CHAPTER 21 #2
“And perhaps me as well.” Charlotte made a wry face in the looking glass. Though in truth, the fuss had always struck her as excessive. “I suppose it’s one of the reasons I chose to elope.”
After sliding the last hairpin into place, she hurried downstairs and followed the sweetly spiced aroma of fresh-brewed coffee into the kitchen. Raven had a book on mathematics open on the worktable and was writing in his notebook.
“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath.
“Language,” she chided as she poured herself a cup from the pot on the hob.
“Wrexford swears when he’s puzzled.”
“Wrexford does a great many things that aren’t permitted to someone of your years.”
“I hate being a child,” groused Raven.
As far as Charlotte was concerned, he was growing up far too fast.
“Oiy,” agreed Hawk as he chewed on a forkful of shirred eggs and gammon.
“And you—don’t speak with your mouth full.” She took a sip of the blissfully hot brew. “What has happened to your manners? They seem to have wandered off this morning.”
“Perhaps they went to Gunter’s for ice cream,” Raven quipped, then turned to his brother. “Wouldn’t it be a treat to have sweets for breakfast?”
“Are you two complaining about my cooking?” McClellan appeared from the depths of the pantry and tapped a cooking spoon to her meaty palm.
Hawk fixed Raven with a look of wide-eyed warning. “No, no. He was just jesting, ha, ha, ha.”
McClellan raised her brows.
“Ha, ha, ha,” added Raven.
“Hmmph. It’s a good thing you Weasels know on which side your bread is buttered.” The maid moved to the oven and pulled a pan of pastries from the oven. A yeasty fragrance, perfumed with the scent of cinnamon and melted sugar, filled the air. “As well as your muffins.”
“Oh, that smells ambrosial,” murmured Charlotte.
McClellan plucked a half dozen of the hot pastries from the pan and arranged them on a serving plate.
“Help yourself, m’lady,” she said, placing them in the center of the worktable and giving Charlotte a mischievous wink.
“There should be plenty for us, seeing as some people seem to prefer frozen treats at this hour in the morning.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Hawk with a grin. “It was my manners that went astray.”
“Assuming you—and your brother—ask in a gentlemanly fashion,” drawled McClellan, “I daresay, there are enough for all of us.”
Once the chuckles had subsided, Charlotte broke off a bite of her pastry and let the spiced sweetness melt on her tongue. A pleasant warmth spread through her limbs. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in days.
Seeing Raven pick up his pencil after gobbling down his muffin, she asked, “What are you working on?”
“A mathematical problem in one of the books that Lady Cordelia lent to me.” He frowned. “But it’s proving damn—er, deucedly difficult.”
Raven had a special talent for numbers. If he was puzzled, it must be a diabolically complex one. “I’m sure she would be happy to help you work it out.”
His expression turned a little mulish. “I haven’t given up yet.”
Charlotte repressed a smile. Like herself, he had a stubborn streak, and was loath to ask for assistance. “I, too, need to return to my work.” She finished the last of her pastry and rose. “I have a drawing to finish for Mr. Fores.”
Hawk carefully swallowed before asking,” Do you need for us to deliver it?”
“I should be very grateful if you would. It should be done within the hour,” she replied.
Adding the colored washes turned out to be a quicker task than expected. She had already decided what hues would be best, and after mixing the paints on her palette, the final touches were soon done. After rolling up the finished work, Charlotte returned to the kitchen.
Raven hadn’t budged from his stool.
“There’s no need to accompany Hawk if you don’t wish to interrupt your work,” she said, looking around for his brother.
He made a face and slapped down his pencil. “No, I’ll go with him.” A sigh seemed to concede that the equation had defeated him. “And perhaps after that, I will pay a visit to Lady Cordelia’s office.”
The docklands. Charlotte hesitated, but quickly quelled the frisson of alarm, determined to heed Wrexford’s assurance that the American naval captain posed no threat to any of them. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.”
Another sigh as Raven snapped his notebook shut. “The answer is likely obvious. I just can’t see it.”
She couldn’t help but smile. A truism if ever there was one. “Where’s your brother?”
“In the garden.” Raven gave a shrill whistle to summon him. “Dissecting a cornflower and drawing the details with the aid of a magnifying glass.”
