The latch clicked, and Charlotte’s nerves jumped again.
“I don’t see why we’re playing addlepated charades, Henning.” Griffin’s voice was suddenly clearer. “If you’ve an informant who knows something, just bloody well bring him front and center and have him spit it out.”
“I told you, Wrexford has made a solemn promise to Phoenix that the lad’s identity will remain a secret.” The door was open but Henning’s stocky body was barring entrance to the room. “The earl depends on him for information, so unless you give us your word you’ll abide by our terms, Phoenix will disappear out the back exit. He adamantly refuses to have his face or voice known to Bow Street.”
Griffin hesitated, then surrendered with a grumbled oath. “Bloody hell—yes, I agree. Don’t make me regret it.”
“You stay here.” Henning indicated a chair by the door and waited until the Runner seated himself before continuing on to Charlotte. “Never fear, lassie. You’re naught but a dark shape from back there,” he whispered. “I’ve explained about the deciphered note and the fact that Blackstone and Blodgett are the culprits. Naturally, Griffin has a number of questions, but if you just follow our plan, and let me relay your answers to him instead of speaking up for yourself, we should come through this unscathed.”
Charlotte was grateful to Henning for thinking of a way to keep her from being unmasked as a woman. She had been in no state of mind to think of protecting herself.
Wasting no time, Griffin began his questioning. “Tell me about the earl’s abduction,” he demanded.
Charlotte repeated exactly what Raven had told her, which Henning dutifully relayed. The Runner, she saw, was making notes.
“Describe the hackney—the color, the horses, any detail that might help identify it . . .”
For the next ten minutes, he continued to pepper her with queries. By saying certain things had been told to her by Tyler—as she couldn’t very well admit to having firsthand knowledge of them herself—Charlotte was able to pass on some vital information. Whether Griffin would take the word of a street urchin was impossible to know. But his instincts were good and he had shown himself to be a man dedicated to bringing criminals to justice.
And the Runner and Wrexford had developed a mutual respect, despite their differences. She trusted he would put all his efforts into helping find the earl.
“I have nothing further to ask,” Griffin finally said. “For now.”
“Phoenix has spread word throughout the city about the hackney,” offered Henning. “If any of the people who inhabit the streets saw it pass, we’ll hear of it and send word to you.”
Griffin gave a grunt as he rose and snapped his notebook shut. “Let us hope, for His Lordship’s sake, that the brat’s network of informants is half as good as the one run by the infernal A. J. Quill.”
CHAPTER 27
Along, planked work counter ran the length of the laboratory wall opposite the forge. It looked recently constructed, crude but serviceable, and a quick look showed it stocked with all the necessary equipment.Crucibles, copper cauldrons, an array of chemicals in glass jars . . .
“If there is anything else you need, you have only to ask, Wrexford.”
The earl turned to see a tall, impeccably attired gentleman had come to stand behind Blodgett. A light dressing of Macassar oil sheened his thick hair, making it gleam bright as polished silver in the lamplight.
“I should like to think of us as partners rather than adversaries,” went on the newcomer. “You, of all people, have the vision to look beyond the strictures of convention and see the future.”
“A pretty speech in theory, Blackstone,” said Wrexford. “But theory is never quite as neat as reality, is it?”
“A bit of blood has been shed,” conceded the marquess. “But think of all the lives that will be improved by the revolution in steam power.”
And the few select pockets that will be lined by your murderous greed.
“Which makes the toll worth paying?” he asked. “I wonder if Ashton, Hollis and Nevins agree. Not to speak of your son.”
Blackstone’s face darkened. “My wastrel son was a blight on humanity. A leech. The world is better off without him.”
“It’s dangerous to usurp the power of the gods,” murmured Wrexford. “The Greek tragedies give ample warning of how the deities punish human hubris.”
“Ancient history!” scoffed the marquess. “I believe in looking to the future. What about you, Wrexford?”
“As a pragmatist, I’m most concerned with the present.”
Blackstone laughed. “A wise philosophy. Do what we ask, and—”
“And you might let me live?” said the earl, a sardonic smile flashing within the flitting shadows.
“That depends.” The marquess touched a hand to Blodgett’s shoulder. “Come see me when you’ve finished here, Geoffrey.” The well-manicured fingers curled in a quick caress. “You’ve done very well. I’m proud of you.”
