CHAPTER 32 #2
The door flew open, and one of the footmen rolled in a trolley shimmering with crystal goblets filled with sparkling champagne from the adjoining salon.
She plucked up a glass and raised it to catch the sunlight.
“To Cordelia and Kit. And the myriad good things that lie ahead for them—and all of us.”
In the blink of an eye, the room was fizzing with good cheer. Laughter, hugs, good-natured teasing—Charlotte looked around, the tears beading her lashes now ones of joy rather than fear.
Wrexford came up beside her and smiled. Their fingers twined together in a quick embrace, the fleeting touch far more eloquent than any words.
A discreet cough from Riche cut through the giggling of the boys as McClellan permitted them each to have a half glass of champagne. “Milord and milady, Mr. Griffin is here in the corridor. Shall I—”
“By all means, show him in,” said Wrexford. To Charlotte, he added, “I thought it only right that we invite him to partake in the festivities.”
“I’m glad that you did.” Charlotte smiled and hurried to greet the Runner.
Her heartfelt hug seemed to fluster him. “Forgive me,” he said. “I seem to be interrupting a private gathering.”
“Not at all. We wanted you to share in the celebration. Your efforts were invaluable in helping to ensure that justice prevailed in this investigation,” she responded. “Though I fear that you may not always approve of our unorthodox methods.”
“If that were true, it would be very ungentlemanly of me to say so,” said the Runner, a twinkle lighting his eyes.
“Besides, we make him smell like roses to his superiors,” said Wrexford, handing Griffin a goblet of champagne.
The Runner chuckled. “The scent of success is all very well, milord. But it pains me that we didn’t enjoy nearly enough suppers together during our quest to solve this particular tangle of crimes.”
“I am more than making it up by serving you a very expensive champagne,” responded Wrexford. His expression then turned serious. “I hope that in addition to availing yourself of my food and drink, you have also come here to tell us that Jarvis is locked up in a cell at Newgate.”
“I have, milord.” Griffin took an appreciative sip of the wine. “And just so you know, I’ve been assured by the highest authorities that the dastard won’t be leaving his cell until the day that he makes his final walk to the gallows.”
Wrexford gave a gruff nod, indicating that he understood the oblique message from Grentham and the government that the traitorous eel wouldn’t wriggle out of paying the ultimate price for his crimes.
“So, justice has been done,” finished the Runner. “I hope you feel some measure of . . .” He paused, searching for the right word. “Resolution, perhaps?”
The earl considered the question. “A malignant force has been excised from society. That is a good thing.”
“I still do not quite understand all the circumstances that brought Taviot and his sister to such an ugly end,” mused Griffin.
“It seems the family was cursed with bad blood,” offered Charlotte.
“Though he covered his tracks well, Taviot turned out to be guilty of helping Jarvis betray Britain. As for Lady Kirkwall, she made a series of wrong choices. There is no need to regale you with all the sordid details. I have some sympathy for her, but she was not an innocent victim of Fate.”
Griffin took a moment to consider what he had just heard. “And what of Maitland? Surely he was in league with the evildoers.”
“Actually, he wasn’t,” answered Wrexford.
“He joined the consortium fully believing that he could achieve greatness. When the experiments failed to produce the desired results, he, like all too many men of science, kept telling himself that he was oh-so-close—that the next try would bring the momentous breakthrough.”
“Henry Maudslay has, in fact, offered Maitland a position at his research laboratory once it is rebuilt,” added Charlotte.
“His genius is real, and he can now work with a man of conscience who cares about creating real progress rather than a fraudulent company intent on bilking its investors of their money.”
Griffin downed the last swallow of his champagne. “Since we are parsing through Good and Evil, what about that havey-cavey Russian? Some of my sources were hinting that he was up to no good.”
“We are quite certain that Mr. Kurlansky is innocent of any skullduggery.” Charlotte pursed her lips in a rueful smile. “At least in this particular investigation.”
“Speaking of Good,” said Wrexford, “I’ve also invited von Münch to come by. Without his help—”
“As to that, milord . . .” The Runner cleared his throat with an uncomfortable cough. “I was just going to broach the subject of von Münch—”
“Why?” demanded the earl.
