CHAPTER 14
“Is m’lady ill?” asked Hawk as Raven tiptoed back into the schoolroom. “Though she tried to hide them, she was making some very distressing little moans during the carriage ride home.”
“Hard to tell,” answered his brother. “She’s lying on the chaise longue in the Blue Parlor, which she never does.”
“Maybe she ate a bad kipper for breakfast,” suggested Peregrine.
“We could bring her a plate of ginger biscuits,” said Hawk. “Mac says ginger is very good for belly aches.”
Harper’s ears pricked up at the mention of biscuits.
“I don’t think it’s her belly.” Raven crinkled his nose. “A pot of salve smelling of camphor was sitting on the table beside her.”
The three of them exchanged quizzical looks.
“But whatever the ailment, let us trust that Mac knows what to do,” continued Raven. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because we have other fish to fry.”
Hawk and Peregrine edged closer.
“Tyler has a surveillance task for us tonight,” explained Raven. “He wants for us to come along with him to a tavern in Seven Dials and wait in the alleyway while he attends a meeting. Then he wants us to follow the man who leaves with him and discover where he is lodging.”
Hawk looked a little disappointed. “That’s child’s play. Doesn’t he have anything more challenging? Like sneaking into the man’s quarters and stealing some incriminating document?”
“For now, we just do as we’re told,” said Raven. But the gleam in his eye hinted that further orders might be open to interpretation.
Peregrine cleared his throat. “Just so we all understand the rules . . . as I’m now a full-fledged Weasel”—Wexford and Charlotte had used those exact words—“doesn’t it stand to reason that the old restriction forbidding me to accompany you on clandestine forays into the stews is now rescinded?”
When Belmont was the boy’s legal guardian, Wexford and Charlotte had refused to let Peregrine take part in any potentially dangerous activities. A fact that had not sat well with him.
“Oiy,” agreed Raven after giving it some thought. “I don’t see any reason why you can’t now fly with us.”
“Hooray!” crowed Hawk as he thumped his brother-in-spirit on the back.
“Let’s gather up our urchin rags and head down to the mews,” said Raven. “I think they may need a fresh layer of muck.”
* * *
“Ouch!” Wincing, Charlotte shifted on the chaise longue, feeling as if a regiment of the King’s Household Cavalry had just ridden roughshod over her body.
“I heard that.” Wrexford came into the parlor and assessed her appearance—she was still wearing her fencing breeches and chemise, with a soft wool blanket draped over her supine body.
“How was your lesson?” he inquired, after pouring two measures of Scottish malt from the decanter on the sideboard.
“Harry Angelo is a malicious demon,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “sent by Lucifer himself to torture unsuspecting mortals.”
The earl handed her a glass of the spirits. “That bad, eh?”
“I ache in parts of my body that I never knew existed,” replied Charlotte, wincing as she gingerly arranged herself into a sitting position against the pillows. She took a swallow of whisky, and as its fire warmed her innards, she managed a rueful smile. “I loved it.”
“I thought you might.”
“But heaven only knows if I will be able to drag myself to the next session.”
“You’ll feel much better after a hot bath and a good night’s sleep,” he assured her.
“Impossible.” A dubious sigh. “I feel as if I won’t be able to move for a month.”
He laughed.
“But enough on my travails.” Another wince as she shifted her position. “How did your meeting with Hamden go?”
Wrexford pulled a chair over to the chaise longue and took a seat.
“Oliver Carrick has a great deal of explaining to do.” He told her what he had learned.
“Granted, the fellow may be lying dead in a ditch somewhere and so is innocent of any subterfuge or crime.” A pause.
“But if he isn’t, why the devil hasn’t he shown his face? ”
Charlotte couldn’t think of any plausible answer.
“We need to have a talk with Mrs. Guppy,” announced the earl.
“Yes. But let us pray that Hamden is right, and we don’t have to travel to Bristol to do so,” she said dryly. “The prospect of bouncing over rutted roads for two days is definitely not a tonic for my body or spirit.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, my dear. I’m the one with the caustic tongue and cynical disposition.”
“Pour me another whisky, and I promise that my disposition will greatly improve.”
Wrexford did as he was asked. “Alas, I’m not sure that you should make that pledge.” A sigh. “Given what I’ve learned so far, I fear that Cordelia is going to experience some very painful revelations.”
