Wrexford guessed what she meant. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t imagine you do,” she countered. “But if A. J. Quill stirs some questions about the East India Company’s business practices, that will breathe added fire on the dastards.”
“Making them determined that it’s A. J. Quill who gets burned to a crisp.”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
He bit back a retort. An argument would only flare into a war of words, and that might only goad her into doing something even more damnably brave. As he wrestled with how to reply, Charlotte rose and found paper and pencil among Cordelia’s notebooks.
Bloody hell. One of her infernal lists was in the making. Wrexford wasn’t sure whether to laugh or howl at the heavens.
“We need to be clear about our objectives,” said Charlotte. “It seems to me we have two of them. First of all, we must save Lord Woodbridge from ruin. And secondly, we must see that the men who created Argentum are unmasked and punished for their misdeeds.”
“Is that all?” asked the earl. “While we’re at it, shall we also find a way to defeat Napoleon and end the war ravaging half the world?”
Charlotte resumed her seat at the table. “Sarcasm isn’t constructive, sir.”
“Neither is flinging a flaming arrow into the devil’s eye.”
Her brow furrowed. And then she began to laugh. “Oh, Wrexford, I shall keep that image in mind for one of my drawings when we’re ready to deliver the coup de grâce.”
He couldn’t help surrendering a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”
“That little fact should have long ago ceased to surprise you.”
That Charlotte was a source of endless surprises spurred a wry chuckle. “Though I’ll likely regret asking, I’m assuming you have a plan.”
She squared the paper and tapped the pencil in a slow, steady rhythm against the tip of her chin. An unconscious habit, no doubt, to summon inspiration.
Tap, tap.
“If that’s some arcane pagan ritual for summoning divine intervention,” he said softly, “I devoutly hope that blood sacrifices aren’t required.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” she replied. Tap, tap. “I’m thinking . . .” Tap, tap.
The sound struck him as a distinctly human echo of the steel-and-brass brain churning away on the other side of the room. Man versus machine. As someone dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, he couldn’t help but applaud the momentous advances that curious minds like his own were making. But he wasn’t blind to the pitfalls of Progress, and its potential for bringing out the worst as well as the best in mankind. Good versus Evil. Those two opposing forces seemed to be woven into the very flesh and blood of humanity.
Forcing us to fight a never-ending war between the light and dark sides of our nature.
It made Charlotte and her courage seem even more extraordinary.
After another moment, she paused and cocked an ear. The Computing Engine was slowing, the noise dying away to a series of clicks and chirps. “Lady Cordelia, if you and the professor have finished your work, it would be best if you both join in our council of war. There is, as you’ve shown, strength in numbers.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to kick those dastards in the . . .” Cordelia paused, realizing that Raven was right beside her. “In a spot that will hurt like hell.”
“Aim for the bollocks,” counseled the boy. “A man drops like a sack of stones when you hit his privies.”
Sheffield gave an involuntary wince.
“I shall keep that tidbit in mind, should the occasion arise,” replied Cordelia. “Come, Professor,” she added on hearing a loud thump from behind the Engine. “Lady Charlotte is summoning us to plan a strategy to beat the devils at their own game.”
Sudler extracted himself from the machinery and made his way to the table, blinking owlishly. As he took a seat, Cordelia plucked the grease-smeared spectacles from his nose, cleaned them with a napkin, and returned them to their perch.
“By Jove.” More blinks. “The dratted dog has eaten all the ham.”
“There’s more in the kitchen. Shall I go get it?” volunteered Hawk.
“Please do,” answered Wrexford. “But if I see one more sliver of it going down Harper’s gullet, you’ll both be banished to the mews.”
Charlotte’s tapping had ceased. “Let us turn our thoughts from filling our stomachs to something even more elementally important—ensuring that the high and mighty don’t gorge themselves on greed because no one will hold them accountable for their misdeeds.”
Sheffield shifted his chair and in a hushed murmur quickly explained to Cordelia and Sudler what they had missed.
The professor adjusted his spectacles. “I don’t see how we, a small band of individuals, can bring them to justice. Lady Cordelia is of the opinion that she and I might be able to buy her brother’s release from their clutches. But to be honest, I fear that is wishful thinking.”
“It won’t be easy,” replied Charlotte. “But it can be done.”
Wrexford was aware of all eyes turning to him. “I concur,” he said without hesitation.
For the look of gratitude that flickered beneath her lashes, he would have gladly agreed to journey to hell and back.
“It will require boldness and courage,” he continued, “but we have that in spades.”
“Thank you, Wrexford.” Pencil poised above the paper, Charlotte pursed her lips. “Let’s first address freeing Woodbridge from Argentum’s control. To do that we need two things—the money to repay the loans and the official documents that he signed making him the sole owner of Argentum Trading Company.”
A cough from Sudler. “That’s only making me feel even more pessimistic.”
“It shouldn’t,” remarked Sheffield. “I have a feeling that Lady Charlotte has a plan, and in my experience, that bodes ill for any miscreant.”
