CHAPTER 25 #2
The dowager ignored the comment. “What if the government doesn’t think that the rough draft of the speech is strong enough evidence to prove Taviot or a co-conspirator murdered Greeley?
I’ve asked around and know that Maitland went to Oxford.
He could simply claim that he had seen the da Vinci manuscript in the Balliol College Library and remembered the details. ”
In truth, the same worry had been needling Charlotte’s peace of mind.
“So what are you suggesting?” she reluctantly asked.
“Wrex and Kit didn’t find the manuscript at the secret laboratory,” said Alison. “Don’t you think that there’s a good chance Taviot is keeping it hidden in his townhouse library, rather than trusting it to be safe in the main laboratory up by Hampton Palace?”
Charlotte did, but she was loath to admit it. “Even if the manuscript is here, there is no way we can contrive to search for it, assuming that is what you are suggesting.”
The wheels slowed to a halt, and they climbed down from the carriage.
After offering Alison her arm, she looked up at the blaze of diamond-bright light illuminating the drawing room windows. “Tonight’s soiree is an intimate gathering for influential members of the ton,” she continued. “The absence of either one of us, even for a brief interlude, will be noticed.”
Seeing the dowager’s disappointment, Charlotte hastened to add, “But it’s a very astute observation.
And one which sparks an alternate idea.” Her mind began to race as they came closer to the ornate marble entranceway.
“Once we are inside, I’ll make note of where one might enter the townhouse unobserved.
When we return to Berkeley Square, we can make plans for a break-in.
If the Weasels set up a surveillance of the townhouse and alert Wrex when the family goes out for the evening, he and Kit can make a clandestine search. ”
“An excellent idea,” murmured Alison just as the dark-painted portal swung open and Taviot’s butler greeted them with a formal bow.
“Welcome, miladies. Please follow me.”
He led the way across the black and white checkered tiles of the entrance foyer and up a curved staircase to the grand drawing room.
It was Lady Kirkwall who stepped away from a cluster of other guests by the doorway to greet them. “How nice of you to come on such short notice, Lady Peake.” A flicker of surprise—or was it irritation?—lit in her eyes as she saw Charlotte behind the dowager. “And Lady Wrexford.”
Assuming a false smile, Charlotte replied without hesitation. “My great-aunt’s health has been a bit delicate of late.” Liars deserve naught but lies. “But as she dearly wished to attend, I offered to come along, in case she found herself in need of any assistance.”
“How thoughtful of you,” responded Lady Kirkwall with perfect politeness, and then extended her hand to the dowager. “Allow me to help you to the sofa. I’m sure you would rather sit than be subjected to the rigors of standing.”
“Oh, please—let us not make a fuss over my infirmities,” said Alison.
“I do not wish my friends here to think that I am at death’s door.
” Gripping her cane, she looked around, the light from the myriad candle flames reflecting off her spectacles.
“I shall circulate for a bit and make my greetings before I take a seat,” she added as several members of Lady Thirkell’s Bluestockings salon gestured for her to join them.
“Apparently the dowager is stronger than you thought,” said Lady Kirkwall as Alison moved off to join them.
“One can’t be too careful,” replied Charlotte.
“A wise strategy.” A pause. “In so many aspects of life.” Before Charlotte could react, Lady Kirkwall turned in a swirl of silken skirts. “Allow me to fetch you a glass of champagne from the refreshment table.”
Cat and mouse? Charlotte wished she could believe that Taviot’s sister was unaware of the rot that lay beneath her brother’s patrician veneer. However, it seemed highly unlikely. The lady was too perceptive to be bamboozled. Which meant . . .
The room was warm, but Charlotte felt an icy chill flit down her spine.
Which meant the alternative wasn’t pleasant to contemplate.
And yet, against her will, she sensed that in many ways, the two of them were kindred souls—women who had dared carve out a niche for themselves in a man’s world.
And as Charlotte knew well, it required far more than knowing how to wield a hammer and chisel.
The real skills were far more subtle. Courage, strength, cleverness .
. . all were far more effective when gloved in ladylike velvet.
Her conflicted thoughts, however, were interrupted by the approach of Taviot himself.
He was all smiles and well-oiled charm. “How kind of you to accompany your great-aunt. She is a paragon of wit, intelligence, and grace. A grande dame who serves as an inspiration to us all.”
