CHAPTER 25
“Thank you for coming.” Charlotte greeted her old friend at the entrance to the parlor and gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. Much had changed since their childhood. Jeremy was now Lord Sterling, having unexpectedly inherited his cousin’s title and wealth. And she . . .
Well, her life had undergone even more momentous changes. But the bond between them had survived all the twists and turns of life.
“You’ve made this a very comfortable place,” he observed, looking around with approval at the paintings by her late husband and at all the other little touches of individuality that made a house a home.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for finding this house.” It was Jeremy who had encouraged her to move from her first residence in London—a cramped, shabby place barely clinging to respectability—in order to put the past behind her and look to the future.
“I merely helped you with the paperwork. It’s you who made it come to life,” he replied. He shifted and reached behind his back to pluck a chunk of sharp-edged quartz and a shark’s tooth from among the pillows. “The Weasels appear to be thriving.”
She laughed and put the objects on the side table. “Hawk is enamored with the natural world and is showing great aptitude in sketching the specimens he collects. And Raven has a special gift for mathematics. Who would have guessed . . . ?”
They sat for a moment in companionable silence, the morning sunlight dancing in through the diamond-paned windows, filling the room with a buttery warmth.
“Life is certainly unpredictable,” said Jeremy softly. “And while there are many who believe that mere Chance is what shapes our fate, I like to think we have a say in our destiny, if we dare to believe in ourselves.”
Dust motes shimmered as they spun in a whisper of air.
“I’m glad you’ve reconnected with Lady Peake,” he added. “Family is important.” An only child, Jeremy had lost his parents to an influenza epidemic while he was attending university.
“Hartley has reached out, as well,” she said. “Though I confess I’m a trifle nervous about the prospect.”
“Don’t be, Charley. He was always the best of your brothers.” A pause. “He’ll be very proud of the brave, compassionate, and principled lady his sister has become.”
Charlotte felt a lump form in her throat.
He patted her arm. “But I have a feeling you didn’t invite me here to discuss philosophy. Are you perchance involved in solving another murder?”
She surrendered a sigh. “As it so happens, I am. And I’m hoping you might be able to answer some questions about banking and bills of exchange.”
“Finance, eh? Dare I ask . . .”
“It would be best if you didn’t,” she replied.
Having been involved in several of her previous investigations, he accepted the statement without argument. “What is it you want to know?”
Charlotte tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m looking for the names of any banks here in London which have a reputation for being lax in their business practices.”
His brows drew together. “Lax in what way?”
“As in asking no questions when opening an account for a business consortium, such as who owns it and who is legally entitled to order transactions. And as in facilitating the movement of money in and out of the account with a minimum of official paperwork.”
Jeremy took a long moment to ponder her answer. She could see he was both intrigued and uneasy by its ramifications.
“That would,” he said carefully, “rule out the well-established banks, like Coutts, Hoare’s, Barclays, and Gurney’s.” It was half statement, half question.
“Yes. We’re looking for smaller establishments that cater to facilitating more shadowy dealings. I’ve been given a list by our friend Henning. I’m hoping you might help us narrow the choices.”
“Ah.” Jeremy appeared relieved. For all his radical views on certain things, he was a traditionalist when it came to respect for the pillars of Society. “I’m aware of several banks around the Exchange that are rumored to bend the rules if their palms are greased.”
“Have you any names?” asked Charlotte, taking up a small notebook and pencil from the side table.
He gave her three.
She wrote them down. “Thank you.” One was a match with Henning’s names.
“Do be careful, Charley.” Jeremy pinched at the pleat of his finely tailored trousers. “Much as I admire your passion for justice, it sometimes frightens me half to death.”
“Actually, I’m far more cautious than I used to be.” She thought of the Weasels and Wrexford and her ever-widening circle of friends. Perhaps that’s because I have far more to lose than I did in the past.
He let out a skeptical snort, but then softened it with a smile. “Since we’ve brought up the subject of change, I have something on a personal note to tell you, now that we have finished with business.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Jeremy hesitated. “Isobel—that is, Mrs. Ashton—and I are to be married.”
