CHAPTER 2 #2
An agitated whisper from within a thick screen of foliage yanked her from her musings.
Spinning around, she quickly crouched down and parted the dark leaves, revealing her ward’s dirt-streaked face. “Good heavens, Hawk! What are you doing there?”
“I . . . I—”
“No, no—never mind an explanation now,” she interrupted. “Just come along with me—quickly and quietly.”
The boy obeyed in a flash, clutching his sketchbook and a fistful of colored sticks of chalk to his chest.
“This way,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the conservatory’s study rooms. To her relief, the lanterns along the walkway to that section of the building were unlit.
The door to the art room was locked, but Charlotte plucked a hairpin from her topknot.
After a few deft twists of the metal, it opened with a soft snick.
Drawing it shut behind them, she led Hawk over to a study table set by an exterior window looking out onto the herb gardens.
The night sky was cloudless, the twinkling of the stars amplifying the whisper of silvery moonlight coming in through the glass panes.
The pale glow caught the look of apprehension on the boy’s face. “I-I’m sorry. I know Mr. Tyler told me to stay in the section containing the bromeliads, so I wouldn’t disturb any of the scholars. But he’s been gone for an age, and there wasn’t anyone among the ficus trees . . .”
His lower lip began to quiver. “I didn’t think it would do any harm. I was quiet, and w-wery careful.”
Hawk’s pronunciation always turned a little shaky when he was nervous.
Feeling her heart clench, Charlotte gently smoothed a tangle of hair back from his brow.
“You did nothing wrong, sweeting. However, there’s been an unfortunate incident in another part of the conservatory, and it’s best that we stay out of sight while the proper authorities deal with the matter. ”
Hawk squirmed in his chair. “W-What sort of incident?”
Alas, both boys were far more familiar with murder investigations than she would have liked. Still, she saw no reason to mention the dead body.
“Wrexford will come fetch us when things have calmed down,” she replied.
He had let his sketchbook slip onto the table, but it appeared that his hands remained tightly fisted, though they were now resting in his lap.
Seeking to reassure him that he had done nothing deserving a scold, she asked, “Did you discover some new and interesting plants to draw?”
* * *
“There will be an extra few guineas for you and your men if the body arrives at Henning’s surgery before dawn,” murmured Wrexford as he passed over a handful of coins.
“Oiy, milord.” The driver gave a tug on his greasy forelock as his two helpers loaded Becton’s canvas-wrapped corpse into the back of the mortuary wagon. “Never fear, we won’t hesitate te rattle a few bones te get there quicklike, heh, heh, heh.”
“Then crack your whip and get your wheels rolling,” replied the earl. The Royal Botanic Gardens were in Kew, a long drive from the heart of London. Given the less-than-official order he had just issued, it was best that the trip be completed under the cover of darkness.
He watched the wagon jolt off into the gloom, then turned to Hosack.
“I think you should join the gala dinner, sir. One of the footmen informed me that Tyler is still somewhere on the grounds, so I’ll have him wait here and bring you to my friend Henning’s surgery, once the evening’s festivities have come to an end. ”
“I’m profoundly grateful, Lord Wrexford.”
“Well, there is an old English adage—Be careful what you wish for,” responded Wrexford.
“Yes, I know . . . I know. It would have been expedient to ignore my suspicions. But it would have been wrong.” Releasing a sigh that trailed off in a ghostly vapor, Hosack stared into the shadows.
“Not to speak of being cowardly. Becton could be oddly reclusive. And secretive. But he was a dear friend. I couldn’t in good conscience turn a blind eye on the evidence. ”
“I pray you’re mistaken,” muttered the earl.
“So do I, sir.” Another sigh. “So do I.”
A breeze rustled through the nearby trees. The leaves, already turning brittle from the first hints of autumn, gave off a mournful crackling.
Hosack blew out his cheeks and inclined a small bow before turning to the path leading up to the palace.
Wrexford remained where he was, feeling a chill slither down his spine which had nothing to do with the nighttime drop in temperature.
Though this death did not involve him or those he held dear, he knew all too well how murder—if this, in fact, proved to be one—had a way of reaching out and entrapping innocent victims within its tentacles.
