Chapter 32
As if mirroring the earl’s own fraught mood, a phalanx of gunpowder grey clouds scudded in from the east, bringing with it a gusting breeze and a grumbling of thunder that warned the skies were about to open.
Holding down the brim of his hat, Wrexford quickened his steps and chose a route through the fetid byways of the stews to wend his way back to the Bramah family’s workshop, taking care to blend into the deepening shadows.
“Lord Wrexford,” greeted Timothy Bramah, as the shop steward led the earl into a section of the buildings that housed the skilled workmen who assembled the complex gears and levers of his father’s ingenious locks.
“I do hope your townhouse has not been one of the ones hit by the recent rash of burglaries.”
“Unlike the Prince Regent, I am quite sure my pantries are perfectly safe,” he replied, earning a chuckle from Bramah. After waiting for the sound to die away, he added, “I need your help on another matter. One that I prefer to discuss in the privacy of your office.”
Bramah maintained a pleasant smile, but his gaze sharpened. “Follow me, sir,” he replied without hesitation.
Once the door was firmly shut, the engineer sat down at his desk and gestured for the earl to take the facing chair. He then folded his hands on the blotter and waited.
Wrexford appreciated the fellow’s directness. Like his father, Timothy Bramah appeared to see problems as an opportunity to put his logic and creative thinking to work in finding a solution.
“I understand from William Hedley that you buy some of the metal for your precision screws from a man named Sylvester Arlington,” he said.
“I do. Though I am making arrangements to switch suppliers.”
The earl placed Eddy’s sketch on the desk. “Is this an accurate likeness of him?”
Bramah’s features hardened for an instant. “Yes.”
“Hedley has recently heard some unpleasant rumors …” Wrexford let his words trail off.
“As have I, milord,” answered Bramah. “As a rule, I try not to give much credence to rumors. But in this case, I can’t help but feel that there is a ring of truth to them.
” He looked down at his desk for a moment, as if contemplating the delicate pattern of the close-grained wood.
“Arlington, for all his polished smiles and influential connections, has always exuded a slight smell of rot to me.”
“Thank you for your candor. That confirms my own suspicions,” said Wrexford.
“I have another question—one that has life-and-death consequences. But first I must have your pledge that you will not reveal to anyone what I am about to tell you.” A pause.
“Your late father was a man of honor and integrity. I am assuming you are cut from the same steel.” A pause. “Otherwise I would not be here.”
“You have my word, milord,” offered Bramah without a hint of hesitation.
“And my admiration. I know that my father and Mr. Maudslay have always held you in the highest esteem. Indeed, they’ve implied that you have helped defend our country from some very serious threats.
” He edged forward in his seat. “How may I be of service to you?”
Wrexford pulled out a folded piece of cloth from his pocket, and after placing it on the desk he slowly tugged it open.
A hiss of surprise slipped from Bramah’s lips.
“I have reason to believe that your father made this and the lock it opens,” said the earl.
“Correct.” Bramah tore his gaze away from the intricate brass key. “It belongs to one of the six sets he fabricated for the Bank of England several years ago.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because my father told me about the special project. You see, our milling machines can create tiny precision angles that other lock makers find impossible to duplicate.” Bramah picked it up and held it up to the Argand lamp on his desk.
“Have a look for yourself,” he added, offering the earl a magnifying glass.
The bright light illuminated the complex shaping of the keys. “You’ll see that both the post and the shank are dodecagons— they have twelve sides. Every other sophisticated lock I’ve seen has a key with only eight sides.”
Wrexford nodded. The workmanship was extraordinary.
“In my father’s key designs, the bits—which is the technical term for the protrusions that jut out from the post of any key— are also distinctive in the complexity of their shapes,” continued Bramah. “That’s what makes his top-of-the-line locks virtually impossible to pick.”
“Very impressive,” murmured the earl. He put down the magnifying glass. “Just one more question—”
“You’re about to ask me whether I know exactly which lock this key opens in the sprawling Bank of England complex,” interrupted Bramah.
“Yes.”
“Alas, I wish I did, milord. My father did keep detailed records, but this particular lock and key were not part of the original order,” explained Bramah.
