“He forged tools and weapons for the other gods,” went on Wrexford. He put down the hammer and plucked a small brass object from a row arrayed atop a piece of felt on the corner of the counter. “The engineering of this is remarkable,” he said after holding it up to the light.
Charlotte moved to a different section of the counter. “Look! There’s a set of mechanical drawings here. And they appear to be duplicates of the ones we found.”
Wrexford came over to examine them. “What the devil are they up to?” he muttered.
“It clearly involves numbers.” She pointed to a large basket sitting on one of the shelves. It was filled with ivory wheels bearing the numerals zero through nine precisely spaced along the outer rim.
Sheffield had wandered off to explore behind the forge. Hearing his grunt of surprise, they rushed to join him.
“Why would Sudler have such a collection of . . . toys?” exclaimed their friend.
“Because,” answered the earl as he approached the display table hidden in the alcove, “they’re not toys. They’re automata.”
“Ah, right,” murmured Sheffield. “That’s the term Hedley used for . . .”
“For complex mechanical devices which are constructed with incredibly precise engineering,” finished Wrexford, “allowing them to perform very sophisticated movements and functions.”
He stepped closer to the collection and wound the key hidden at the back of one of the automata. It was the one mentioned by Hedley . . . the figure of a lady attired in an elegant ball gown, perhaps a foot tall and crafted entirely out of silver.
Charlotte gasped in amazement as the figure began to dance, spinning in circles upon its metal platform as it moved its arms and legs in harmony with the notes coming from a hidden music box beneath the platform.
“That’s magical!” she said once the spring had unwound and the lady had come to a stop.
“An apt description, as Hedley told us it was made by John Merlin.” Wrexford looked up from examining the base of the automaton. “He also told Kit and me that Sudler has had a passion for automata since his university days. I would guess he’s collected them in order to study their inner workings, which would help with the design for his own devices.”
“And all this?” Sheffield gestured back at the machinery.
“It takes complex tools to craft complex parts,” answered the earl. “I would guess that Sudler has to make all the pieces himself for his complicated designs.”
“That makes sense.” Charlotte frowned in thought. “However, I can’t help but wonder . . . We’ve seen the plans lying on the counter and all the equipment for fabricating the individual parts. But where is the automaton that he’s building?”
“Perhaps he hasn’t yet started,” said Sheffield. “Or perhaps he took it with him.”
Wrexford remained silent for a moment, his expression turning troubled. “It seems to me there’s an even more pressing question,” he said. “Why does Sudler need Lady Cordelia?”
Charlotte felt a shiver snake down her spine. “Or vice versa,” she whispered.
Sheffield stared at her in dismay. “You think it’s Lady Cordelia who is spearheading a nefarious plot, rather than her brother?”
Charlotte hated to see the warring of hope and despair in his eyes. But it was becoming increasingly hard to see any other explanation for what was going on. “Woodbridge isn’t nearly as clever as his sister,” she pointed out. “I’m not sure he’s capable of figuring out a complex financial plan to profit from all the money he has apparently borrowed. But . . .”
She paused to compose her thoughts, trying to find the words to express her fears as gently as possible.
Wrexford had no such compunction. “Lady Cordelia has both the brains and the sangfroid to come up with a plan to save her brother from financial ruin. We know that from past experience. And as for profit, you yourself know she has a head for business.”
A tiny throat muscle jumped as Sheffield tightened his jaw.
“Perhaps what’s going on is perfectly legal,” continued the earl. “But when you add up the facts—a murder that connects, however tenuously, to Hoare’s Bank, and the sudden flight of both brother and sister—the answer does seem to indicate that they’re up to no good.”
He paused. “I’m sorry, Kit, but it’s nigh on impossible to imagine that it wasn’t she who came up with the plan.”
Touching a finger to the smoothly sculpted face of the silver dancer, Sheffield then traced the delicate planes of her face. “Much I as wish to disagree, I can’t in good conscience offer any argument.”
The glimmer of the precious metal suddenly stirred a question in Charlotte’s mind.
“Silver,” she said. “Or rather argentum. Have we given any more thought to the clerk’s dying words and what he might have meant?”
Wrexford shook his head. “I can’t begin to hazard a guess. The only metals I see in the workshop are brass, steel, and iron. Until we’re able to speak with Lady Cordelia and her brother—”
“And Professor Sudler,” she interjected. “He’s involved for a reason.”
“Yes, but until we know what that reason is, we’re simply trying to grab at shadows—a mere trick of light.” The earl grimaced. “Naught but thin air that slips through our fingers.”
“So where do we start looking for them?” mused Charlotte.
“If I had any ideas, I would say so,” said Sheffield, a note of defeat shading his voice.
“Wrexford?” she asked.
The earl took a moment to look at the hulking machinery. “I need to think about it. But first, let’s continue looking around and see if there’s anything that might give us a more solid idea of what they’re building.”
They returned to the main work counters and began a methodical search, checking beneath the jumble of canvas coverings and inside the narrow cabinets set against the wall.
“Is this helpful?” asked Charlotte, holding out a box that contained an assembly of minute gears.
