CHAPTER 27 #2
“Lucky, indeed,” said Griffin slowly. He seemed to hesitate, but then turned his attention back to the earl.
“I’m not sure what Lowell was involved in here, but I’m sure the government will want to explain his crimes as simply as possible.
God only knows what lurid speculation A.
J. Quill will provoke if he gets wind that Holworthy’s murder might be tied to some .
. . explosive secret. It could stir panic throughout the city. ”
“I suggest you simply tell the newspapers that Lowell and Holworthy fell out over money,” said the earl. “And that Drummond overheard the truth, forcing Lowell to do away with him, too. It’s close enough to the truth that it will stand up to scrutiny.”
“That could very well work,” mused Griffin. “My men can all be trusted to be discreet.” He glared at Charlotte. “And you, Master . . .”
“Smith,” she rasped.
“A word out of you to anyone about this night, and you’ll be answering to Bow Street for it.”
“Me?” Charlotte let out a low bark of laughter. “And just who would I be telling? The Prince Regent when he invites me te take tea wiv him?”
The Runner huffed a grunt, but seemed satisfied that she was no threat.
“Be off with you, then.” He turned back to the earl.
“You and Mr. Sheffield ought to disappear as well, milord. The less chance of that infernal artist’s spies seeing you here, the better.
” A pause. “And if you’ll excuse me, I had best go organize things for the arrival of the fire brigade.
But be advised that I shall be paying you a visit tomorrow to clear up some of the details of this case. ”
* * *
“I thought it best for us to stay out of sight until the Runner toddled off.” Henning stepped out of the stairwell, holding both boys firmly by the scruff of their collars. “No easy feat with these—”
“Weasels,” said Wrexford.
They stopped squirming. The surgeon had smeared some greenish ointment on their bruised faces, making them look even more feral than usual. And then Hawk flashed a lopsided gap-toothed grin, and to his surprise, the earl felt a laugh well up in his throat.
“I did just what ye told me,” said Hawk. “I scarpered like the devil had his pitchfork pricking at my arse.”
“Don’t say arse,” chided his brother. “It isn’t gentlemanly.”
Wrexford saw Charlotte bite back a smile.
Henning released his hold, allowing Raven to shuffle forward. The boy looked up. He appeared to be struggling for something to say. Unlike his younger brother, words did not come easily to him.
Swallowing hard, he simply held out his hand.
Wrexford solemnly shook it.
A loud boom! punctuated the moment, as another window exploded in a brilliant shower of gold sparks and shards. Hawk chuffed an admiring gasp as tongues of fire rose up to dance against the somber silhouettes of the surrounding buildings.
Wrexford saw that Charlotte, too, was staring at the inferno, her profile limned in a reddish light.
“I shall, of course, temper my caption, but this will likely outsell all the other prints in this scandal,” she murmured.
“I may be able to ask Fores to raise my fees.” A cynical smile flickered on her lips.
“At least for another week or two, until it’s time for a new peccadillo or murder to take its place. ”
Murder. They had all come perilously close to death.
“Henning, take the weasels back to the house. Mrs. Sloane and I will go by a different route.”
“I’m not in need of an escort, sir,” she murmured.
“Nonetheless, I’m coming with you. Gentlemanly scruples, you see.”
“I’m too tired to argue.” She waited for the others to move out of earshot before adding, “You don’t have any gentlemanly scruples—or you’ve told me so yourself several times.”
“On occasion I lie.”
Charlotte let out a low snort. Or perhaps it was a laugh. The crackling of the fire made it impossible to tell. Turning, she beckoned him to follow. “This way. I know the area better than you do.”
Wrexford fell in step beside her. They walked on in silence, the tendrils of smoke and the crackling booms growing fainter as the darkness of the stews closed around them. It wasn’t until Charlotte led the way into a narrow alleyway that she spoke again.
“Thank you for everything, milord, especially saving Hawk—at no small risk to your own life. I . . . I am in your debt.”
“And you saved my life, at no small risk to your own. So the debt is of equal measure,” he replied. “Though I’d rather think that friendship does not require one to keep a ledger.”
She slanted an inscrutable look at him. “Are we friends, Wrexford?”
“That’s not a question I can answer for you, Mrs. Sloane. Ask me a scientific query, and I could give you facts and measurements. But as to feelings . . .” He shrugged. “That’s your bailiwick.”
