“Modern alchemy?” murmured Tyler.
“These days, new concepts, new innovations are bubbling up with increasing frequency in every field of endeavor,” Wrexford pointed out. “Commerce is no exception.”
“There’s nothing wrong with exercising a bit of persuasion,” responded Hosack. “As long as words don’t give way to outright treachery.”
Wrexford heard a slither of silk as Charlotte sat up a little straighter.
“And did they, sir?” she demanded.
“Tired of the merchant’s constant badgering, Becton finally asked in no uncertain terms that Quincy drop the matter,” answered the doctor. “Two days later, my friend returned to his home after an evening engagement with friends, only to find the place had been ransacked.”
“It’s hard to imagine it was a mere coincidence,” said Tyler.
“Thank heaven Becton had set the specimens on the window ledge outside his bedchamber that afternoon to soak in a passing rain shower, and had not yet retrieved them,” Hosack went on. “As for his formula, by sheer good fortune, he had taken his document case with him, in order to show some of his other papers to his friends.”
“Are you suggesting Quincy arranged for your friend’s murder from across the ocean—”
“He didn’t have to, milord,” interrupted Hosack. “He’s here in London, and attending the symposium.”
That, conceded Wrexford, put some flesh on the bones of Hosack’s fears.
“Quincy crossed the Atlantic with a group of other scientifically-minded Americans who are also taking part in the lectures and discussions,” stated the doctor. “Including a former army officer by the name of Adderley, who has an expertise in botany—and an unsavory reputation for intrigue. Rumor has it, he tried to steal some botanical specimens from the viceroy of New Granada’s conservatory while in South America as part of an official United States naval diplomatic mission a number of years ago.” Turning to Charlotte, he added, “The Spanish are known for guarding any commercially valuable plants within their territories. It’s strictly forbidden for anyone other than government officials to possess valuable botanicals.”
Charlotte nodded. “I see.”
“As for Adderley,” said Hosack, resuming his narrative, “a short while after the naval delegation returned to the United States, he resigned his military commission.” A pause. “I find it unsettling that he’s now employed by Quincy to work on ways to improve the yield of the cotton plant.”
Wrexford heard Charlotte draw in a harsh breath. A bad sign, as it meant her sense of moral outrage was sharpening.
“I understand your alarm,” he said. “Have you any idea where Becton’s specimens and formula are now?”
“Alas, no. Though he told me he had taken pains to ensure their safety until he announced his discovery and turned them over to the Royal Society.”
Rising from his chair, Wrexford moved to the hearth and stirred the dying flames. Much as he regretted the murder, he and Charlotte couldn’t right all the sordid wrongs in the world.
Though he feared she would disagree about trying.
“I can put you in contact with a Bow Street Runner who is extremely skilled in solving complicated crimes,” he said. “Mr. Griffin doesn’t come cheap when he takes on private commissions. . .” Seeing Hosack’s face fall, he quickly added, “But I will, of course, cover the costs of seeing that justice is done.”
“That is more than generous of you, milord.” The doctor rose and gave a jerky bow. “I would never have reached out to you, had I known of your impending nuptials.” He looked to Charlotte. “Forgive me, milady.”
“Come, sir.” Seeing the doctor was a little unsteady on his feet, Tyler took his arm. “I’ll see you back to your hotel. In the morning, I’ll return and we’ll arrange to meet with Mr. Griffin.”
* * *
Charlotte awoke with a throbbing head and a sour taste in the back of her throat. Wincing, she tried to sit up, only to find that her limbs were tangled in the bedsheets.
“Lud, what a nightmare.” Bad dreams had plagued her sleep, but as the memory of the previous night came flooding back, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and forced a few deep breaths, trying to loosen the clench in her chest.
Murder.Like a fanged serpent slithering through the darkness, it was a threat to poison everyone around it. Granted, her nerves were on edge for other reasons. And Wrexford had assured her that there was no earthly reason for them to be drawn into the investigation.
Still, Charlotte had a bad feeling about the crime. Call it intuition. . .
A sudden blade of sunlight speared through her gloomy thoughts. She glanced at the window and realized it must be nearly noon.
“Ye heavens, I’m never such a slugabed,” she muttered, pushing a tangle of hair back from her brow. From downstairs came the sounds of McClellan moving around the kitchen. Tidying up, no doubt. The boys would have had their breakfast long ago. Were they now at their lessons with their tutor?
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. Lud, she couldn’t remember what day it was—