“Our workmen installed five locks at the Bank of England several years ago, as our technology had improved, and they wished to upgrade their security.”
A frown momentary creased his brow. “But according to my father’s records, a military officer came to our workshop several months later with a document signed and sealed by Mr. Ainsley— the senior bank official who had ordered the first batch of locks— requesting a sixth one.
However, as it was for a top-secret location, he was simply to fabricate the lock and key, and the installation would be done by the bank. ”
“There’s no special technique for installing your father’s locks?” asked Wrexford.
“It’s not unheard of for a client to prefer doing the installation, so our workshop can supply a diagram with all the technical details and measurements,” replied Bramah. “They returned several days later for the finished mechanism and key.” He cleared his throat. “However—”
“However, around three weeks ago, a military officer returned, asking whether you could duplicate the key?” interjected Wrexford.
A nod. “Things do get lost. So my father kept a private ledger—it’s safely locked up and only I have access—with all the lathe and milling machine settings for our most important orders.”
Though Wrexford was fairly certain he know the answer, he asked, “By the by, was the military officer from the Royal Horse Guards?”
“He was, milord.” Bramah’s gaze betrayed a rippling of worry. “I take it from your questions that something havey-cavey is going on.”
Wrexford didn’t reply as a sudden thought took shape in his head. “How long would it take you to make a duplicate for this key?”
Bramah rose from his chair. “Wait here, milord. You’ll have it within thirty minutes.”
Breathe, breathe.
Though still in shock, Charlotte managed to rouse herself enough to snap the lid shut and replace the book atop the pile.
The sound of voices in the corridor were coming closer.
Steeling her nerves, Charlotte moved to the other end of the display counter and leaned over the fragment of an ancient Roman mosaic just as Manchester and Mrs. Ainsley entered the room.
“Forgive me for being out of the shop,” he said with a smile, though a faint furrow of a frown lingered between his brows. “I insist—”
“Oh, please don’t apologize!” interjected Charlotte, somehow pulling her wits together.
“I feel horribly rag-mannered for showing up a second time without an appointment.” She hoped her face didn’t look as bloodless as it felt.
“It’s unfair that I interrupt Mrs. Ainsley’s meeting with you.
I insist on making a proper appointment.
Would sometime tomorrow afternoon suit?”
“You really needn’t run off,” said Mrs. Ainsley. “My business with Damien was merely a simple question, and he answered it as we came through the corridor.”
“I appreciate your tact,” responded Charlotte. “But I won’t hear of cutting your visit short.”
Manchester acknowledged her statement with a nod. “Tomorrow afternoon works perfectly for me. Shall we say at two o’clock?”
“Thank you, sir.” Charlotte summoned a grateful smile.
His eyes narrowed for an instant, and then an expression of concern spread over his features. “You look a little pale.” He took a small paper bag from the pocket of his waistcoat and shook out several barley-sugar drops. “May I offer you a sweet?”
She shook her head, swallowing another spurt of fear before daring to speak. “I—I simply need a bit of fresh air.”
Giving a cluck of sympathy, Manchester offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you out.” He turned to Mrs. Ainsley. “I’ll return shortly. My apologies again that the Redouté paintings have not yet arrived, but since you’ve taken the time to come, I do hope you’ll stay and take tea with me.”
“Perhaps tea would revive you, Lady Wrexford?” she suggested brightly.
“How thoughtful, but I think it best that I return home.” Charlotte accepted Manchester’s arm—not without a clench of loathing squeezing her innards—and forced herself to natter on about his discerning eye for art while they made their way into the corridor.
Charlotte heard the doorbells tinkle in the main showroom— their dulcet tone now had a deeper, darker ring, but thankfully they signaled that escape was naught but a short walk ahead.
And then she could draw in a cleansing breath to clear the stink of sulfur and brimstone from her lungs.
“About the Girtin painting—” she began, only to gasp in pain as a hard shove sent her stumbling down the dimly lit stairs to her left.
Manchester still had a vice-like grip on her arm as he pulled her down into the gloom.
“Let us drop the charade of bonhomie, Lady Wrexford. I have an eye for detail—did you think I wouldn’t notice that the book had been shifted?
