CHAPTER 22
“Excuse me, Lady Cordelia, but Master Sloane wondered if you have time for a question.” The clerk paused as he peered into the room. “Oh, forgive me, I didn’t realize that Mr. Sheffield was meeting with you.”
“No, no—show him in,” replied Cordelia. “We were just finishing our work.”
“Thank heaven,” murmured Sheffield, grimacing as he began to straighten up the array of papers spread out over the worktable. “All these dratted numbers were beginning to make my head ache.”
“But they tell such interesting stories, sir.” Raven took a moment to study the weekly report on the transportation costs of bringing calico fabric from the mills in the north to the docks for export to the West Indies before looking up.
“Imagine when rails can be laid from London to Yorkshire, allowing the goods to be moved by a steam-powered locomotive.”
“That, lad, is still some years off, though the test tracks at the coal mines are proving very successful.” Sheffield had been an early investor in William Hedley’s “Puffing Billy,” a mechanical prototype that was generating a good deal of excitement within the world of engineering.
“But yes . . . what a grand improvement they will be, saving both time and money.”
“You made an excellent gamble on Hedley’s invention,” remarked Cordelia. “For once.”
Sheffield laughed. His reputation for losing at card games was legendary among his friends.
“I am getting much better at playing vingt-et-un, now that you and Raven have explained the mathematics to me.” He made a wry face.
“What a pity that honest work is taking up so much of my time. I rarely have a chance to indulge in such idle pleasures anymore.”
“No rest for the wicked,” replied Cordelia, allowing a hint of a smile. She held out her hands for the stack Sheffield had gathered. “I had better get to work analyzing our shipping schedules. . .” She glanced at Sheffield. “We may be getting more business in the near future.”
Raven’s gaze came alight with curiosity. “Is that because of Mr. Quincy’s murder?”
“Yes,” answered Sheffield. “Lady Charlotte’s drawings had already raised questions about his company’s shoddy maintenance of their ships. I daresay, they won’t be in business much longer.”
“What about the murderer?” asked the boy. “Is there any word around the dockyards—”
“Did you have a question, Raven?” interrupted Cordelia. “Or would the two of you rather gossip about blood and mayhem?” She glanced at the clock on the side cabinet. “I have a few minutes before I have to meet with a representative of the Wedgwood Company.”
“Oiy, I do,” answered the boy. “It won’t take long. It’s about a certain equation . . .”
“Oh, by the by, do stop by my office before you leave,” called Sheffield as he turned for the door, “and let me show you the knife I just purchased from a lascar seaman. I think you might find it very interesting.”
* * *
“Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t arrive a quarter hour earlier,” announced Charlotte as she escorted Wrexford into the parlor. “Alison is a more intimidating force of nature than an Atlantic hurricane.”
She tucked a loosened lock of hair behind her ear as she cleared a pile of fabric swatches from the sofa. “Must we really make up special napkins and tablecloths to match the floral—” Looking up, she stopped short on seeing his expression and felt her heart lurch.
“Is something amiss?”
He took a seat before answering. “Is Raven here?”
The question stirred another frisson of alarm. “No, the boys left this morning to deliver my drawing to Mr. Fores, and then—” Charlotte sat down beside him. “Ye gods, Wrexford, is something amiss?”
“Not that I know of,” he answered. ‘It’s just that Riche saw Tyler and Hawk leave my townhouse together, and I find it odd that they said nothing to me about it. Since he said that Raven wasn’t with them, I simply wanted to ask the boy whether he knew anything about it.”
“Raven hasn’t yet returned home. He was planning on paying a visit to Lady Cordelia at her office.”
Was it merely a shadow thrown by the shifting sunlight, or did the earl’s gaze suddenly darken with concern?
“The dockyards!” she exclaimed, realizing the import of what she had just said. “Are you worried—”
“I’m not worried about anything yet,” he answered.
Her huff caused him to hastily add, “I’m merely concerned.
However unreasonable, I suspect Tyler feels some measure of guilt at having let the specimen elude us.
So I simply wish to talk with Raven and assure myself that Tyler and Hawk aren’t poking around in places that are best left undisturbed. ”
“Raven would never let his brother venture into danger,” protested Charlotte.
Unless . . .
“Hell’s bells.” She slumped back against the pillows. “You think the three of them might be up to some unholy mischief together?”
“I would like to believe that Tyler wouldn’t allow emotion to overpower reason,” answered the earl.
