CHAPTER 26 #2
“Correct. The right reverend was obsessed with the idea that the medieval alchemists had discovered the secret of immortality. He had contrived to steal a number of very rare books and manuscripts on the subject from church and university archives.”
“Including works by Newton, Boyle, and Philalethes,” he interjected.
“Yes, hidden among all the claptrap he had collected was some priceless knowledge—that is to say, priceless scientific knowledge. The men you mentioned possessed brilliant minds, and had made discoveries that I sensed would help me reach my own goal.”
“How did you learn about Holworthy’s endeavor?” prodded Wrexford.
“One night, when I was making the rounds of the Institution laboratories—my position as superintendent made it easy to steal the chemicals I needed for my own experiments—I overheard a clandestine meeting between Holworthy and Canaday. The reverend asked for his help in concocting the philosopher’s stone, claiming he had priceless manuscripts from which a man of science could decipher the formula. ”
Drummond had been right, thought Wrexford. At night, the Institution’s corridors had been slithering with serpents intent on no good. Unfortunately, he himself had been one of them.
“The baron refused, calling it nonsense,” continued Lowell. “But as it happens, I was searching for rare books that related to my own research. So I approached Holworthy—masked, as I couldn’t afford to have him know my real identity. Unfortunately, he noticed my signet ring.”
“Golden One,” said the earl. “So you had to kill him.”
“As soon as he brought me the book I needed, he had outlived his usefulness.”
“I assume you met with him several times in Canaday’s laboratory. And at some point you realized Drummond had overheard one of your conversations.”
Lowell smiled. “I knew Drummond had a large amount of mercury, and I happened to see his notes when I entered his laboratory to steal it. He was a filthy sneak, and had also overheard me meeting with an agent from Paris.” A smirk pulled at Lowell’s lips.
“In which we discussed my life-altering chemical compound.”
“An enhanced version of mercury fulminate,” said Wrexford. “I assume they offered you a king’s ransom for the formula.”
“They did,” answered Lowell. “I will soon be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Let that be a lesson to England and its unfair inheritance system, which gives all the prestige and money to eldest sons, leaving the others to scavenge for pennies and a scrap of respect.”
Hubris and greed. Was there a more volatile combination?
“You’re a man of intelligence,” added Lowell. “Surely you agree that a man ought to be rewarded for his talents, not simply an accident of birth.”
Put that way, it sounded so reasonable. But then, Lucifer was known for his seductively smooth tongue.
“Even when such talents include slitting throats and beating children?” he replied.
“Advances in science often demand great sacrifice.”
As long as it is the blood of others, thought Wrexford. “We could parse the fine points of morality until Doomsday.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve no time for that, thanks to you and that gadfly Quill.
” Lowell gave a curt flick of his weapon.
“Enough chin wagging. I admit, it was ungentlemanly of me to strike the brat. I lost my temper, but it was A. J. Quill’s fault.
She’s even more cynical than I thought. And by sacrificing the gutter scum to keep her pen pointed at me, she’s forcing me to move more quickly than I had wanted. ”
“I’m still curious about one thing. Quill’s husband—the artist working here—why kill him?”
“Simple. He was here often enough that he might have seen me slipping into the laboratory. And I suspected he had been snooping around in the cellars. I couldn’t take a chance of him gabbling about it.”
“How did you poison him?”
“Another easy answer. There are a number of hidden passageways in this building. I set up a small burner by a ventilation shaft in his workroom and sent a steady stream of mercury fumes into the space. It quickly addled his wits.” Lowell smiled.
“For good measure, I switched oil of vitriol for the turpentine he used to clean his brushes. The burns spooked him from coming back.”
“Clever,” murmured Wrexford. “But you didn’t anticipate that his wife would prove an even greater danger, did you?”
A huff of annoyance slipped from his lips.
“The two of you have caused a great deal of trouble by upsetting the timing of my plans. But her ink will soon run dry. As for the brat, he’s no use to me anymore, and since I have to kill you, I may as well do away with both of you at the same time. She’ll be next.”
“Just one last question,” said the earl, dutifully turning to march back to the storage area, satisfied that he had gained the boy enough time to be out of harm’s reach. “How did you know I was here?”
