CHAPTER 20 #3
Overhead, the scrim of clouds had blown off to reveal a crescent moon, but the here-and-there glimmer of stars did little to lighten the skeins of vapor swirling in the alleyway.
Charlotte turned up her coat collar to ward off the damp-fingered gusts.
It was low tide, and the stench of decay deepened her sense of failure.
Mather, and now Annie . . .
Shallowing her breathing, she hesitated as the narrow passageway opened onto a lane leading over to Ratcliff Highway. Turning left would take her home, while turning right . . .
She decided there was nothing to lose by paying a call on Squid, her dockland informant. His tavern was a squalid hellhole, but despite his untidy habits, he was surprisingly observant and his information was usually accurate.
Her special knock drew a quick answer.
“Come in, Magpie. What shiny little baubles of dirt are ye seeking tonight?” A flash of yellowed teeth and a rumbled laugh at his own witticism. “Whatever yer seeking, I’m always happy te oblige.” He leered. “Including me.”
In no mood to banter, Charlotte stepped inside and jingled the purse in her pocket. “Annie Wright seems to have disappeared. Any idea of where she’s gone?”
The clink of coins brought Squid to full alert. “Oiy, I heard she’s scarpered.” He thought for a moment. “Kat thought she mitta seen her get into a hackney wiv a fancy cove, but she couldn’t say fer sure it was Annie. Ye want me te ask around?”
Could it have been Mather who had taken Annie away? she wondered.
“Ask Kat if she can describe the cove she saw,” replied Charlotte. “But do it very quietly. And don’t share the information with anyone else.”
Squid mimed locking his lips.
Preoccupied with her own brooding, she gave a wordless nod and turned to let herself out.
“Wait, I just remembered sommink!”
Charlotte looked around.
“Alice the Eel Girl stopped by here looking fer ye yesterday afternoon. Said te tell ye if I saw ye.” He grimaced. “But she wouldn’t tell me why.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a coin. Candlelight winked off the shiny metal as it spun through the air. “That’s because, like you, Alice knows on which side her bread is buttered.”
The door fell shut on his rusty chuckle, stirring a quiver of the thick fog. Swearing under her breath, Charlotte punched in frustration at the silvery vapor. Alice wouldn’t be at her post until after dawn.
Yet another precious few hours for the trail of Annie Wright to grow colder.
* * *
It appeared that Mather had indeed left Town, for he couldn’t be found at any of his usual haunts.
Wrexford and Sheffield left a gaming hell off St. James’s Square known for its deep play—which might explain why the young banker was willing to sell Woodbridge and Peabody to the devil—and split up to try a few other possibilities.
Sheffield headed to the stews of St. Giles, while Wrexford decided to check the cardroom at White’s.
But no luck. The only gamesters were a group of elderly members playing whist for a penny a point.
Frustration quickening his steps, the earl cut through the main reading room, where the crackling coals in the massive hearth cast a whisky-gold glow over the dark leather armchairs arrayed near the fire. They were empty, save for a lone figure studying the sheaf of papers in his lap.
Light winked off his spectacles as the gentleman looked up. “Ah, Wrexford.” A flick of his fingers indicated a bottle on the drinks table. “You appear in a hurry. Otherwise, I’d invite you to help me polish off a very fine port.”
The earl paused and pivoted. “There’s always time to savor the good things in life, Copley.”
“A sentiment not always associated with you,” said the baron as Wrexford took a seat beside him. “You’ve a reputation for having little patience, especially for those who can’t keep pace with your way of thinking.”
“True. I don’t suffer fools gladly,” he agreed, accepting a glass of the spirits from the baron. “But I like to think I appreciate excellence and creativity, no matter what form they take.”
Copley cocked a small salute. “Then let us drink to the times in which we live. There is much excellence and creativity taking shape around us. It is an exciting era, and one that will shape a very different world in the years to come, as old ways are eclipsed by new ones.”
Wrexford took a sip of his wine. “I, too, can’t help but remark that your sentiments might surprise many. As someone who runs a very large and profitable company that is facing changes to its way of doing business, I would expect you to favor old ways over new ones.”
“One must innovate—and sometimes improvise—if one wants to stay ahead of the competition. The world is going to change, whether we like it or not. I prefer not to be left in the dust.”
Copley clearly possessed a sharp intellect and an analytical mind unafraid of assessing challenging ideas. Which begged the question . . .
Is he too clever?
A chuffed laugh sounded in response to the earl’s silence. “Forgive my odd musings. I’ve been immersed in my papers for the past few hours, which has put me in a reflective mood.”
Catching a glimpse of numbers on the top page of the baron’s pile, Wrexford replied, “It can’t be easy trying to navigate through the new waters created by the Charter Act.”
A smile. “One must stay constantly alert to which way the winds are blowing.” The baron refilled his glass and offered the bottle to the earl.
He declined, and then replied, “Innovation and the ability to improvise are admirable traits. Unless, of course, they tempt one to bend the rules to stay ahead of the competition.”
Copley took a long swallow of his wine. “Are you still concerned about Henry Peabody’s murder?”
“No,” Wrexford answered. “It’s just that I heard a curious rumor recently about another past employee of the East India Company. Were you acquainted with a gentleman by the name of Fenwick Alston while you were in India?”
“Indeed. I worked with him in Calcutta.” Copley let out a mournful sigh. “He was extremely talented, but alas, he allowed greed to cloud his judgment.”
“So, the rumors of financial irregularities are true?”
“Yes. He began altering cargo manifests in order to take some of the goods to sell for himself. The discrepancies were discovered,” explained the baron. “Alston was allowed to quietly resign and leave the country. A public scandal was not in the interest of the Company or the family.”
“Have you any idea where Alston is now?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Copley made a face. “To be honest, it’s an incident I preferred to forget. I consider it a failing that I didn’t spot the problem sooner.”
“We all make mistakes,” said Wrexford. He fingered his empty glass, feeling even more unsettled.
Hero or villain? Or simply a clever man of business taking advantage of the opportunities in a changing world?
“Thank you for your candor. And for the excellent wine.” The earl rose. “I’ll leave you to your numbers. May they all add up correctly.”