Griffin gave a wry grimace. “Because in the course of our interactions during the investigations, you had mentioned your misgivings about his motives. And so I took it upon myself to make some inquiries about him.”
“But surely . . .” Charlotte paused, feeling a bit shaken to think that her instincts about the librarian might have been all wrong.
“B-But surely you’re not going to tell us we misjudged him.
” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t accept that.
Von Münch proved his mettle and his loyalty—”
“Actually von Münch didn’t, milady,” interrupted the Runner.
Catching Wrexford’s scowl, he hastened to add, “The real Herr von Münch, librarian to King Frederick of Württemberg, is at present ensconced in his quarters at the Ludwigsburg Palace, working quietly on his biography of the current king. Given his age and infirmities—he’s close to eighty and suffering from weak lungs—he never travels these days, especially abroad. ”
“You are sure of this—” began Wrexford, then expelled a sharp sigh. “My apologies, Griffin. Of course you are.” A frown. “Which raises two questions—who the devil is the man calling himself von Münch? And what were his motives for the ruse?”
“I’m afraid that I don’t have answers for either of those questions, milord.
” Griffin sighed. “Once you expressed your suspicions, I made some discreet inquiries among the diplomatic delegation from Württemberg and established that the king’s librarian did not make the journey to Britain.
And once I learned of the man’s age, I was sure that the fellow who called himself von Münch was a fraud. ”
The Runner paused for breath. “So I set out to learn where he was lodging—and one of my associates brought me the address last night. However, when I went to apprehend him for questioning, I discovered the rooms were empty. Further search led me to the nearby livery stable, whose head ostler confirmed that the man he knew as von Münch had appeared an hour earlier with a full set of saddle bags and ridden away in what looked to be great haste.” Griffin looked to Wrexford with an apologetic shrug.
“I’m sorry, milord, but it does seem that you were right to smell a rat. ”
“Perhaps not a rat,” mused Charlotte. “Even with these revelations I find it hard to believe the fellow who was masquerading as von Münch is evil.”
“Perhaps he’s just amoral,” muttered the earl. “Bloody hell, perhaps he’s one of Grentham’s operatives. Or perhaps he works for Kurlansky. Either of those two master manipulators might have had their own unfathomable reasons for dispatching him to become part of our inner circle.”
Charlotte couldn’t think of any reasonable retort. “We can speculate all we want, but the truth is, we may never know his real identity, or his real purpose.”
“Unless,” intoned Wrexford, “our paths cross again.”
McClellan looked into the breakfast room from the adjoining side salon and gave an impatient wave.
“Chin-wagging can wait until later. You must all come partake of the confections I’ve made to celebrate the upcoming nuptials.
There are cream pastries and my special Dundee cakes to go along with more champagne. ”
Griffin gladly accepted the invitation, but Charlotte held Wrexford back.
“A moment, Wrex.” The sounds of celebration in the salon were already growing boisterous, but Charlotte was aware only of the whispery thud of two hearts beating as one as she pulled him close.
“Let us put aside the question of von Münch. What matters is us.” Her arms tightened. “A-Are you truly at peace?”
“I have achieved all that I could hope for,” he answered.
“Is that enough?” she asked.
“Yes.” Wrexford brushed a kiss to her lips. “It is. The pain of the past will never die. But I have you and my family, and our ever-growing circle of friends, so the future promises more happiness than any man deserves.”
Charlotte tightened her hold. “And to begin that future, I swear that we are going to have a prolonged stay at our country estate after we host Cordelia and Kit’s wedding. Think of it . . .” A sigh of longing. “An interlude of uninterrupted peace and quiet.”
“Deo volente,” quipped Wrexford. God willing.
She laughed at the Latin phrase. “Let us make a pact. No drama, no dead bodies. Just us and our family.”
The earl’s mouth twitched. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“We’ll deal with the future when it comes,” replied Charlotte. The laughter in the other room was growing louder. “But for now, I say we simply savor the present moment.”
A small sound—it may or may not have been a laugh—rumbled in Wrexford’s throat. “And offer up a plea to Eris, the Greek goddess of Chaos, that no more mysterious friends or villains appear from nowhere to turn our peace and quiet upside down.”