Sheffield reluctantly rose. But as Wrexford reached for the door latch, Hedley’s murmurings suddenly trailed off. “Wait! A thought just occurred to me. There’s one other name I can give you.” The engineer made an uncertain face. “But I have to warn you, he’s rather . . . odd.”
The earl allowed a small smile. “I thought that was a given with those whose minds are immersed in a world of abstract numbers and what abstruse things they might mean.”
“Just so,” agreed Hedley. “But in a fellowship of thinkers known to be eccentric, Professor Isaac Newton Sudler is considered exceedingly odd.”
Wrexford raised a questioning brow.
“No question that he’s brilliant,” added the engineer. “But alas, there’s a fine line between genius and madness. I doubt . . .” A hesitation. “I don’t wish to speak ill of a colleague.”
“Please go on,” he pressed. “It may be important.”
Hedley shifted uncomfortably, a shimmering of dust motes rising up from the shoulders of his coat. “For a number of years, he held an important position at Cambridge—in Trinity College, like his famous namesake. However, he’s become a recluse and has given up his teaching duties in order to devote himself to research. And yet he’s become fanatically secretive about what he’s working on.” A cough. “I thought of him not just because of his mathematical skills but also because he’s an aficionado of automata.”
Wrexford frowned in thought. Automata was the term used for complex mechanical devices that were made to amuse or entertain an audience through their technical sophistication. ““You mean . . . toys?”
“Some people call them that,” admitted Hedley. “Though their technical sophistication transcends such a term. Some of the more well-known examples are quite astounding in their engineering. Why, an Indian sultan possesses a life-size model of a tiger that snarls and snaps its jaws at the fallen English soldier trapped within its paws.”
“Tipu’s Tiger,” murmured Sheffield. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“Impressive, yes. But one of my favorites is a silver dancer designed by John Merlin.” A laugh. “It’s truly the work of a magician. When you wind it up, it spins around the floor, doing intricate dance steps. It even winks at you.” Hedley rubbed at his jaw. “The point is, Sudler has been building automata since his undergraduate days. It began as a hobby, but then it became an obsession.”
“Interesting,” replied Wrexford softly. The information was tantalizing, but he reminded himself that it might only be sending him on a wild goose chase. “I take it Sudler can be found in his chambers at Trinity?”
“No, I heard that he moved out of the college to a private residence several years ago.” Hedley held up his hands. “And before you ask, I can’t tell you where. Nobody seems to know.”
“Again, my thanks.”
“Ha! You might wish to withdraw those words when—and if—you encounter Professor Sudler. But you did ask.”
“So I did.” For a moment, Wrexford silently cursed the sticky web of intrigue that had somehow come to entangle him and his friends. Charlotte, Sheffield, Raven . . . He hated to see them caught up in an impossible quest.
And yet he conceded, the bonds of friendship didn’t give a devil’s damn about what was reasonable or expedient.
So, no matter how far-fetched, he had no choice but to follow the clue.
CHAPTER 9
“Thank heavens,” muttered Charlotte on hearing a brusque knock and then the sound of voices in the entrance foyer. Shooting up from her work chair, she then hurried down the stairs.
“At last! You’ve finally arrived,” she called to Wrexford.
“Had I realized that ‘tea’ was a precise time, I would have acted accordingly,” drawled the earl as he shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to McClellan. “If you were thirsty, you should have started without me.”
“Please, sir, this is no time for jesting,” she chided, gesturing for him to enter the parlor. “Given all that has occurred since last we met, we have some very serious matters to discuss.”
A flicker of emotion—was it guilt?—seemed to darken his eyes, but he turned away too quickly for her to be sure.
“I assure you, it wasn’t my idea,” he responded. “Though I suppose I should have realized it was a possibility.”
Charlotte felt a frisson of alarm. She had no idea what he meant. But she had a sinking suspicion that she wasn’t going to like it when the truth was pried out of him.
After following him into the parlor, she shut the door behind her. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Wrexford settled himself in one of the armchairs and carefully crossed one booted leg over the other. “Never mind. It’s not important—”
“Bollocks,” she snapped, moving to the sofa and taking a seat facing him. “If we’ve learned one thing from our previous brushes with violent death, it’s that holding back information is bloody dangerous.”
Her words chased the trace of wry humor from the earl’s chiseled features. “I wasn’t intending on holding anything back,” he replied, waggling the roll of papers he was carrying. “I was simply waiting for McClellan to bring in the refreshments so I could sweeten you up.”
A clench of foreboding tightened her chest. “As you know, sir, I don’t take sugar in my tea. So you might as well spit it out.”
The earl shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure you don’t wish to have one of McClellan’s ginger biscuits before we continue? They’re remarkably good.”
“I’m quite familiar with her cooking,” replied Charlotte, finding it impossible to stay angry. They had been through too much together, she realized, for her to ever doubt the elemental bond of trust that twined them together. “Whatever you have to tell me, it can’t be that bad. When I saw the boys at breakfast, they didn’t appear to be missing any limbs.”
