“Loyalty is an admirable trait,” he answered.
“It’s more than loyalty,” she answered. “But we won’t quibble over your choice of language.”
“Yes, let us not, as that’s another fight I won’t win,” answered Daggett. “I’m not very good with words. I prefer to let my actions speak for me.” He turned for the door. “Perhaps if we manage to triumph over the dastards, we’ll merit a drawing by that fellow, A. J. Quill—a distinction that I’m told means that you’re the talk of London.”
“For the most part, being the subject of Quill’s pen isn’t something one wishes to experience,” replied Cordelia. “There have, however, been some exceptions.”
Daggett tucked his documents away. “Well, let us hope this is one of them.”
“Indeed,” murmured Wrexford. “Heaven forfend we draw Quill’s ire.”
“As time is of the essence, Captain,” said Sheffield, after clearing his throat with a cough, “allow me to show you where you may get a hackney for the trip to Greenwich.”
Charlotte waited for the sound of the front portal of the building falling shut behind the two men before clicking the latch shut on the meeting-room door. “Please stubble the sly retorts about A. J. Quill. Daggett already knows enough of my secrets—and if given the slightest hint, he’s clever enough to guess that one.”
“Forgive me.” Cordelia flashed an apologetic grimace. “But in truth, a man would need a very lurid imagination, and in my experience, few possess a mind that can stray from the straight and narrow.”
“I agree with Charlotte,” interjected the earl. “He’s not someone with whom to trifle.” His brow furrowed in consternation. “Nor is von Stockhausen. It’s his unspeakable cleverness that has set all this in motion, and yet for the last little while, we’ve been focusing on Lyman, his hired henchman, as if he were the puppet master of the plot.”
Drawn by some silent force, the three of them sat down around the table. The chart of the river lay open upon the dark-grained oak, a sea-blue snake undulating through the heart of London.
“Any idea of how we spirit both Tyler and the plant off the ship?” asked Cordelia.
Think. Think.Wrexford began to drum his fingers on the tabletop.
The fraught silence was broken by Sheffield’s hurried return. “What have I missed?” he demanded.
“A reminder that von Stockhausen has propagated all these heinous crimes,” answered the earl. “Along with the question of how we are going to free Tyler and the specimen from his clutches.”
“Why the blue-deviled faces?” Sheffield pulled out a chair to join them. “We’ve beaten devious criminals before.” He swiveled the chart and leaned down to study the serpentine curl of the river near the East India docks. “And we shall do so again.”
* * *
Like love, Charlotte considered optimism to be a very positive, powerful force. But in this case, she feared that it might be just wishful thinking rather than grounded in reality. The humble-jumble curlicues of ink, showing all the myriad juts and bights of the river’s north and south banks, defined the enormity of their task.
She closed her eyes for an instant, trying to keep tears from welling up. A world without Tyler . . .
No!Charlotte refused to allow pessimism to crush her spirit.
“I still say that’s the most likely spot,” muttered Cordelia, pointing out the slivered indentation of water on the south shore opposite the East India Company’s main mercantile hub.
“I’ve dispatched a message to Raven, alerting him of the possibility,” said Wrexford. “Much as I hate inaction, we ought not run off helter-pelter until we have word from the lads.”
The flesh was drawn tight over the bones of his face. Charlotte’s heart ached for him. She knew he would blame himself if anything happened to Tyler. He had been snappish with the valet about involving Hawk, however inadvertently, in Becton’s murder.
But ye heavens, Tyler knew the earl’s bark held no bite.
“Agreed,” said Sheffield. “But that’s even more reason for us to come up with a plan.”
Wrexford rose abruptly and went to gaze out the bank of windows. The clouds had thickened, mirroring the leaden mood in the room. Charlotte resisted the urge to rise and join him. After several long moments, Sheffield, too, got up and moved to the mullioned glass, though he chose the opposite end of the casement. Mist was beginning to rise up from the swirling currents, blurring the shape of the river.
Charlotte looked back down at the chart. “How many men would make up the crew of Lyman’s ship,” she asked Cordelia in a low whisper.
“Too many to think that an outright assault would have any hope of—”
A clattering in the entrance foyer caused all of them to look to the door. It opened an instant later as McClellan shouldered her way into the room.
“I know you asked me to stay at the house and keep the Weasels there if they returned home, m’lady,” announced the maid. “But I thought it imperative that you see this.”
