Chapter 3
“A murder?” Wrexford leaned back his chair and longingly eyed the tray of crystal decanters on the sideboard of his workroom before expelling a sigh.
So much for the idea of an interlude of solitary peace and quiet.
He had been looking forward to savoring a glass of Scottish whisky and reading the latest scientific journal from the university at St. Andrews after supper.
But when Charlotte and Hawk had followed him to his lair after the meal and announced that death had once again cast a shadow over their family, such thoughts quickly evaporated.
“Such news is always saddening,” he continued. “I take it the victim is someone we know?”
“Yes, it was Hawk’s drawing tutor, Mr. Campbell,” replied Charlotte, and quickly recounted the few details that Hawk had told her about the crime.
“Presumably it was a robbery,” mused Wrexford, “and Mr. Campbell must have tried to resist.” He glanced at her. “Footpads don’t normally cut someone’s throat, especially if their victim is clearly not an affluent target.”
“Whether or not he had wealth, his attacker didn’t have the right to take his life, as if nobody cared if he died,” said Hawk in a small voice. “I care. He was my friend.”
“Of course you care, sweeting,” responded Charlotte. “As do I.”
Wrexford understood what was expected of him—and gladly offered it, though he knew the chances were virtually nil of finding the culprit. Such random acts of violence occurred far too often in the city …
A frown momentarily furrowed between his brows. Though not usually in an area like Threadneedle Street.
“I will, of course, speak to the head administrator at the London Institution,” he assured Hawk, “and see what more I can learn about the crime—”
“No need for that, laddie.” In the next moment, their dear friend Basil Henning shouldered open the door without knocking.
“I can answer all of your questions better than any muckety-muck at the Institution.” Henning paused for a moment to ruffle Hawk’s hair—it was he who had suggested Campbell as a drawing teacher for the boy—before heading to the tray of decanters and pouring himself a drink.
In answer to the earl’s raised brows, Henning added, “When I heard the news earlier today, I had the local mortuary transfer the body to my workplace.” A skilled surgeon, he taught medical students at several of London’s hospitals as well as ran a clinic for the poor in the slums of St. Giles.
“I will see to it that Campbell has a decent burial at St. Stephen’s Church rather than be tossed into some unmarked pauper’s grave. ”
Hawk flashed a grateful smile. “With a headstone, just like all the high-and-mighty toffs?”
“You and I will design one decorated with his favorite flowers and have it carved in marble,” said Charlotte quickly.
Wrexford had already thought of several questions for Henning regarding the murder, but given the expected answers, he preferred that Hawk not be part of the conversation.
“You’ve suffered a great shock, lad. I suggest you fly up to your eyrie and get some rest. Be assured that with Baz’s help, m’lady and I will map out the next steps for investigating the crime.”
Hawk looked about to argue, but a whisper from Charlotte sent him on his way without any brangling.
“Damnation,” muttered the earl once the boy’s footsteps faded away. “I don’t feel entirely right about giving him false hope.” He made a face. “But perhaps it’s kinder than telling him there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of solving a crime like this one.”
“Hawk is no stranger to the grim realities of the slums,” replied Charlotte. “He knows as well as we do what the likely outcome of an investigation will be. What matters is that we try.”
“The two of you might want to refrain from making assumptions about the likelihood of solving the mystery …” A noisy slurp sounded, and then Henning put his empty glass down. “Until I’ve told you what I learned from the corpse.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but recall the Greek myth about Pandora and the perils of opening a box containing unknown secrets. But it was too late for such thoughts. Whatever serpents were about to slither free couldn’t be stuffed back into oblivion.
“Surely you didn’t think this was going to be simple?” A mirthless chuckle rumbled in the surgeon’s throat as he caught her expression. “Ye gods, when has a murder involving us and our raggle-taggle circle of friends ever had a simple answer?”
Wrexford’s answer was to rise and refill Henning’s glass and then to pour himself a healthy measure of the peat-dark malt. “In lieu of your usual sarcastic humor, might you simply spit out what you know?”
“As the cause of death was obvious—and, no, I didn’t discover anything to the contrary—the coroner didn’t bother with a detailed examination of the body.
Nor were the authorities encouraged to investigate the crime, as the victim was one of the countless members of the great unwashed masses who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” began Henning.