He made a face. “Well, it’s a good thing that I found the Weasels this past evening, rather than the night watchman. Else they, along with their partner in crime, might be locked up in Newgate, waiting for a ship to transport them to the penal colonies in the South Pacific for breaking into a private residence.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant. “Woodbridge’s townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“I should have guessed some mischief was afoot,” she muttered. “They were far too eager to retire to their aerie and do their schoolwork.”
“Instead, they and Sheffield decided to search for clues as to what troubles have ensnared Lady Cordelia and her brother,” he said.
“And you found them—”
“I found them because the same thought had occurred to me,” explained Wrexford. “Don’t ring too sharp a peal over their heads. I think they did it in part to make sure Kit didn’t make a mull of it. He doesn’t have our experience in illegal activities.”
That made her laugh.
“Be that as it may,” he went on, “we did discover some intriguing clues in the townhouse. And that’s only part of it. However, I think it best that I start at the beginning . . .”
A knock made him hesitate.
“Tea and biscuits,” announced McClellan, shouldering the door open and bustling in to place the tray on the low table between Wrexford and Charlotte. “I took the liberty of not adding any knives to the tray.”
“The earl and I have ceased cutting up at each other,” said Charlotte, then added a sigh. “It seems I need to have a discussion with Raven and Hawk about deception, no matter that their recent actions broke no direct order.”
“Hmmph. I feared as much,” muttered McClellan as she poured two cups of tea and passed them around. “No ginger biscuits for the Weasels until further notice.”
Charlotte cocked an ear. “I trust they’re not hovering in the shadows. The earl and I have matters to discuss that I prefer they don’t overhear.”
The maid shook her head. “They went off a short while ago to take a crock of beef broth to Skinny, who has a touch of catarr
h.”
“Dear heavens! He’s ill?” Charlotte felt a stab of guilt. Raven and Hawk’s little band of urchin friends had become very dear to her. She had been meaning to think about their future, but her own life had been turning topsy-turvy of late....
A poor excuse, and she knew it.
“I should go—”
“You and the earl concentrate on whatever conundrum you’re facing,” interrupted McClellan. “I’ll make sure Skinny comes to no grief.”
“Thank you,” she said, though guilt still prickled at her conscience.
As the maid slipped from the room without further comment, Charlotte remained staring down at her lap, where her hands had knotted together. When she finally looked up, she found the earl watching her, his expression creased in concern.
“You can’t save every homeless child in London, Lady Charlotte,” he said softly.
“I know that.” Their eyes met. “But they are our friends, Wrexford. I can’t—”
“We can’t,” he corrected. “And we won’t. I promise you that. But McClellan is right. We’ve got a daunting mystery to unravel that affects some of our other friends. Let us solve that one first while she keeps an eye on our raggle-taggle urchins.”
In the face of Wrexford’s steady calm, all her churning worries suddenly melted away.
I promise. Two simple words, and yet they resonated right down to the depth of her marrow. She knew that for all his faults, he would never break his pledge.
“Very well. Let’s get back to the question of what unholy mayhem is afoot.” She straightened her spine and smoothed out her skirts. “You were about to tell me there’s more to your tale than the illegal entry into Woodbridge’s townhouse.”
“Much more.” Wrexford proceeded to explain about Griffin’s visit, the new information about the murder victim’s connection to a private bank, and the surprising revelation of Sheffield and Cordelia’s business partnership.
“Ye gods,” she whispered. “I—”
“I haven’t yet finished,” he said quickly before she could go on. “During our search of Woodbridge’s townhouse, we discovered some drawings in Lady Cordelia’s study.” Pushing the tray and unfinished cups of tea to one side, the earl unfurled the roll of papers.
Charlotte took her time in looking through them. “It looks like the design for a . . . a machine of some sort,” she ventured once she was done.
“Yes,” agreed Wrexford. “As to what it’s for, Kit and I paid a visit earlier today to William Hedley, a scientific colleague at the Royal Institution whose specialty is engineering industrial innovations. He thinks there’s a possibility it’s meant to perform mathematical calculations.”
Charlotte was suddenly aware of a throbbing at the back of her skull. None of this was making any sense. “But why would Lady Cordelia want a machine to calculate numbers? She does them so easily in her head.”
Wrexford’s expression turned grim. “At this point, I’d rather not speculate. I do wonder, however, whether you’ve ever heard her express an interest in anything mechanical.”
“No, never,” replied Charlotte.
“I know she’s a member of a group of Bluestockings, who meet regularly to discuss intellectual topics. You’ve attended several of their soirees with Lady Peake. Have you ever heard any of the other ladies bring up the subject of mechanical innovation or the term automata?”
“Again, no. However, I’m not privy to every conversation that goes on during those evenings.” She thought for a moment about what he had just said. “Doesn’t automata refer to a type of fancy mechanical toy?”
“Mr. Hedley would chide you for calling them that,” said Wrexford. “Granted, they are often constructed as entertainment for the wealthy. But advanced technical skills and innovative engineering are required to produce them. So, when I pressed Hedley on whether he knew any mathematician who also possessed mechanical expertise, he mentioned a reclusive Cambridge professor with a passion for automata.”