“Don’t make light of his interests,” she counseled. “Passions give us purpose. He sees things we don’t, and that’s a special gift.”
Raven allowed a small smile. “He’s good at it, isn’t he?”
“Very,” she answered.
The back door opened and slammed shut, followed by the squish of steps. Charlotte winced at the sight of Hawk’s muddy boots and stained fingers. “Wash your hands, please.”
Grumbling, he did as he was told.
“And go out the way you came, so as not to track dirt through Mac’s freshly-swept corridor.” Charlotte handed her drawing to Raven. “Do try to hand this over to Mr. Fores without any additional colors being added to the paper.”
The boys raced off, their laughter lingering for a moment before the house settled into a peaceful stillness.
McClellan had gone out to the Covent Garden markets, leaving Charlotte to wait for Alison’s arrival.
She had sent word to the dowager late last night, asking her to stop by for tea and a discussion of the wedding plans.
Given the subject of the invitation, she rather expected . . .
A knock on the front door announced that Alison had indeed decided to arrive early.
“Where is everyone?” asked the dowager as Charlotte clicked open the latch. Only the plumes of her bonnet were visible above the jumble of fabric swatches, menus, and paper samples clasped in her arms.
“Out running errands,” answered Charlotte, quickly taking charge of all the items. “Come, let us spread all this out in the parlor and then I will make us a pot of tea.”
“You had better bring a platter of Mac’s ginger biscuits,” came the cheerful reply. “This may take some time . . .”
* * *
“Slipped through your fingers?” Wrexford put down his pen. “I thought you had two of your best men keeping watch on the Sun and Sextant Club.”
“I did, milord,” answered Griffin. “Unfortunately, there was a robbery at the Earl of Audley’s townhouse last night, and I needed their help until reinforcements arrived to take over the case.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered the earl.
“It was only for an hour,” responded Griffin, “but it seems that Daggett chose his moment well.”
Yes, the dastard seems to have the devil’s own luck.
“You’re sure he’s gone for good?” demanded the earl.
“Yes. One of my men had a word with the porter—who, thanks to the purse you left with us, was very willing to talk. Apparently, the captain paid his bill and left with his bag just before dawn.”
Wrexford rose and began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. That the American had absconded was no surprise. But it stuck in his craw that he hadn’t had the chance to confront the damned fellow and shake some answers out of him.
“I suppose,” murmured the Runner, “that this means you’re not going to offer me breakfast.”
“If I did,” snapped the earl, “it would be naught but bread and water.”
Griffin hung his head and let out a mournful sigh.
The coals emitted a whispery hiss as Wrexford pivoted—and stopped short. “I suppose you’re now going to tell me that you toiled all night without rest or a morsel of sustenance.”
The Runner pursed his lips and said nothing.
Wrexford resumed his pacing, but directed his steps to the sideboard, where he poured a measure of brandy into a glass.
“Tyler,” he called to the closed laboratory door as he handed the spirits to Griffin.
No answer.
“Thank you, milord,” murmured the Runner.
“Tyler!”
Still, no response.
“Hmmph.” Puzzled, he picked up the handbell from the work counter and rang for his butler.
As if summoned by some invisible force, Riche appeared an instant later. “Yes, milord?”
“Where the devil is Tyler?”
A spasm of surprise passed over the butler’s normally impassive face. “He left a half hour ago. I assumed he informed you . . .”
“Clearly not,” growled the earl.
Riche’s expression betrayed his misgivings. “He was accompanied by the younger Master Sloane.” He cleared his throat. “Who, I must say, looked rather agitated.”
That made no sense. If Charlotte had dispatched Hawk with a message for him, the boy wouldn’t have hared off without delivering it.
“Was Raven with them?”
“No, milord. It was just the two of them.”
Even more puzzling. Wrexford took a moment to mull it over.
“Thank you, Riche. Kindly have Cook fix a hearty meal for Mr. Griffin.”
The Runner let out a blissful sigh.
“Which he may enjoy at his leisure in the breakfast room.” Wrexford took up his coat from a chair. “I need to go out.”
Griffin came instantly alert, his smile giving way to a more serious mien. “I’ll come with you, milord. If there’s trouble brewing—”
“No, no. There’s no need to forgo filling your breadbox. I’m merely paying a visit to Lady Charlotte’s residence.”