Damn the devil and his legion of demons.
He would have to stay sharp and be ready to cut off any threat that tried to come close.
Somewhere in the grove of trees, a branch cracked. Pushing aside his mordant thoughts, the earl turned around and set off to reenter the conservatory.
The main entrance foyer was deserted, and the agitated current of shock had settled back into the usual aura of quiet tranquility.
In no mood to appreciate the lush sweetness of the air, Wrexford batted aside a leafy vine and started down one of the side paths, intent on taking a shortcut to where Charlotte was waiting.
The way looped through a tall cluster of holly specimens, and as he emerged from the jagged shadows, he saw he wasn’t alone.
Someone was sitting on his haunches and peering into a tangle of sword-shaped leaves.
A frustrated mutter floated above the ruffling greenery. “Where the devil are you?”
“Ye gods,” muttered Wrexford. “I pray you’re not looking for a lost Weasel.”
Tyler looked up with a start. “He’s not lost. He’s simply . . . not where he was told to be.”
“Which was where?”
“The adjoining gallery,” answered his valet. “I’ve checked there, and then decided to widen my search.”
The earl told himself there was no reason for alarm. It was late, and Hawk had likely been here for hours. He had probably fallen asleep somewhere in all this cursed greenery.
“How long did you leave him alone?”
Tyler gave a guilty grimace. “The head of the committee asked for my urgent help in setting up a scientific display in the pagoda for tomorrow’s reception. Some of the instruments had been damaged in transit, and it took longer than I expected to repair them.”
Wrexford swore under his breath.
“Hawk had his sketchbook and a sack filled with refreshments prepared by McClellan, including his favorite ginger biscuits.” A defensive note crept into the valet’s voice. “He assured me that he was quite happy to sit and draw until I returned.”
“Weasel!” called Wrexford.
The only answer was the muffled echo reverberating off the glass.
“We can split up and make a methodical search of this wing—” began Tyler.
“No, first we need to fetch Charlotte. She’s waiting in one of the study rooms.”
Tyler quickened his pace to keep up with the earl. “I thought the two of you were attending the gala banquet.”
“As did I. However, your friend Dr. Hosack had other plans for me.”
The valet now looked thoroughly confused. “You’re not making any sense. Is something amiss?”
“Other than the fact that you left the boy alone in here with a cunning killer on the prowl?”
“What!” The color leached from Tyler’s face. “I’m well aware of your peculiar sense of humor, milord. But that’s an unkind jest. As if I would ever knowingly place either of the Weasels in danger—”
“It’s no jest,” interrupted Wrexford. “One of Hosack’s colleagues was found dead a short while ago, and the doctor is convinced it was murder.” He ducked beneath a canopy of palm fronds. “However, you’re right—it was an unfair cut. I apologize.”
“To the devil with anything other than finding Hawk. You go on—I’ll keep looking.”
The earl grabbed Tyler’s sleeve. “It’s best not to run off helter-pelter. We’re almost there, and among the three of us, we can map out a methodical search.”
A grunt conceded the logic of his words. But a sidelong glance showed that Tyler’s clenched jaw was rigid with fear and remorse.
Damnation. The evening was meant to have been a celebratory occasion—the first public appearance for him and Charlotte as an engaged couple. That it had taken such a pernicious twist seemed . . .
“Wrexford!” Charlotte shot up out of her chair as he and Tyler entered the study room.
“Thank God you’re safe!” exclaimed the valet on spotting Hawk. He drew a shaky breath. “Though I should birch your bottom for disobeying my order to stay in the display of bromeliads.”
“There’s no need to ring such a peal over his head. No harm was done,” said Charlotte. “He simply wanted to try his hand at drawing a different specimen.”
“Oiy.” The boy hung his head. “I only moved to the adjoining display room, and I was wery, wery careful not to allow myself to be seen by any of the guests.”
“None of the scholars were supposed to stray from the main galleries. And as it was getting dark, and the committee needed my help, it seemed there was no reason why he couldn’t wait here in the conservatory,” explained Tyler to Wrexford.
“But one of them did stray into the side galleries,” chirped Hawk. “However, I wiggled deeper into the grouping of potted plants when I heard him coming, and kept wery still—even when the glass he hurled into the specimens hit me in the head.”