“I do,” Charlotte said. “As Wrexford is fond of saying, one merely needs to apply logic to a problem, and it usually becomes simpler. To wit, let’s take the money. All the arbitrage trading Lady Cordelia and the professor are running for Argentum is generating a constant source of it. And my guess is that it’s being deposited into a bank account somewhere, until it’s time to purchase a bill of exchange to sail with a corrupt ship captain for the next round of buying opium in India.”
“A bank account set up for Argentum Trading Company in order to have Woodbridge take the blame if anything goes awry,” mused Sheffield.
“Our thinking aligns, Lady Charlotte,” said Wrexford. “I’ve already begun making inquiries into which of the smaller private banks cater to a less than scrupulous clientele.”
“And I plan to meet with Jeremy in the morning, sir. He’ll likely have some ideas, as well,” Charlotte replied. To Cordelia and Sudler, she explained, “Lord Sterling is an old friend, and his recent involvement in expansion plans for Mrs. Ashton’s mills has given him experience in financing commercial enterprises.”
“Excellent, excellent,” said Sudler.
The earl wasn’t sure whether the professor was referring to banking matters or Hawk’s arrival with a platter of freshly sliced ham and a loaf of crusty bread.
Cordelia, however, appeared less certain. “Even if we do discover where the dastards are stashing the money, I don’t see how it will do us much good. Without the official documents to prove he’s the legal owner, Jamie won’t be able to touch it.” A humorless smile thinned her lips. “So unless you possess a magical scrying glass to tell us where the dratted papers might be . . .”
“Magic is beyond my power,” cut in Charlotte. “However, I do have an idea.” She didn’t elaborate. “I’m hoping you have one key piece of information that may help indicate the spot. Have the dastards given you a date for completing your arbitrage trading?”
“They have,” replied Cordelia. “It’s Friday.”
Four days, thought Wrexford. We have four d
ays to piece together the puzzle before the money sails for India. Likely taking with it all proof of the evils done to possess it.
A prodigious yawn from Sudler forestalled any further questions. The elderly professor’s shoulders had slumped, and his eyelids were beginning to droop.
Cordelia patted his arm. “Come, let me take you up to your bedchamber. It’s been a long night, and you need your rest.”
“As do you,” observed Sheffield. “However ungentlemanly it may be to remark on it, you look exhausted. And fatigue makes one prone to making mistakes.” He eyed her urchin’s garb. “The Weasels will escort you home.”
Cordelia opened her mouth as if to argue, but whatever words she was intending surrendered to a sigh.
“We’ll meet you in the scullery,” said Raven.
She nodded. “I’ll just be a moment in seeing the professor to his quarters.”
Sheffield waited for the boys to follow her and Sudler out of the workroom before clearing his throat and looking to Wrexford and Charlotte. “So, now that’s it’s just the three of us, tell me—do you really have an idea on where the documents Woodbridge signed are being kept?”
His gaze shifted to Charlotte’s paper, on which she had been scribbling some notes. “And even more importantly, does that mean you have a plan for getting them back?”
“My intuition tells me there’s one logical place for them to be,” she replied. “The dastards will be keeping them somewhere safe. And what better place than East India House, the Company’s headquarters on Leadenhall Street? Its imposing stone façade gives it an aura of invincibility, and it’s well guarded at all hours of the day.”
Wrexford saw that she had done a quick scribble of the massive Doric columns of East India House’s main entrance portico as she spoke.
“And now that we know Lord Copley is involved, however reluctantly, I would guess that it’s in his private office,” Charlotte added.
“But what if he’s telling the truth and someone else is in charge?” asked Sheffield. “Then it could be anywhere.”
“I think Lady Charlotte is right,” interjected Wrexford. “These men have shown themselves to be clever in avoiding any personal connection to the illicit activities. A place like East India House provides ironclad security, but it also offers a perfect alibi if the documents somehow come to light. They could easily claim they were hidden in Copley’s files by someone else. After all, clerks and junior administrators must come and go constantly through that section of the building.”
“Very well, let’s assume the surmise is correct.” Sheffield frowned. “I’m not sure why you’re looking like a cat who knocked over the cream pot. We haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting those papers out of the devil’s own lair.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” said Charlotte. “As a matter of fact, I do have a plan, and I am quite confident it will work. Here’s what I have in mind . . .”
“Ye gods.” Sheffield let out a low whistle once she had finished. “You’re either mad or brilliant.”
“Sometimes the difference between the two is less than a hairsbreadth,” murmured Wrexford.
“It’s bold, I give you that,” said Sheffield. “But there are so many things that can go wrong.”
“That can be said for most endeavors,” pointed out Charlotte. “If we wish to save Lord Woodbridge and Lady Cordelia from ruin, we must strike quickly. Time is growing short, and we can’t afford to be fainthearted.”
“No one would ever accuse you of being fainthearted, m’lady.” Henning paused in the doorway to slap the raindrops from his hat. “Thank heavens you weren’t jesting about the whisky,” he added, heading straight to the bottle and pouring himself a glass.
“Ah.” The surgeon let out a blissful sigh after quaffing a long swallow. “That warms the cockles.”
