CHAPTER 11
Charlotte watched Raven and Hawk race down the stairs and fly out the front door, their gentlemanly clothing replaced by the far more familiar—and filthy—rags of a street urchin.
“Weasels.” Soft as a sigh, the word slipped from her lips.
Not that she would wish them to change. Yes, the slums taught brutally hard lessons, and one learned to be smart and strong in order to survive.
But in addition, they also could teach other important life lessons—that friendship and loyalty, along with kindness and compassion, were often more important than toughness in overcoming adversity.
Still, the demands of living in both worlds weren’t easy—
“Of course you worry about them.” McClellan, her hands dusted with flour, had quietly come out of the kitchen to stand beside her. “It is an elemental irony, isn’t it, that the more we love, the more we fear. However, we must keep fear from clouding the joy from our hearts.”
“Thank you, Mac.” Charlotte smiled. “For always knowing what words I need to hear to buck up my courage.”
“Your courage needs no help from me. If anything, your heart is too big. It needs an occasional reminder that you can’t try to take on every injustice that you see.”
There was great wisdom in the maid’s words. But Becton’s murder was personal. DeVere had gotten away with too many unspeakable evils. If he was guilty of this one, she was determined to see that he would not escape justice.
“However, in this case, I understand your feelings,” added McClellan. “If that scoundrel DeVere was involved in the poisoning of Dr. Hosack’s friend, we’ll see that he answers for the crime.”
Before Charlotte could reply, a brusque knock on the front door indicated that they had a visitor.
“Are we expecting company?” asked the maid, quickly coming to full alert.
She shook her head.
“I’ll answer it.” McClellan wiped her hands on her apron and ducked into the kitchen for a brief moment. “Please wait in the parlor.”
Charlotte didn’t look too closely at the bulge in the maid’s pocket. Cavendum est optima parte errare. It is best to err on the side of caution. One man already lay dead.
The door clicked open a moment after she slipped into the parlor, the metallic snick followed by the sound of voices.
Releasing her pent-up breath, Charlotte stepped away from the bookcase, where a mahogany tea chest on one of the shelves concealed a loaded pistol.
“Forgive me for dropping by unannounced, as I know how busy you are,” said Cordelia, untying her bonnet and then setting it on the sideboard.
“But Octavia just received a letter from her American cousin, who works with our business agent in New York, and I felt it important that you be aware of some of its contents.”
Charlotte had become acquainted with Octavia Howe at Lady Thirkell’s salon for intellectually-minded ladies.
She was impressed with her air of highly-organized efficiency and razor-sharp logic.
Indeed, the wife of a high-placed general had quipped at a recent meeting that if the military men at Horse Guards appointed Miss Howe as quartermaster for Wellington’s army, the war would be over in a fortnight.
“I’ll make tea,” said McClellan. “Shall I also bring ginger biscuits?”
“Bless you, Mac.” Cordelia sank into one of the armchairs and blew out a harried sigh. “I confess, I’m famished. It’s been a hellish day, and I’ve not eaten since breakfast.”
“I hope you’ve not had any bad news about your ships and crew,” said Charlotte.
“Thank goodness, no,” replied Cordelia. “Just some problems with a few regular clients.” She made a face. “Quincy Enterprises is undercutting our prices in several American markets, and it’s hard to convince people that saving a few pennies now will come back to bite their bank accounts.”
Her mouth thinned for a moment. “I happen to know Quincy is scrimping on sail canvas to save money, as well as deferring maintenance on caulking and fastenings for the hulls of their ships. In my opinion, they ought to be strung up from the nearest yardarm for negligence. For mark my words, a disaster will happen—it’s merely a question of when.
” A pause. “And hurricane season is coming to life in the Atlantic.”
“That they are deliberately putting their crews in danger ought to be a criminal offense,” mused Charlotte.
“And yet it’s not.”
An idea suddenly occurred to her. She had sworn a solemn oath to herself never to use A. J. Quill’s pen for personal reasons. But regardless of her own feelings for the man, if Quincy was a threat to innocent lives, then pointing a finger at this particular evil was in the public’s interest.
And if stirring a stick in that dark cesspool brought other wrongdoings to the surface . . .
The clink of cups and plates interrupted her musings.
