CHAPTER 9
“Thank heavens,” muttered Charlotte on hearing a brusque knock and then the sound of voices in the entrance foyer. Shooting up from her work chair, she then hurried down the stairs.
“At last! You’ve finally arrived,” she called to Wrexford.
“Had I realized that ‘tea’ was a precise time, I would have acted accordingly,” drawled the earl as he shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to McClellan. “If you were thirsty, you should have started without me.”
“Please, sir, this is no time for jesting,” she chided, gesturing for him to enter the parlor. “Given all that has occurred since last we met, we have some very serious matters to discuss.”
A flicker of emotion—was it guilt?—seemed to darken his eyes, but he turned away too quickly for her to be sure.
“I assure you, it wasn’t my idea,” he responded. “Though I suppose I should have realized it was a possibility.”
Charlotte felt a frisson of alarm. She had no idea what he meant. But she had a sinking suspicion that she wasn’t going to like it when the truth was pried out of him.
After following him into the parlor, she shut the door behind her. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Wrexford settled himself in one of the armchairs and carefully crossed one booted leg over the other. “Never mind. It’s not important—”
“Bollocks,” she snapped, moving to the sofa and taking a seat facing him. “If we’ve learned one thing from our previous brushes with violent death, it’s that holding back information is bloody dangerous.”
Her words chased the trace of wry humor from the earl’s chiseled features. “I wasn’t intending on holding anything back,” he replied, waggling the roll of papers he was carrying. “I was simply waiting for McClellan to bring in the refreshments so I could sweeten you up.”
A clench of foreboding tightened her chest. “As you know, sir, I don’t take sugar in my tea. So you might as well spit it out.”
The earl shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure you don’t wish to have one of McClellan’s ginger biscuits before we continue? They’re remarkably good.”
“I’m quite familiar with her cooking,” replied Charlotte, finding it impossible to stay angry.
They had been through too much together, she realized, for her to ever doubt the elemental bond of trust that twined them together.
“Whatever you have to tell me, it can’t be that bad.
When I saw the boys at breakfast, they didn’t appear to be missing any limbs. ”
He made a face. “Well, it’s a good thing that I found the Weasels this past evening, rather than the night watchman.
Else they, along with their partner in crime, might be locked up in Newgate, waiting for a ship to transport them to the penal colonies in the South Pacific for breaking into a private residence. ”
Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant. “Woodbridge’s townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“I should have guessed some mischief was afoot,” she muttered. “They were far too eager to retire to their aerie and do their schoolwork.”
“Instead, they and Sheffield decided to search for clues as to what troubles have ensnared Lady Cordelia and her brother,” he said.
“And you found them—”
“I found them because the same thought had occurred to me,” explained Wrexford. “Don’t ring too sharp a peal over their heads. I think they did it in part to make sure Kit didn’t make a mull of it. He doesn’t have our experience in illegal activities.”
That made her laugh.
“Be that as it may,” he went on, “we did discover some intriguing clues in the townhouse. And that’s only part of it. However, I think it best that I start at the beginning . . .”
A knock made him hesitate.
“Tea and biscuits,” announced McClellan, shouldering the door open and bustling in to place the tray on the low table between Wrexford and Charlotte. “I took the liberty of not adding any knives to the tray.”
“The earl and I have ceased cutting up at each other,” said Charlotte, then added a sigh. “It seems I need to have a discussion with Raven and Hawk about deception, no matter that their recent actions broke no direct order.”
“Hmmph. I feared as much,” muttered McClellan as she poured two cups of tea and passed them around. “No ginger biscuits for the Weasels until further notice.”
Charlotte cocked an ear. “I trust they’re not hovering in the shadows. The earl and I have matters to discuss that I prefer they don’t overhear.”
The maid shook her head. “They went off a short while ago to take a crock of beef broth to Skinny, who has a touch of catarrh.”
“Dear heavens! He’s ill?” Charlotte felt a stab of guilt. Raven and Hawk’s little band of urchin friends had become very dear to her. She had been meaning to think about their future, but her own life had been turning topsy-turvy of late....
A poor excuse, and she knew it.