Loathsome, fork-tongued snake. For him, Charlotte had not a whit of doubt concerning her feelings.
She batted her lashes to blur the look of utter disgust that she feared was pooled in her eyes. “Indeed. And as you see, the dowager has taken a great interest in your project. She cares deeply about Progress and making the world a better place.”
“As we all should,” said Taviot smoothly.
As he raised his glass to sip his wine, she caught a glimpse of his gold signet ring. His crest featured a lion rampant.
It should be a cold-blooded serpent.
“I believe that our grand innovation will greatly contribute to moving forward with progress.” Taviot chuckled softly at his own witticism.
“I see my sister returning with your champagne, so if you will excuse me, I shall go have a word with Lady Peake about the opportunity to be part of our worthy endeavor. There are still several charter investor spots available, and their special benefits—including the prospect of an Act of Parliament favorable to business—ensure that the purchase price will guarantee a handsome profit.”
Charlotte merely nodded, not trusting her voice. Her skin felt afire from the proximity of pure evil. Because of his traitorous actions, Wrexford’s beloved younger brother was dead—
She caught herself, aware that she must not let her fury show. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled her spine and turned to meet Lady Kirkwall with a composed smile.
Several other guests drifted over to join them.
Charlotte had noted that most of the select group were wealthy widows or ladies known to wield great influence with their rich husbands.
Indeed, as her gaze surreptitiously followed Taviot, she saw two packets—investment funds, no doubt—discreetly passed to him.
As for the smattering of gentlemen, there was a trio of distinguished guests present—an admiral, a well-known member of Parliament, and a governor of the British Scientific Society—their black evening clothes standing out in stark contrast to the colorful gowns of the ladies.
It was, mused Charlotte, a clever strategy on the part of the consortium to use its charter investors to encourage others to buy shares.
Ladies of the ton were naturally inclined to give a prominent gentleman’s words of advice great gravitas.
The evening would likely be a very profitable one for Taviot.
But not for long . . .
“Forgive me for being slow to return with your champagne,” apologized Lady Kirkwall. “I was obliged to stop and chat with several acquaintances about the consortium.”
The lady next to Charlotte raised a question, and the conversation turned to all the ways Britain would benefit from having oceangoing steamships.
The talk continued for an interlude, and Charlotte found her attention wandering as she considered how to get a look at the rear of the house.
Were there a garden and a back terrace that would allow access to the outer doors of the kitchen and scullery?
“I take it that you don’t have as keen an interest in science as your husband.” Lady Kirkwall’s pointed comment pulled her back to the present moment and the fact that the other ladies had moved away.
“No, it is not a passion,” answered Charlotte.
“Oh?” Her companion eyed her with an inscrutable look and allowed several moments of silence to slide by. “And what does stir your passions?”
“I find art more compelling than machinery.”
The answer elicited a strange smile. “Then we have something in common, Lady Wrexford. I, too, am passionate about art, and painting in particular.”
Charlotte took a sip of champagne, the effervescence prickling like dagger points against her tongue. “Our tastes align.”
“Do you prefer landscapes or a focus on the human form?” inquired Lady Kirkwall.
“I admire Turner and Bonington’s depiction of the natural world,” she answered. “But portraits are my primary interest.”
“Indeed? I, too, find myself fascinated by faces.” A hesitation. “They tell us so much about human nature.”
Had a ripple of emotion stirred beneath Lady Kirkwall’s lowered lashes? Charlotte wasn’t sure.
“It so happens that we have a rather fine collection of painted portraits by Van Dyke and Hans Holbein the Younger in the picture gallery downstairs. Would you care to see them?”
“Very much so,” replied Charlotte, seizing the chance to reconnoiter the rest of the townhouse. Besides, she was curious about this sudden peek beneath the mask of impenetrable reserve. In every previous interaction, Lady Kirkwall had given no hint of her personal interests or feelings.
“Excellent.” Lady Kirkwall glanced around. “Give me a moment while I inform my brother of our intentions.”
While she moved off to confer with Taviot, Charlotte looked over to where the dowager was sitting on the sofa, deep in conversation with two of her Bluestocking friends.
There was no need to disturb her, decided Charlotte.
“Please follow me,” said Lady Kirkwall on her return. She led the way through a side salon out to the corridor, where two sharp turns brought them to a rear staircase.