CHAPTER 9 #2
“Kindly refrain from comment until I’m finished, sir,” she chided.
“You need to hear this.” His jaw tightened, and taking that as signal of surrender, she continued.
“From my source, I, too, learned of the murder victim’s connection to C.
Hoare & Co. through his cousin, the Honorable David Mather, as well as the fact that the two men often met at a tavern near the dockyards.
I paid it a visit and struck up a conversation with one of the regular denizens. ”
Another growl, which she ignored.
“From him I learned yet another interesting fact. The murder victim was apparently close to one of the barmaids there. And she was too frightened to speak to Bow Street when they came to make inquiries,” explained Charlotte.
“Her name is Annie Wright. I followed her to her lodgings in one of the rookeries off Tench Street, near Wapping Docks, and reconnoitered the area.” She paused and then added, “However, I decided to speak with you first before I make contact with her.”
To her surprise, Wrexford remained silent.
Charlotte waited, watching his face through her lowered lashes. She had learned to read the subtle signs of his moods. That his expression was undecipherable didn’t bode well. Leaning back, she waited for whatever explosion was coming.
“The dockyards are a notoriously dangerous area.” His voice was mild—another bad sign. “But, of course, you know that. Just as you know that asking questions pertaining to a murder makes it an even more dangerous place.”
“I went in the guise of Magpie, who has a great deal of skill and experience at uncovering secrets in the worst hellholes of London.”
“It takes only one tiny slip to get your bloody throat cut,” he replied.
“I know the rules of stews, Wrexford,” responded Charlotte. “Probably better than you do.”
“Somehow, that’s not overly comforting.” He looked away to the shadows lurking beyond the mullioned windows. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d forbid you to seek out Annie Wright.”
“Nothing about murder is comforting, milord. But as it seems likely this one is entangled with the troubles of our friends, you can’t very well expect me to ignore it,” she said. “So it’s a good thing you have no authority to tell me what I may and may not do.”
His gaze betrayed a flicker of emotion as he turned back to face her. It was gone in an instant, and yet its fire left a strange prickling on her flesh.
“I would hope you know me well enough to trust that I would never exercise such authority.” Though his tone was carefully controlled, Charlotte heard the note of hurt shading his words. “Even if it were mine to wield.”
“Forgive me, Wrexford,” she whispered. “That was badly done of me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “With all the recent changes in my life, I fear . . . I fear that I may lose a grip on who I really am.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Your true self is woven into every fiber of your being—your conscience, your passions, your compassion, your sense of justice.”
Her throat tightened as Charlotte sought for a reply. “I think you have more confidence in me than I have in myself,” she finally managed to say.
This time, the silence between them had no sharp edges. A soft rustling stirred the air as they resettled themselves in their seats. When their eyes met again, they smiled.
“Well, I suppose we had better get back to the matter at hand,” said Charlotte briskly. “And try to figure whether the pieces of information we’ve uncovered are all part of the same puzzle.”
“Logic seems to dictate that there are two steps for us to take next,” replied the earl.
“We need to learn more about Professor Sudler, and whether Lady Cordelia and her brother have taken refuge with him. And we need to ascertain whether the murder at Queen’s Landing and any information that Annie Wright possesses are connected to our friends. ”
“That makes sense,” said Charlotte. “However, we must also face the question of what to tell Sheffield.” A sigh. “The line between discretion and deception is, I fear, a very muddled one.”
Wrexford’s grunt signaled agreement.
She cleared her throat. “I have a thought . . .”
“Which I would greatly welcome,” he responded.
“As we agreed the other night, we can’t hold anything back about our efforts to find Lady Cordelia,” she offered.
“However, until we uncover evidence that she and her brother have any link to the murder, other than the fact that Hoare’s Bank handles their finances, I think we can, in good conscience, leave that part of our investigation unmentioned. ”
“Some might say that we are parsing morality with a very sharp blade,” observed Wrexford with a sardonic twitch of his brows. “But like you, I have a healthy regard for pragmatism.”
“Excellent,” murmured Charlotte. “Though I expect we will argue over how to deal with Annie Wright.”
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me accompany you?”
“You cut a very imposing figure, sir. Even disguised in shabby clothing, there’s no way for you to go unnoticed in the stews.”
