CHAPTER 28 #2
“Do have a seat,” continued Fenway, indicating a pair of leather armchairs by the hearth.
The glow of the banked coals warmed the dark burgundy hues of the oriental carpet to mellower shades of red.
He poured two glasses of amber-colored brandy and passed one to Wrexford.
“Mr. Wheeler indicated that you might wish to speak with me, though he did not elaborate.”
“Is Wheeler not still here?”
“No.” Fenway settled into his seat and clicked open the cedarwood box on the side table beside his chair. “Would you care for a cigar or cheroot?”
“Thank you, but not at the moment.” Wrexford took a sip of brandy, which was indeed superb.
“Wheeler has kindly consented to take over a bridge project for crossing the River Thames at Dorney Reach, and so is spending a few days at the site in order to give me his assessment of when the work can be finished,” explained the provost. “He has also agreed to investigate why a smaller bridge just a stone’s throw from here is taking so long to complete. ”
“I imagine a grand undertaking like the Bristol Road Project has a great many complex logistics to oversee.”
“That is putting it mildly, milord. But I don’t imagine you came here to discuss my problems.”
Though we will touch on them shortly, thought Wrexford.
“Please tell me your concerns,” went on Fenway, “and what it is that I can do to be of help.”
Wrexford had already decided not to dance in circles around his reasons for requesting the meeting. “I am hoping that you might identify the men you feel are the best bridge designers involved in the Bristol Road Project,” he replied. “And who among them might be capable of murder.”
“Murder? Good heavens, what a question.” Fenway set down his glass. “I assume this has something to do with the demise of Jasper Milton?”
“It does. I have reason to believe that Milton was killed by someone who understood the implications of his work in revolutionizing the design of bridges so that they could be built to cross longer distances and support heavier loads. Like many of us in the scientific community, Milton believed that locomotives will soon be the mainstay of moving goods and people around the country,” said Wrexford.
“Needless to say, his innovation would be worth a great deal—patents, a construction company trained to employ the new methods of building—”
“Not to speak of consulting fees,” interjected Fenway. “I can think of a number of foreign powers who would pay dearly for an engineering consortium to oversee the construction of major thoroughfares to connect their cities, ports, and farmlands.”
“Yes, I imagine the potential for profit is astounding.” Wrexford paused. “Africa, India, the Far East—much of the world is fertile ground for change.”
“I agree, milord.’ A furrow creased Fenway’s brows. “However, as head of the commission in charge of overseeing the building of a network of roads and bridges connecting London with the port of Bristol, I have little personal contact with the individuals hired to create the various components.”
“It’s my understanding that no more than a half dozen bridge experts have the credentials to work on the major bridges your commission has planned,” pressed Wrexford.
“I don’t doubt that you are right,” responded the provost with an apologetic grimace. “But I can’t say for sure.”
“Yes, but I imagine that you have had talks with your senior supervisors in which they’ve discussed the strengths and weaknesses of the men with whom they are working,” replied the earl.
Fenway considered the suggestion for several long moments. “Are you interested in anyone in particular?”
“Brendan O’Connor.” Wrexford was not about to reveal the secret that Napoleon might be plotting to return to power. “Though I am not at liberty to reveal why.”
“I will trust that you have a good reason for that, Lord Wrexford,” replied the provost. “I’m afraid that I can’t tell you anything about O’Connor at this moment, but I shall make some inquiries and inform you of anything that I learn.”
“I am much obliged.”
Fenway rose and, after adding a chunk of coal to the fire, refilled the earl’s glass. “Now, perhaps we might turn the conversation to more pleasant topics.”
“As to that, I’m afraid that I have another unsettling issue to raise before we do so.”
“Oh?”
“It, too, concerns the Bristol Road Project,” said the earl.
“I’m perplexed by your interest in this monumental undertaking to improve transportation.” A note of annoyance had crept into the provost’s voice. “Especially as it’s an undertaking that has nothing to do with your scientific interests.”
“Allow me to explain.”
In thinking over all that they had learned over the past few days, Wrexford had decided to take the bull by the horns in order to protect Sheffield from any consequences of being the bearer of bad tidings. He knew how much the position on the commission meant to his friend.
While I don’t give a rat’s arse as to whether I make an enemy of Lord Fenway, the earl added to himself.
“It concerns the subject of bribes.” But before he could go on, the provost suddenly rose.
“Please excuse me for a moment.” Fenway moved to the door—rather stiffly, noted Wrexford—and left the room.
The crackling of the coals seemed to take on a sharper edge. Powerful gentlemen were used to people bowing and scraping before them. Their pride was easily offended.
Wrexford watched a tiny flame suddenly flare to life in the hearth.
So be it.
Fenway returned and resumed his seat. He appeared to have mastered his initial ire and regained his composure. “So, kindly tell me about this unsettling issue. If something is amiss, of course I wish to know about it.”
“In the course of investigating possible suspects for the murder of Jasper Milton,” said the earl, “I have uncovered other information and have reason to believe there is an organized system of corruption regarding the process of awarding contracts for the various components of the project—”
“T-That’s preposterous!” exclaimed Fenway.
“I’m afraid that I have evidence to the contrary,” replied the earl.
Fenway’s face turned ashen. “W-Who?”
“I have not yet discovered that,” answered Wrexford.
“I cannot understand . . .” The provost shook his head in disbelief. “H-How did you come to discover this? Are there others who know of it?”
“As of now, I am the only one who knows about it.” Wrexford wasn’t about to reveal the fact that others were involved. The less said about his inner circle of family and friends, the better. “I am sure that you will wish to deal with this discreetly.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Fenway drew in a measured breath, and then reached for his cigar box. “Forgive me, but I must . . .”
“Of course,” murmured the earl.
He looked away to the carved bookshelves and the rows of ornate leatherbound volumes with their gilt-stamped spines, allowing the provost a moment of privacy in which to master his emotions.
A low cough drew his gaze back . . . only to find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.