Charlotte edged forward on the sofa. “You think Lady Cordelia and her brother may have taken refuge with him?”
“It seems possible, and right now, it’s the only clue we have. I’ve asked Tyler to make some inquiries about the professor among certain friends of his. I should know more by tomorrow.” He slowly released his breath in a harried sigh. “In the meantime, I’m meeting with Sheffield tonight to discuss what was in the documents he found in Woodbridge’s desk.”
A pause. “And to hear his explanation of why he felt compelled to hide the fact that he’s involved in a business venture with Lady Cordelia.”
Charlotte didn’t blame him for sounding apprehensive. Much as she liked Cordelia, something about all of this felt wrong.
“I don’t claim to have any expertise in mathematics, but to me, nothing is adding up right,” she said. “And you’ve yet to hear what I’ve learned. You and the boys weren’t the only ones doing some nocturnal sleuthing last night.”
His expression turned even more troubled.
“I paid a visit to one of my sources around Queen’s Landing—”
A growl rumbled in Wrexford’s throat.
“Kindly refrain from comment until I’m finished, sir,” she chided. “You need to hear this.” His jaw tightened, and taking that as signal of surrender, she continued. “From my source, I, too, learned of the murder victim’s connection to C. Hoare & Co. through his cousin, the Honorable David Mather, as well as the fact that the two men often met at a tavern near the dockyards. I paid it a visit and struck up a conversation with one of the regular denizens.”
Another growl, which she ignored.
“From him I learned yet another interesting fact. The murder victim was apparently close to one of the barmaids there. And she was too frightened to speak to Bow Street when they came to make inquiries,” explained Charlotte. “Her name is Annie Wright. I followed her to her lodgings in one of the rookeries off Tench Street, near Wapping Docks, and reconnoitered the area.” She paused and then added, “However, I decided to speak with you first before I make contact with her.”
To her surprise, Wrexford remained silent.
Charlotte waited, watching his face through her lowered lashes. She had learned to read the subtle signs of his moods. That his expression was undecipherable didn’t bode well. Leaning back, she waited for whatever explosion was coming.
“The dockyards are a notoriously dangerous area.” His voice was mild—another bad sign. “But, of course, you know that. Just as you know that asking questions pertaining to a murder makes it an even more dangerous place.”
“I went in the guise of Magpie, who has a great deal of skill and experience at uncovering secrets in the worst hellholes of London.”
“It takes only one tiny slip to get your bloody throat cut,” he replied.
“I know the rules of stews, Wrexford,” responded Charlotte. “Probably better than you do.”
“Somehow, that’s not overly comforting.” He looked away to the shadows lurking beyond the mullioned windows. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d forbid you to seek out Annie Wright.”
“Nothing about murder is comforting, milord. But as it seems likely this one is entangled with the troubles of our friends, you can’t very well expect me to ignore it,” she said. “So it’s a good thing you have no authority to tell me what I may and may not do.”
His gaze betrayed a flicker of emotion as he turned back to face her. It was gone in an instant, and yet its fire left a strange prickling on her flesh.
“I would hope you know me well enough to trust that I would never exercise such authority.” Though his tone was carefully controlled, Charlotte heard the note of hurt shading his words. “Even if it were mine to wield.”
“Forgive me, Wrexford,” she whispered. “That was badly done of me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “With all the recent changes in my life, I fear . . . I fear that I may lose a grip on who I really am.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at h
is mouth. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Your true self is woven into every fiber of your being—your conscience, your passions, your compassion, your sense of justice.”
Her throat tightened as Charlotte sought for a reply. “I think you have more confidence in me than I have in myself,” she finally managed to say.
This time, the silence between them had no sharp edges. A soft rustling stirred the air as they resettled themselves in their seats. When their eyes met again, they smiled.
“Well, I suppose we had better get back to the matter at hand,” said Charlotte briskly. “And try to figure whether the pieces of information we’ve uncovered are all part of the same puzzle.”
“Logic seems to dictate that there are two steps for us to take next,” replied the earl. “We need to learn more about Professor Sudler, and whether Lady Cordelia and her brother have taken refuge with him. And we need to ascertain whether the murder at Queen’s Landing and any information that Annie Wright possesses are connected to our friends.”
“That makes sense,” said Charlotte. “However, we must also face the question of what to tell Sheffield.” A sigh. “The line between discretion and deception is, I fear, a very muddled one.”
Wrexford’s grunt signaled agreement.
She cleared her throat. “I have a thought . . .”
“Which I would greatly welcome,” he responded.
“As we agreed the other night, we can’t hold anything back about our efforts to find Lady Cordelia,” she offered. “However, until we uncover evidence that she and her brother have any link to the murder, other than the fact that Hoare’s Bank handles their finances, I think we can, in good conscience, leave that part of our investigation unmentioned.”
“Some might say that we are parsing morality with a very sharp blade,” observed Wrexford with a sardonic twitch of his brows. “But like you, I have a healthy regard for pragmatism.”
“Excellent,” murmured Charlotte. “Though I expect we will argue over how to deal with Annie Wright.”
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me accompany you?”
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