“However as Fletcher Campbell was a friend—”
“A friend?” interjected Charlotte. “When you told me that Campbell’s skill in botanical drawing might make him a good teacher for Hawk, you simply mentioned that you had, on occasion, treated him at your clinic.
” She frowned. “Are you saying that the relationship was deeper than a mere passing acquaintance?”
Henning considered the question before answering.
“Not really. But I’ll get to that in a moment.
” Another pause. “Fletcher Campbell struck me as someone who kept to himself. But as we both have Scottish roots, he seemed to feel comfortable around me. He became a bit chatty during his medical visits and confided that he had only recently been released from ten years of imprisonment.”
“For what crime?” asked Wrexford.
“I didn’t ask,” answered the surgeon. “I don’t pry into the lives of the people who visit my clinic.
But I liked his demeanor. Most men turn bitter under such duress, but Campbell seemed have an inner serenity.
So, as I am currently giving a series of lectures at the London Institution on herbal treatments for common maladies, I took the liberty of asking the head gardener if he had a position for the fellow. ”
“That all sounds innocent enough,” muttered Wrexford. “So why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not going to like what comes next?”
“My apologies, laddie. Would you like for me to stay silent?” asked the surgeon. There was no trace of his usual sardonic humor in the question. “I wouldn’t blame you in the least if that is your choice. What I say next may mean nothing and lead nowhere.”
For a moment, an awkward silence gripped the room.
“Be that as it may, it seems we have nothing to lose but time in following up on whatever clue you give us,” observed Charlotte. Like Wrexford, she was wary about entangling their family in the troubles of a man who clearly had a dark past. But she saw no honorable alternative.
A grim look chiseled the earl’s features to a flinty edge, but his next words echoed her sentiments. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate, my dear. But I think Baz knows that neither your conscience nor mine could tolerate anything but the truth, no matter the consequences.”
“I’ll take that as permission to continue.
” Henning didn’t wait for an answer. “As I said, I didn’t ask Campbell about his past. However, as he was working in the gardens at the London Institution, I stopped occasionally to chat and share a wee dram with him, and one day—I think he had imbibed one too many and was feeling a little maudlin—he confided a story to me. ”
He took another sip of his whisky before continuing. “Do you recall a scandal from ten years ago involving counterfeit banknotes? It nearly brought the government down.”
“The Lisbon Conspiracy!” exclaimed Charlotte. “I was living in Rome back then, so I wasn’t aware of it at the time. But I recently did a series of drawings on the current state of our country’s paper money …”
She paused for a moment, trying to recall all the sordid details of the diabolically clever crime involving the forged banknotes.
“Allow me to refresh your memory,” said Henning.
“Fearing that Napoleon was planning to invade the Peninsula, the British government decided to send funds to the Portuguese king to help with the defense of his country. But rather than risk shipping a large amount of gold to Portugal, they commissioned the Bank of England to print up a special batch of high denomination banknotes for transit with a special military detachment, which would then have been redeemed for gold at the local office of the Rothschild banking family in Lisbon.”
He paused. “However, a gang of forgers somehow got wind of the secret project. Not only did they manage to create an astoundingly accurate copperplate engraving copy of the ￡1,000 banknote and print up a batch of counterfeit banknotes—but then they somehow gained access to the well-guarded vault within the Bank’s fortress on Threadneedle Street, where the real banknotes were being stored while waiting for the generals at Horse Guards to arrange for a military escort to transport the currency to Portugal. ”
“A switch was somehow made during the waiting period,” interjected Wrexford, “and a group of men masquerading as the contingent of soldiers carried the real banknotes to a hired ship. On arrival in Lisbon, the paper money was redeemed for ￡150,000 in gold.”
“And when the official military guards arrived a week later,” finished Henning, “the Bank’s head engraver noticed a tiny flaw and the counterfeiting scam was discovered.”
Charlotte frowned in confusion. “Are you saying Campbell was involved with the Lisbon gang? I—I thought they were all hanged.”
“This is where the story gets a trifle complicated,” replied Henning. “It turns out that Fletcher Campbell’s brother Archibald was the leader of the gang. However, he assured me that he had no involvement with it.”