Murder at Queen's Landing

by Andrea Penrose

  “The definition of insanity is ‘to keep repeating the same experiment. . . ’ ” Charlotte leaned back and traced her palm along the line of his jaw. “ ‘And think that you’ll get a different result.’ ”

  He laughed. Insanity. Perhaps that explained the fizzy heat bubbling through his blood. “An interesting concept to ponder.” He caught her hand and twined his fingers with hers. “However, right now, I’m too exhausted to think about anything but making our way home.”

  Charlotte tightened her hold.

  “Weasels,” called Wrexford. “Hold on to Harper. We wouldn’t want the beast to get lost on his way back to Mayfair. And kindly refrain from any further mischief.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Charlotte as they turned to make their way out of the dockyard. “I think we’ve all had enough mischief for one night.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Dropping the playing cards in his hand, Sheffield jumped up from his chair as the door bumped open.

  “Thank heaven,” he said, a smile chasing the pinch of worry from his face.

  Lady Cordelia was on her feet, as well. Darting around the table, she hurried to Charlotte and clasped her in a quick hug, then flashed a grateful look at Wrexford. “Yes, thank heaven you’re both safe.” Her breath caught in her throat. “And the boys—”

  “The boys are fine,” assured Charlotte, though a chill touched her spine on thinking about what a razor-thin line had separated life from death for Wrexford. She had taken aim with her pistol when the admiral had forced him toward the wharves, but the angle had made it a dangerous shot....

  The scrabbling of the boys and their companion on the stairs drew her back from brooding over what might have been. Wrexford had exercised his lordly prerogative and commandeered one of Griffin’s waiting carriages to carry all of them back to his townhouse.

  They burst into the room, the boys nearly tripping over the hound’s long legs in their rush to tell the others about the events of the evening.

  “Harper saved the day!” announced Raven.

  Much to Hawk’s hilarity, Harper padded over to the hearth and, after a gusty canine stretch, dropped to the floor and promptly fell asleep.

  “Hold your fire, lad,” ordered Tyler from the corridor. “And wait until we’re all assembled before you begin.” He appeared a moment later, followed by Woodbridge.

  Charlotte knew the two of them had been standing guard at the front and the rear of the townhouse, in case the enemy had discovered where the professor and his Computing Engine were hidden. She smiled to see they had set aside their weapons and were now each carrying a bottle of the earl’s finest whisky.

  Wrexford made an appreciative sound deep in his throat. “Remind me to raise your wages.” After taking the spirits from his valet, he moved to the tray of glasses on the sideboard. Flickers of amber danced through the candlelight as he poured out six measures.

  Raven’s face fell.

  The earl cast a look at Charlotte, who answered with a tiny nod. He drizzled a small taste of the spirits into the two remaining glasses and handed them to the boys while Tyler passed around the other libations.

  “Slàinte.” Cocking a salute, Wrexford swirled the spirits and drained his drink in one swift swallow.

  Closing her eyes, Charlotte chose to savor the whisky, slowly allowing its fire to melt the last bit of ice in her blood and form a mellow pool of warmth deep inside her.

  Fire and ice. For a moment, the happy chatter of voices around her blurred to an indistinct babble as the spirits stirred the strangest thoughts. She had left England as a giddy, rebellious schoolgirl, oh-so sure that Love would smooth all of Life’s rough edges. Those innocent illusions hadn’t lasted long. She had returned to London as a practical, pragmatic woman of the world, wary of foolish fantasies and youthful hubris.

  Survival demanded strength. Emotions made one vulnerable.

  The sounds grew a little louder, provoking an odd little flutter inside her rib cage. So it was, Charlotte admitted, an irony that emotion had—against all reason—somehow found its way back into her heart.

  It was frightening. I know the pain and heartache of disappointed dreams.

  And yet . . .

  And yet Love in all its glorious permutations has taken hold of me.

  Her lashes lifted, and Charlotte found Wrexford was watching her with a Sphinxlike stare.

  In ways I can’t begin to define.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” he murmured after coming to stand beside her.

