CHAPTER 19
“Damnation,” muttered Sheffield as he and Wrexford entered the earl’s workroom. “I will shed no tears over the deaths of DeVere and Quincy, but no matter how unsavory, one deserves a fair trial in which to answer for one’s sins.”
“So says the law of the land. And for the concept of justice to hold any meaning, it must apply equally to everyone.” Wrexford took a seat at his desk, feeling frustrated and discouraged.
After failing to find Daggett at the Sun and Sextant Club, he had paid a visit to an old friend, who held a senior position in military intelligence at the Horse Guards, to discuss the political ramifications of arresting an American naval officer.
Only to be told that principle would likely give way to pragmatism.
“However . . .” The earl picked up his letter opener and ran a finger along the blade. “Norris informed me that private negotiations have just begun to end the war between our two countries, so he is of the opinion that—”
“That the dastard is going to get away with murder,” interrupted Sheffield. He grimaced. “Lady Charlotte isn’t going to be happy.”
His friend’s words sent a spike of fear through Wrexford’s gut. “Do you think I don’t know that?” His hand tightened on the hilt of the letter opener. “I’m aware that she’ll not turn a blind eye on it, and will use her pen to provoke the public into asking more questions about the crime.”
“What can we do to protect her?” asked Sheffield.
“I need to find Daggett. Our government may be loath to confront him, but I’m not,” growled Wrexford. “Griffin has two men keeping the Sun and Sextant Club under surveillance, so I’ll be alerted as soon as he returns there. I’ve some ideas of where else to look—”
A slight rustling in the storage alcove caused him to stop in midsentence. “Weasel?” he called sharply.
Silence. And then a whisper of movement as Raven slipped out of the shadows, a glass beaker and polishing cloth in his hands.
The earl swore under his breath. “I ought to birch your bum for eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, sir,” replied the boy. “I was working. . .” A pause. “At the task that Mr. Tyler assigned to me.”
Sheffield cleared his throat to mask a chuckle.
“Is Mr. DeVere dead?” added Raven, before the earl could respond.
Wrexford hesitated, but only for an instant. “Yes. He was murdered last night in his conservatory. Quite violently, as a bullet blew away half his skull.”
A flickering of his lashes was the boy’s only visible reaction. As to what he was thinking . . .
Out of the corner of his eye, the earl saw Tyler had come to stand in the archway connecting the main workroom to the laboratory. “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t feel it was my revelation to make, milord.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” announced Raven. “M’lady wouldn’t tell us what happened that night she was trapped there.” His eyes narrowed in accusation. “And neither would you.”
“Nor will I ever,” said Wrexford. “Some things simply aren’t meant to be shared. Not even with you and your brother.”
“Whatever it was, it must have been bad.” Raven tried to sound tough, but his voice betrayed a note of vulnerability.
“It left no lasting scars, lad.” Wrexford met the boy’s gaze. “That is all you really need to know.”
Raven looked away, but not before the earl saw the look of relief in his eyes.
Further discussion was forestalled by the sound of hurried steps in the corridor.
“Wrexford!” Charlotte rushed through the doorway in a swirl of emerald-colored silk.
He shot up from his chair. The sight of Hawk at her heels stilled the first jolt of alarm. As did the fact that she was stylishly dressed in formal finery. But there were others who might be in danger.
“What is it?” he began, only to have the air squeezed from his lungs as she flung herself forward and wrapped him in a very un-Charlotte-like hug.
“Oh, Wrexford!” Her voice was fuzzy with emotion. “Thank heaven you’re unharmed.”
“Not a scratch,” he murmured, savoring her closeness and the beguiling scent of her perfume. “Though I daresay, I’ll soon have some bruises darkening my ribs.”
She leaned back, flattening her palms on his chest. “Never mind your ribs. You must hurry and change into your evening clothes.”
“Alas, much as I would enjoy waltzing with you, I’ve more pressing matters—”
“We’ve found Becton’s missing specimen!” exclaimed Charlotte. “That is, Hawk did.” She sucked in a quick breath. “Or rather, we know where it is, but we must hurry.”
“How?” cried Raven.
“Where?” demanded Tyler.
“Who?” asked Sheffield.
“Silence!” ordered Wrexford.
The room fell still.
“Now, please explain yourself, my dear.”
In answer, Charlotte gestured at Hawk. “Open your sketchbook, sweeting.” She took Becton’s original drawing—the one handed over by Moretti the previous evening—out of her reticule and unfolded it. “Now let us place both of them on the desk so everyone can have a look.”