Oh, but I know all too well what a powerful force emotion is.
“However, I think it wise for me to pay a visit to the office of Nereid and Neptune, just to be sure,” he finished.
“I’m coming with you.” Charlotte shot up before he could react. “Dressed as Magpie, of course. If there’s trouble, we’ll need to act quickly.”
“If I thought I had a ghost of a chance of convincing you—”
“Save your breath.” She held his gaze, daring him to challenge her.
He looked away. “Hurry and change.”
* * *
Sheffield waited for Raven to have a seat facing his desk before nudging a knife across to him. “Have a look. The hilt is made of silver, and the carnelian stones are an unusual shade—more a rich cinnabar red than orange.”
Raven picked it up, and after a cursory look at the decorative elements, he ran a thumb lightly along the blade. “Oiy, it’s pretty enough. M’lady would like the color. But the steel is inferior—it can’t hold a sharp edge.”
He slid the weapon back across the polished wood and looked up. “No point in having a knife that might let you down in a pinch.”
“Seeing as I’m not planning on slicing through anything other than envelopes and sealing wax with it, I daresay it will do the job without any trouble,” replied Sheffield as he tucked it into his desk drawer. “Be that as it may, I—”
“Why don’t you stop fiddle-faddling, Mr. Sheffield,” interjected Raven, “and tell me the real reason that you asked me to come back here and see you.”
“Er, I was just about to do so, lad.” The chair scraped over the floor as Sheffield shifted in his seat and darted a look at the door to make sure it was firmly shut. “But do keep your voice down. I’d prefer to keep this just between us.”
“Of course.” Raven propped his elbows on the table and leaned in a little closer. “What do you need me to do?”
“Us,” corrected Sheffield. “We need to do a little sleuthing around the docks.”
“Looking for what?”
Sheffield gave another glance at the door.
“The man who murdered DeVere and Quincy. I dislike involving you in such sordid doings, lad, but I need your help on something. I would never ask you to do anything dangerous. However, Wrex won’t like my request. And neither will Lady Charlotte. So think hard on it before saying yes.”
For a moment, Raven stared down at his boots, the battered brim of his cap hiding his face. And then he looked up.
“Does it have to do with DeVere’s murder?” A pause. “I’m bloody glad the miscreant is dead.”
Sheffield hesitated, and then gave a gruff nod. “So am I, lad. But his death clearly ties into Becton’s demise, and that is a crime for which all of us wish to see justice done.”
“And Wrexford saw Daggett, one of the American scholars, sneaking away from the scene,” interjected the boy.
“Yes, he’s a scholar,” replied Sheffield, “but he’s also an officer in the American Navy, and sailed here from New York with DeVere and Quincy. Apparently, the three of them were thick as thieves for a while, and one can’t help but wonder—”
“Whether they quarreled over whatever dark mischief they’ve been plotting,” finished Raven.
“Logic says yes,” answered Sheffield. “And we know how fond Wrex is of logic.”
Raven grinned. “Now we just have to prove it.”
“Precisely.” Sheffield rose and began to pace. “It occurred to me that one reason Daggett may have betrayed DeVere and Quincy is because he’s made a better deal for himself with new partners in crime.”
“You’re getting very good at devious thinking, sir.”
“Thank you,” replied Sheffield absently. “So I thought we might ask around among your friends about whether Daggett has been spending time here in the dockyards and with whom he is consorting.”
“Strings, Mary Mussels, Chips, Smoke . . .” Raven rattled off a few additional names. “Oiy, they all keep their peepers open. A flea can’t scratch its arse down here without one of the gang noticing.”
“Excellent! Shall we—”
“Just two things, sir.” The boy eyed Sheffield’s coat and trousers with a critical squint. “You can’t come with me. You stick out like a rose in a dung heap. Within minutes, every wharf from here to Billingsgate will be abuzz with the news that some toff is making inquiries.”
“But the workers around here are used to seeing me,” protested Sheffield. “I often visit the harborside tavern and mingle with people.”
“Not the people I need to meet.”
To his credit, Sheffield surrendered without further argument. “And the second thing?”
“What does Daggett look like?”
“Oh, er—right. Let me think on how to describe him . . .” A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. Clouds were scudding in, and a greasy grey mist was beginning to drift in from the river.
“He’s about my height, with sun-bleached auburn hair, worn long—nearly to his shoulders—and often tied back in a queue. In the right light, the color is distinctive—a rich, reddish brown.”