If Thornton was putting on an act, thought the earl, he ought to take up a career on the stage. He handed the hat to Sheffield. “Put it on him, Kit, and let us see if he’s telling the truth.”
Sheffield did as requested, taking great care to test how it sat on the marquess’s brow. “It does appear to be the wrong size.”
Still, Wrexford remained wary. The dastard they were chasing was diabolically cunning. “If you’re not the murderer, why were you breaking into DeVere’s laboratory?”
“Because,” shot back the marquess, “I’m trying to piece together what evil is afoot here in the Institution, and I have good reason to believe the heart of it lies with DeVere’s protégés . . .”
“Go on,” said Wrexford, seeing that Thornton hesitated.
“That is, the three young leaders of the Eos Society—Chittenden, Westmorly, and Hollister. I thought I might find some clue among DeVere’s work as to what dark mischief they were doing.” Another pause. “And as you know, two of them are dead. Surely, that in itself should stir suspicions.”
“Indeed, it does,” said the earl. “But givenyourrecent actions, those suspicions fall squarely on you at this moment. You’ll have to give more than vague innuendoes and an ill-fitting hat to convince us of your innocence.”
A flush darkened Thornton’s cheekbones. “Then listen carefully and judge for yourself.” He hitched in a breath. “Might you kindly remove your weapon from my windpipe?”
Wrexford allowed a sliver of space. “Be quick with your tongue. I’m not known for my patience.”
“For the past year, DeVere has held frequent soirees for the scientific community,” began Thornton. “He’s an excellent host—the suppers are superb and the company is always interesting, so I frequently attended them. It quickly became apparent that he paid particular attention to the three young men and saw to it that they were included in the inner circle of influential guests. They, of course, were flattered, and I had the sense that they looked up to him as a mentor.”
The marquess hesitated. “After several weeks, DeVere began inviting them to stay, after the other guests took their leave, for a private scientific salon within a salon.” He smoothed his lapel. “His ward, Lady Julianna Aldrich, also took part in thediscussions. She’s apparently quite knowledgeable in a variety of subjects and could hold her own.”
“Yes, DeVere described her to me as brilliant,” said Wrexford. “She’s also beautiful. And young men being young men, I would guess that the desire to impress the lady added an extra edge to the gatherings.”
“Much as we like to think otherwise, mankind is, for the most part, ruled by its most primitive urges,” observed the marquess dryly. “I was told the competition for her regard turned . . . fierce.”
Ah, here we are finally coming to the crux of the matter,thought Wrexford. “Told by whom?”
With a whisper of wool, Thornton shifted his shoulders against the plaster wall. “Chittenden. He came to me several weeks ago, seeking my counsel, and—”
“Why you?” interrupted the earl.
“Chittenden had attended my lecture oniode,an element recently discovered by Davy and Gay-Lussac that may have medical uses. Afterward, he approached me with some queries, and I invited him to discuss them over a brandy at White’s.” A shrug. “I liked him. He was friendly and well-spoken, as well as intelligent and inquisitive. After that, we met on occasion to talk about science.” Thornton shook his head. “As to why he came to me for counsel, I couldn’t tell you. I suppose he trusted my judgment.”
Wrexford considered the unvarnished answer. It struck him as truthful. “I see. So, on what pressing matter did he wish your advice?”
Thornton pursed his lips. “If I knew the exact answer to that, I might have an idea of why he’s dead.”
A low growl rumbled in Sheffield’s throat. The scalpel rose a notch. “As His Lordship said, we’re in no mood for playing games.”
“Nor am I,” countered the marquess angrily. “This is a deadlyserious matter. Not only am I concerned about the lives of bright young men, but I’m also gravely worried about the reputation of the Royal Institution—and science in this country—if scientific knowledge is being used for Evil.”
Thornton slowly raised a hand—the pistol was still within a hairsbreadth of his throat—and ran his fingers through his hair. “All I can tell you is that Chittenden came to me a week before his death in a state of great mental agitation. He was clearly confused—even fearful—about something, and asked some very pointed questions about the morality of scientific experiments, and how far one should push the boundaries. I tried to get him to confide exactly what he was talking about. But he wouldn’t.”
The marquess paused to draw in a measured breath. “I did get him to promise to think about confiding whatever dreadful secret it was. However . . .”
“However, someone murdered him before he could do so,” finished Wrexford. He slid his pistol back into his pocket. “You suspect that the young men were repeating the electrical experiments of Galvani and Aldini on living—or recently living—creatures.”
Thornton’s eyes widened. “How did you guess—”
“Never mind that now,” said the earl. “But I surmise that’s why the voltaic pile and animal remains were in your laboratory.”
The earl’s words caused a spasm of surprise to flit over Thornton’s face, and then he nodded. “Yes, I was trying to understand just what they were looking for.” A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched. “And the conclusion I came to makes my blood run cold.”
* * *
Charlotte took a seat at her worktable and placed a blank sheet of drawing paper next to her palette. It was late and she was exhausted, but her mind was spinning with too manythoughts for sleep to come. Picking up her pen, she dipped it into the inkwell and . . . simply stared at the pristine white surface.
For all the twists and turns the murder investigation had taken, the truth had remained maddeningly elusive. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t picture how all the clues fit together.
