CHAPTER 20
“Let us circle around the main conservatory,” suggested Tyler as they moved out of earshot of the reception area.
“Then we can split up. Hawk and I will head to the Orangery, while the two of you go stroll through the special exhibits set up in the display rooms.” He slanted a look at the earl.
“Make your way to the area that opens onto the connecting corridor. As soon as I have the specimen, Hawk and I will pass through it, and that will be the signal that you should go ahead and find Lord Bethany and put the final part of the plan in motion. We’ll wait for you in the print study room. ”
Charlotte refrained from asking how they should proceed if things didn’t go as expected. Her own misgivings had cast enough of a shadow over the mission. However vaporous, she could feel its bone-deep chill dogging their steps.
Wrexford gave a gruff assent as they passed through the opening in the yew hedge. Taking Charlotte’s arm, he slowed his steps, allowing their companions to forge ahead as they crossed through a garden of late-blooming Helleborus orientalis.
“Good day, Mr. Tyler,” called one of the gardeners. “And to you, Master Sloane. How nice to see such enthusiasm for plants in a young man of your age.”
The valet returned the greeting with a cheery wave. “Indeed, it’s never too early to start learning about the world around us.”
“Aye. But even here in the gardens, where light and beauty abound, there are lessons about life that are perhaps best left until the lad is older,” came the reply.
“A sage observation, Mr. Gage,” replied Tyler. “I shall keep it in mind.”
The well-tended footpath curled around the main section of the conservatory and then forked as it came to a majestic sessile oak.
“Good luck,” murmured Charlotte, once she and the earl reached the spot where Tyler and Hawk were waiting.
“It won’t be long now,” assured Tyler. After snapping a jaunty salute, he and the boy set off.
Wrexford hesitated a moment, scanning the surroundings before heading in the other direction. They walked in silence, the rippling of the long grasses and a few faint birdsongs the only sounds fluttering around them.
Such a peaceful setting . . . and so at odds with the emotions roiling inside her.
“I’m sorry, Wrexford,” said Charlotte, turning abruptly as the wing housing the lecture hall and study room came into view.
“I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually so pessimistic.
” The cloudless sky and golden light of the setting sun made her feel even more ridiculous.
“Thank you for ignoring my mood and pressing on with such resolve.” She forced a self-mocking smile.
“You may tease me unmercifully about it on the way home.”
“It’s tempting, as you are so rarely wrong,” he answered. “But I shall refrain from lording it over you. In truth, I think all of us shall feel nothing but relief when this sordid business is behind us.”
“You truly think Daggett will cut his losses and abandon his plan to steal Becton’s discovery?”
“I do, my love,” answered the earl. “He’s vicious and unprincipled—but he’s also clever and pragmatic.
Once the plant is in the hands of the Royal Society, his chances of stealing it are virtually nil, and I don’t think he would dare risk it.
The government has turned a blind eye on the murder of two unsavory gentlemen, but an assault on the most august scientific institution in Britain would force them to act. ”
Charlotte suddenly felt as if a leaden weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you. I don’t always fully appreciate your clear-eyed logic, but in this case, I’m exceedingly grateful for it.”
Wrexford chuckled. “You see what a perfect pair we make. Given our often opposing ways of solving a problem, one of us is bound to be right.”
She tightened her hold on his arm. His sense of humor was yet another thing she loved about him. Without laughter to counter the injustices and absurdities of the world, life could so easily crush one’s spirit.
They resumed walking, and after winding through a small stand of beech trees, they entered the building.
A series of connected display galleries featured an impressive array of plants, rare manuscripts, and colorful botanical paintings, chosen to complement the upcoming lectures.
There were only a few other scholars perusing the collections, as the lecture wasn’t scheduled to start until six o’clock.
Charlotte found that the artwork, with its meticulous details and luminous colors, helped distract her from counting every second that ticked by.
The earl was greeted by several fellow members and traded the requisite pleasantries before escorting her into the adjoining gallery.
She quelled the urge to sneak a peek toward the next one. Let us keep moving! Surely, more than ten minutes had passed . . .
Finally Wrexford drew her through the archway leading into the last of the gallery spaces, and sure enough, there was the corridor connecting it to the Orangery. The earl paused at a glass case near the opening and pretended to be reading the set of manuscript pages on display.
Forcing her gaze downward, Charlotte tried to make herself focus on the spidery script. But the words were naught but a blur.
Another moment ticked by . . .
Then another.
“What do you think is keeping him?” she whispered. A ridiculous question, she knew, and yet she couldn’t keep from voicing it.
The earl didn’t answer right away. Shifting his stance, he stared into the shadows within shadows of corridor, watching for any sign of movement.
The stillness seemed to amplify the thrum of tension in the air.
“Tyler knows to err on the side of caution.” Wrexford turned his attention back to the manuscript pages. “There were likely people around the storage room and he decided to delay his entrance.” A pause. “Let us give him a little more time.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. That Hawk would be caught in the chaos if anything went wrong . . .
Tick, tick.
Closing her eyes, Charlotte tried not to count off every dratted second.
“Wait here,” said the earl, after an achingly long wait. Moving with unhurried nonchalance, he strolled into the corridor and disappeared around the corner.
She forced herself to match his air of calm and went to admire a series of watercolors hung on the nearby wall.
They were lilies, by the renowned French botanical artist Pierre-Joseph Redouté, who late in the last century had spent a year at the Royal Botanic Gardens studying its plants.
The brushwork was breathtakingly beautiful.
