CHAPTER 21
Stepping back, Sheffield quickly turned the key and allowed Raven to barrel into the room, followed by two women and a man. Charlotte recognized Mademoiselle Benoit despite the hooded cloak that concealed half of her face. As for the other two . . .
Cordelia let out a strangled shriek and darted forward to seize the man in a fierce hug.
Oh, surely not ...
Charlotte shot a questioning look at Raven, who gave her an inscrutable smile. But before she could ask any questions, Cordelia released her embrace, and her tears of joy gave way to righteous fury. Grabbing the man’s lapels, she shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“You bloody idiot! Of all the cork-brained, ass-witted behavior! How dare you frighten me half to death?”
Oliver Carrick—at least Charlotte assumed the dazed-looking fellow was Cordelia’s missing cousin—opened his mouth to speak, but Cordelia cut him off with another verbal salvo.
“What were you thinking!” she demanded. “Didn’t it occur to you that hiding made you look guilty as sin?” She thumped a fist to his chest. “Speaking of guilty, we just discovered—”
“First things first, Cordelia,” interrupted Wrexford. “Let us hear what Carrick and his friends have to say before we speak of anything else.”
Cordelia hitched in a breath but gave a grim nod of understanding.
“I—” began Carrick.
“As for you two, what the devil is going on?” Cordelia couldn’t keep from directing her ire at Mademoiselle Benoit and the other woman. “The three of you have a great deal of explaining to do!”
“Perhaps,” counseled Sheffield, “if you stop ringing a peal over your cousin’s head, we can begin to make some sense of what is going on.”
“An excellent suggestion. I’ll fetch some tea.” McClellan rose and, on catching Charlotte’s gaze, gave a subtle signal to Raven.
“A very interesting young man.” The older woman with Mademoiselle Benoit—based on Hawk and Peregrine’s report, Charlotte knew exactly who she was—raised her brows at Charlotte as Raven followed the maid into the corridor. “I take it he works for you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she replied coolly, wary of revealing any information about her family to a woman as sharp as Sarah Guppy. “But we have more important things to discuss—and you’ve saved us the trouble of traveling out to Fulham to interrogate you.”
Charlotte took a moment to study the woman’s unremarkable face, but her expression was a cipher. “To begin with, why have you and Mademoiselle Benoit been conspiring to keep Oliver Carrick in hiding?”
A flicker of amusement lit in the woman’s eyes as she moved to join Charlotte by the earl’s desk.
“You must be Lady Wrexford.” On receiving a nod of acknowledgment, Mrs. Guppy added, “I have heard a great deal about you from a friend who attends Lady Thirkell’s salon for intellectually minded ladies.” She didn’t elaborate. “Are you interested in science, milady?”
“I occasionally attend Lady Thirkell’s Bluestocking soirees because I enjoy intelligent conversation on a great many subjects,” replied Charlotte, carefully parrying the woman’s probing.
“Your husband has the reputation of being a brilliant chemist.”
“Among other things,” she said softly.
“Ah, yes . . . his hair-trigger temper.” Mrs. Guppy tapped a finger to her chin. “Should I be worried?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” asked Mrs. Guppy.
“On whether he believes that you’re a cold-blooded killer.”
A smile. “I’ll take my chances, for I have heard that along with a fearsome temper, he also possesses an analytical mind, razor-sharp logic, and a conscience that values the truth.”
Charlotte gave the woman credit for her show of unflappable calm. Indeed, her nerves appeared forged out of steel.
Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.
“My husband and I both value the truth. So why don’t you begin explaining why we should believe that you and your two companions are not guilty of a heinous crime?”
“That promises to be a rather long conversation. Might we wait for our tea?” Mrs. Guppy glanced at the sideboard. “Or perhaps pour ourselves a stronger libation before we get down to business.”
Charlotte heard a whisper of wool as Wrexford came to stand behind her.
“What may I offer you?” he asked politely.
“I do enjoy a good Scottish malt,” replied Mrs. Guppy.
“Ummm, make that two,” called Carrick.
Mademoiselle Benoit hesitated and then requested brandy.
“Please sit and allow me to serve your drinks,” said Charlotte, quickly assuming the role of a perfectly polished hostess—a lady of no substance beneath the froth of expensive silk and good manners.
If Mrs. Guppy wished to engage in a cat-and-mouse game of feminine wiles, reflected Charlotte, she would find herself matched with someone who had a great deal of experience in how to play it.