“I think you underestimate yourself, sir.”
A sharp turn forced them closer. The earl was aware of her shoulder touching his. “Perhaps we both have things to learn about our hidden facets.”
A brief scudding of moonlight caught the flicker of a smile touch her lips. “A frightening thought.”
Despite being dressed as an urchin, she looked a little vulnerable, reminding him that the path she had chosen in life was not an easy one.
“Be that as it may,” she added slowly, “my answer is yes—I should like to think of us as friends.”
The answer pleased him more than he expected. He walked on for a few strides mulling it over.
“Then speaking as a friend, perhaps you should consider . . .” And then suddenly the words died in his throat. What right had he to ask that she give up her passion? Were someone to suggest he walk away from his scientific interests, he would tell them to go to the devil.
“You aren’t going to suggest I abandon my pen, are you?”
“Would you listen?” Wrexford gave a grudging smile. “In truth, I can’t imagine you without it. You keep Society honest. A needle in their highborn bums keeps them from becoming too arrogantly complacent.” His smile widened. “The truth is, I look forward to seeing who you skewer next.”
* * *
Charlotte bit back a laugh as she ducked under a rotting timber. “As long as it’s not you?”
The earl followed and quickened his steps to catch up. “Oh, come, you’ve seen for yourself that my life isn’t nearly as exciting as everyone seems to imagine. For the most part, Tyler and I potter away in my workroom.”
She was suddenly aware of how much she would miss his cynical, self-mocking humor. Gentlemen who could laugh at themselves were rarer than hen’s teeth.
Shoving aside the thought, she asked, “What do you intend to do with Lowell’s formula?”
“Like its creator, it went up in smoke.” He hesitated. “We haven’t yet figured out all the ingredients.” Another slight pause. “And perhaps my scientific talents, such as they are, could be put to more positive endeavors.”
Charlotte nodded. “There is great wisdom in that idea, milord.”
“Then perhaps you will allow me to offer another one.” Wrexford hesitated, appearing to choose his words carefully.
“It seems to me that you should consider moving to a different part of the city. The miscreants have all been dealt with, but too many people may have been privy to their sniffing around for your secret.”
Her insides clenched. She was not unaware of the possible dangers, but hearing the words said aloud gave them sudden weight.
“Given the bargain we made concerning this case, you can now afford a better neighborhood,” he went on. “One with a school for the lads.”
So many choices to be made. But at the moment, she felt too exhausted to think past putting one foot in front of the other.
“I . . . I can’t contemplate the future right now,” said Charlotte softly. “I need some time to decide on the right course.”
“That’s quite understandable.” In Latin he added, “Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est.”
Life is more than merely staying alive.
Charlotte chuffed a laugh. “True.”
“You understand Latin, Mrs. Sloane—quite well, I might add,” murmured Wrexford. “You have a set of Shakespeare and the Greek tragedies on your work desk, so I can’t help but wonder about them. . . .”
As they emerged from the alley onto a wider lane, he looked up at the sky. The clouds had blown off, leaving a black velvet expanse dotted with a myriad points of winking light. “We’ve unraveled some complex conundrums tonight, and yet there is still an unsolved mystery here.”
“Perhaps not all mysteries are meant to be solved, sir.” She, too, glanced upward. “We all have secrets. Ones that are best kept to ourselves.”
“So you have said,” he replied. “Just as you have also said that no secret, however private, is ever safe.”
As they came to the head of her street, Charlotte stopped abruptly and held out her hand.
“Good-bye, Lord Wrexford.”
“That sounds awfully final, Mrs. Sloane.”
“We move in different circles, sir,” she pointed out. “Ones that are far from overlapping.”
His fingers clasped around hers, and for a long moment they stood joined together, palm pressed to palm, as the chill breeze tugged at their clothing.
Then she slowly disengaged her hand and turned away.
“And yet,” murmured Wrexford as she started to walk off, “large as London is, the circles occupy a finite space.”
Charlotte paused, then hesitated for a heartbeat before darting one last look over her shoulder. She felt, rather than saw, the cynical amusement softening the chiseled planes of his face.
“So logic and the laws of chance,” he added, “dictate that our paths will likely cross again.”