It deserved more than distracted glances—
Catching at the corner of her eye, a sudden dark flutter—the tails of a gentleman’s coat—nearly made her jump. She was no longer alone in the gallery.
“Charlo—Lady Charlotte?”
She spun around. “Marco?” The presence of her old comrade stirred a rush of both relief and guilt. Thank heaven he had survived the dreadful night at DeVere’s conservatory.
Though not because of any help from me—I should have been a better friend. But there was no time for explanations, and superficial apologies would only ring hollow.
Keeping her voice low, Charlotte added, “I’m so glad to see you. But is it wise for you to be here? I thought . . . I thought it had been decided that you and Dr. Hosack were to remain in seclusion for the time being.”
“Sì.” He looked around before going on. “Lord Wrexford told me that it is for my own protection. But apparently the Royal Society asked my host if I might be permitted to give my scheduled lecture, so as not to add any more speculation as to what intrigue is going on at this symposium. And he agreed to the request.”
Moretti lifted his shoulders. “So here I am.” The corners of his mouth quivered in a weak attempt at a smile. “Dio del cielo, forgive me for saying so, but your fiancé can be a very frightening fellow. Does he make a regular habit of involving himself in murder and—”
“Shhhh!” she warned. “We mustn’t speak of that here. But be glad that it was he who found you, and not the killer.”
Moretti paled, but maintained his composure. “It is my understanding that the fiend is still at liberty.”
“Yes.” Charlotte glanced at the corridor.
Still, no sign of Wrexford.
“I’m so sorry you were drawn into such a diabolical web of deception,” she continued.
“I hope—indeed, I pray—that it will soon be over. But in the meantime . . .” Charlotte darted another look into the gloom.
The doleful tick of time now seemed to echo loud as cannon fire inside her head.
“In the meantime, you mustn’t let down your guard. ”
His eyes narrowed in question.
“Did Captain Daggett, who is part of the American delegation, ever show interest in your research, or ask about the drawing that Becton gave to you?”
Moretti shook his head.
“What about any of the other attendees?”
“Again, no,” answered Moretti. “W-Why do you ask?”
Charlotte didn’t wish to frighten him. But better safe than sorry.
“I can’t explain that now. Please just trust me that you need to be very careful tonight.
If anyone tries to probe for more detailed information on your research and methods, be sure to deflect the questions.
And if anyone makes a reference to Becton’s sketch, you must feign bewilderment . . .”
Mention of the sketch caused a tiny muscle in his jaw to clench.
“Not only that,” she quickly added, “you must send word to Lord Wrexford immediately and let him know who asked. Your host will know how to reach him.”
“Am I . . .” Moretti squared his shoulders. “Am I in danger?”
“I don’t believe so,” replied Charlotte, feeling her old comrade deserved an honest answer. “But I would rather not take any chances.”
“As always, you don’t try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” This time, his smile was a genuine one. “I’m so glad you haven’t changed.”
She, too, was happy to see he hadn’t lost the qualities that had forged their youthful friendship. Her words had alarmed him, but she sensed resolve rather than fear.
“Be assured that I will do as you say,” he said softly. “And, Charlotta, you must take care as well. I don’t pretend to understand how you are involved in all this, but it stands to reason that you may be at risk as well.”
“I—”
“Moretti!” A call from the adjoining gallery interrupted their tête-à-tête. “Come, I wish to introduce you to Professor Dixwell, who has journeyed down from Oxford for several days to attend our symposium.”
“I had better go,” he murmured.
Charlotte watched him return to the group of scholars. She hoped her words had done some good. Too many people close to her were in danger . . . and Daggett was still lurking in the shadows, free to strike at will.
Fisting her hands in her skirts, she crossed over to a display of various tree barks used for reducing fever, hoping the ornate marble pedestal would hide her growing agitation.
If only there were a botanical antidote for fear. Her heart was beginning to hit up against her ribs.
Distracted by its thumping, Charlotte didn’t hear Wrexford’s approach. His touch nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Come with me,” he murmured, placing her hand on his sleeve. The look in his eyes turned her innards to ice.
She let herself be led back through the adjoining galleries and out to the gardens. The earl didn’t pause and took the pathway leading back to the carriage yard. Drawing in several deep gulps of fresh air, Charlotte remained silent, dread warring with impatience.
Lantern light glimmered through the leaves. The guests were starting to arrive for the evening lecture. Gravel crunched under iron-shod wheels as several carriages maneuvered up to the reception area.
Keeping to the shadows, Wrexford skirted around the dark bulk of two parked barouches. His own carriage was up ahead, the horses already turned for the journey back to Town.
“Hell’s bells.” Charlotte couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Wrexford. If—”
He quickened his pace. The iron step was already down and the door cracked open. A hand—Tyler’s—reached down and helped her scramble inside. Her wrap slipped from her shoulders, tangling in the earl’s legs as he climbed in right behind her.
A bit breathless, she slid across the seat—and hit up against Hawk. “Oh, thank heaven,” she gasped, gathering him in a fierce hug and burying her face in his tangled curls.
“Oiy, oiy!” came his muffled protest. Charlotte didn’t care. She tightened her hold.
The crack of a whip set the horses in motion, the sudden lurch allowing the boy to wriggle free.
Regaining her equilibrium, she looked around, the silvery moonlight allowing just enough illumination for her to see both Hawk and Tyler were empty-handed.
“Where the devil is the specimen?” she demanded.
It was the boy who chirped an answer.
“It was gone!”