“I should go—”
“You and the earl concentrate on whatever conundrum you’re facing,” interrupted McClellan. “I’ll make sure Skinny comes to no grief.”
“Thank you,” she said, though guilt still prickled at her conscience.
As the maid slipped from the room without further comment, Charlotte remained staring down at her lap, where her hands had knotted together. When she finally looked up, she found the earl watching her, his expression creased in concern.
“You can’t save every homeless child in London, Lady Charlotte,” he said softly.
“I know that.” Their eyes met. “But they are our friends, Wrexford. I can’t—”
“We can’t,” he corrected. “And we won’t. I promise you that. But McClellan is right. We’ve got a daunting mystery to unravel that affects some of our other friends. Let us solve that one first while she keeps an eye on our raggle-taggle urchins.”
In the face of Wrexford’s steady calm, all her churning worries suddenly melted away.
I promise. Two simple words, and yet they resonated right down to the depth of her marrow. She knew that for all his faults, he would never break his pledge.
“Very well. Let’s get back to the question of what unholy mayhem is afoot.” She straightened her spine and smoothed out her skirts. “You were about to tell me there’s more to your tale than the illegal entry into Woodbridge’s townhouse.”
“Much more.” Wrexford proceeded to explain about Griffin’s visit, the new information about the murder victim’s connection to a private bank, and the surprising revelation of Sheffield and Cordelia’s business partnership.
“Ye gods,” she whispered. “I—”
“I haven’t yet finished,” he said quickly before she could go on. “During our search of Woodbridge’s townhouse, we discovered some drawings in Lady Cordelia’s study.” Pushing the tray and unfinished cups of tea to one side, the earl unfurled the roll of papers.
Charlotte took her time in looking through them. “It looks like the design for a . . . a machine of some sort,” she ventured once she was done.
“Yes,” agreed Wrexford. “As to what it’s for, Kit and I paid a visit earlier today to William Hedley, a scientific colleague at the Royal Institution whose specialty is engineering industrial innovations. He thinks there’s a possibility it’s meant to perform mathematical calculations.”
Charlotte was suddenly aware of a throbbing at the back of her skull. None of this was making any sense. “But why would Lady Cordelia want a machine to calculate numbers? She does them so easily in her head.”
Wrexford’s expression turned grim. “At this point, I’d rather not speculate. I do wonder, however, whether you’ve ever heard her express an interest in anything mechanical.”
“No, never,” replied Charlotte.
“I know she’s a member of a group of Bluestockings, who meet regularly to discuss intellectual topics. You’ve attended several of their soirees with Lady Peake. Have you ever heard any of the other ladies bring up the subject of mechanical innovation or the term automata?”
“Again, no. However, I’m not privy to every conversation that goes on during those evenings.” She thought for a moment about what he had just said. “Doesn’t automata refer to a type of fancy mechanical toy?”
“Mr. Hedley would chide you for calling them that,” said Wrexford.
“Granted, they are often constructed as entertainment for the wealthy. But advanced technical skills and innovative engineering are required to produce them. So, when I pressed Hedley on whether he knew any mathematician who also possessed mechanical expertise, he mentioned a reclusive Cambridge professor with a passion for automata.”
Charlotte edged forward on the sofa. “You think Lady Cordelia and her brother may have taken refuge with him?”
“It seems possible, and right now, it’s the only clue we have.
I’ve asked Tyler to make some inquiries about the professor among certain friends of his.
I should know more by tomorrow.” He slowly released his breath in a harried sigh.
“In the meantime, I’m meeting with Sheffield tonight to discuss what was in the documents he found in Woodbridge’s desk. ”
A pause. “And to hear his explanation of why he felt compelled to hide the fact that he’s involved in a business venture with Lady Cordelia.”
Charlotte didn’t blame him for sounding apprehensive. Much as she liked Cordelia, something about all of this felt wrong.
“I don’t claim to have any expertise in mathematics, but to me, nothing is adding up right,” she said. “And you’ve yet to hear what I’ve learned. You and the boys weren’t the only ones doing some nocturnal sleuthing last night.”
His expression turned even more troubled.
“I paid a visit to one of my sources around Queen’s Landing—”
A growl rumbled in Wrexford’s throat.