CHAPTER 16 #2
“It turns out that the arsonist is a former soldier . . .” Griffin looked down into his ale. “And served in an infantry company attached to the same brigade as Greeley’s cavalry regiment.”
A chill slithered down the earl’s spine, but he shook it off. “In this case, a coincidence is likely just that. Foot soldiers and cavalry officers come from different circles of Society. They don’t fraternize with each other.”
“I haven’t finished my explanation,” said the Runner.
“When he was arrested, the former soldier claimed he had been offered a large sum of money to start the fire by a fancy gentleman, and desperate to survive, he accepted it.
He also claimed that he had recognized the man from his time on the Peninsula and could identify him—
“Who?” demanded Wrexford.
Griffin blew out his breath. “The former soldier refused to reveal it to my fellow Runner. He said that he would only speak to me, as apparently word in the stews is that my integrity can’t be bought.”
“Damnation!” The earl started to rise. “What are we waiting for? Let us go talk to the man now!”
“I had my fellow Runner set up a time for me to interview him at Newgate Prison for earlier today,” replied Griffin. “However, when I arrived, I was informed that the fellow had been knifed to death last night in a scuffle between prisoners.”
The earl slumped back in his chair. No wonder Griffin was finding the idea of random coincidence hard to swallow.
“As you know, I am like a mastiff—when I get a bone between my teeth, I am loath to let it go.” Griffin pressed his palms together.
“There are rumors that a number of former soldiers—including officers—have joined with the radical Luddites who see all technology as evil because it’s taken away jobs that men need in order to survive.
It won’t be easy, but I intend to keep delving into this situation and see what connections I can uncover. ”
He paused. “Or would you prefer that I drop it?”
The earl considered the implications of the question.
The Runner was obliquely warning that the truth might reflect badly on Greeley.
Wrexford could well imagine that his brother’s friend might have sympathized with the returning veterans who now were struggling to find work and joined a radical group.
And von Münch’s revelations stirred an even darker thought, though he didn’t feel at liberty to mention it to Griffin. Was it possible that Greeley might in some way be connected to the British traitor? Money was a powerful temptation, and Greeley’s family had not been plump in the pocket.
But Truth is Truth, no matter how ugly, he reflected. If I begin to pick and choose when it matters, then I’m lost. I will no longer possess a moral compass.
“Of course I want you to follow the trail,” he replied, thinking of his own pursuit to uncover the truth.
Their eyes met.
“Wherever it may lead, milord?”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford without hesitation. “Wherever it may lead.”
* * *
Roused by the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor, Charlotte met her husband as he came through the doorway and slipped her arms around him.
His body was taut as a tightly wound watch spring but softened as she drew him closer, all his muscled contours and chiseled angles somehow molding to her gentler shape.
She never ceased to feel a spark of joy at how perfectly they fit together.
“Wrex,” Charlotte whispered, after feathering a gossamer kiss to his cheek.
He tightened his hold on her, which said far more than words.
“Bad news?” she guessed.
“It seems that one terrible event in the past—a damnable French ambush that killed my brother and scarred Greeley for life—has triggered a number of unforeseen consequences,” he replied. “Though in what pernicious way they tie together is still unclear.”
“You know from your scientific studies that there are clockwork laws of the universe. Drop a stone in water, and the waves inexorably ripple out.” She felt him shift.
“You could not have prevented the regiment from riding out on its mission, nor the terrible aftermath that followed, including Greeley’s mental trauma and his murder.
So it does no earthly good to put the weight of that guilt on your beautiful shoulders. ”
Wrexford took her face between his palms. “My head may know that what you say is true, but my heart . . .”
She clenched a hand and gave a sharp thump to his left breast. “Then your heart had better listen to me. Otherwise, I may cut it out with a penknife and feed it to the Tower ravens—and then draw you a new one.”
“Thank you.” His lips quirked. “For refusing to let me wallow in a sea of self-pity.”
“That’s why we make a good pairing. We are both too stubborn to allow the other to indulge in self-indulgent whinging.”
That drew a reluctant laugh.
They stood for an interlude in companionable silence. Somewhere in the garden, a nightingale’s song rose above the rustling of the leaves. Charlotte watched the pale flickers of moonlight play hide-and-seek within the dark silhouettes.
Hide-and-seek. What if they never found Greeley’s murderer? Could Wrexford make his peace with that?
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
“We had better sit,” replied Wrexford. He then told her about Griffin’s revelation.
For an instant, Charlotte, was too shocked to speak. “Good God,” she finally whispered. “Greeley’s murder, a British traitor from six years ago, the arsonist responsible for the fire at Maudslay’s laboratory . . .”
She frowned. “How can they possibly be connected?” The lamp flame seemed to shiver at her words. “And yet, how can they possibly not be?”
The anguish in Wrexford’s eyes told her that he was thinking much the same thing.
Shifting her gaze downward, Charlotte noticed the austere angles of his features, chiseled to a sharpness that she had never seen.
Grief, guilt, pain—a volatile mix of emotions had pulled the flesh tight over his bones.
Forcing aside her own fears, she reached over to put her hand on his thigh.
“What we’ve just learned about the ex-soldier being attached to Greeley’s regiment gives Griffin another lead to follow,” she said.
“A tenuous one, perhaps, but nonetheless it may turn up a key clue that will explain what is going on.”
“Our thoughts align,” replied Wrexford. “It occurs to me that the fancy gentleman may have been an officer in the regiment—and if so, perhaps we have found our traitor.”
He paused. “It’s worth having a meeting with my friend at Horse Guards and going over past records to make a list of possibilities. Through his connections here in Town, Tyler can arrange for us to learn whether any of the possible suspects are residing close to London.”
“And I shall think about another drawing concerning the fire,” said Charlotte, “and how I can stir up just enough questions about the death of the arsonist while under lock and key at Newgate Prison to make the unknown fancy gentleman uncomfortable.”
“You must do it very carefully, my dear,” counseled Wrexford.
“Whatever the dangers, we shall meet them,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I can’t let this go.” He closed his eyes for just an instant. “It’s now far too personal.”
“I expected no less, Wrex.” Charlotte smiled. “Perhaps it’s a curse, but neither one of us is ever willing to shy away from the truth.”
He hesitated, but then smiled back at her.
She allowed herself to savor the moment before revealing her own news. “You aren’t the only one who made a discovery today.”
“The manuscript?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I can’t say that it sheds any light on the mystery of Greeley’s murder.”
Suddenly recalling Hawk’s comment from earlier in the evening, she added, “This may mean nothing, but along with examining the manuscript, I also began to look through the pile of papers that you brought back from Greeley’s desk.
Do you perchance recall your brother and Greeley having a friend or acquaintance they called Eel? ”
He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
Charlotte explained Hawk’s observation concerning the strange sketches on the scribbled notes. “But as I said, it’s simply grasping at straws floating in the wind.”
The statement drew a weary sigh. “I need to look at the manuscript.”
“It can wait until morning.” She took his hand and rose, drawing him to his feet. “You need some sleep.”
Wrexford brushed back an errant lock of hair from her brow. “You’re right,” he murmured, slowly curling the strands around his finger. “Let us retire for the night. And hope that the light of day will bring us some much needed illumination.”