“If what you suspect is true . . .” Charlotte knew that he thought all the evidence uncovered so far indicated that Oliver Carrick had to be considered the prime suspect for the murder.
“Then that means Cordelia will suffer a double blow, losing two dear friends under unimaginably painful circumstances,” she finished.
“I—I wish there was some way I could believe that there is some innocent explanation for Carrick’s continued absence.
Word of Milton’s murder has been published in the newspapers.
Surely, he must know that people will think the worst if he remains in hiding. ”
“Perhaps he has no choice,” said Wrexford.
“So far, it’s only circumstantial evidence against him, but the investigation hasn’t really begun in earnest. Now that Griffin has been assigned the case, Carrick may fear it’s only a matter of time before someone will recall seeing him at a time or place that will tie him to the crime.
” A pause. “Indeed, he may have already fled the country—or is doing his damnedest to arrange his flight.”
Charlotte put down her glass of whisky, her throat suddenly too tight to swallow.
“However, I shall try to keep an open mind as to whether he is guilty or not.”
“That’s only fair,” she responded, even though she, too, was beginning to fear the worst.
“Speaking of fair, we ought to send word to Cordelia and Kit. They won’t thank us for delaying in telling them—”
However, the sounds of voices in the corridor announced that their friends had already arrived.
“Any news—” began Sheffield, but on catching sight of the earl’s expression, he swore under his breath.
Cordelia came to an abrupt halt, the color draining from her face. “Is Oliver . . . dead?”
“No,” Charlotte assured her. “But what Wrex has discovered isn’t overly encouraging.”
Sheffield put his arm around Cordelia. “Tell us.”
They listened in taut silence as Wrexford recounted his conversation with Hamden.
“I simply can’t—I simply won’t—believe that Oliver murdered Jasper,” exclaimed Cordelia. “They’ve been close friends and collaborators since their university days!”
Charlotte refrained from repeating Griffin’s warning that a lethal falling-out between close friends was an age-old story.
“I’ve heard of Sarah Guppy, and Hamden is right. She is very astute when it comes to business,” observed Sheffield. “Everyone associated with the family’s enterprises acknowledges that she’s in charge of overseeing both the finances and the actual manufacturing of their products.”
He paused. “However, she’s a very wealthy woman, so why would she risk everything to be involved in murdering Milton and stealing his idea—assuming that’s why he’s dead.”
“Because greed begets greed?” suggested the earl.
“Think about it. If someone has come up with an innovation that allows bridges to span wider distances, it opens up a whole new realm of opportunities in the world of transportation. Suddenly, all sorts of new routes are possible, changing the time it takes to travel—which in turn would have great economic implications.”
He looked around. “I, for one, can’t begin to put a price on what that patent would be worth.”
“And we know that Mrs. Guppy has good reason to understand the value of a patent,” said Charlotte.
“Yes,” said the earl. “In addition to the other information Hamden passed on, he told me that Mrs. Guppy actually received a patent for an innovation she created for bridge design.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Cordelia clutched at Sheffield’s coat.
“Speculation does none of us any good,” muttered Sheffield. “I take it you’ll seek to have a meeting with the lady.”
At Wrexford’s confirming nod, he added, “Cordelia and I wish to go with you.”
“Very well. But we ought not forget about the other possible suspects. Let’s us wait and see what Tyler and the Weasels discover tonight.” He explained about the plan that he and his valet had made for learning more about the French radicals. “And then we shall consider how to confront Mrs. Guppy.”
A fraught silence settled over the room.
“How did your meeting go with Lord Fenway, Kit?” asked Charlotte, hoping to lighten the mood by moving on to a more positive topic.
“Quite well,” answered Cordelia, beaming with pride. “Lord Fenway was clearly impressed with his knowledge on transportation and invited Kit to join the commission right away, saying there was no need to wait for the parliamentary elections.”
“By Jove, that’s great news. Congratulations,” said the earl. “He made a wise choice.”
Sheffield smiled. “Cordelia is exaggerating Fenway’s reaction.
However, it’s true that he did offer me the position.
I look forward to getting involved in the planning.
” His expression turned more serious. “And as I said before, perhaps in the process I can learn some facts about Milton and his fellow society members that may aid us in solving the present investigation.”
“Deo volente,” whispered Charlotte. God willing.
Wrexford looked to the mullioned windows, where the late afternoon light was deepening to dusk. “Let us also hope that tonight’s foray will bring us a step closer to solving the crime.”