“Physics, my dear Wrexford! Newton was, among other things, a serious student of light,” said Lowell, looking extremely amused at his own cleverness.
“I saw the reflection of you overhead in the metal casing of my lantern.” They passed through the two doors.
“Oh, and in case you are wondering how I know the imp of Satan is still tied to the chair, I spotted a knife that had fallen atop a stack of burlap sacks. It had to be yours, as it wasn’t there this morning. ”
He laughed again. “You were not half bad at solving intellectual conundrums, but as a knight in shining armor, you’ve proved to be a bumbling fool.”
“So it would seem,” affirmed the earl.
Lowell’s mirth proved short-lived. A vicious oath rent the air as he looked into the alcove and spotted the empty chair.
“How—” he began.
Wrexford turned to face him. “Poof! It was alchemy, my dear Golden One, not physics. Newton was, among other things, a religious fanatic who spent much of his time dabbling in the occult!” He knew he was playing with fire.
Lowell’s trigger hand was now quivering with fury, but he hoped to use the man’s overweening pride and nervous anger against him.
“I used an ancient unraveling incantation,” he said, goading his captor to lose his temper. “And a black magic levitation spell.”
Lowell clenched his free hand in a fist and swung at the earl’s head.
Wrexford was ready. Ducking away, he grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted hard.
Lowell screamed in pain.
In the same movement, he slammed his knee into Lowell’s thigh, buckling the man’s leg. “It’s far easier to attack a helpless child, isn’t it?” The pistol fell to the floor and skittered off into the gloom.
Wrenching his hand free, Lowell stumbled back a step.
“I may be a bumbling fool, but you don’t really think I was stupid enough to come here alone, do you? Now that the lad is free, the authorities will be moving in.” Artistic license, but no doubt Charlotte would approve. He snapped open Hawk’s pocketknife. “The game is over, Golden One.”
A hesitation, and a hand waved in surrender. The distraction was only for an instant, but at the same time Lowell spun around and raced for the still-open door.
Wrexford was right on his heels, but the other man was too quick. He lost ground in the short corridor, just enough that Lowell reached the laboratory first and managed to slam the portal shut in his face.
He heard the key turn in the lock.
Damnation. The building was riddled with passageways, and many of the old warehouses in this part of Town were interconnected by way of the cellars. If Golden One managed to slip away and reach the subterranean labyrinth, he and his deadly formula might very well escape to France.
Spotting his pistol on the floor, he grabbed it up.
Pulling the vial of Lowell’s chemical from his inner pocket he wrenched off the top and sprinkled some of the powder between the latch and the molding.
He then stepped back, took close aim at the door, and, turning away to shield his face, pulled the trigger.
The wood exploded in a welter of flying splinters, one of them cutting a gash across his temple.
A kick loosened the bolt. Another, and then another.
On the fourth, the door sprang free. The earl burst in, just in time to see Lowell stuff some papers and a metal flask into his pocket and dart into a side alcove.
He shoved aside a work cart on wheels, sending a rack of glass vials crashing to the floor. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he sprinted after his quarry.
Thank God for the thick soles.
In the alcove was a half-open paneled door, revealing a narrow circular iron staircase that led up into darkness.
Hearing rapid-fire steps above him, Wrexford plunged in, taking the treads two at a time.
Up, up, up he went, feet pounding at a dizzying pace.
He heard another door open and shut. The stairs made one more turn and ended abruptly on a small landing.
Sensing he was catching up, the earl lowered his shoulder and barreled through the wood paneling at a run.
Lowell was only a dozen strides ahead of him, and looked to be limping. He looked back, and seeing that the distance between them was narrowing, he suddenly cut to his right and disappeared behind a billowing sheet of canvas.
“Damn,” muttered Wrexford, taking a moment to assess his surroundings.
The chase had brought them to the top floor of the warehouse, a cavernous space that stretched the full length of the building.
It was crammed with aisle upon aisle of old mining supplies—the detritus of Canaday’s failed business venture?
In this row, racks of ghostly pale tarps fluttered in a gust of air let in through a broken windowpane.
He slowed his steps and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
Flap, flap, flap. He didn’t need the whispered warnings to stay alert.