CHAPTER 27
As Wrexford approached his workroom, the sound of raised voices alerted him that something was amiss. He drew his pistol and broke into a run.
“Thank heaven you have returned, Wrex!” exclaimed Cordelia, her voice sparking with hurt and anger. “Oliver and Mademoiselle Benoit have betrayed our trust! I could not bring myself to think it was true, b-but clearly they are guilty as sin!”
The earl quickly tucked his weapon back into his coat pocket. Volatile emotions did not mix well with gunpowder.
She blinked back tears. “Y-You must summon Griffin without delay and have him lock mademoiselle away in Newgate Prison. As for Oliver . . .” A watery sniff. “Justice demands that he answer for his misdeeds.”
“Carrick slipped away when Cordelia left him and mademoiselle alone for a short interlude,” explained Charlotte in response to Wrexford’s raised brows.
“Oliver has committed no misdeeds,” insisted mademoiselle.
“You do not know that,” retorted Cordelia. “Why would he scarper if he’s innocent?”
“I . . .” The Frenchwoman squared her shoulders. “I cannot say.”
“Cannot?” asked Wrexford. “Or will not?”
For an instant, a swirl of conflicting emotions clouded her gaze before mademoiselle squeezed her eyes shut and assumed a resolute silence.
“As if there aren’t enough variables complicating the equation,” muttered the earl, drawing a pinched smile from Charlotte.
But for the moment, he decided that Carrick was not their main priority.
Something in Charlotte’s expression told him that she had other news, and it was best conveyed in private.
“Enough shilly-shallying,” he announced to the group. “Mac, kindly escort mademoiselle down to the kitchen and lock her in one of the larders for now.” He thought for a moment. “Where is Tyler?”
“Mr. Sheffield sent a note just after you left this morning asking for his help in making some inquiries regarding the Bristol Road Project and its bridge engineers,” replied McClellan.
“In that case, when you’ve finished lodging our guest in her new quarters, please head to Conduit Street and have our footmen bring Mrs. Guppy back here to join her friend,” said Wrexford. “Assuming, of course, that she hasn’t escaped and steamed off to some hideaway.”
Lifting her chin, Mademoiselle Benoit acquiesced without protest when McClellan took her arm and signaled for her to move into the corridor.
“What a conniving little minx. I hope you plan to keep her on bread and water,” grumbled Cordelia once the door fell shut.
“But I’m even more furious at Oliver for manipulating my love and trust in him for his own ends.
” She fisted her hands to keep them from shaking.
“It seems that he, along with his co-conspirators Mademoiselle Benoit and Mrs. Guppy, saw a way to use us to get their hands on what they thought were Milton’s papers. ”
“Perhaps,” responded Wrexford. “Be that as it may, we will soon have two women under confinement, and I will send word to Griffin that Carrick is loose in London. He’s had his chance to be forthright with us, and now it’s time to let the proper authorities handle the question of whether he is guilty or innocent. ”
He moved to his desk. “But there is still a missing piece to this damnable puzzle.”
A piece that he had been pushing around in his mind, trying to see its contours and where it fit in.
“Carrick could not have been the one who fired the pistol shot that ignited the mayhem in which Mercer Wayland, Monsieur Montaigne, and the French radical were killed,” he continued.
“And I just had an interesting conversation with Ezra Wheeler. He was attacked by footpads that same evening while returning home from a late-night soiree given for the conference attendees. So it would seem that someone is trying to do away with all of the members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society. It could be that Carrick has an accomplice—”
“Wrex,” interrupted Charlotte. “In light of that possibility, you need to hear what Peregrine recounted to Cordelia and me. Let me go fetch him. It’s best you hear the account in his own words.”
She returned shortly, and just as the earl suspected, Raven and Hawk had insisted on accompanying their fellow Weasel.
Catching his eye, Charlotte gave an apologetic shrug. “There seemed little point in telling them they couldn’t be part of the meeting.”
“Oiy,” added Raven. “Falcon would simply tell us everything.”
“Sit quietly,” commanded Wrexford. “And that goes for you, too,” he said as Harper padded in after the boys.
Charlotte flashed an encouraging smile at Peregrine. “Tell Wrex what you witnessed at Eton.”
The earl listened without interruption and then asked a few follow-up questions.