* * *
Wrexford stood in the shadows, waiting for everyone to settle themselves in the room. Patience was not usually his strong suit, but he used the delay to study Mrs. Guppy, who had not yet chosen a spot. An imaginative inventor, a highly successful entrepreneur—her intellect was clearly saber-sharp.
Mrs. Guppy seemed to sense his scrutiny, and while most people found his stare unsettling, she reacted by raising her glass in a subtle salute.
Or was it a challenge?
No doubt he would learn the answer to that in a moment, for after taking a small sip of her whisky, she edged away from the others, who had seated themselves near the hearth, and came to join him.
“You have a very intriguing circle of family and friends, Lord Wrexford.”
The earl said nothing.
“But then, that shouldn’t surprise me. You have the reputation for being a gentleman of many interesting talents,” she continued. “Raven is a very clever and perceptive lad. Wherever did you find him?”
He ignored the question. “One of the first things you’ve probably heard about me is that social niceties bore me to perdition. So let us not engage in thrust-and-parry verbal fencing under the guise of making polite conversation.”
“Excellent. I, too, prefer plain speaking,” answered Mrs. Guppy. “I imagine you have a great many questions for me. So perhaps I can help narrow them down by giving you a summary of Jasper Milton’s murder, along with what we do—and do not—know.”
She took a sip of her whisky. “Because, to be frank, time is of the essence. That you had Raven watching Mademoiselle Benoit was a fortuitous stroke of luck, as you shall soon understand. But to take advantage of it, we will have to move fast.”
“That’s a well-crafted emotional appeal, madam,” replied Wrexford. “But it’s wasted on me. If you wish to convince me to take a course of action, you’ll have to use facts and logic.”
“I expected no less.” She turned slightly, the candlelight kindling a flash of sparks beneath her lashes. “So, let me begin without further ado.”
* * *
Charlotte accepted a cup of tea from McClellan, listening with only half an ear as Cordelia and Sheffield peppered Carrick and Mademoiselle Benoit with questions.
After the maid took a seat near the others, she drifted away from the group and shifted her attention to the interchange between Mrs. Guppy and Wrexford.
This, she knew, was where the real game would play out, with truth and lies moving around the checkered board like black-and-white chess pieces, looking to seize the advantage . . .
Charlotte caught the last few words of Mrs. Guppy’s challenge and the earl’s response. But before the woman could begin her summary, the earl spoke up, addressing his words to everyone in the room.
“I’m aware of Garfield’s offer to sell Milton’s papers to Mademoiselle Benoit and her French colleague and have heard a self-serving explanation from him all but accusing Mercer Wayland of being the real culprit.”
She noted that he kept Garfield’s murder to himself for now.
“So my patience, never in great abundance to begin with, is just about exhausted.” The earl straightened from his slouch against the wall. “I’ve had enough of lies and innuendoes. The only thing I wish to hear from our three guests is the truth.”
“Fair enough,” said Mrs. Guppy. “So let’s start with the key truth to this conundrum. Oliver Carrick did not kill Jasper Milton. But he saw who did.”
Charlotte bit back a gasp.
“Why—” began the earl.
“We’ll return to that in a moment once I finish with the preliminaries,” interjected Mrs. Guppy. “As a man of science, I assume you prefer to have as many facts as possible before you begin trying to solve a problem.”
“Correct,” answered Wrexford.
In response to Mrs. Guppy’s gesture, Carrick rose and moved to join her.
Sheffield found Cordelia’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Secondly,” continued Mrs. Guppy, “Mademoiselle Benoit is not the enemy, nor are the other members of the French scientific society—except for Jean-Paul Montaigne, the society’s president, who is allied with a group of radical French social reformers who are currently visiting London in order to spread their message to Britain. ”
“Are you saying there are two French factions?” demanded Wrexford.
“Precisely, milord. Again, we’ll come back in a moment to their motives. But now to the crux of Jasper Milton’s murder.” Mrs. Guppy allowed herself a deliberate pause. “The most important thing for you to know is that he is not quite the victim he seems to be.”
“A bold assertion,” said Wrexford. “Naturally you will have strong evidence to back it up.”
“I shall let you judge for yourself, sir.”
Mrs. Guppy nodded at Carrick. “Now that Lord Wrexford has heard my preamble, Oliver, perhaps you can flesh out my words with what you know.”
“I shall do my best, Sarah.” Carrick cleared his throat.
“It’s frightfully complicated, sir, and I confess I am still in the dark about a number of things.
