CHAPTER 26
“Where did you get that?” repeated Horatio when he received no answer to his first query.
Hawk hastily moved his sketchbook to cover the scrap of fabric. “I—I don’t remember,” he stammered, glancing at his brother for help. “W-Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s important.” Horatio moved a step closer. “It may be a matter of Royal Navy security.”
“In what way?” demanded Raven. “If you know anything about the bit of cloth, you need to tell us.”
“I’m sorry, but my oath as a midshipman—an officer in His Majesty’s service—prevents me from revealing that information to you.” Horatio turned back to Hawk. “Please—try to think harder about where you found that piece of cloth.”
“I’m sorry, but his oath to Wrexford and our family prevents him from revealing that information to you,” interjected Raven. “And it does for me as well.”
“And me,” added Peregrine from his spot on the floor.
A fraught silence held the four of them in thrall.
Peregrine slowly sat up. “Do you play chess, Osprey?”
“A little,” said Horatio warily.
“Then you know what a stalemate is.”
“I think so,” came the answer. “A stalemate is when it’s a player’s turn to move, but his only choice is to put his king into check, which is forbidden by the rules.”
“Correct. So the game can’t continue,” said Peregrine. “There can be no win as well as no loss.”
“Unless the players agree to bend the rules?” said Raven.
A smile. “Correct.”
Horatio frowned. “What are you suggesting?”
“Perhaps there’s a compromise,” pointed out Peregrine. “Lord Wrexford is a former military officer and has recently performed some important investigations for the Crown.”
“I . . .” The warring of emotions was writ plain on the midshipman’s face as his gaze moved in turn to each of his three new friends. “I cannot risk saying something that might inadvertently betray my country.”
At the word betray, Raven shifted uncomfortably. “Oiy, betrayal is the worst sort of sin. We would never ask you to do that.”
“Oiy,” agreed Peregrine. “But given that we are all trying to do the right thing, perhaps there’s another way to work together.”
“Go on,” said Raven.
“Osprey is Aunt Alison’s relative—” Glancing at Horatio, he added, “I may not be part of this family by blood, but Lady Peake is of the opinion that friendship and love are even stronger bonds, so she insists that I call her Aunt Alison.”
Horatio shuffled his feet, the flickering lamplight making it impossible to read his expression.
Peregrine cleared his throat and moved his gaze back to Raven.
“As I was saying, given that Osprey is Aunt Alison’s relative, that makes him part of our family, too.
Which means that you could explain just enough about the fabric for him to decide whether his oath as a naval officer permits him to share what he knows. ”
Raven thought for a moment, then stepped back a few paces and beckoned Hawk and Peregrine to join him.
Horatio waited with stoic patience as a back-and-forth flurry of whispers took place.
“Oiy, that could work.” Raven’s announcement signaled that the private conference was over.
Harper raised his shaggy head and thumped his tail on seeing the boys come back together.
“Peregrine thinks we should trust you,” continued Raven. “I’m willing to take the risk because if he’s right, then we will have a good chance at apprehending an evil miscreant who has done great harm to both our family and our country.”
The midshipman acknowledged the statement with a solemn nod.
“Go on,” urged Peregrine.
“Wrexford encountered a man while looking for proof of skullduggery at a laboratory involved in work on an oceangoing propulsion system,” said Raven carefully. “I can’t tell you where Wrexford was, but he had obtained some critical evidence that would help identify the criminals.”
He hesitated. “However, the man—who was clearly up to no good—attacked Wrexford before he could leave. In the course of the hand-to-hand fight, Wrexford ripped the piece of cloth from the man’s coat collar, but alas, he got away before Wrexford could identify him.”
“I’ve been looking at the pattern of colored threads on the scrap,” offered Hawk, “trying to see if I can discern what the design might be. That might help us narrow down the possible suspects.”
“We have reason to believe the man and his co-conspirators are not only responsible for arson and murder but may also have been involved in selling British military secrets to the French during the Peninsular War,” added Raven.
Shoulders squared, Horatio stood at rigid attention . . . and then let himself slump. “Damnation, I—I feared that something was terribly wrong,” he said in a tight voice, “but I didn’t wish to believe it.”
The midshipman closed his eyes for an instant.