” He gave her a vicious shake. “Which means you likely took a peek inside the box.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean—”
“You’re not a very good liar,” he snarled, his breath hot against her cheek. “You and your husband have been an infernal nuisance. As has your friend.”
Charlotte kicked at his legs and tried to wrench free as she drew in a breath to cry for help.
His palm slapped over her mouth, and pain lanced through her body as Manchester bent her captive arm behind her back. “Cease your struggling, or I’ll break your bloody arm.”
Charlotte decided that discretion was the better part of valor and did as she was told.
“That’s better.” He paused to pull something from his pocket.
A key, she guessed.
“You and your husband’s loyal puppy dog can keep each other company for now. But I’m afraid he’s not feeling up to conversing,” added Manchester, half dragging her across the landing at the bottom of the stairs. “Alas, he didn’t have the good sense to come along quietly,”
An ominous set of clicks and the door swung open a crack.
“What—”
But before Charlotte could voice her question, a fist cracked against her temple, and as her thoughts were lost in a spinning vortex, she found herself flung into the maw of darkness.
“Charlotte!” called Wrexford as he took the stairs two at a time, surprised the clattering of his boots hadn’t drawn her from her workroom. “Charlotte?”
Instead it was the Weasels—all four of them—who rushed out of their schoolroom to meet him on the landing.
“M’lady went to visit Mr. Manchester’s art emporium to see if she could learn anything more about Mr. Stoneham,” said Raven in a rush.
“She just left a short while ago,” added Eddy. “Perhaps you can find her there.”
“No time for that,” replied Wrexford, his thoughts already racing ahead. “Fetch me pencil and paper. I need to write a message for one of your pigeons to carry—”
He stopped abruptly and gestured at Hawk. “No, on second thought, I need you to change into your urchin garb and carry both a message and an item to Alison’s residence.”
“What about us three?” demanded Raven. “What can we do to help?”
“Nothing for the moment. I need—”
Hearing McClellan and Cordelia start up the stairs, the earl made himself slow down. Rushing around helter-pelter was how mistakes happened.
“Any news?” asked Cordelia.
“Yes, I’m quite certain that I’ve discovered where Kit is being held—”
The immediate cacophony of questions forced him to stop and bellow for silence.
Once order was restored, he explained about his meetings with Hedley and Bramah, the discovery of Sylvester Arlington’s name and place of business, and the lock maker’s private ledger with the technical information for duplicating his most special keys.
“I also unexpectedly encountered our friend von Münch.” He raised his brows at Eddy. “For now I’ll simply applaud your planning for contingencies. However, at a future time, we’ll discuss the subject of keeping secrets from me and Charlotte.”
“Oiy,” she said softly.
“But back to the present!” He pulled the original key that the Weasels had taken from the false soldiers and the duplicate that Bramah had just fabricated from his pocket. “I’m confident that Kit is being held prisoner at one of two locations— Arlington’s foundry or the Bank of England.”
“B-But you can’t be in two places at once,” said Cordelia. “If you guess wrong, the villains might be alerted and …” She bit her lip, unable to finish her thought.
“Which is why we are going to strike both places at the same time,” said Wrexford. “My plan is for Hawk to deliver the duplicate to Griffin, along with my instructions for him and his men as to the precise timing for searching Arlington’s foundry.”
To Cordelia, he explained. “I think the Bank of England is the likeliest place for where the villains are keeping Kit captive. I’m going to rendezvous with von Münch at the house where MacArthur and his compatriots are staying to see if MacArthur can recall whether a man fitting Ainsley’s description ever accompanied Stoneham to his father’s shop.
If he and Stoneham have been partners in crime for both the past and the present conspiracy, I want to ensure that they both don’t escape justice a second time. ”
His gaze took on a razor sharpness. “And then the two of us will head to the Bank of England to free Kit.”
“Given the size and complexity of the bank’s sprawling layout, won’t it take time to search it?” asked Cordelia. “Which might allow the villains to slip away, taking Kit with them.”
“I’ve thought of that possibility, said Wrexford. “So I mean to make a quick stop at Ainsley’s residence and request his personal assistance in identifying the exact door that we need to open.”
An evil smile. “Actually, it won’t be a request.”