“I took the liberty of bringing more substantial sustenance than mere biscuits,” said McClellan as she placed a large tray on the tea table. A basket of bread, still warm from the oven, sat beside a platter of sliced cheddar and ham. Next to it was a wedge of apple pie.
Cordelia closed her eyes and inhaled the earthy fragrance of the fresh-brewed Oolong tea. “That smells positively ambrosial.”
“Eat,” ordered the maid, handing over a plate heaped with food.
After a few quick bites, Cordelia put down her fork. “I’m very grateful, but I didn’t come here to impose on your hospitality—”
“Among close friends, there’s no such thing as imposing,” said Charlotte. “Just as there’s no need to conform to polite manners.” A smile. “You can eat and talk at the same time.”
That drew an answering grin. “Very well—as you know, I take great delight in breaking Society’s rules.
” Cordelia broke off a bit of bread and swallowed it before continuing.
“Getting back to my earlier announcement, Octavia received some news from her cousin. I’m not sure if it means anything, but as it relates to possible suspects in Mr. Becton’s murder, I thought you ought to hear it right away. ”
“As of yet, none of the fragments of information we’ve uncovered are fitting together into any discernable picture,” Charlotte replied. “So any additional piece is most welcome.”
“Then here is what Henry Chauncey passed on to Octavia’s cousin,” replied her friend. “Chauncey is our American agent, and he’s based in New York. He was born and raised there, so is intimately familiar with the city, and has friends in every strata of society.”
“A useful thing for a man of business.”
“Very useful,” agreed Cordelia. “He was drinking with an acquaintance in one of the rougher taverns in the vicinity of the city’s harbor when a conversation concerning Quincy Enterprises caught his ear.
The two men involved were in a secluded booth, but Chauncey and his companion were in a shadowed nook close by and must have gone unnoticed. ”
Cordelia paused for a bite of cheese topped with a sliver of ham.
“In any case, he could hear the two men clear as a bell. One of them was Captain Samuel Daggett of the United States Navy. And the other was Reginald Lyman, who is someone my partners and I consider to be no better than a blackguard mercenary for hire.”
“How do you mean?” asked Charlotte.
“He’s a devilishly good sailor with a very fast ship, and he makes his living doing very dangerous—and usually very dirty—jobs for people willing to pay him a king’s ransom because of his reputation for being slippery as an eel—and for keeping his mouth shut.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“Thankfully, what we know of him is hearsay, as our business has never crossed paths with his. However, what Chauncey overheard has us very concerned,” explained Cordelia.
“Daggett was clearly angry and threatened Lyman with dire consequences if Lyman betrayed their agreement and did the shipping deal with Quincy on his own.”
“Shipping what?” queried Charlotte.
A chuffed sigh sounded in answer. “Would that I could tell you. No details were mentioned, only the fact that it was a very lucrative job.”
Damnation. This bit of information was like all the other clues, thought Charlotte. A quicksilver gleam that caught the eye, but turned into vapor when one tried to grab hold of it.
“Chauncey did his best to uncover more about the plan,” went on Cordelia.
“However, people were either too frightened to talk, or the conspirators have guarded their secret very well. He couldn’t discover anything, but said he would keep trying to learn more.
However, it could be months before we hear anything from him.
In the meantime, he said that our office here should be on guard for any attempt by Quincy to tamper with our trading routes or partners. ”
She poured herself some more tea. “Sheffield has some friends among the dockyard administrators and is doing some further digging into Quincy’s business. However, I’ve not yet heard from him on whether he’s found anything new.”
After taking a sip of tea, her friend looked up. “I realize that this is all damnably vague, like ghostly specters flitting through the night. But I thought you should be aware of it.”
The note of frustration in Cordelia’s voice was echoed in her own thoughts. Intuition told her that there had to be a connection between the three men and Becton’s murder—that DeVere would somehow also be part of it.
But feeling it was one thing. Proving it was quite another.
And at the moment, that possibility seemed as far away as the Man in the Moon.
* * *
Wrexford joined in the polite applause as the Dutch scholar gathered up his notes and stepped down from the stage. It had been an interesting lecture on Linnaeus and his classification for plants, but his mind had been wandering for most of it. Murder, not monadria, was foremost in his thoughts.