CHAPTER 15
“So, what’s the plan?” whispered Raven, once Tyler had squeezed into the filthy alleyway near their destination in Seven Dials and crouched down beside the three boys.
Tyler held his nose. “Hell’s teeth, what does Mac use to perfume your clothes with such a stench?”
“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” grinned Peregrine.
“Truly awful, but enough of that for now,” responded the valet.
To Raven he said, “The meeting will last a half hour, or maybe three quarters. After that, I shall exit the building accompanied by another man. Stay alert and shadow us. We will part ways where the seven roads converge at the sundial. You are to follow the man—and whatever you do, don’t lose him! ”
Raven made a rude sound.
“Yes, I know you imps of Satan are devilishly good at this, but it’s vitally important that we learn where he is lodging, and whether he’s connected with any members of the French scientific society.”
“You want for us to worm our way into the building and eavesdrop?” asked Hawk.
Tyler hesitated.
From somewhere close by came the scrabbling of a feral cat.
“If we’re spotted,” pointed out Raven, “he and anyone else in the place will simply think we’re thieving guttersnipes.”
“Use your judgment,” replied the valet. “But whatever you do, don’t get caught.”
Another rude sound. “Trust me,” replied Raven. “We won’t get caught.”
The valet edged to the alleyway opening and looked around. A moment later, he slipped away.
Hawk crawled forward to a position by the corner of the wall. “I’ll take first watch.”
The three of them settled in for the wait without further words.
Surveillance required silence as well as patience.
The minutes passed, punctuated by the creaks and groans of the surrounding dilapidated buildings and the furtive sounds of creatures small and large going about their private business under the cloak of darkness.
“Pssst, Mr. Tyler has come out.” Peregrine, who was serving as sentry, alerted the others.
Raven took a quick peek, watching as the valet and his companion turned down one of the crooked walkways. “I’ll lead the way. Keep alert.”
The three of them slithered out into the darkness, moving with wraithlike stealth over the uneven ground.
Tyler kept up a patter of conversation with the Frenchman until, as he had warned, the two them parted ways at the landmark sundial.
The valet headed west while the Frenchman chose a route winding to the east. Head down, the fellow quickened his steps, oblivious to the three flitting shadows trailing in his wake. The wretched slums soon gave way to a slightly more respectable neighborhood.
The Frenchman skirted around the south side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, then turned down a lane of modest row houses. He slowed just before reaching the next corner, then climbed a set of low stone steps and fumbled in his pocket for a key to the front door.
Raven waited for the portal to click shut and then assessed the surroundings.
“Now we know the location,” he said. “But I noticed there’s a narrow alley running behind the houses.
If we climb the back wall, we’ll likely find a place where we can get a peek through one of the rear windows.
Perhaps we can catch a glimpse of who else is there. ”
Hawk and Peregrine nodded in understanding.
It took little time for them to scramble over the alley wall and drop down into the hardscrabble cart area used by the coal monger and night-soil men. A light was visible in one of the lower windows.
Dropping to a crouch, Raven led the way around a stack of empty crates and made his way to the back wall. The iron-framed window was closed, but a tiny sliver of light between the outer edge and the wooden sash revealed that it wasn’t latched shut.
The faint murmur of voices drifted out through the crack.
A flurry of hand signals indicated to the others what he wanted. Noiselessly they retreated to the crates, then carried two of them back and placed them just below the window.
Raven smudged a handful of dirt over his already blackened face and mounted the makeshift perch. Drawing a metal probe from his boot, he used the thin length of steel to ease the window a touch wider, allowing the words to become more distinct.
“What do you mean you have nothing for us, Mr. Garfield?” The voice was edged with a thick French accent.
Finding a handhold in the crumbling mortar of the bricks, Raven angled himself just enough to look into the room without being seen. He saw that the speaker was a tall, gangly fellow with a beaky nose, and standing next to him was the French radical who had been walking with Tyler.
The radical whispered something to Beaky Nose, who nodded and then fixed Garfield with a threatening scowl. “Don’t play games with us. “We’re offering you a very handsome sum of money—and you’ve already received a down payment.”
“I’m not playing games,” retorted Garfield.