The boy made a face. “It’s him who should have his bottom birched. He damaged a valuable Asplenium ruprechtii from the wilds of the Orient.”
Wrexford felt his muscles tighten. A quick glance showed Charlotte had fisted her hands in her skirts.
“A gentleman threw a glass into the plantings, sweeting?” she asked.
“Oiy.”
“Can you show me exactly where this was?” the earl demanded.
“I ain’t—I’m not—telling a faradiddle, sir,” answered Hawk, a note of hurt shading his tone.
“I’m not suggesting you are, lad.”
“Poison,” said Tyler, quickly making the connection. “You suspect the killer used poison?”
The boy straightened from his slouch, his eyes instantly coming alert. “Are we investigating another murder?”
“We,” replied Wrexford, “are doing no such thing.”
Charlotte shifted, throwing her face into shadow.
“I’m merely collecting any pertinent objects that may help us ascertain why one of the guests collapsed,” he finished.
“What does pertinent mean?” asked Hawk.
For a moment, the question hovered in the air, a tiny ripple of ice in the velvety warmth.
Wrexford bit back an oath. He had no doubt that the little imp of Satan knew exactly what he had meant, despite his attempt to hide it within a fancy sentence.
“It means relevant,” explained Charlotte. “Something that may relate to the subject in question.”
“In other words—” began Hawk.
“In other words, take me to the glass, Weasel,” snapped Wrexford. “Now.”
The boy slipped down from his stool—a little too enthusiastically, he observed. Like moths drawn inexorably toward a flame, both Hawk and Raven had no fear of flying straight into the maw of danger. He would have to have a talk with them about tempering their devil-may-care actions.
Especially as they would soon be an official family, not merely individuals linked together by love.
Love. A word that had never come easily to his tongue.
Funny how it no longer stuck in his craw . . .
The brush of Charlotte’s shoulder drew him back from his musings.
He fell into step behind her, and it took only a few minutes for their little band to weave its way to the spot in question.
Hawk disappeared into the dark foliage and quickly emerged triumphantly with the cut crystal champagne coupe.
Such a deceptively delicate object to serve as a messenger of Death, mused Wrexford as he took it and held it up to the moonlight.
From the look on her face, Charlotte’s thoughts seemed to be marching to the same drumbeat as his own. She stared at the glass, but said nothing.
After wrapping it carefully in his handkerchief, he tucked the evidence into his coat pocket. “Did you perchance get a glimpse of the gentleman who tossed the coupe?”
Hawk hesitated.
“Just remember, sweeting, it does more harm than good to allow wishful thinking to color your answer,” counseled Charlotte. “I know you’re very observant. But it was dark and you were intent on remaining hidden. If you saw nothing, you must say so.”
The boy squeezed his eyes shut.
Wrexford clasped his hand behind his back, willing himself to remain patient.
“I peeked up as I heard the steps coming closer, but only for an instant,” said Hawk. “He was moving quickly, so I didn’t see his face, though I could tell he was tall—nearly as tall as you, sir.”
“Excellent,” murmured Charlotte. “But more important, you did very well to keep yourself hidden.”
The earl nodded, but after allowing a sliver of silence, he couldn’t help adding, “Nothing else?”
“Wrexford . . .” Charlotte shot him a reproachful look.
Hawk’s face scrunched in thought. “Sorry, sir,” he said after several long moments had slid by. “I—wait! I do remember one other thing! As I ducked down, I heard his shoe catch on the edge of a tile. He muttered a word under his breath—it might have been an oath, as he sounded wery angry.”
“Did you catch what he said?” asked Tyler.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Hawk. “It started with a T . . . it sounded like . . . t-toll . . . toll-patch.”
Wrexford looked at Tyler, who lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“Does it help?” asked Hawk.
“Hard to say, lad,” replied Wrexford. “Until we know for sure whether a crime has been committed, we ought not create specters out of a mere puff of vapor.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire,” murmured Tyler.
“Be that as it may, I intend to ensure that all of us stay well out of reach of any flames.” He turned abruptly, causing the wrapped glass to hit up against his hip. “Come, there’s much to be done before this cursed night is over.”