  “I’m not sure they’re worth a farthing,” she said lightly.

  A tiny crease formed between his brows, but before he could reply, Cordelia set down her glass and cleared her throat.

  “Is the evil really over?” she asked, placing a hand on her brother’s arm.

  “It is,” replied Wrexford. “The ringleader and his henchmen have been apprehended. They won’t harm anyone else.”

  Woodbridge let out a shuddering sigh. “I can’t begin to express my thanks.” He looked around. “To all of you, who risked your lives to save me from my own bloody foolishness.” His gaze dropped to the toes of his boots. “There aren’t words for what you did.”

  “Actually, there’s a simple one,” said Charlotte. “Friendship. A bond that brings out strengths that we sometimes don’t even know we possess.”

  Cordelia gave her brother a quick hug. “Your intentions were all for the good, Jamie. You were trying to save the estate from our father’s folly and ensure that our tenants wouldn’t suffer because of his spendthrift ways. That you trusted your friend David Mather is only to your credit—”

  “Speaking of Mather,” interrupted Sheffield. “He’s on the ship, so perhaps the evil isn’t yet over.”

  “Copley explained about Mather in his note,” said Wrexford. “Along with a number of other things.” He blew out his breath. “The details can all be parsed at a later time. For now, I shall try to explain it all in a nutshell.”

  Tyler moved over and wordlessly refilled the earl’s glass.

  “Like many younger sons, Mather had little money and was jealous of his wealthy friends within the beau monde. So he swallowed his scruples when Copley recruited him to find someone to draw into the scheme for Argentum Trading Company.”

  “Which proved to be me, a gullible lackwit,” muttered Woodbridge in self-disgust.

  “But it wasn’t just greed. Copley also used a bit of blackmail himself, forcing Mather to cooperate because of his past smuggling adventure, which was more of a youthful lark than any real malfeasance. However, Mather was never a real part of the conspirators,” continued Wrexford. “He was horrified by his cousin’s murder and realized that Annie Wright might also be in danger because of her friendship with Henry Peabody. And so he appealed to Copley for help.”

  He paused for a sip of whisky. “Copley, as we now know, was being blackmailed by Sir Charles and was a reluctant part of Argentum. The murder also shocked him, and in his note, he said that he had begun to take steps to stop the whole scheme.”

  “So, Copley did have a vestige of conscience left,” mused Charlotte.

  “Not enough to admit that his façade of being a paragon of perfection was a fraud,” replied Wrexford. “But in the end, he did atone for some of his sins. When he learned that Sir Charles intended to murder Mather and Annie Wright, he arranged for them to take passage on an East India merchant ship. Right now, they are on their way to Calcutta, and Mather would do well to stay there and begin a new life. And given Annie Wright’s abusive marriage, I imagine she’ll welcome the opportunity to shed her old skin.”

  “Perhaps not as happy an ending as the one for Lady Cordelia and Lord Woodbridge,” observed Sheffield. “But as Mather showed a concern for Annie Wright, I don’t begrudge him a second chance.”

  “Most people,” said Charlotte softly, “deserve a second chance.”

  “Thanks to all of you, that includes me.” Woodbridge drew Cordelia into a heartfelt hug. “I know how fort
unate I am to have a sister who’s not only brilliant but also kind and compassionate to those who aren’t blessed with intelligence.”

  Sheffield nodded. “Yes, you are indeed lucky, Woodbridge.”

  Charlotte saw a faint blush steal over Cordelia’s face.

  “As am I,” said Cordelia. “You didn’t lose faith in me, even when the evidence gave you reason to do so.”

  “I think,” answered Sheffield, “that we all had faith in each other.”

  Wrexford kept a stoic face, but Charlotte discerned a glimmer of emotion in his eyes.

  He shifted his stance before continuing. “That explains the basic machinations surrounding Argentum Trading Company. The last—and perhaps most important—part of Sir Charles’s nefarious scheming involved Professor Sudler’s Computing Engine. He—”

  “Hmmph!”