“But you said that you’ve been spying on Milton for weeks!” A woman’s voice, sharp as a knife. “You assured us that you knew where he kept his work papers.”
“I do! And I visited his lodging right after Lady Cordelia let me know about his death.” Garfield’s voice had turned shrill.
“I tell you, there was nothing in the safe he has hidden in the false bottom of his armoire. I also checked every nook and cranny in his workroom. Milton must have been carrying them on his person.”
He paused for a ragged intake of breath. “My guess is they were stolen by his murderer.”
A French oath—a very foul one, recognized Raven—rumbled through the air.
“Then you had better hope that you can discover who killed him and retrieve the papers,” said the unknown woman. “Otherwise. . .” Her voice trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
“Don’t worry. I have an idea where to look,” assured Garfield, though he sounded a little panicked.
The sudden fierce yowls of two alley cats in combat pierced the stillness of the night.
“If I’m right, I’ll have the papers for you.” A pause. “But I’ll need another deposit on the sum you promised.”
Another Gallic oath.
“I don’t like it any more that you do,” said the woman to Beaky Nose. “But it’s critical that we get those papers.” She took a menacing step toward Garfield. “You had better not be deceiving us. We expect delivery of what you have promised . . . or else.”
The momentary silence was broken by the sudden scuff of footsteps. Raven ducked and flattened himself against the wall just as the Frenchman yanked the window shut and clicked the latch. He waited for several moments before climbing down and sidling close to Hawk.
“I think we’ve heard enough. But before we go, climb up and take a quick peek to see if you can get a glimpse of the woman inside—you’re good at remembering faces and being able to sketch a likeness.”
Hawk was up on the perch in a flash. His small size and agility allowed him to maneuver along the tiny ledge running below the sill and gain a good angle to see into the room. He was about to retreat when he suddenly stiffened and went very still.
Raven waited for a bit, but when his brother remained unmoving, he flicked a warning wave that they ought not linger any longer. Hawk nodded but waited another few moments before descending and signaling that he had all that he needed.
They picked up the crates and replaced them on the pile, taking care to brush away any sign of footsteps that might give away their surveillance.
A short time later, they joined the hustle and bustle around Covent Garden, just another trio among the many roving urchins looking to wrest some meager sliver of good fortune out of the night, and then angled north toward Mayfair and home.
* * *
The earl paused to look at the mantel clock before he resumed pacing back and forth in front of the hearth in his workroom. He had given his permission for the Weasels to follow the Frenchman. But as the hour grew late, he was questioning his decision.
“Sit down, Wrex. You look like a cat crossing a hot griddle,” murmured Charlotte. “Surveillance is second nature to the boys. Unlike me, they haven’t lost their edge.”
“Peregrine doesn’t have their experience,” he pointed out.
“Which is why Raven and Hawk won’t allow him to do anything dangerous.”
Wrexford knew she was right, and yet it didn’t quiet the niggling feeling that the pieces of the investigation weren’t fitting together in any logical way. And that bothered him. After another turn, he came to a halt.
“I can’t make sense of how French political radicals tie into Milton’s murder. Why would social activists care enough about an engineering innovation to commit murder? What do they intend to do with it?”
“Perhaps Tyler learned more about their motives at this evening’s meeting,” said Charlotte.
He resumed his pacing, unable to keep from thinking aloud.
“The radicals are focused on the workers and their struggles, not scientific developments. They clearly understand the significance of better roads and bridges, which would allow workers more choice in employment. But I just don’t see them risking all their primary goals by committing a single act of violence. ”
“Hmmph,” grunted McClellan from her chair by the hearth. “Put that way, I have to agree,” she added, after finishing the last stitch on the sock she was darning and snipping the thread.
But before they could continue discussing the possible motivations of the radicals, the sound of footsteps in the adjoining library signaled that Tyler had returned.
The three of them turned in expectation, waiting for him to throw open the door.
A smile of grim satisfaction flashed through the shadows as the valet stepped into the room and spotted them.
“Well?” demanded the earl.
Tyler allowed a prolonged moment of silence before finally responding. “Eureka.”
“Bloody hell, Kit’s penchant for melodrama appears to have rubbed off on you,” retorted Wrexford. “Stubble the theatrics and just tell us what you’ve learned.”