Wrexford took a look and shrugged. “Not particularly. Gears are used for a great many purposes, so it doesn’t really tell us anything.” He went back to his section of the counter and resumed his rummaging. “What we need is something that might indicate—”
A low whistle cut short his words as he shifted a large metal storage box and spotted a bulky object cloaked in a heavy oilskin cloth hidden behind it. He pulled off the cover, revealing a complex construction of rods and levers.
“Bring over the lantern, Kit.”
Charlotte and Sheffield gathered around the earl as he took the light and angled it on the mechanical device.
“Look, there’s a small wheel with a handle that must rotate,” noted Sheffield.
Wrexford was already spinning it. They watched in wonder as the gleaming brass rods and levers moved, turning a complex construction of gears, which in turn spun and shifted a procession of the numbered ivory wheels that were attached to the rods.
“Ingenious,” murmured Wrexford. “It looks to be a prototype of how a machine can do complex calculations. I don’t pretend to know exactly how it works, but . . .” He thought for a long moment. “I recall hearing a lecture on Pascal’s famous adding machine at the Royal Institution, and I saw a model of the device. It can’t hold a candle to this in terms of sophisticated engineering.”
“I think it’s becoming clearer why Sudler needs Lady Cordelia,” said Charlotte. “He would require a mathematical genius to complement his engineering genius.”
“However they came together,” said the earl, “it appears they’ve created . . .”
“A monster,” intoned Sheffield.
CHAPTER 16
The early morning mist had given way to a sun-bright sky. And yet the ride home felt overshadowed by a black cloud. Wrexford glanced at Sheffield’s profile as they broke free of the trees, and felt a chill seep into his bones. To feel betrayed by a trusted friend cut to the quick.
And it was the sor
t of wound that could fester. . . .
The earl forced his thoughts back to a more immediate challenge. The machine was too big and too intricate to risk carrying on horseback, so he had decided to leave it. He and one of his grooms would return later with a cart and bring it back to the manor house. Perhaps Tyler, who was very mechanically minded, would have some ideas about its capabilities after examining it.
Still lost in thought as they entered his estate lands, Wrexford led the way down a bridle path that cut through a stretch of pastureland. But a sudden hail from Sheffield brought them all to a halt.
“If you don’t mind, I shall leave you here and take the long way around to the stables.”
“Of course, Kit,” he replied.
With a gruff nod, Sheffield turned his mount and spurred off.
“Damnation,” uttered Charlotte, her face wreathing in concern, as she watched him gallop away.
“Kit possesses more strength and resilience than he, or any of us, thinks. It seems to take adversity to bring his best qualities to the fore,” said Wrexford, watching a plume of dust swirl up in their friend’s wake. “Or so I tell myself.”
The attempt at wry humor didn’t draw a smile from Charlotte. Her worry seemed to deepen.
“I . . .” She blew out a sigh and fell silent.
“Go on,” he urged.
Charlotte looked away. The breeze tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, tangling them into a knot. Deciding the moment for her to confide her thoughts had passed, he shifted on the saddle and regripped his reins.
“The investigation has unsettled me, Wrexford.” She turned to gaze out at the horizon. “In ways that are testing the very essence of who I am.”
He waited.
Her eyes slowly came around to meet his. “Sorry. I know I’m not making any sense.”
“You’re making perfect sense,” he replied. “I imagine what you mean is you feel torn between friendship and duty.”
Her mare snorted and pulled at the reins.
“As Charlotte Sloane, you wish to help and protect those close to you,” he went on. “But as A. J. Quill, you feel compelled to shine a light on the dark doings of those who think themselves above the law.”
A ghost of a smile passed over her lips. “You seem to understand me better than I do myself.”
Wrexford brought his stallion closer and reached out to touch his hand to hers. The chill air gave way to a mellow warmth. “I think we both know each other very well,” he replied. “At times, too well. But that, I suppose, is the beauty of true friendship, where the bond runs deeper than we realize.”
The breeze freshened, ruffling through the gold-flecked meadow grasses.
“I noted that you were carefully studying the workshop and its details, in case you decide it’s necessary to draw the scene. But I don’t think you should fret about what decisions lie ahead,” he added. “When the time comes, you’ll know in your heart what is right.”
“Oh, Wrexford.” The light that came to her eyes made his heart thump up against his ribs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and your logic to steady my doubts.”
“There is, I grant you, an irony to me—a man cursed with mercurial moods—being a source of steadiness to anyone. But as you’ve often told me, intuition defies logic.”
“Or they somehow work together in perfect tandem,” murmured Charlotte. Lifting her cheeks to the sun, she inhaled deeply. “Perhaps Sheffield was right, and a good gallop is just the thing to clear the head.”
The earl smiled. “Would you care to race to that far oak?” A wave indicated a distant tree at the edge of the pasture.
“You have an unfair advantage. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the saddle.”
“I shall allow you a five-yard head start.”
“Ha!” Sparks winked off her lashes. “Make that ten yards.”
Wrexford realized with a jolt how much he loved the way she constantly challenged him. It wasn’t always comfortable....
She was already off, her mare’s hooves pounding over the turf.
