Wrexford fingered his chin, which was starting to shade with a faint stubbling of whiskers. “Yes, the same thought occurred to me.” He stood for a moment longer in contemplation before making his way back to the others.
“Miss Merton, have you heard anything from Sterling?” he asked.
“He has gone to Cambridge,” she answered. “On the off chance some of Benedict’s friends at the university may know something of his whereabouts.”
Doubtful, thought Charlotte. Her sense was things were black or white—Hillhouse was either one of the villains, or he’d turn up as yet another victim of their killing spree.
The earl queried Isobel next. “We think there’s a chance Kirkland was involved in a plot to steal your late husband’s invention and sell it to a competitor.”
She frowned.
“We know the viscount owes gambling debts to McKinlock. But is there anyone else in the scientific world with whom he has a connection?”
“Science?” responded the widow with a grim huff of laughter. “Dermott had absolutely no interest inanythingintellectual. It was a great bone of contention between him and his father. In fact, his son’s indolence and debauchery made Lord Blackstone so livid that he had recently cut off all funds to his son.” She made a wry face. “Indeed, I’d be tempted to say Blackstone was angry enough to mur—”
Her words cut off abruptly. “Forgive me. What a ghastly thing to say,” she apologized. “Good heavens, I shall have to write to the marquess and inform him of his son’s demise. Though God only knows when he’ll receive it.”
“Anyone else you can think of?” pressed Wrexford after allowing a short interlude of silence.
“No,” said Isobel. “But I’ve had no contact with Kirkland, save for our own sordid personal business.”
“M’lord.” Trusting that her street voice would serve as adequate disguise, Charlotte couldn’t hold back a suggestion. “Be there any udder morts what knows of the invention?”
“A good thought,” agreed the earl, and then translated, “Thelad asks who else knew Ashton was close to a technological breakthrough?”
“The investors,” said Isobel. “Lord Blackstone, Lord Sterling. . .” She named three others, and explained they were elderly intellectuals and longtime friends of her late husband. “I can’t imagine any of these men wishing Elihu any harm.”
“What makes evil all the more powerful is the fact that it’s often well-hidden under the most respectable guises,” replied the earl. He resumed his pacing, and then suddenly stopped after several strides. “The fellow who was here the other day—your mill supervisor. Does he know as well?”
“Yes,” said Isobel. “Mr. Blodgett is highly skilled in mechanical workings and often assisted Elihu and Mr. Hillhouse in the laboratory.”
Charlotte suddenly recalled what was niggling at her thoughts and felt compelled to interrupt again. “Oiy, m’lord. Word is there may have been mingle-mingle between the two of ’em.”
Wrexford frowned. “The lad says I need to ask you whether you’ve been having an intimate relationship with Mr. Blodgett.”
“Blodgett?” Isobel’s brows shot up. “Good God, no.”
Given all else she had heard, Charlotte didn’t doubt the denial. She nodded at Wrexford.
The earl cleared his throat. “Then getting back to Blodgett’s motivations, might he have been bribed to disclose the secret?”
Isobel considered the question. “No, I can’t see him doing that. He was paid handsomely, and aside from the question of money, he had worked with Elihu since he was a boy and was quite devoted to him.”
“Geoffrey—that is, Mr. Blodgett—could be very high and mighty with the rest of us,” offered Octavia. “I have to say, I noticed how he looked at you, and I . . . well, I thought it was envy of Eli. It just seemed Geoffrey always thought he deserved more than he had,” She paused. “But in fairness,Benedict and he didn’t rub together very well, so I’m not a neutral observer.”
“What did they quarrel about?” asked Wrexford.
“Nothing in particular,” answered Octavia. “I just had the sense that Geoffrey resented the fact that Benedict had the same modest background, yet had managed to attend university. He was always trying to show that he was smarter.”
“It sounds like a natural competition,” pointed out Sheffield. “Two young men eager to win the approval of their mentor.”
“You’re probably right,” responded Octavia. “As I said, I’m not the best judge.”
So, no real leads as of yet about the numbers, and who stood to gain from Ashton’s death, mused Charlotte. And yet, she felt in her bones that would come down to how the money added up. But in the meantime, there was still another important question to address . . .
“M’lord,” she rasped. “Ye ain’t tried te cobble who searched this house.”
“Hell’s teeth, there is no end of questions,” he muttered. “And damnably few answers.”
