CHAPTER 10
“That’s a very thought-provoking question, Wrexford.
” Lord Bingham, a fellow member of the Royal Institution, and a noted expert in plant chemistry, looked up from his work counter.
Steam rising from a glass beaker set over a spirit lamp swirled around his face, misting his forehead and leaving a droplet of water hanging from the tip of his beaky nose.
“Thank heaven that I can always count on you to raise an interesting scientific challenge.”
A sniff, which caused the drop to splash onto his cravat. “Indeed, it’s a welcome distraction. Craven asked me to help him test one of his theories. I told him from the first that it was all wrong, and this particular experiment—a very boring one, I might add—is proving me right.”
“I’m always happy to provide a diversion,” replied the earl. “But as to the question, have you any ideas?”
Bingham didn’t answer right away. Lips pursed in thought, he extracted a pair of spectacles from his coat pocket, then pulled a well-worn leather-bound book from the pile on the counter and cracked it open.
Pages rustled as he thumbed through it, setting off the musty scent of old ink and damp paper.
“Hmmm.” Bingham turned back to a previous section and read through it before skipping to the back of the book.
Wrexford waited, knowing that creative thinking rarely moved in a straight line.
The liquid boiling in the beaker continued its low gurgling.
“Hmmm.” The chemist finally snapped the book shut.
“We’ve known for several centuries that cinchona bark has a remarkable effect on fevers, but as to why .
. .” He made a face. “We know that the ground bark won’t dissolve properly in water—it needs to be placed in distilled wine in order to dissolve properly.
But as to its other chemical properties—most of them still remain a mystery.
We simply don’t yet understand why it’s so effective. ”
Bingham sighed. “I wanted to refresh my memory, to see if any new thoughts would leap to mind. But alas, at present, I haven’t a clue of what other botanicals might strengthen its effects.”
The earl hadn’t really expected any miraculous revelations, but he had thought it worth a try. “My thanks.”
“Might I inquire why you asked?” Bingham was aware of Becton’s death, but like the rest of the scientific community, save for a few members of the Royal Society’s governing committee, he had no idea of what momentous discovery the American scholar was going to reveal in his presentation.
“It was just an idea that came to mind.” Wrexford knew the chemist to be a solid, sensible fellow. “However, I would be grateful if you kept our meeting confidential.”
“But of course.” Bingham blew out the flame on his spirit lamp. “If you like, I can do some additional reading on the bark and see if I come up with any other ideas.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Excellent. As I said, a scientific challenge is always stimulating.” The chemist was already reaching for the stack of books. “And I’m grateful for you giving me the excuse to turn my thoughts to something more interesting than Craven’s experiment.”
“Then I shall leave you to it.”
Wrexford was soon back out on Albemarle Street, but instead of heading for home, he clicked open his pocket watch to check the time and then turned his steps toward White’s.
* * *
“Lady Charlotte! What a delightful surprise!”
“Mr. Moretti.” Charlotte forced a smile in response to his greeting. It should come as no surprise that he would pay a visit to one of London’s most famous cultural attractions. And yet, his presence couldn’t help but stir a niggling sense of unease.
Coincidences did happen. But Moretti’s next words only deepened her suspicions.
“Forgive me for being a few minutes late, Mr. DeVere. The corridors here are like a maze, and I fear I became a trifle confused in finding my way to this gallery.”
Charlotte, too, was feeling a little disoriented.
“The two of you are acquainted?” asked DeVere, his gaze darting from her to Moretti.
Lies would only come back to bite her, she decided. But there was no reason to volunteer any information.
“We had a very pleasant chat during the gala celebration at the Royal Botanic Gardens,” she replied.
If Moretti was taken aback by her response, he hid it well. “Indeed, we did,” he said, his face maintaining a blandly polite expression. He said nothing more.
“And you, sir? I imagine you, too, met at the gala, given your mutual interest in botany. Do you share a specific field of study?” Charlotte spoke to DeVere, curious as to how the two of them had come to know each other.
“Oh, I’ve been following Mr. Moretti’s work for some time,” responded DeVere. “His scholarship shows a great deal of promise. I have no doubt that we can expect great things from him.”
For a moment, her breath seemed to stick in her lungs.
The praise brought a faint flush of color to her friend’s cheeks. “You are exceedingly kind, sir. I—I shall do my very best to live up to such lofty expectations.”