Wind whipped his face as he spurred to a gallop. All worries gave way to the moment . . . the sight of Charlotte crouched low over her horse’s neck, the loosened strands of her hair dancing in the wind . . . the sheer exhilaration of just the two of them together, racing neck-and-leather across fields.
The mare had spirit and graceful speed, but his muscled stallion was quickly gaining ground. Tightening the reins, Wrexford pulled back. It seemed only right that they cross the finish line in perfect stride.
Breathless with laughter, Charlotte slowed her mount and circled back to meet him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling. “I had forgotten how glorious it is to fly over the fields!”
“Lady Peake wasn’t exaggerating,” he replied. “You’re a very skilled rider.”
“Yes, well, I spent a good deal of time in the saddle during my rebellious youth. It was one of the few places where I could exhale and feel free.” Charlotte patted the mare’s lathered neck. “Thank you, Wrexford. For not allowing me to stew in self-doubt.”
“We all need occasional reminders that Darkness should never overpower Light.”
She nodded, the very un-Charlotte-like uncertainty gone from her expression. “Speaking of darkness we should be getting back. Sheffield mustn’t be allowed to brood. We need to regroup and plan our next steps.”
They set off at a brisk canter, which soon brought them to the main carriage road.
“You go on to the stables,” said Wrexford as they slowed to a walk. “I want to stop at the manor house first. Tyler should have arrived by now, and he may have learned something more about Professor Sudler before leaving London.”
* * *
After handing over her mare to one of the grooms, Charlotte spotted Sheffield standing just inside the stable. As she moved to join him, she saw Raven was also there, on his hands and knees, playing with a large floppy-eared puppy whose ungainly legs seemed far too big for its body.
She was relieved to see Sheffield was smiling at the tug-and-pull antics involving a length of well-chewed rope.
He looked around at her approach. “I’ve just finished explaining to Raven about our discovery.”
“May I see the mechanical device?” asked the boy, scrambling to his feet and brushing the worst of the muck from his knees.
“Wrexford plans to bring it back here later,” she answered. “So yes, I’m sure you’ll have ample opportunity to inspect it.”
Raven’s face scrunched in thought. “You say the rods go up and down, shifting the numbered wheels both vertically and horizontally?”
Sheffield grimaced. “Don’t ask me how it works, lad. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
“By the by, where’s your brother?” asked Charlotte as another puppy bounded down the stone walkway between the stalls and tripped over its own oversized paws.
Raven laughed, a carefree burble that reminded her all too sharply of how rarely he sounded like a child. Then, looking away from the dog, he answered, “Hawk went with the gardener to see the flower beds along the back terrace. He took his sketchbook, so he could do some drawings.” Crouching down, the boy began wrestling with the newcomer. “But I’m going to find him now and see if he wants to play toss and fetch with these beasties.”
“An excellent idea!” she encouraged. Gamboling in the fresh air and fields would do them good.
The puppies barked as he pulled a ball from his jacket pocket and scampered off, the animals following in hot pursuit.
Charlotte took Sheffield’s arm. “Shall we go see if Tyler has arrived?”
They walked past the paddocks in silence as she debated whether to broach the subject of Lady Cordelia’s betrayal and offer her support. She didn’t wish to intrude, and a surreptitious glance at his profile did nothing to help her decide.
“Have I sprouted horns or purple spots?” he murmured.
“Sorry,” stammered Charlotte.
“Don’t be. I know my judgment in many things leaves much to be desired,” he replied. “It’s no wonder you have doubts—”
“You judge yourself far more harshly than Wrexford or I do,” she said before he could go on.
Her words seemed to surprise him.
“But then,” she continued, “I think our own faults are always far more glaring to us than they are to our friends.”
“You’re being kind, as always.” A wry smile. “However, I did some thinking on the ride home . . .” Their steps crunched over gravel as they turned onto the walkway leading to the front of the house. “About how you and Wrexford have the strength and the courage to put truth and justice before personal sentiments, no matter how painful.”
He drew in a breath. “I know I’ve made a mull of my recent choices. But I hope you and Wrex know where my true loyalty lies.”
“We’ve never doubted that,” said Charlotte. “But caring for someone is a strength, not a weakness.”
A thoughtful silence lasted for several steps.
“Truth,” murmured Sheffield, quickening his pace as they approached the entrance steps. “We need to follow the damnable twisted threads of this conundrum and find the truth.” The stones rustled beneath his boots. “Wherever they may lead.”
Charlotte heard the steel in his voice . . . along with a whisper of regret. “Let us keep in mind that we don’t yet know for sure that Lady Cordelia has done anything wrong.”
“I don’t think either of us believes that’s true,” he murmured.
On entering the manor house, they were met by Higgins, the earl’s country butler, who escorted them to Wrexford’s study.
“Tyler has sent word that he’s been delayed,” announced the earl, a slight frown creasing his brow as he looked up from the note on his desk. “He won’t be arriving until tomorrow.”
“Is that bad news?” asked Charlotte.
“Not necessarily,” replied Wrexford, his expression unreadable. “I asked him to see if he could learn more about the knife discovered at Queen’s Landing.”
Murder at Queen's Landing Page 17