CHAPTER 18
The earl dropped the letter onto the desktop and moved to the window.
Tyler hesitated, then picked it up.
“Ye gods.” He blew out his breath and then read the name aloud.
“The Earl of Taviot.”
“Charlotte has already sent word asking Cordelia and Kit to come here,” said the earl without turning around.
“Dispatch a second message to Kit and ask him to bring Taviot’s letter and the contracts from the consortium.
” Having another few samples of the miscreant’s handwriting should confirm Taviot’s guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“Should we also summon Henning?” suggested the valet. “We’ll need to decide how to bring Lord Taviot to justice, and given that the dastard is not without power or influence within the highest circles of Society, we ought to assemble our trusted inner circle for a council of war.”
“That—” began Wrexford.
“That means you need to include Aunt Alison,” came a muffled voice from the adjoining library. Raven pushed the door all the way open. “And us.”
Hawk and Peregrine, who were standing just behind him, nodded in solemn agreement.
“Bloody hell, you imps of Satan know damn well that eavesdropping is against the house rules,” snapped Wrexford.
“It’s not breaking the rules if it wasn’t intentional,” countered Raven. “The door was half open. We couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.”
Wrexford swore again on realizing that it was he who had failed to click the latch shut after fetching a book earlier in the morning.
Taking the oath as a signal to press his point, Raven added, “M’lady says that keeping each other in the dark about what dangers are threatening our family and friends can lead to disaster. So we need to know what’s going on.”
His chin angled to a defiant tilt. “Surely you can’t deny that we’ve been of help in catching other bloody, bloody bastards?”
“Don’t swear.” Charlotte came to an abrupt halt in the doorway and angled a wary look at Wrexford. “Why are you and the boys talking about catching bloody, bloody bastards?”
Tyler wordlessly handed her the note.
Her face turned as pale as the paper. “Is this—”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford. “It’s from von Münch’s French contact. We have found our traitor—and likely the man behind the murders of both Greeley and the former soldier who set the fire at Maudslay’s laboratory.”
“Merciful heavens.” Charlotte crossed the carpet and sat down rather heavily in one of the leather armchairs after reading the name.
“Tyler just said that we should call for a council of war,” explained Raven. “And I told Wrex that it must include us and Aunt Alison.” A note of challenge gave his words a sharp edge. “She doesn’t like it any better than we do when the two of you try to wrap her in cotton wool because of her age.”
Charlotte stared at him in mute shock. And then surrendered with a sigh. “I—I suppose that I have been over-protective. I’m worried that the recent investigations may have put our family in danger—”
“Our family is used to danger,” piped up Hawk. “We’ve all learned from you and Wrex that Evil mustn’t be allowed to triumph over Good. And that sometimes means we have to take risks.”
“Oiy,” agreed Raven. “It’s who we are.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” said Wrexford. “Ours is not a conventional family.” His gaze found hers. “Would you have it any other way?”
Her mouth quivered for an instant before slowly curling into a wry smile.
“Never. Which means . . .”
Without any further hesitation, she rose and addressed the boys.
“Hawk and Falcon, you two fly off and fetch Aunt Alison. Raven, find Cordelia and Kit and convey the urgency of my previous messages.” A quick pivot.
“As for you, Tyler, take the carriage and bring Baz back here.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel.
“Mac has gone to purchase some new brushes and watercolor pigments for me, but she should be home shortly. Let us plan on convening our council of war in an hour’s time. ”
Their marching orders received, the four messengers wasted not a moment in racing off to perform their duties.
“Speaking of family,” began Wrexford. “I have a confession to make—”
Before he could go on, Charlotte turned and wrapped her arms around him. Warmth pierced through wool and linen to prickle against his fear-cold flesh.
“I fear that I’m not very good at being part of a family,” he went on in a rush, before he lost the courage to reveal the less than admirable side of his soul.
“Greeley’s murder has reopened the old wounds surrounding my brother’s death, and I’ve come to realize that I failed my father when he most needed me. ”
Remorse lodged like a stone in his throat, forcing him to pause for a moment before he could continue.
“I thought only of myself . . .” Wrexford explained about his avoidance of his grieving father.
“I’m too introspective.” A huff. “Too impatient. Too sharp-tongued.” He made a face.
“I fear that I won’t be a good husband or a good surrogate father to the Weasels—”
Charlotte pressed a kiss to his lips to silence his fears.
She held him close for a moment longer before leaning back.
“God knows, I, of all people, am aware of the complexities and conflicts that can tear families apart.” Her eyes pooled with sympathy.
“They appear deceptively sturdy, but in truth families are achingly fragile. However—”
“I should have bothered to look closer and see his pain,” he said, determined to forge ahead. “Instead I withdrew into myself and focused my gaze on my own interests. It’s a flaw—”
“Good heavens, Wrex! None of us are without flaws,” interjected Charlotte. “Flaws are part of who we are,” she continued. “But more importantly, they are often the core of our strengths.”
“A frightening thought,” he muttered.
“Oh, come,” For just an instant, a glint of humor danced beneath her lashes. “Who would you be without your snaps and snarls?”
Slipping free, he perched a hip on the corner of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “A better man?”
“On the contrary,” she replied. “I won’t make light of your fears, for they are very real to you. However, the boys and I see you through the prism of our own perceptions, which paint a very different portrait from the one you have sketched.”
Outside the leaded windows, the scudding clouds momentarily allowed the sun to peek through, sending a flickering of gold-flecked light through the shadows.
“You are the most thoughtful individual I have ever met. You observe, you analyze, and you are open to seeing things that don’t fit your preconceptions.
You listen carefully and are willing to admit when you may be wrong.