“In the course of performing my regular duties in the storage areas of the King’s Dockyard, I overheard several conversations that stirred some frightening suspicions.
I tried to tell myself that I must have misunderstood, and that the man whose voice I recognized all too well—my superior!
—was authorized to pass on such sensitive information.
But then, there was some talk about the past that made my blood run cold. ”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I was so confused . . . my superior was being called Eel by the other man—”
“Eel!” exclaimed Hawk. “That ties your superior to a recent murder in Oxford.”
“Osprey, you need to tell us the man’s name,” pressed Raven. “I swear, he’s a dangerous traitor.”
Horatio slid his hand across the desktop and pulled the piece of fabric from beneath the book. “I know what this is. And to whom it belongs.” He hesitated. “You’re right. I am convinced that he deserves no loyalty.”
Tightening his hold on the scrap of fabric, he uttered a name.
“Holy hell,” intoned Raven. “We need to tell Wrex and m’lady just as soon as they return home.”
* * *
Pain knifed through her head, cutting into every nook and crevice.
A good thing, Charlotte told herself. For perhaps it meant she was still alive.
Then the pain came again, even sharper this time.
On second thought, death might be preferable.
However, as the vague sounds around her shaped themselves into words, Charlotte realized that she was still in the here and now.
“The servants have all been sent to the other establishment. The house is now empty and ready to be locked up.”
How long have I been unconscious? She had no idea. An hour? Two? Her wits were still fuzzy.
“Seizing Lady Wrexford wasn’t part of the plan.” It was Lady Kirkwall, and her usual sangfroid sounded badly shaken.
“We had to improvise,” came the reply. “Her husband left us no choice. He’s getting too close.”
Charlotte racked her brain to recall where she had heard that voice before. And nearly moaned from the agony of the effort.
“She’s coming to,” said the same voice. “We all need to move.”
“Good Lord,” intoned Lady Kirkwall “W-What are you going to do with her?”
“That’s not your concern,” snarled the voice. “Taviot, take your sister to the carriage. We’ll meet at the appointed rendezvous.”
“But—” began Taviot.
“Or would you rather stay and face Lord Wrexford’s wrath?”
“You promised that I was protected—”
“And you will be, but only if you do exactly as I say.”
Charlotte heard hurried footsteps moving away.
A pair of gloved hands seized her shoulders and lifted her up from the sofa. “Move.” Her captor hustled her through the French doors leading out to a terrace and then down several shallow stairs to a garden walkway.
He let out a low whistle, and a moment later the crunch of gravel announced that someone was approaching.
“Take her to the carriage hidden behind the mews,” said her captor as a shadowed figure came close. “Once you are out of Town and come to a secluded spot, you know what to do.”
As the newcomer grabbed her roughly, Charlotte forced her eyes open and saw the silhouette of her captor—a broad-shouldered man—retreating into the night mist.
“Stop!” she ordered, though the word came out as a pitiful croak.
The effort earned her a hard slap from the man who now held her prisoner. “Shut your mouth.”
Deciding that she was likely going to die anyway, Charlotte began to struggle. Tears—mingling fear and rage—wet her cheeks as she thought about all the reasons she had for living.
I will not go without a fight.
Another blow from the man stunned her, allowing him to muscle her past the mews and into the hidden carriage.
He rapped on the trap, signaling the driver to crack his whip, and sank back to the seat just as Charlotte recovered enough to renew her attack.
Punch, scratch, poke—fired on by desperate fury, Charlotte flailed at him, hoping to seize an instant in which she could fling open the door.
Wishful thinking.
The man easily caught her hands and used his superior weight and strength to pin her back against the squabs. Leaning in close—so close that his hot-as-Hades breath tickled against her cheek—he growled an oath and punctuated it with a teeth-rattling shake.
“Sheath your claws, Lady Wrexford. I’m trying to help you, but you must be still.”
* * *
Head bowed, deep in thought, Wrexford followed the curve of the wrought-iron fence that circled the lush garden centered in Berkeley Square.
The clatter of a late-night reveler’s curricle racing over the cobbles made him pause before crossing the carriageway to his townhouse.
He looked up and felt his spirits lift, despite the tangled worries weighing on his mind.
Home. It was now so much more than an elegant building filled with tasteful furnishings and pleasing art. The mellow light warming the windows was a beacon of . . .