She slapped a note down atop the chart. “Riche received this and, given the recent murders, he took the liberty of reading it. He then sent it on to me, in case I knew where you and the earl had gone.” A huff of relief slipped from her lips as she spotted Wrexford. “Thank heaven you’re both here.”
Charlotte quickly unfolded it and read it over. “It’s from Moretti. He says he just recalled who was asking questions about Becton’s work.” A sigh. “Alas, it’s simply telling us what we already know.” To McClellan, she explained, “We already discovered for ourselves that von Stockhausen is the villain.”
“How—” began McClellan.
“Sit down, Mac,” said Wrexford. He poured a measure of whisky into a cup and carried it to her.
“Oh, bloody hell, what trouble has Tyler got himself into?” muttered the maid. “I’ll wring his neck if he’s put the Weasels in peril.”
“First we have to free him from the villain’s clutches—with his neck intact,” replied the earl. “And then you’ll have to stand in line for your turn to rattle every bone in his body.”
McClellan took a swallow of the malt. “I take it we have a plan?”
The question seemed to grow louder and louder as it echoed through the gloom. When no one answered right away, the maid stared meditatively into her cup. “That bad, eh?”
“Raven and Hawk have gathered a band of their friends and are searching both banks of the river to find where the ship is hiding until the tide turns.” Charlotte hurriedly recounted all that had happened over the last several hours.
“So Daggett is friend, not foe,” mused McClellan.
“We might not feel that way if he has the Royal Navy blow Tyler and the specimen to flinders,” observed Wrexford. “So we need to rescue both captives before Lyman’s ship reaches Greenwich, where an armed-to-the-teeth frigate is waiting. However, short of launching our own flotilla of warships and forcing the enemy’s surrender, I’m not quite sure . . .”
He let his words sink into silence.
Charlotte tried to fight off a feeling of defeat. They had all been extraordinarily lucky in dodging terrible dangers in the past. But Lady Luck was notoriously fickle.
“You know . . .” Sheffield remained staring out at the river for a moment longer before turning to face them. “Those little wherries and lighters skim over the waves like water bugs . . .” He gestured out at the rippling currents.
Charlotte realized he was right. She hadn’t really taken notice of it, but the river was teeming with the white sails of numerous small cargo boats plying their trade.
“And like bugs,” he continued, “no one pays them the least attention.”
“Surely, you’re not suggesting we put together a fleet of them to attack Lyman’s ship?” The earl made a face. “Even if we could man them with a force of experienced fighters, we would never get close. As a privateer, the ship is armed with cannons, and a crew who knows how to use them.”
“An outright attack would, of course, be doomed to failure,” agreed Sheffield. “However . . .” He rubbed two fingers against the point of his chin. “Growing up, I used to sail every summer with my cousins off the coast of Bournemouth.”
“Kit, pleasant though they may be, now is not the best time to wax poetic on childhood memories,” said Wrexford with a note of sarcasm.
“Bear with me, Wrex,” came the reply. “I have an idea that I’d like to float by everyone . . .”
CHAPTER 27
“You’re either mad or brilliant,” murmured Wrexford, once Sheffield had finished sketching out his idea.
“Sometimes one needs to be a little of both,” said Charlotte. She looked at Cordelia. “Can the logistics be arranged?”
“It so happens they can. Quite easily, in fact. One of our messenger lighters is tied up at the wharf just outside. And with the ebb tide adding assistance to the wind, it can bring you quickly to Limekiln Quay, where Mr. Linonia and his two sons handle moving our local deliveries up and down the river.”
Cordelia fetched pen and paper from one of the cabinets and scribbled out a quick note. “Give him this and he’ll lend you one of his wherries.”
Seeing Charlotte’s brow furrow, she explained, “Our Thames wherries are small sailing craft designed to haul cargo. They have broad-beamed hulls that sit low in the water, and are equipped with a gaff-rigged mainsail, as well as oars for maneuvering.”
“Most important, they can be sailed by one man,” added Sheffield with a smile.
Wrexford thought it over. It was risky, but, in truth, not overly so. However, he could see that Charlotte was apprehensive over one part of the plan. A child’s presence would add a look of innocence to the wherry—
“Oiy, oiy!” Raven suddenly burst into the room, a look of jubilation shining through the streaks of mud on his face. “We found it—we found the bloody ship!”
“The little patch of water just above Mill Stairs?” asked Cordelia.