Yes, you have sharp edges, but you only use them to deflate the hubris of puffed-up popinjays. ”
She allowed a moment of silence. “The Weasels will watch, listen, and learn from you how to grow up to be men of honor and integrity. They could not have a better guardian.”
“You give me too much credit,” said Wrexford. “But—”
“But enough recriminations for now.” Charlotte smiled. “Much as it’s important for us to talk about the doubts that lurk in our hearts, let us put these very personal matters aside for the present.”
Her gaze moved to where the note lay open on his desk. “We now know the identity of the villain behind the heinous crimes. And it’s time to bring him to justice.”
All at once, the shadows haunting his thoughts seemed to lighten.
“Indeed.” He waggled a booted foot. “Let us go kick the Earl of Taviot into the deepest pit of Hell.”
Charlotte moved closer and touched a palm to his cheek. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Wrex,” she murmured. “We all go through black moments in our lives. They are painful but also help make us wiser and stronger.”
“Amen to that.” He cracked his knuckles. “Taviot had better start saying his prayers.”
* * *
“Ah, I hear Alison and the boys approaching.” Charlotte took a seat by the hearth. She had fetched a notebook from her workroom and opened it to a fresh page.
“How could you not? A mounted regiment of Royal Hussars would make less clatter in the corridor,” observed Wrexford as he busied himself with cleaning his pistols. “Speaking of the dowager, I assume that she is to be allowed unfettered freedom in the investigation.”
“Alison has proved extremely helpful in the past, so it would be unfair to impose any strictures,” replied Charlotte. “However, the fact that she isn’t as mobile as she used to be should keep her out any of real trouble.”
“A fair point,” he acknowledged.
“Just don’t repeat that within striking range of her stick.”
“I may be reckless at times, but I do possess some sense of self-preservation.” Wrexford wiped the oil from his fingers with a gunpowder-flecked rag. “We’ll need to address how to handle Peregrine.”
“Yes, he can’t follow the same rules as the Weasels,” replied Charlotte. “But I think all three of them know that already.”
A loud halloo from the front of the townhouse announced that Raven had also returned. The echo of Cordelia’s voice followed, which in the next instant was swallowed by Henning’s rough-cut rumbling.
“Excellent, it appears that all our friends have arrived,” said Charlotte. “I’ve sent Mac to bring several pots of coffee and a platter of ginger biscuits from the kitchen. Once everyone is settled, we’ll tell them the news.”
The messengers had been instructed to reveal nothing about the reason for the gathering, save to say it was a matter of great urgency. But Wrexford imagined that their friends could all guess why they had been summoned.
“So, who is the bloody bastard?” demanded Henning as he shuffled to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky.
“Sit down, Baz,” ordered the earl. “So we may get started.”
“In that case, I will bring the bottle with me.”
Cordelia looked flustered as she shrugged off her pelisse and tossed it on the back work counter. “I’m sorry, Wrex, but Kit hasn’t returned from a meeting. Raven and I left word at his lodgings to join us here.”
“A meeting with whom?” asked Wrexford.
“The note that he sent to me earlier this morning didn’t say.” However, the dangerous glitter in her eyes warned that she had her suspicions.
Damnation. He hoped Sheffield wasn’t playing with fire. Making a deal with the devil without telling her would likely consign their engagement to the flames.
Poof—and then naught but a pile of ashes.
Not to speak of the other dangers to their friend if he had allied himself with Taviot.
Raven and Hawk, shadowed by Peregrine, took the opportunity to slip into the shadows by the library door and take a seat on the carpet as the others all settled themselves in the armchairs near the hearth.
McClellan trundled in with the coffee pot and biscuits. “Go ahead and begin, milord. I’ll be back in a trice with some cups and saucers.”
The earl rose. The room fell silent, and as he clicked the lid to his pistol case shut the sound reverberated like a gunshot off the wainscoting.
“As you all know, we’ve been struggling to untangle two conundrums and their ramifications. The first is, who murdered Neville Greeley and why?” He paused. “And the second is, who is responsible for skullduggery surrounding the race to create an oceangoing propulsion system?”
“Isn’t there also a mysterious manuscript that has gone missing?” queried the dowager. “And aren’t we wondering whether it is the thread that ties all these crimes together?”
Henning let out a rusty chuckle and raised his glass in salute. “Never let it be said that age inexorably steals all one’s marbles.”
“You’re right, Alison,” said Charlotte. “We know that a manuscript entitled Nihil Est Quod Hominum Efficere Non Possit was stolen from Greeley on the night of the murder. As for whether it ties into marine propulsion, we’re hoping that Cordelia can help discern the answer—”
“You’ve found it?” exclaimed Cordelia.
“We have,” answered Wrexford. He stepped back as McClellan returned with a tray of china and smoothly plucked it from her grasp. After carrying it to the counter, he circled back to his desk and resumed where he had left off.
“As Charlotte said, we hope that Cordelia can enlighten us on whether the manuscript holds any keys to unlocking the secrets of ocean travel. However, momentous though that answer may be, it now may be a moot point. The investigation into Greeley’s murder uncovered evidence of another terrible crime, one from the past that provides a strong motive for wanting Greeley dead . . .”
Wrexford could feel all eyes on him. “We now have reason to believe that all the misdeeds of our two separate investigations are the work of one monstrous villain. And I now know who that villain is.”
The name stuck for an instant in his throat. “The Earl of Taviot—”
A sudden crack cut him off as a pile of saucers slipped through McClellan’s fingers and fell to the countertop, shattering into a myriad pieces.
“F-Forgive me.” The maid began gathering up the shards but let them fall for a second time as Charlotte swept in and took hold of her arm.
“Enough shilly-shallying, Mac!” Charlotte led her to one of the armchairs and ordered her to sit. “Whatever dark secret you are keeping from us, the time has come to share it.”