“Wherever he’s gone, it appears he was in a hurry,” observed Sheffield as he looked around at the half-open bureau drawers and items of clothing scattered on the floor of the bedchamber. “Perhaps because of your interrogation, he sensed the noose drawing tighter around his neck and is fleeing the country.”
The earl heard the hopeful note in his friend’s voice. “Perhaps, Kit. But don’t let your hopes take wing quite yet.” He slid the lock pick back in his boot. “However, now that we are here in his private quarters, let us make a thorough search of the place.”
“If there’s a shred of evidence here as to his guilt, I vow I shall find it.”
It took the better part of an hour, but a grunt of triumph finally slipped from Sheffield’s lips.
Wrexford hurried into the dressing room, where his friend was crouched down beside a small trunk. A pile of dirty linenwas strewn around his feet, but several books were in his hands.
“Have a look at this!”
He took the top one, which was cracked open to a spread of illustrations. They depicted the hideous experiment Aldini had done on the newly dead body of George Foster, the criminal hung at Newgate.
“Look at the handwritten notes in the margin,” urged Sheffield.
A quick read showed them to be notations on why Aldini had failed to reanimate the dead man and what changes in the procedure would likely result in success.
“The other book is on Galvani’s experiments. Surely, if we take these to Griffin, he can go arrest Hollister.”
Wrexford hated having to throw water on his friend’s fire. “Even if this turns out to be Hollister’s handwriting, it’s not proof of any wrongdoing. He can claim it’s merely scientific speculation.”
“Doyoubelieve that?” asked Sheffield.
“No,” he answered. “When you put it together with the other circumstantial evidence, I think it’s clear Hollister is involved in something terrible. But we need to know exactly what.”
“Then let us find him and get the truth out of him,” Sheffield’s expression turned hard as stone. “No matter if it means shoving a hand down his gullet, and pulling out his vital organs, one by one.”
* * *
“You are sure?” whispered Charlotte.
“Oiy,” answered Hawk. “Raven had Mr. Tyler write it down, cuz he thought I’d like te see what a mouthful the scientific names are. The expert from the Royal Society says it only grows in a certain area of northern India.”
Charlotte felt another chill take hold of her flesh and turned to McClellan. “Wrexford found no incriminating evidence ineither of DeVere’s two laboratories.” She hesitated as she looked at Hawk, but then recalled that both boys already knew all the sordid details about the investigation. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some hidden place, filled with the ghastly electrical implements designed to reanimate the dead.”
She made a wry face. “Though I confess, that sounds like a scene from one of Ann Radcliffe’s horrid novels.”
“Would that all this was naught but mere fiction,” said McClellan. “But your cousin is dead and Evil is still afoot in the streets of London.”
Charlotte nodded, grateful for the maid’s unflappable aura of calm, and took a moment to think. “Hawk, as soon as we arrive home, you and your brother must go and let Wrexford know what we’ve discovered,” she said. A glance out the window showed the landscape was passing with agonizing slowness. “We need to have a council of war.”
“Oiy!” Grimacing, he tugged at the collar of his new shirt and grumbled, “If I weren’t dressed like a bloody street fiddler’s monkey, I could jump outta the carriage sooner.”
“Language, young man,” warned McClellan. “Or would you rather I wash your mouth with soap rather than stuff it with sweets?”
Forcing her innards to unclench, Charlotte allowed a smile, and then turned the talk to the morning activities, and all the marvelous sights they had seen. It was a long ride back to Town, and the darkness of Death mustn’t be allowed to overshadow all else.
Hawk laughed at something McClellan said and she felt a lump rise in her throat. The boys were growing so quickly and developing their own interests. She wanted with all her heart to give them good guidance and encouragement.
And love. But that went without saying.
Nothing mattered more than love. It gave one the strength to face any adversity.
“Look, look, m’lady!” Hawk was paging through the book of Bauer’s art and suddenly held up a page. “He’s drawn a bug on one of the leaves!”
“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” She patted the seat beside her. “Come, shall we look at it together . . .”
His lively chatter and the exquisite colors and details of the art made the journey pass more quickly than she thought possible. The carriage clattered to a halt and the three of them hurried into her house.
