CHAPTER 6 #2
He looked around. “However, this evening we have more pressing concerns. Come, let us make our way to the King’s Drawing Room.
Kit and Lady Cordelia are among the invited guests and they may have found some important information for me to pass on to Griffin.
” As they moved through the gallery, he quickly explained about his meeting with Sheffield.
“You’ve been far busier than I have in gathering clues,” she said. “Some of my contacts around the dockyards may also know . . .” She fell silent as one of the scholars in a group by the refreshment table detached himself from the others and approached her.
“Ciao, bella Charlotta!” He bowed in greeting and looked up with a mischievous grin. “Ah, and this must be Mr. Wrexford.”
“Lord Wrexford,” corrected Sheffield, who entered the drawing room just in time to overhear the exchange.
By his expression, noted Wrexford, his friend was also of the opinion that the man’s manners left a good deal to be desired.
“A lord?” The man widened his eyes and then flashed a wink at Charlotte. “Santi numi—Anthony enjoyed calling you milady. To think that you will soon be a real one.”
Wrexford took an instant dislike to the fellow. Clenching his teeth, he fought to keep his temper in check.
She gave a tight smile. “Marco, allow me to introduce my fiancé, the Earl of Wrexford. And our friend, Mr. Christopher Sheffield.” To the two of them, she added, “This is Marco Moretti, an old friend from my time in Rome.”
Wrexford gave a gruff nod, not trusting himself to speak.
Sheffield, however, showed no such restraint. “Actually, Lady Charlotte has always been a lady, in every sense of the word, Signore Moretti,” he said in a low voice. “It would be wise for you to have a care with what you say here in London, lest you give people the wrong impression about her past.”
It seemed to Wrexford that a speculative gleam lit for just an instant in Moretti’s eyes.
“Ah, yes, yes,” murmured Charlotte’s friend with a knowing nod. “Gossip is the same in any country. Innocent comments can be turned into nasty rumors, which can damage a reputation, no matter how spotless. Of course you wish to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“Kit, Lady Charlotte looks in need of some champagne,” said Wrexford. “Would you kindly escort her to the refreshment table. Signore Moretti and I will join you in a moment.”
The Italian smiled as Charlotte followed Sheffield’s lead—stirring further temptation to knock several of those pearly teeth down his gullet.
Wrexford took a step closer. “Allow me to correct your misconception. Gossip would be a nuisance for a short while, and then it would give way to some new rumor and be quickly forgotten. You see, not only do I have influence and connections within the highest circles of Society, but it seems I’ve also earned an unpleasant reputation as a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
So people go out of their way not to make an enemy of me. ”
Moretti’s expression had turned a little tentative.
“Here in London, an acquaintance reunited with an old friend refrains from acting overly familiar in public. I’m sure you don’t wish to cause offense, so I expect you’ll keep all further exchanges with my future wife respectful, as is befitting of a gentleman and a scholar.
As for any mention of her personal life in Rome, that would be out of place, I think.
Especially at a gathering such as this.”
The earl bared his own teeth in what only an idiot would take for a smile. “I trust I’ve made myself clear?”
To his credit, Moretti stiffened to attention and raised his chin. “I comprehend English quite well, sir. So you may be sure there is no misunderstanding between us.”
“Excellent.”
“I am sorry if my exuberance offended you,” continued the Italian. “Charl—that is, Lady Charlotte is a good friend, and I wouldn’t ever knowingly do anything that might hurt her.”
Perhaps he had misjudged Moretti. Still, there was something he didn’t like about the fellow, though Wrexford couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.
“Well, then, I’ve no need to keep you any longer from your colleagues.” It was a rude dismissal, and Charlotte’s friend was well aware of the snub.
He colored slightly, but matched the earl’s polite nod and made a dignified retreat.
“Good heavens, what did you say to poor Marco?” murmured Charlotte, once the earl had rejoined her and Sheffield in a secluded spot in the far corner of the room. “He looks as though you just threatened to carve out his liver with a dull penknife.”
“Wrex was right to chase him away. There is an air of oiliness to his effusive show of friendship,” muttered Sheffield. “He strikes me as a slippery fellow.”
“That’s unfair.” She made a little huff of exasperation.
“And unreasonable to form such an instant dislike. Italians are more . . . expressive than we English.” Her chin rose a notch.