“I’m sure that you will.” DeVere gave a friendly pat to Moretti’s shoulder. “Come, allow me to show you the highlights of the museum, and as we admire the timeless beauty of man’s creative efforts, we can discuss the details of my offer, and see if it is acceptable to you.”
“I . . . I . . .” Moretti appeared a little overwhelmed.
“I am quite sure it will be more than acceptable, sir.” He turned to Charlotte, a beatific glow lighting his hazel eyes.
“Mr. DeVere wishes to offer me a stipend and a place to work here in England for the next year, in order to continue my research.”
Charlotte managed to mask her shock though the announcement shook her to the core. “How very generous,” she murmured, avoiding DeVere’s gaze.
“Sì, sì,” said Moretti. “I am . . . how do you English say it . . . in alt at my good fortune.”
Be careful what you wish for, my friend, she thought. But perhaps Moretti already knew he was making a deal with the devil.
“I wish you the best,” replied Charlotte, hoping against hope that she was wrong.
“We ought not keep you any longer from your ices at Gunter’s, Lady Charlotte.” DeVere gave a genteel wave to the dowager and the boys, who were waiting at the far end of the room.
Was that a twitch of malice in his smile as he turned back to face her?
“Enjoy your outing,” he added.
“Ciao, bella Lady Charlotte,” murmured Moretti as DeVere gestured toward Lord Elgin’s marbles.
She walked away, careful to maintain a straight spine and a measured pace. It felt as if DeVere was taking every opportunity to poke and prod her, looking for a chink in her defenses. A way to strike at her most vulnerable weakness.
And one of Greek mythology’s most elemental lessons was that every mortal being had an Achilles’ heel.
* * *
As he had hoped, Wrexford found Sheffield in the main reading room at White’s. But in his hands was a sheaf of papers, rather than a glass of the club’s port or brandy. Indeed, on the side table by his armchair sat a pot of coffee.
“I swear,” grumbled his friend as Wrexford settled into the chair beside him, “there are times when numbers give me a bigger headache than cheap Blue Ruin.”
“Yes, but with numbers you actually profit from the pain.” Sheffield pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Only if I can find a way to lessen the transportation costs from Bruges to Dover, now that our lace supplier has raised the cost of his wares.”
“Speaking of shipping . . .” Wrexford glanced around to check that there was no one within earshot. “Have you had a chance to ask around about Quincy’s business?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” His friend shuffled through his documents and fished out a dozen sheets.
“One of our dockyard foremen is well acquainted with the fellow who supervises the unloading of all goods that come into the West India docks. Two of Quincy’s ships have delivered cargos during the past three months. Here’s the manifests for both of them.”
Wrexford skimmed the sheets that Sheffield passed over. “Cotton, tobacco . . . it seems like nothing out of the ordinary.” He looked up. “Or am I missing something?”
“No, it’s as expected. The only thing suspect is the price he charges.
Lady Cordelia has done a number of sophisticated mathematical calculations based on our knowledge of the markets, both here and in America,” explained Sheffield.
“She’s convinced that Quincy Enterprises has to be losing money on its cotton exports.
Our guess is, he’s trying to force us out of the market, and then he’ll recoup his losses. ”
“A risky strategy,” observed the earl. “Assuming you have the funds to force him into a prolonged price war.”
A smile played on Sheffield’s lips. “My partners dislike it intensely when men try to use ham-fisted tactics to best the competition. They are of the opinion that if one can’t triumph through wits rather than skulduggery, then one doesn’t deserve a victory.”
“I take it Mr. Quincy is going to continue losing money,” said Wrexford.
“Yes. More than he might imagine.” Sheffield glanced at the papers still in his hands. “But never mind that for now. I’ve something more interesting to show you.”
The earl straightened in his chair.
“Looking into cargos and deliveries got me thinking. So I took it on myself to have our foreman ask some additional questions of the cargo supervisor—ones that pertained to the ship that brought Quincy and DeVere to London. It was one of the company’s smaller, faster vessels, a type that is usually employed to transport valuable goods rather than bulk cargo. ”
“And was it?” he asked.
Sheffield made a pained face. “Allow me to finish, Wrex. It’s not quite as simple as yes or no.”
Wrexford signaled for his friend to continue.