“In which case,” said Octavia with tightly-wound calm, “Benedict is likely dead.”
“Not necessarily,” countered Charlotte. “He may have been forced into hiding, or he may be a prisoner.”
“Held deep in a dungeon by supernatural forces?” muttered Wrexford sarcastically. “Come, if we all chime in, I’m sure we can write a horrid novel that will outsellThe Mysteries of Udolpho.”
“As you are so fond of pointing out, sir, we would be wrong to assume the man’s guilt without any tangible proof,” replied Charlotte. “I’m simply saying we must keep an open mind to all scenarios.”
Wrexford gave a grudging nod. He began to pace in slow, measured steps around the perimeter of the room, past the boys, who had moved to a spot behind the sofa in hopes of going unnoticed, past the bookshelves, and past the slivers of pottery scattered on the dark-grained floor.
“An open mind,” he murmured. As he spoke, he stopped abruptly and hefted one of the swords. A winking of light danced along the length of its blade. “Instead of flinging wild conjectures willy-nilly, let us employ the scientific method andstart using reason and logic to guide us as to what next steps to take.”
The boys shifted, watching as the earl stared meditatively at the blunt tip of the weapon and waggled it up and down. He held its weight easily, observed Charlotte, exuding an aura of command. She found herself mesmerized by the flickering sparks reflecting off the smooth steel.
“What good will mere thinking do?” asked Jeremy. “Mrs. Ashton is insisting to Bow Street that her husband’s death was not the result of a random robbery. She wants a culprit caught—and we now can imagine why.” His hands clenched at his sides. “Once Benedict’s secret comes to life, Bow Street will be frothing at the mouth to see him swing for murder.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” murmured Wrexford. “If what Miss Merton says is true, there will be a way to prove it.”
“And you are willing to help us do so?” challenged Octavia.
“I am willing to see that justice is done,” corrected the earl. “Whether that is the same thing remains to be seen.”
A very Wrexford response, thought Charlotte, a faint smile momentarily touching her lips. His mercurial moods could be maddening, but when it came to intellectual conundrums, he was able to detach his emotions and become a stickler for precision. She hoped that would work to their advantage.
The sword cut back and forth, setting off more quicksilver flashes of light. And with a start, Charlotte realized how much she wanted to prove Benedict Hillhouse innocent of any crime. Her first impression of Octavia hadn’t been a positive one. The young woman had struck her as evasive and untrustworthy—understandably so, based on what she now knew. But the young woman’s daredevil disregard for her own safety and tigerish defense of the man she loved had won a grudging respect.
“What can we do te help?” piped up Raven from his spot in the shadows.
“Nothing at the moment,” replied Charlotte quickly,suddenly conscious of the fact that they had overheard more than she would have liked. “You and Hawk should return to your beds.”
“Not quite yet,” said Wrexford, earning two grateful grins. “They might as well stay and hear us out. I may have a task for them.”
Charlotte wasn’t quite sure she liked the sound of that. The last time the earl had enlisted the boys in one of his investigations, they would have been transported to the penal colonies half a world away had they been caught.
“That might not be possible,” she replied tersely. “Their lessons with Mr. Linsley demand a great deal of time and study.”
Raven uttered a word that Charlotte pretended not to hear.
The sword angled to point at a spot on the sofa. “Do me the favor of hearing me out before you decide to cut out my liver with your pen knife.”
Reading each other’s thoughts was a skill that cut both ways, acknowledged Charlotte to herself as she took a seat. “Very well, sir.”
“It seems to me we have three avenues to pursue,” said the earl without further preamble. “Firstly, there are our two main suspects.” He resumed his pacing. “We need to learn more about Lord Kirkland and Mrs. Ashton—their past history and if they are indeed conspiring together. And of course, we’ll need to consider McKinlock, too.”
“How—” began Jeremy, but was cut off by aswooshof steel.
“As it happens, I’ve already asked my good friend Kit Sheffield to dig around for information on Kirkland,” replied the earl. “The gaming hells should be fertile ground for whatever dirt there is.”
“Is Sheffield trustworthy?” demanded Octavia.
“Absolutely,” answered Charlotte.
The answer seemed to satisfy the young woman. She sat back without further protest.
“It’s also imperative to gather proof of any perfidy,” continued Wrexford. “To whit, it would be helpful to get our hands on the love letters that Mr. Hillhouse was seeking. And knowing the pair’s daily movements—who they are meeting, where they are going, especially if it involves McKinlock—could be a key in confirming our suspicions.”
Wrexford had circled around to Charlotte. “Mrs. Sloane, I’ll leave the love letters to you and your network.”
Octavia once again edged forward on her seat. “How—”
