CHAPTER 13 #2
“As you know, I am working on writing a history of King Frederick’s reign, including his complex relationship with Napoleon during the constant wars that plagued the Continent for over a decade.” The shadows from the overhanging leaves masked the librarian’s face as he spoke.
Just as hard to discern, decided the earl, was where the conversation was leading.
“‘Complex’ is a polite way of putting it,” he interjected. “There are many who would call your sovereign an amoral, opportunistic toady who sold his loyalty to the highest bidder.”
“Ja, that is true,” acknowledged von Münch.
“However, as interesting as the subject may be for you,” continued Wrexford, “I don’t see how Fickle Freddie’s treachery has any connection to my concerns.”
The skitter of stones had given way to the rustling of fallen leaves as the path wound closer to the lake. The noises of the gala party sounded very far away.
“I am about to get to that.” The librarian came to halt. “It is a terrible but undeniable fact that treachery is rampant in times of war, stretching from the glittering throne rooms to the muck and gore of battlefields too obscure to have a name.”
The earl’s throat went dry. “What are you saying?”
“The Kingdom of Württemberg supplied troops to the French army when it invaded Spain, deposed its king, and put Napoleon’s brother Joseph on the throne,” continued von Münch.
“Greeley’s obvious mental distress when we discussed the military campaign that led to his grievous injuries got me to thinking . . .”
He hesitated for a heartbeat. “And so for the history I am writing for King Frederick, I made a point of arranging to interview one of the senior Württemberg officers who served as liaison with Napoleon’s staff at the end of ’08.”
1808. Wrexford drew in a sharp breath.
“As you know, the British landed an army in Portugal, and under General Moore’s command it entered Spain to help fight the French,” continued von Münch.
“The officer I interviewed mentioned that part of the French success in surrounding the British army and forcing the disastrous retreat that led to the battle at Corunna came about because of information passed on by a British traitor.”
“Who?” rasped Wrexford.
“My officer was never given the traitor’s name. But he told me who on the French general staff might have known it.”
A pause. “And it so happens that the French officer in question left the military earlier this year and is now an attaché with the French diplomatic service,” added von Münch in a rush. “And he’s currently here in London.”
“You think Greeley may have been murdered because of something he knew about a military betrayal?” asked the earl. “But why now, six years later?”
“I don’t know, milord. All I can say is that our conversations about the war in Portugal and Spain appeared to upset Mr. Greeley.
He seemed to . . . I am not sure how to describe it other than to say he seemed to be having private conversations with himself.
As if his mind was recalling some unsettling memories. ”
The librarian lifted his shoulders in uncertainty. “I’m sorry. Does that make any sense?”
Wrexford thought about what he had just heard. “Perhaps.” The horrors of war did strange things to the mind. “Where is this Frenchman now? Can we arrange to meet with him?”
The librarian pointed down to the lake, where pearls of moonlight glimmered over the placid water.
“He agreed to meet with us tonight but wished to do so discreetly. We must circle around to the eastern end of the lake, where a narrow spit of land allows us access to Duck Island.” He pulled out his pocket watch and thumbed open the case. “He should already be there.”
* * *
“I have to confess that I am puzzled by certain aspects of our investigation—or rather, our two investigations,” mused the dowager after the three of them had resumed strolling along the winding walkways.
“I understand why Wrex feels honor-bound by the memory of his late brother to solve Greeley’s murder.
And I can see that a radical new technology like oceangoing steamships would be a subject for A. J. Quill’s pen.”
Alison fell silent as she slowed and carefully rounded a rough patch of ground.
“But what I don’t comprehend is why you seem to have a specific interest in Lord Taviot’s consortium.
If there is any unholy skullduggery going on between the groups seeking to invent an oceangoing steamship, isn’t it a matter best left for the government? ”
Light winked off her spectacles as they passed one of the torchieres. “After our last adventure, you and Wrexford made it quite clear that you had no intention of dirtying your hands with any more twisted intrigues involving the lust for money and power.”