“I drew mine at the Royal Botanic Gardens just yesterday,” explained Hawk as the others all gathered around to study the two sketches.
“Holy hell.” Tyler let out a low whistle. “In the storage room?”
“I think I’ve pieced together what happened,” said Charlotte.
“Becton was becoming more and more fearful that someone was going to steal his precious papers and specimen. Because of the previous break-in, he didn’t trust that they would be safe in his rooms, and he wasn’t sure whether he dared confide his fears to the secretary of the Royal Society.
After all, he wasn’t acquainted with Lord Bethany. ”
“And for all he knew, Bethany might have been in league with an unknown villain,” interjected Wrexford. “After all, the prospect of fame and fortune can seduce even the most noble of men.”
“Yes,” agreed Charlotte. “But on recalling something Hartley mentioned, it suddenly occurred to me that there is, in fact, one person here in Britain that Becton did trust—Professor Murray, who is in charge of the botanic gardens at the University of St Andrews.”
“How so?” asked Wrexford.
“Hartley has come to be friends with the professor, and the other day, when the topic of Becton’s death came up, he mentioned that Murray would be very saddened, because the two of them had been close friends for years.
Apparently, they corresponded frequently, and often exchanged specimens.
Indeed, Murray was particularly excited about all medicinal plants from Spanish America that Becton propagated in his own gardens and shared with him. ”
“I see where your thoughts are taking you,” said Wrexford.
“The Royal Botanic Gardens receive exotic specimens from all over the world, and the gardeners there propagate them and share them with other study gardens, both here and abroad. And it so happens that the Royal Society sends a regular monthly shipment north to St. Andrews.”
“Yes, I learned that yesterday,” she murmured.
“So you believe that Becton hid his specimen among the routine shipment going to the university there, knowing that his friend Murray would be the one to receive it. But how would the professor know . . .”
Wrexford paused for a moment. “Ah, if you’re right about the specimen being sent north, then it stands to reason that Becton also decided to mail his notes and formula to Murray, along with a warning to keep both the papers and the plant safe.”
Charlotte allowed a ghost of a smile. “It all seems a very logical assumption.”
“So it does.” He loved the artful agility of her mind, and how easily she could see a problem from so many angles and then choose the proper perspective. However, admiration quickly yielded to the pressing need for action. “Tyler, have Riche send for the carriage.”
“And you’ll need to dress for the evening.
I’ll lay out your clothes,” said the valet.
He took a step and then paused. “I think I should come with you, milord. Hawk and I have been in and out of the storage room together this past week. Our doing so today won’t draw attention, while your sudden interest might provoke the enemy to wonder why. ”
The earl considered the suggestion.
“While Hawk leads me to the plant and I secure the crate, you can be hunting down Lord Bethany and explaining the need for putting it under lock and key and then sending a trusted courier to St. Andrews to retrieve Becton’s missing note and formula.”
“You have a point,” conceded Wrexford.
“I was going to send Alison a message alerting her that I might need her help this evening,” said Charlotte. “But I don’t think that’s necessary, now that you’re here. The fewer people who know where Becton’s discovery is hidden, the better.”
He saw the shadow of worry in her eyes. A vicious killer was still free, and wouldn’t hesitate to strike again if he thought his misdeeds were under investigation.
“I agree,” answered Wrexford. Turning to Raven, he added, “Not a word to anyone about all this, lad. Especially the dowager and Lord Wolcott.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy’s reply came without argument.
“Actually, we need to inform one person about our plans,” said Charlotte. “I want you to fly back to our residence and inform Mac that I’ve found His Lordship and that we’re headed with Tyler and Hawk to the gardens.”
That command didn’t sit quite as well with Raven. “But I could be of help in keeping watch—”
“No.” It was said softly, but her tone brooked no argument.
“First of all, she needs to be informed of what we’re doing.
And secondly, I would feel more at ease if she wasn’t left alone tonight.
” Charlotte hesitated. “Daggett is diabolically clever. If he senses we’re on his trail, he might seek to strike where we are vulnerable.
So I want you to bring her back here, and both of you are to remain inside these walls until we’ve returned from our mission. ”
“You heard m’lady,” intoned the earl as he caught a flicker of frustration pass over Raven’s face. “Keeping our family and friends safe is a critical part of any dangerous undertaking.”