But as Mrs. Guppy has said, we must act quickly to avoid a grave threat to the present peace in Europe.
We have reason to believe that Jasper’s papers are about to be sold to the French radicals—”
“Wait! First things first,” interrupted Wrexford. “Mrs. Guppy says you witnessed the murder. What I don’t understand is, why didn’t you immediately report it to the authorities and have the culprit arrested?”
“Because . . .” Carrick closed his eyes for an instant.
“Because it was dark, and what with the swirling rain and fog of the storm, I didn’t actually see the murderer.
I could only make out a vague silhouette.
But I heard Jasper address him as Axe and call him a good friend .
. .” A hesitation. “And then Jasper added something about Axe acting as the steely force which kept him from spinning out of control.”
“What about Axe’s voice?” demanded Sheffield. “Given that Milton called him a good friend, and given that you and Milton were very close, surely you should have recognized it.”
“It was blowing like the devil, and the river was rushing against the rocks of the gorge.” Carrick gave a helpless shrug.
“I just couldn’t identify it. And then, they dropped their voices.
I heard nothing for a bit, and suddenly the lantern shifted, and I saw the silhouette of the murderer as he cleaned a knife on his sleeve and slid it back into his boot. ”
The memory made him lose his composure for the moment.
Mrs. Guppy picked up the narrative. “Axe then bent over Jasper’s body and searched through his clothing. He found a packet inside Milton’s overcoat and slid it into his pocket.”
“What happened next was horrible,” stammered Carrick. “He lifted Jasper’s body and maneuvered it out onto what remained of the bridge and then . . . p-pushed the corpse into the ravine as if it were naught but a sack of stones.”
Cordelia covered her face with her hands.
“A branch cracked close to me, and Axe swung the lantern beam around to the bushes where I was hiding. I panicked and fled, uncertain as to whether he had seen me.”
“Think!” pressed Wrexford. “Have you truly no idea of who Axe could be?”
Carrick have a helpless shrug. “He was cloaked, and as I said, the wind was blowing like the devil, so I couldn’t even make out his shape. All I can say is that he was of average height.”
“We all have monikers for familiar friends, often based on a diminutive of their formal name—” began the earl.
“Or a personal humorous reason, known only to the two friends,” pointed out Sheffield. “So it’s hard to speculate on what ‘Axe’ might mean.”
The ensuing silence indicated that nobody disagreed.
“Given the weather and the hour, I can’t help but wonder—why were you there?” demanded Charlotte. She was finding it hard to make sense of Carrick’s story, and judging by Wrexford’s expression, so was he.
“Because I wanted to make a last effort to convince Jasper not to do what he was planning to do with his innovation.”
The earl muttered an oath. “Ye gods, if I were looking for endless melodrama, I would read one of Ann Radcliffe’s horrid novels.”
“Explain yourself, Oliver,” counseled Mrs. Guppy.
“Jasper was always an idealist.” Carrick looked to Cordelia, who gave a confirming nod. “One of the reasons he loved mathematics was because he saw it as pure and unambiguous. It could create what he referred to as ‘noble truths,’ which turned chaos into order.”
“Mathematics simplified the universe for Jasper,” added Cordelia. “He liked its world better than our unruly everyday existence.”
“Jasper believed that his new innovation—”
“Which was what?” demanded Wrexford.
“I can’t answer that exactly,” replied Carrick, “for he never explained it in any detail. However, he did say that he had discovered the key to creating longer and wider bridges, and that such innovations would revolutionize travel, making it faster and cheaper for people and goods to move from place to place—especially as he believed that locomotives will soon replace horses and carriages.”
“I understand the economics of what you’ve described, and it’s clear that such a transformational discovery would be worth a fortune,” mused Sheffield.
“But that’s just it,” exclaimed Carrick.
“Jasper didn’t care about the money! He wanted his innovation to better the lives of ordinary people.
He became very upset on discovering that many of the contracts for work on the Bristol Road Project were given out based on bribes rather than expertise.
And that made him even more morally opposed to licensing the rights of a patent to rich investors, who would then make a fortune building the new structures for municipalities and countries—”
“Only to have the municipalities and countries have to charge tolls or other fees to recoup their investments, and then continue to reap the profits,” interjected Mademoiselle Benoit. “Thus ensuring that travel remained too expensive for the common man.”
Which begged the question . . .
“So what,” responded Charlotte, “was Milton’s solution to the dilemma?”