“There’s food here, as well, though the choices are rather limited,” said Charlotte with a rueful look at the nearly empty platter. “The boys are like locusts.”
“As is the hound,” groused Wrexford.
Harper continued his gusty snores.
“Malt is sustenance enough,” replied Henning as he refilled his glass. Turning, he caught sight of the massive machine. “What the devil is that?”
“Professor Sudler’s Computing Engine,” replied the earl.
“Hell’s teeth. It’s . . .” The surgeon approached the behemoth and studied the intricate assembly of polished metal. “It’s extraordinary.” After another few moments of scrutiny, he shuffled over to join them at the table. “I imagine it’s connected to whatever devilry you’re investigating.”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford.
Henning’s gaze was still on the Engine. Like the earl, he had a great interest in scientific innovations. “How does it work?”
“We haven’t a clue,” confessed Charlotte. “You would have to ask Lady Cordelia.”
“Never mind the mechanics,” snapped Wrexford. “We have more important problems to solve.”
“Perhaps this will help.” The surgeon fished a soggy piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. “You asked for a list of banks willing to work with scoundrels.”
Wrexford read it and then passed it to Charlotte, who quickly copied the names onto her notes before pushing it on to Sheffield.
“As for Annie Wright,” continued Henning, “no one has seen hide nor hair of her.”
“With good reason,” replied the earl. “She’s one of the enemy and has fled London.” A pause. “No doubt with her purse bulging with blood money.”
Charlotte bowed her head.
It was Sheffield who ventured to speak after several moments of heavy silence. “As to money . . .” He looked up from Henning’s list. “If these establishments are in league with criminals, what makes you think they will hand over the money, even if you’re successful in recovering the documents that show Woodbridge is the owner of Argentum Trading Company?”
“Because,” answered Wrexford, “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”
Charlotte folded her notes. “I suggest we all get some sleep, as we mean to put our plan into action tomorrow.” She glanced at Sheffield. “I know you wish to help, but—”
He cut her off with a dismissive wave. “I’m aware that my skills, such as they are, aren’t nearly polished enough to be of aid in what you have in mind. Still, I shall try to be useful. I’ve been tasked by Lady Cordelia to take charge of overseeing our legitimate business while she’s occupied with the professor and his Engine.”
Wrexford’s brows twitched upward, but he caught himself before making a caustic quip.
“I wish you all luck.” Henning lifted his near-empty glass in salute. “Here’s to kicking the bastards where it hurts.”
CHAPTER 25
“Thank you for coming.” Charlotte greeted her old friend at the entrance to the parlor and gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. Much had changed since their childhood. Jeremy was now Lord Sterling, having unexpectedly inherited his cousin’s title and wealth. And she . . .
Well, her life had undergone even more momentous changes. But the bond between them had survived all the twists and turns of life.
“You’ve made this a very comfortable place,” he observed, looking around with approval at the paintings by her late husband and at all the other little touches of individuality that made a house a home.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for finding this house.” It was Jeremy who had encouraged her to move from her first residence in London—a cramped, shabby place barely clinging to respectability—in order to put the past behind her and look to the future.
“I merely helped you with the paperwork. It’s you who made it come to life,” he replied. He shifted and reached behind his back to pluck a chunk of sharp-edged quartz and a shark’s tooth from among the pillows. “The Weasels appear to be thriving.”
She laughed and put the objects on the side table. “Hawk is enamored with
the natural world and is showing great aptitude in sketching the specimens he collects. And Raven has a special gift for mathematics. Who would have guessed . . . ?”
They sat for a moment in companionable silence, the morning sunlight dancing in through the diamond-paned windows, filling the room with a buttery warmth.
“Life is certainly unpredictable,” said Jeremy softly. “And while there are many who believe that mere Chance is what shapes our fate, I like to think we have a say in our destiny, if we dare to believe in ourselves.”
Dust motes shimmered as they spun in a whisper of air.
“I’m glad you’ve reconnected with Lady Peake,” he added. “Family is important.” An only child, Jeremy had lost his parents to an influenza epidemic while he was attending university.
“Hartley has reached out, as well,” she said. “Though I confess I’m a trifle nervous about the prospect.”
“Don’t be, Charley. He was always the best of your brothers.” A pause. “He’ll be very proud of the brave, compassionate, and principled lady his sister has become.”
Charlotte felt a lump form in her throat.
He patted her arm. “But I have a feeling you didn’t invite me here to discuss philosophy. Are you perchance involved in solving another murder?”
She surrendered a sigh. “As it so happens, I am. And I’m hoping you might be able to answer some questions about banking and bills of exchange.”
“Finance, eh? Dare I ask . . .”
“It would be best if you didn’t,” she replied.
Having been involved in several of her previous investigations, he accepted the statement without argument. “What is it you want to know?”
Charlotte tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m looking for the names of any banks here in London which have a reputation for being lax in their business practices.”
His brows drew together. “Lax in what way?”
“As in asking no questions when opening an account for a business consortium, such as who owns it and who is legally entitled to order transactions. And as in facilitating the movement of money in and out of the account with a minimum of official paperwork.”
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