  They all turned to see the professor shuffle into the doorway. He was wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, and the flicker of the single candle clutched in his fist showed his grey hair was sticking out in spiky tufts from beneath his knitted nightcap.

  “I knew they were rotten to the core,” added Sudler darkly. “What the devil were they up to?”

  “You should be getting your rest, sir,” chided Cordelia, clearly concerned for her elderly friend. “We can explain everything in the morning.”

  “Be damned with rest,” grumbled the professor. “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard your voices. I want to know whether we prevented them from achieving whatever evil they had in mind.”

  “That we did,” answered Wrexford. “Sir Charles had lived most of his life at sea, which gave his extraordinarily gifted mind much free time in which to think. Some of his endeavors were worthy ones, like his scientific book on seashells. But greed quickly came to dominate his thoughts. He devised some lucrative trading schemes, but as sea captains must have skill in mathematics for navigation, it was the rumor of your Engine that sparked his most ambitious plan—”

  “Navigation tables!” Sudler slapped his palm to his brow. “Good Lord, how did I not see it?”

  “I missed it, as well.” Cordelia grimaced. “I saw only numbers and couldn’t put two and two together.”

  “None of us knew that the admiral was involved,” pointed out Wrexford. “It is easy to see what a puzzle represents when all the pieces have been fitted together.”

  “True.” The professor shook his head and fixed Cordelia with an apologetic look. “Much as it may pain you to hear this, my dear friend, this ordeal has taught me that I don’t wish to continue to run computations for monetary gain. I intend to return to my cottage and continue to work on improving my Engine’s capabilities. It will be years before it’s fully functional. And then . . .”

  A beatific smile lit up his wrinkled face. “And then I shall create accurate tables for all to use freely—things like navigation tables, which will save countless lives by helping eliminate shipwrecks. The only reward I want is seeing all our new scientific innovations contribute to making the world a better place.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Cordelia. “I prefer the challenge of using my own head for calculations rather than a machine. And I like thinking about the human aspects of my business ventures, and how to create value and not just profits.”

  Charlotte considered her friend’s words. Like herself, Cordelia kept her feelings well guarded. It was easy to see her as ruled by cold logic. But her stalwart support of her brother, along with her progressive views on business, revealed her heart was not made of steel rods and brass gears.

  A glance at Sheffield showed he appeared to be thinking much the same thing.

  “But as to making our partnership profitable, I owe you an apology, Mr. Sheffield.” Cordelia sat down rather heavily in one of the empty chairs around the table. “With all the pressures of running the arbitrage calculations and the tables for Sir Charles, I’ve neglected our own business venture. I’ve paid no attention to our investments, which was horribly unfair.” A pause. “As I was asking you to oversee the operation before you had an opportunity to gain some experience in commerce.”

  Sheffield’s expression went through a series of odd little contortions. “Actually, no apologies are necessary, Lady Cordelia. Miss Winchester and Miss Howe are extremely clever . . .”

  He paused and turned to Wrexford. “Miss Winchester and Miss Howe are our other two business partners. The fact that they are women is why I couldn’t reveal their names to you in the first place.”

  The earl nodded. “I understand. And given the circumstances, you needn’t worry about my investment. I don’t expect—”

  The sudden crackle of papers caused him to fall silent. Sheffield extracted a packet from his pocket. To Charlotte, he looked a little sheepish as he offered it to Wrexford, whose eyes flared in surprise when he peeled back the covering to reveal a sheaf of banknotes.

  “It so happens I can return your initial investment now,” explained Sheffield. “It goes without saying that you retain your stock in the company, and I expect that we’ll be paying handsome quarterly dividends going forward.”

  Cordelia stared at him in mute shock.

  Woodbridge let out a low whistle. “How did you manage to make all that money? I . . . I thought you weren’t very good at numbers.”

  “I’m not,” answered Sheffield with a wry shrug. “I simply added up other variables in my head.”

  “W-what variables?” stammered Cordelia.

  Sheffield pursed his lips. “Well, it all started when Wrexford took me with him to see Hedley, the engineering fellow who invented Puffing Billy.”