“He was a good and loyal friend to me and Anthony, so I hope you will reserve judgment until you are better acquainted with him.”
“Fair enough,” growled Wrexford. “But let us put aside Moretti for the moment and hear if Kit has uncovered anything useful about our primary concern.”
“I’ve learned a few things, though I’m unsure of how helpful they will prove,” replied Sheffield.
“One of my friends in the shipping business, whose trade is based in the West Indies, has heard rumors that Quincy has recently purchased controlling interest in a small Spanish trading company that runs routes between New Granada and Guyana in Spanish America and the French island of Martinique.”
Wrexford frowned. “I can’t see how that has any relevance to Becton’s murder.”
“Nor can I,” said Sheffield. “I’m simply passing on what I’ve been told about Quincy—”
“Wait.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Hosack mentioned something about a botanist now working with Quincy on improving yield of American cotton plantations. I believe he said the fellow was a former army officer named Adderley, who tried to steal some specimens from the New Granada viceroy in Spanish America.”
“You’re right,” agreed the earl. “It’s a possible connection.” He pursed his lips. “And as Adderley is here in London attending the symposium, along with Quincy, Griffin may be able to find out more about him.”
“Adderley will be under no obligation to meet with Bow Street,” pointed out Charlotte.
“As we all know, there are other ways of getting information about people than to make a polite request,” he replied grimly.
Neither of them responded.
“Anything else?” he asked Sheffield.
“One other tidbit, though it’s not directly related to Quincy,” came the answer.
“Another American was a passenger on the same ship that brought Quincy here from New York. A naval captain, granted permission to visit London despite the tensions between our two countries as a concession to the Royal Society and its cordial relations with American scientific societies.”
“He is part of the New York scientific delegation to the symposium?” asked Charlotte.
“Actually, he’s attending as the representative of the Philadelphia Botanical Society. And curiously enough, it seems that Samuel Daggett is a distant cousin of the country’s former president, Thomas Jefferson, and served for some time as his naval adjutant.”
“I believe Mr. Jefferson is a man known for his interest in science, as well as the arts and literature,” said Charlotte.
“He also showed a taste for fine wine and witty women during his time as American envoy to Paris,” remarked the earl dryly. “He’s now a private citizen. Are you implying he arranged for Becton’s murder in order to steal the formula for himself?”
Put that way, it sounded absurd. By all accounts, Jefferson was an honorable and much-admired man.
“It’s unlikely, but still, it’s a connection that can’t be ignored,” said Charlotte, though she knew she was grasping at straws.
“Perhaps Lady Cordelia will have learned something more substantial.” A note of apology shaded Sheffield’s voice. “I’ll keep making inquiries. Ships arrive every day from the other side of the Atlantic, so there’s always fresh news.”
Wrexford nodded, but on spotting Lord Bethany, the secretary of the Royal Society, making his entrance into the drawing room, he let out a reluctant sigh. “I had better go speak with Bethany and discuss how the Society intends to handle Becton’s death.”
Charlotte gave a wry grimace.
“I will counsel him to hold off on any mention of murder,” he went on. “Let the villain who committed it think his cleverness has fooled everyone. Hubris leads to making mistakes.”
* * *
“Let us hope that is so,” murmured Charlotte as the earl walked away.
She couldn’t help but wonder whether she had committed an error in judgment by making the death known to the public.
She had done so to make sure the authorities could not decide to turn a blind eye on the crime.
The Royal Society would be happy to see the matter quietly buried, whether or not the killer was ever caught. But . . .
Looking up from her brooding, she caught Sheffield watching her in concern. But before he could speak, they were interrupted by Sir Robert, the dowager’s good-natured friend from the gala evening at the Royal Botanic Gardens.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte—there you are! Might I steal Her Ladyship away from you, sir?” he said to Sheffield, and then flashed a reproachful smile at her. “You must make amends for abandoning me at last night’s supper by coming and meeting a few of our visiting scholars from afar.”
“I would be delighted to do so,” she said.
Sheffield stepped aside, an inscrutable look flickering in his gaze. “Indeed, it’s an evening for convivial conversations, and mingling with friends, both old and new.”
Was that an oblique urging to step away from any further investigation of the murder? She understood his worries. Ye gods, she had them, too . . .