He didn’t argue.
“If it would put your mind at ease, I suppose I could ask Raven and Hawk to shadow me—”
“Let us leave the Weasels out of this part of the investigation,” counseled Wrexford. “If even you and I are wrestling with the complexities of friendship and loyalty, imagine what Raven is feeling. We ought not to put him between a rock and a stone.”
It was an astute observation, and one that showed softer sentiments lay hidden beneath his outward show of snaps and snarls.
Holding back a smile—she didn’t wish to spoil the moment by making some teasing comment—Charlotte merely nodded. “Then you’ll simply have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
She rose and began to reroll the mechanical drawings.
“I have a dratted engagement to attend, an evening musical soiree at Lady Becton’s residence with Alison.
I would consider crying off, but she feels it’s important for me to attend a few more social events to ensure my acceptance in the beau monde.
And it may prove useful, as several of Lady Cordelia’s friends from Lady Thirkell’s Bluestocking salon will also be attending, which will allow me to probe as to her mechanical interests. ”
The papers crackled. “But after that, I shall go to the dockyards and make contact with Annie Wright,” added Charlotte. “Whatever she is hiding, she’ll soon learn that secrets, no matter how carefully guarded, have a way of slipping out.”
* * *
Secrets. Wrexford watched as Charlotte deftly tucked the ends of the protective oilskin around the roll, masking what lay beneath the cloth.
She was, he mused, a master of the shadowy world of secrets. For years her survival had depended on her skills at hide-and-seek. No one was better at ferreting out the truth behind rumors and whispers. Just as no one was better at keeping others from knowing her own dark vulnerabilities.
Until lately.
And though the revelations had been voluntary, Wrexford sensed that she wasn’t entirely at peace with herself over the momentous decision of stepping back into the beau monde.
He worried that she might become reckless during the coming investigation to prove to herself that her passion for justice hadn’t been smothered in the costly silks and satins of her new life.
It was absurd, of course. Charlotte was Charlotte. Steel would snap if it sought to bend her convictions.
But we all have our inner demons, he thought as he, too, got to his feet. And they are what we see when we stare into the looking glass.
“Is something wrong, Wrexford?” asked Charlotte as she offered him the wrapped drawings. “You have a very peculiar look on your face.”
“Perhaps that’s because you scare me to death.”
Surprise spasmed across her features, followed by a flicker of emotion to which he couldn’t give a name.
“Oh, come, nothing scares you, least of all me.” She said it lightly, though her gaze held a shadow of uncertainty.
“I’m the one plagued by fears and self-doubts.
It’s your unshakable steadiness in the face of life’s slings and arrows that gives me the courage to face the challenges. ”
“Steady?” Wrexford couldn’t hold back a mocking laugh. “I’m the mercurial Moon—the cover of darkness hides a multitude of sins. While you’re the Sun, who’s not afraid to shine your light on every shadow, no matter how terrifying.”
He heard her hitch in a breath. Was he making an utter fool of himself? Somehow he didn’t care.
He put down the roll of papers. “Promise me you will be careful.” Drawing her into his arms, he held himself very still, hardly daring to breathe as he brought her close and felt the beat of her heart thump against his chest. I’m not sure how I would bear the darkness without your light, he added to himself.
“Wrexford.” Charlotte’s voice was muffled as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and slid her hands around his waist.
Thump-thump.
“So you see, my weaknesses far outweigh my strengths.”
“As do mine,” she said.
Thump-thump.
Charlotte shifted, just enough to angle her eyes up to meet his. Their smoke-blue hue shimmered like quicksilver in the deepening shadows. “Do you think I don’t worry about you?” she asked. “You have come to be a rather . . . a rather large presence in my life.”
“The past has proven that you manage extraordinarily well on your own,” he said softly.
“That,” said Charlotte, “doesn’t mean that it would make me happy to do so in the future.” She stepped back abruptly, her fingers twining with his for a fleeting moment before releasing them.
The future. He hesitated, but then, uncertain of how to reply, he simply said, “Now isn’t the time to talk about the future.
For the present, we need to concentrate on protecting our friends.
So let us both promise to be careful. I fear this cursed web of intrigue will only turn more tangled, and God only knows what malicious spiders are lurking in its strands. ”