“A Frenchman,” he mused. “That certainly does raise some unsettling questions.”
“I am unclear about something,” said Charlotte, once the earl had finished. “Why does a school for elite young gentlemen teach drawing and not mathematics or any scientific subject?”
“Because,” answered Wrexford, “the ability to create a credible piece of art is considered the mark of a true connoisseur of civilized culture. The normal rite of passage for an aristocratic young man is to take the Grand Tour through Europe to acquire gentlemanly polish, and the ability to draw the exquisite ancient ruins that he observes in a city like Rome or Florence garners much admiration among his peers.”
He made a face. “While the more practical skills of mathematics and science carry a whiff of the working classes.”
“Then why did Eton hire someone who knows nothing about the subject?” mused Charlotte.
“A good question,” he answered. “We need to track down the former drawing master and inquire as to how a replacement was chosen.” A pause. “And we need to learn more about Mr. Valencourt.”
But before he could begin to formulate any sort of plan, an out-of-breath Sheffield rushed into the room.
“I’ve found him!” he exclaimed. “I’ve found the linchpin of proving Oliver Carrick’s innocence!”
For a moment, everyone in the room stared at him in dumbfounded silence. And then Cordelia burst into tears. “I-Impossible! Oliver arranged another clever ruse and slipped away this afternoon. Which is a far more eloquent admission of guilt than any words.”
Stunned, Sheffield looked to Wrexford for confirmation.
“It’s true, Kit,” offered Charlotte. “Mademoiselle Benoit deliberately distracted us long enough for him to leave the house unseen.”
“What—or rather, who—did you discover?” pressed Wrexford, curious to know what had Sheffield so certain that he had solved the mystery.
“The identity of O-C—the letters written in blood by Kendall Garfield to identify his killer.”
Cordelia’s eyes flared wide, hope warring with despair.
“Explain yourself,” urged Wrexford.
“I arranged to meet with some of the supervisors in charge of the Bristol Road Project, who are in Town to attend the transportation conference,” said Sheffield.
“My aim was to learn more about how they hire bridge engineers for the various sections of the route, and who among them are considered the best of the group. It’s a massive undertaking, and a number of sites are being worked on at the same time, as the road experts survey the terrain and map out the exact route. ”
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and took a moment to read its content. “Three of the current bridge sites are considered the most challenging. Milton was in charge of the most difficult one. Carrick and a man named Jonathan Edwards were contracted for a design near the town of Bray.”
He looked up, a flash of grim satisfaction lighting his face despite Cordelia’s earlier assertion. “And the third site was given to Brendan O’Connor, who has garnered acclaim in the scientific world for his work in bridging difficult terrain in the coal country of Wales.”
“O-C,” observed the earl. “But what makes you think that he’s a more likely suspect than Oliver Carrick?”
Sheffield smiled. “The fact that his father was involved in the outlawed Society of United Irishmen, a radical republican group that advocated independence for Ireland.”
“Ye gods,” whispered Charlotte.
“It gets even more damning,” said Sheffield.
“The Society of United Irishmen formed close ties with the revolutionary government in France during its first clashes with our country at the end of the last century. And together they came up with the plan for France to send a large expeditionary force to Ireland to help expel the British.”
“The planned landing at Bantry Bay in December 1796,” intoned Charlotte.
“Which ended in utter failure,” replied Wrexford. “It was one of the stormiest winters on record. A number of the French ships foundered, and a great many lives were lost.”
“O’Connor’s father was arrested and died in prison, and his mother succumbed to illness a short while later,” explained Sheffield.
“He went to live with relatives in Scotland—by the by, I know all of this because Tyler happened to know of him and his background—and then attended the university at St. Andrews, which is where he studied mathematics and science.”
“So, O’Connor has a good reason to have a grudge against Britain and feel a kinship with the French radicals and their desire to see Napoleon restored to power,” observed the earl.
“He’s built an admirable career for himself within the world of road and bridge construction, with no hint of any trouble concerning his personal life,” said Sheffield. “But of course, we need to dig deeper and see what dark secrets he may be hiding.”
“We have already discovered a dark secret relating to Eton, thanks to Peregrine, who just told us about some suspicious activity he witnessed at the school.” Wrexford went on to explain about the French drawing master, as well as what the boy had seen and heard.