  “Yes, I remember,” mused the earl. “You seemed awfully intrigued with his model locomotive.”

  “Well, the Ashton affair made it very clear that innovations in steam engines were very profitable, and the idea of moving engines seemed like a very revolutionary idea that would change transportation forever. So, as Lady Cordelia left the temporary running of the business to me, I made the decision to invest your money in Hedley’s idea. And then . . .”

  “And then?” pressed Cordelia when Sheffield paused for breath.

  “And then it turned out the owners of Wylam Colliery offered to buy me out at triple what I paid after the test model ran so well. I considered holding the investment, but when I had a chat with Lady Charlotte’s good friend Lord Sterling about the future of steam, he made a very interesting proposal.”

  With an owlish blink, the professor braced himself against the door molding. “Steam is a marvelous thing, is it not? A small steam engine would be enormously useful in turning the crank to my Computing Engine . . .”

  “Quite marvelous,” agreed Sheffield. “As it turns out, Sterling and Mrs. Ashton have designed a new range of fabrics which are proving highly popular in the Netherlands and Prussia. Their mill is running at full capacity, so he suggested our company invest in building a second mill. What with Miss Winchester’s contacts in the shipping world and Miss Howe’s connections in America, I believe that as soon as this dratted war is over with our former colonies, we have the potential to open up a whole lucrative new market.”

  Sheffield clasped his hands behind his back. “So, I sold half the shares in Puffing Billy—we can sell the rest at a later date, when they are even more valuable—and invested the funds with Sterling. Not only will we make money on the venture, but as you recall, Mrs. Ashton puts aside part of the mill’s profits for schooling and medical clinics for her workers, as well as generous bonuses.”

  “Brilliant,” murmured Cordelia. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  A tentative smile blossomed on Sheffield’s face. “You mean I actually did something right?”

  * * *

  As the others fell into a lively discussion of the new business revelations, Wrexford took Charlotte’s arm and led her to a quiet nook next to the professor’s Computing Engine.

  “It’s been quite an evening of revelations,” he murmured.

  The brass and
steel machinery cast hard-edged shadows over the painted plaster wall, but the earl’s presence seemed to soften all the stark angles, his flesh-and-blood warmth dispelling the metallic chill within the cramped space. And yet she wished she could see his expression. Flitting swirls of darkness lingered around his face.

  “Indeed,” she said, attempting to match his drawl. “Let us hope that mayhem and murder—” To her dismay, her voice trembled and died, the words sticking like knife blades in her throat.

  Wrexford slowly turned to face her and set his hands on the jut of her shoulders. “Come, come, the danger is over, Lady Charlotte.”

  But what about the next threat?

  This was the second time she had witnessed the earl come within a hairsbreadth of death. The thought of ever facing such a horror again threatened to squeeze the very marrow from her bones.

  She was dimly aware of sounds in the room . . . the gentle jostling as Woodbridge and Tyler linked arms with the professor and convinced him to return to his bed . . . the murmur of Sheffield and Cordelia in private conversation . . . the mingled sleep-soft breaths of boys and hound curled up in front of the fire....

  But it was the skittery thump of her heart against her rib cage that filled her ears. Charlotte felt as if her chest might explode.

  “Lady Charlotte?”

  He sounded so very far away.

  “Charlotte?” The whisper twined with her tangled hair.

  She slid her hands inside his coat, her palms feeling the heat of his skin through the light layer of linen as she fumbled to draw him into her arms.

  Thump, thump.

  Wrexford went very still, save for a tiny pulsing beneath the left lapel of his coat.

  A moment passed—or was it an hour? Charlotte tightened her hold. Be damned with abstractions. Let the minutes slip through her fingers. All that mattered was Wrexford was here.

  And achingly, joyfully alive.

  He shifted, his hands moving to frame her face and tilt it upward.

  Candlelight flickered off the Engine’s brass rods, the muted gold sparks catching the curl of his lips as he said her name again. “Charlotte.”