CHAPTER 27 #2
“Given that O’Connor is working for the Bristol Road Project.
. . and given that Lord Fenway, the provost of Eton, is head of the commission that oversees the project,” he concluded, “we need to pursue this lead and see if we can uncover any link between O’Connor and the new drawing master at Eton. ”
The earl glanced at Cordelia. “That would certainly shift suspicion away from Carrick.”
“Perhaps the pieces of the puzzle are finally beginning to fit together,” suggested Sheffield.
“A plausible scenario is that the two villains have Milton’s papers and are trying to steal proprietary information concerning construction plans for road building and other techniques that they can also sell to the Russians. ”
“Let us be careful about jumping to conclusions,” cautioned Wrexford.
“Tyler should be returning shortly. Perhaps he can do some asking around among his various contacts in the slums and see if he can sniff out a connection,” replied Sheffield.
“We need to do so quickly,” mused the earl. “The authorities have been embarrassed by their failure to apprehend a suspect for the murder. Once Griffin gets his hands on Carrick, they will want the wheels of justice to spin swiftly.”
“No matter whether they have arrested the right man or not,” observed Charlotte.
The sun was settling beneath the horizon, taking with it the last rays of light. The shadows deepened within the workroom.
She hugged her arms to her chest and turned for the door. “Let us head to the dining room and have Mac order up a simple supper. Then I suggest we all get some much-needed rest and reconvene in the morning. In the light of a new day, perhaps the way forward will appear a bit clearer.”
* * *
By some unspoken agreement, they talked quietly of mundane things over the informal meal—news from friends traveling abroad, the renovations of the manor house on Cordelia and Sheffield’s estate, a new art exhibit opening next week at the Royal Academy—rather than the investigation.
Sensing the mood, the Weasels were unnaturally subdued and excused themselves from the table as soon as their plates were empty.
“They must be ill,” quipped McClellan as a maid cleared the table and then rolled in the tea trolley. “They didn’t wait for the platter of ginger biscuits.”
Charlotte smiled, appreciating the maid’s efforts to add a note of levity to the proceedings.
“I think I shall forgo any sweets as well,” announced Cordelia as she stood up.
Sheffield pushed back his chair, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, you stay and enjoy a postprandial whisky with the others. I—I simply wish to take a short stroll in the back garden for a breath of fresh air.”
He hesitated, but after glancing up at her face, he gave a small nod. “Of course.”
“She needs some time alone to sort out her emotions,” counseled Charlotte after Cordelia had left the room. She thought back to her own fraught past and a shocking discovery about her late husband. “It’s difficult to come to grips with the fact that a loved one has been hiding a terrible secret.”
“Yes, it does seem likely that Carrick has left a trail of murdered friends.” Sheffield’s voice held a note of hope that she would contradict him.
But alas, she couldn’t make herself lie.
“And yet, why did he run away just now?” mused Wrexford. “We had accepted his word that he was innocent. He must have known that fleeing would force us to think the worst.”
“You’re right. It makes no sense,” agreed Charlotte. “But something must have triggered his actions.”
Another mystery.
“That would be a logical surmise. But logic has proven elusive in this investigation.” Wrexford rose. “I’ll fetch the whisky and four glasses from the parlor.”
“Make that five.” Tyler removed his hat as he entered the dining room and tossed it on the sideboard before coming to an abrupt halt. “Why the long faces? Has something else happened?”
Charlotte told him about Carrick’s disappearance and Peregrine’s account of the suspicious activities at Eton.
“Eton,” muttered Tyler, once she had finished. He looked to Sheffield. “When you and I parted, I continued to make inquiries about O’Connor. I dug up no dirt on him, but in the process I uncovered some other unsettling information on the Bristol Road Project—”
“Whose commissioner is the provost of Eton,” observed Sheffield as Wrexford returned to the room.
“What unsettling information?” asked the earl, as he passed out the libations.
* * *
“There appears to be a pattern of corruption within the bidding process for securing a contract to work on one of the many parts of the project,” answered Tyler. “Word is, one must pay a hefty bribe if one wishes to be chosen.”
“Bloody hell, both Garfield and Carrick mentioned that as a reason why Milton decided to give his innovation to the French radicals. But I thought Milton had been swayed by mere rumors or innuendo,” said Sheffield. “Lord Fenway will be appalled to learn of this.”
He frowned. “Who is responsible for this nefarious scheme?”
“The people I talked with were too frightened to give me a name,” replied the valet. “I will keep trying.”
“Fenway is a stickler for propriety,” muttered Sheffield. “He needs to know of this right away.”
“Give me another day or two,” said Tyler. “It would be better to go to him with actual names, not just word of mouth.”
“He’s right, Kit. You are new to the commission.
Making an unfounded accusation that turns out to be false would not make a good impression,” counseled Wrexford.
“The fact is, it does not reflect well on Fenway that this all happened right under his nose. So even if the information turns out to be accurate, he won’t thank you for being the one to bring it to his attention. ”
Sheffield nodded in understanding. “But the truth is the truth, so once it’s confirmed, I can’t in good conscience stay silent.”
Wrexford chuffed a sardonic laugh. “A conscience is a cursed encumbrance.”
“But we all appear to be stuck with one.” Charlotte smothered a yawn as she rose. “At the moment, however, mine is demanding a night of rest before we jump back into the fray.”
“As is mine,” said Sheffield. “I shall bid you good night here and fetch Cordelia from the garden. We shall let ourselves out.”
Tyler and McClellan followed him to the stairs. Charlotte lingered, waiting until she and Wrexford were alone before leaning down and feathering a kiss to his cheek. “Are you coming?”
He lifted his glass and swirled the remaining whisky. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Closing his eyes, he let the silence wrap around him, allowing his thoughts to spin round and round, and then fall into their own order. Logic was all very well, but he had learned from Charlotte that intuition was an equally powerful force.
After savoring the last swallow of Scottish malt, Wrexford extinguished the lamp flames and lit a candle before heading upstairs. But as he stepped into the shadowed corridor, he found the three boys waiting for him.
“Wrex,” said Raven. “We have an idea . . .”