“A fair question,” allowed Charlotte. “I wish I had a simple answer.”
“I suggest we have a seat,” said Cordelia. She glanced at a nearby bench. “This might require some time—”
“And some champagne,” drawled the dowager. Spotting a footman refilling his tray at one of the refreshment tents, she waggled her cane to catch his attention. “I think better with a glass of wine in hand.”
Charlotte waited for them to be served before beginning. “The first thing that drew me—that is, A. J. Quill—into the fray was the fire at Henry Maudslay’s laboratory—”
“Yes, that’s another thing that is confusing,” said Alison. “I thought Maudslay only made . . . thingamabobs that make other . . . thingamabobs.”
“You’re right—he’s famous for his lathes,” said Cordelia, “which make the parts for many types of machinery, including the latest models of steam engines. However, given the momentous impact oceangoing steamships would have on the world, Maudslay decided to put his skills to working on the technical challenge of designing a whole new type of marine propulsion system.”
“Propulsion system?” The dowager looked perplexed. “What, exactly, does that mean?”
“At first, that puzzled me, too,” answered Charlotte.
“For a ship to be able to navigate the oceans, it requires two new innovations. A more powerful steam engine, which uses fuel with enough efficiency so that the ship can carry what it needs to travel great distances. But even more importantly, it also needs a revolutionary new means of propulsion. Right now, river steamboats use paddle wheels, but the current designs would never survive the storms and waves at sea.”
“Ah.” Alison nodded in understanding. “So what is the alternative?”
“As Kit says,” answered Cordelia, “if we knew the answer to that question, we would soon be richer than King Croesus.”
“Hmmm.” The dowager looked thoughtful.
“Let us put aside the question about the actual innovation needed to propel a ship through the ocean,” continued Cordelia. “Given the impact oceangoing steamships would have on our shipping business, Kit became intrigued by the concept and was interested in Maudslay’s work.”
“Because of Kit’s interest, Wrex and I—or rather, the Weasels—looked a little more closely at the fire,” added Charlotte, “and discovered that it was arson.”
“I see,” murmured the dowager.
“And when the boys and I inadvertently discovered some suspicious tinkering in the naval laboratory at the King’s Dockyard, I realized the race to conquer the oceans has great implications for our country,” she went on. “And thus it is a subject that A. J. Quill can’t ignore.”
“It’s clear from the recent incidents that there is some dark mischief afoot,” said Cordelia. “Each of the groups working to create an oceangoing steamship has a powerful incentive for preventing anyone else from succeeding . . .”
Alison listened in rapt attention as Cordelia went on to explain the political and economic—as well as the military—ramifications.
“At present,” she finished, “it appears that Lord Taviot’s consortium has the lead in the race.”
“Taviot . . . and his sister Lady Kirkwall.” The dowager contemplated the tiny bubbles fizzing up in her glass. “Ah, now things are coming into sharper focus,” she mused. “You think they are behind the attacks on their rivals?”
“It’s possible. However, we also have a very personal concern about them,” said Charlotte. “Kit has been invited to join their Advisory Board and become one of their charter investors. But Cordelia is adamantly opposed to it for several reasons—”
“One of them being that I’ve heard some very unsavory rumors about the family,” interjected Cordelia.
“Yes.” Alison gave a grim nod. “I’ve heard those rumors, too.”
Charlotte waited. The dowager’s knowledge of aristocratic families—and what skeletons were hidden in the darkest nooks and crannies of their stately manor houses—was encyclopedic. If there was any truth to the whispers of scandal, she would know about it.
Alison took a small swallow of champagne.
“There’s no question that Lord Taviot’s younger brother—a half-brother from the old earl’s second marriage—was rotten to the core.
” She brushed away an errant drop as it slid down the glass.
“Though over the years I have come to believe that it’s unfair to condemn a whole family for the actions of one member.
Even the best of trees occasionally produces a bad apple. ”
Cordelia remained silent.
