count.
Raven knew that as well as he did, and merely shrugged. “Not much anyone can do if the Reaper decides it’s yer time.”
True, but it was sobering to hear such a hardened sentiment from a boy so young. Still, he’d not insult him with sentimental claptrap. Instead, Wrexford changed the subject.
“Where’s your brother?”
“In the stables, looking at yer horses.” The boy shot him a wary look. “Do ye mind?”
“Not at all.” The earl picked up his notebook and perched a hip on his desk. “Let us set the surveillance assignments, shall we?”
The next few minutes were spent going over logistics.
The plan was for a pair of urchins to shadow Kirkland, McKinlock and the widow—one to race back to inform them if the two suspects met, while the other remained in place.
As Wrexford had learned from Charlotte, the master at gathering information, few people paid any attention to children, which made them the perfect spies.
Raven was sharp-witted and though he noted the details in his head rather than on paper, Wrexford was confident that all would run like clockwork.
“Just one last thing. Remind your friends that their quarries must be considered highly dangerous. They are to shadow them from a distance, that’s all. Understood?
“Oiy.” The boy shuffled his feet, seeming loath to leave, even though their business was now done. “Can I ask ye a question? It’s about numbers.”
The earl noticed that Tyler stopped his polishing and cocked an ear. “Of course, lad.”
“M’lady and ye were talking about the page of numbers ye found with the second murdered cove. Ye sent it te some expert in mathematics, and I was just wondering whether ye really think numbers can be made to hide a message?”
“Yes, there’s a long history of numbers being used to construct codes, lad. The trouble is, there are infinite possibilities, so the chances of our figuring out which system is being used are not good.”
“Even for an expert,” added Tyler. “I’ve been taking a long look at the possibilities myself, and from what I can tell, it may be a variation of a Vigenère square that uses both numbers and letters.
But if so, we’re hopelessly out of luck, for one needs to know the key word.
So we had better pray it’s one of the others. ”
“No word yet from Milner?” interrupted the earl.
“Not yet, milord. He could be away giving a lecture somewhere.” Turning back to Raven, the valet tapped a finger to a thick book on the counter. “Come, lad. If you like, I’ll show you a diagram of the Square, as well as some of the other well-known codes from the past. ”
The boy shot an eager glance at Tyler, then slowly fixed Wrexford with a questioning look.
“You would be doing me a great favor to provide him with an audience,” he said dryly. “Otherwise I might have to subject myself to a lecture on Caesar shifts, and I’m already in danger of being late for a meeting.”
Raven hurried across the room and took a stool next to the valet.
“I shall leave the pair of you to it,” murmured the earl as he rose. To Sheffield he asked, “What are your plans?”
“I shall toddle back to White’s and keep an eye and ear on Kirkland,” replied his friend. “Unless you have another task for me.”
“Not at the moment. For now, we’ll wait for the next move of our adversaries.”
* * *
The shaft of sunlight roused Charlotte from a bone-deep slumber.
Though fatigue still weighed heavily on her, she found her thoughts were too agitated to think of further sleep.
After dressing and fixing a pot of tea, she felt more awake, and yet that only exacerbated the question of what to do next.
Granted, she was to put in motion her informant network to see if they could find the love letters. But that felt maddeningly removed from the action. All that was required were a few cryptic notes to key people, and those would be delivered by the boys.
They were in the thick of things. As was Wrexford.
It chafed to feel so passive.
After penning the requests in readiness for Raven and Hawk, Charlotte took a fresh sheet of paper and began to doodle. Drawing always seemed to stimulate her imagination. There must be some creative way to help—she just had to see it.
Scratch, scratch. Several sheets were soon covered in bold, black scrawls. It wasn’t until the fourth one that an idea suddenly took shape. It would, she acknowledged, take a little improvising.
And Wrexford wouldn’t like it.
Charlotte thought for a moment, uncertain how to deal with that thought.
Something had changed between them last night.
She had felt the thrum of it in the momentary joining of their hands—and she was sure he had felt it, too.
But as she couldn’t yet define what it was, she made up her mind to put it aside for now, and simply trust her own judgment.
Yes, the plan was a risk, but one which she felt confident in taking.
She quickly returned to her bedchamber and changed into more fashionable clothing. Casting a critical eye at the cheval glass, she did a slow spin to ensure all was in order. She must appear a perfect pattern-card of propriety. Or rather, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
How very apt, as Mrs. Ashton was wearing the same disguise.
Satisfied that she looked the part, Charlotte gathered up her cloak and reticule. Once on the street, she flagged down a hackney and made the journey to Mayfair, where she descended several streets away from the widow’s borrowed residence. A short stroll brought her to the front entrance.
“Please ask Miss Merton if she’s free to receive Mrs. Sloane,” she said to the butler who opened the portal.
“Yes, madam.” He gestured for her to enter “If you’ll wait here in the parlor, I shall inquire.”
Octavia appeared in a matter of minutes. “Mrs. Sloane. How lovely to see you,” she said politely, though a questioning look was evident in her eyes.
“Forgive me for arriving unannounced,” replied Charlotte a little louder than necessary. “But my modiste is not quite finished with a pelisse I ordered, and as the delay promised to be a bit lengthy, I left my maid to wait for the item while I came to see you.” A pause. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Come to my study and I’ll order us some tea.”
“Tea would be most welcome,” she agreed.
The charade of good manners continued until they were settled in the room and the maid had delivered the refreshments. Octavia waited until the door shut, then quickly rose and pressed her ear to the paneled wood for several long moments.
“We’re alone, at least for now,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper as she returned to her chair and nervously smoothed at her skirts. “Is there any word on Benedict?”
“It’s far too early for that,” replied Charlotte.
“Then why are you—”
“I’ve an idea. But it requires your help.”