For a moment, Charlotte could do no more than stare in mute shock. But she quickly gathered her wits. “Why, that’s wonderful news. I’m . . .”
“Astonished?” he suggested.
“Very happy for you,” she finished in a rush.
Amusement pooled in his azure eyes. “It’s not like you to fiddle-faddle around a subject.”
She blew out her breath and then couldn’t help but laugh.
“Very well, I confess you caught me by surprise, and my first reaction was, indeed, astonishment.” The two of them had forged a close-knit friendship during childhood—a closeness akin to that of brother and sister—and had shared their most intimate secrets and longings with each other.
“But now that I think on it, the match is perfect.”
The widow had, for a time, been a suspect in one of their previous murder investigations because of her intelligence and business acumen—and because of a sordid secret in her past.
“Mrs. Ashton is not only smart and steady, but she possesses just the right sort of dry humor to rub along well with yours,” she added.
“Working together on her late husband’s weaving mills has given us a common purpose,” said Jeremy.
“And we have come to like each other very much.” His voice didn’t alter, but Charlotte sensed the depth of feeling that those simple words held.
“Our partnership may not blaze with passion, but we have a very special friendship.”
“Friendship,” said Charlotte, “is perhaps the very best foundation on which to build a marriage.”
“I knew you would understand.” Jeremy brushed a light caress to her cheek. “What about you? Have you any friendships that may result in matrimony?”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Unless the beau monde’s rules have turned upside down while I haven’t been looking, it’s not up to me to make a proposal.”
He held her gaze with a searching stare, making her flush turn prickly. Flustered, she looked away.
“Again, I wish you happy.”
Flashing another smile, Jeremy rose. “Alas, I must be off to a business engagement. But I shall stop by again before I return to the North next week. In the meantime, please promise me to be careful.”
* * *
As the first part of their plan couldn’t begin until later in the afternoon, Wrexford decided he had time to keep his appointment with Sir Darius Roy. He found the explorer perusing the Royal Society’s latest scientific journal in the reading room of his club.
The firelight caught the gleam in Sir Darius’s eye as he looked up at the sound of the earl’s approach. “It’s quite fascinating the advances we’re making in botany and geology. Perhaps one day we’ll understand all the working of the world around us.”
“Not in our lifetime,” said Wrexford. “Nor in a hundred lifetimes.”
“Quite right,” agreed Sir Darius. “Like the star-dotted heavens, the breadth and depth of Knowledge seem unfathomable. And I suppose that’s a good thing. It keeps us inquisitive.”
“Indeed.”
“Questions, questions.” The explorer flashed a wry smile. “Kit says you have a few pressing questions that I may be able to answer.”
“I do.” Wrexford glanced around. “Might we go somewhere more private?”
“I’ve reserved one of the private parlors.
” Sir Darius tucked the journal under his arm and rose.
“I’ve asked several friends to join us, as they may also have information you’ll find helpful.
” He led the way to the central stairs and started up them two at a time. “I don’t suppose you speak Mandarin?”
“Not a word.”
“No matter. Their English is excellent.”
On reaching the top landing, they turned down one of the narrow corridors and passed the club’s library, which was crammed with large curiosity cabinets as well as floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
“In here,” said Sir Darius, clicking open a door and standing aside to allow the earl to enter.
Two men were seated at a rectangular table by the window, drinking tea and playing some sort of game involving ivory tiles covered with a variety of Chinese symbols.
They stood as Wrexford crossed onto the carpet, both of them looking every inch the proper English gentleman with their faultless tailored coats and impeccably tied cravats.
It was only the shape and taper of their dark, watchful eyes that gave them an exotic aura.
“Wrexford, allow me to introduce Mr. Jiang and Mr. Gu.” To his friends, Sir Darius said, “This is Lord Wrexford.”
“The chemist,” said Gu, the shorter of the two. “Your paper challenging the results of Benjamin Silliman’s experiment in fusing chalcedony was quite convincing.”
“Are you a man of science, Mr. Gu?” asked the earl.
“The subject interests me. As do a great many others.” A shrug. “However, I’ve not devoted enough time to any of them to claim any mastery.”
“Alas, we are what you Westerners call dilettantes,” said Jiang.