“As for the whispers about Lady Kirkwall’s husband . . .” The dowager paused for a moment of thought. “Lord Kirkwall denied any wrongdoing, and if memory serves me correctly . . .”
Charlotte was sure that it did.
“He announced that he was going to prove his innocence by showing evidence that someone else was responsible.” Alison blew out her breath. “But then he apparently shot himself—or was terribly clumsy when cleaning his pistol—and whatever the truth, it went to the grave with him.”
“So, it’s a family shadowed by lurid speculation,” mused Charlotte.
“Where there is smoke, there is often fire,” interjected Cordelia. “But then, I confess that I simply don’t like them.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity,” said Alison. “I shall make some inquiries and see whether I uncover any further details or additional scandals.”
“Please do it with all haste.” Cordelia set aside her wine. “They have already raised a great of deal of money. If there are any skeletons buried in the family cupboard, it would be best to unearth them now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “To ensure that a great many people don’t get burned if the devil’s hellfire is lurking behind their patrician smiles.”
“Let us be careful to keep an open mind on the Taviot family,” counseled Charlotte, intent on not letting her friend’s raw emotion color their judgment. “We are looking to learn the truth, whether or not it conforms to our preconceptions.”
Cordelia bit her lip and looked away for a moment. “Getting back to facts, rather than mere conjecture, Lady Kirkwall has just announced that she and her brother will hold a gala reception for potential investors next week, during which they will be making a momentous announcement.”
“Yes—I’ve been invited,” said Alison.
Cordelia’s brows shot up in surprise.
“Alison chatted with Lady Kirkwall at the Bluestocking soiree,” explained Charlotte.
“And is now considered a potential investor. I shall be going with her.” She watched the festive lanterns in the distance, their red-gold flames dancing over the dark stone terrace of Carlton House.
“Let us hope the consortium’s revelations will shed more light on their objectives. ”
“Kit has been invited as well,” said Cordelia tightly. “He did not ask me—”
A small sound behind their bench suddenly caused her to twist around and peer into the shadows.
“Good evening, ladies.” Kurlansky stepped into the aureole of light cast by the pathway torchieres and inclined a polite bow. “What a splendid night for fireworks.”
Charlotte clenched her teeth on seeing the spark of unholy amusement in the Russian’s eyes. She was beginning to think of him as a thorn in her arse.
“Though,” he added with a sly smile, I would have thought that your Prince Regent had had enough Sturm und Drang during the Peace Celebrations.”
Charlotte regarded him with a cool stare. “As an island nation we are quite used to storm and stress and are experienced in dealing with it.” She paused. “You see, we know it always blows over, so we think of it as naught but entertainment.”
His smile stretched a touch wider. “Your perspective on things is always illuminating, Lady Wrexford.”
“And how is your task for the tsar going?” she countered.
“Oh, I won’t bore you with trifling diplomatic matters,” replied Kurlansky. “Especially as you ladies look to be having an interesting tête-à-tête. I merely wanted to pay my respects, so I’ll let you get back to your conversation.”
Another bow. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
The dowager scowled as she watched him turn toward the lake and slip away into the darkness. “He reminds me of a stalking panther. All deadly grace and elegance when he’s not hungry, but heaven forfend if you stand between him and his prey.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “Should we be worried about him?”
“Yes,” answered Charlotte without hesitation.
“We know better than to underestimate Kurlansky as an adversary.” The evening breeze ruffled through the nearby trees, setting off a waggle of leafy whispers.
“I’m not sure that his objectives will lead him to cross paths with us, but we must stay alert to the possibility.
” A sigh. “However, a more immediate challenge looms. While Wrex works on solving Greeley’s murder, we must try to discern whether there are any treacherous shoals and eddies hidden beneath the Taviot consortium’s glittering promises. ”
Cordelia leaned back, throwing her face into shadow. “And let us hope we spot them,” she muttered darkly, “before we’re caught in dangerous crosscurrents.”
“Hmmph.” The dowager waggled her cane. “If any enemies seek to sink our mission, they will find themselves in for a rude surprise.”