“I do hope you’re encouraging your younger ward to pursue his art,” murmured DeVere as the others made their way to the far end of the gallery. “It would be a pity to see such prodigious talent nipped in the bud.”
Is that another veiled threat?
Charlotte told herself not to read evil intent into his every word. “As I said, you needn’t worry about his education. Wrexford and I are aware of his gift for art and have engaged a very well-regarded drawing master.”
“Excellent,” replied DeVere. “All advanced knowledge, no matter in what subject, is vitally important, as it contributes to the higher good.”
No matter the cost?Tempting as it was to ask the question, she held her tongue. Needling him might bring a childish satisfaction for a moment or two, but taunting a devil could ignite dangerous consequences.
She acknowledged the statement with a small nod. “And now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. DeVere . . .”
“Of course.” His flawless manners fitting him like a second skin, he executed a graceful bow. “By the by, I highly recommend the strawberry ices at Gunter’s.”
Gathering her skirts, Charlotte started to turn away, only to have a dark-on-dark flutter within the shadow of Hercules catch her eye. A gentleman’s silhouette—and while she couldn’t make out his face, she knew him instantly by the way he moved.
Damnation.
It seemed that yet another sticky strand was weaving its ugly way into the web of intrigue.
CHAPTER 10
“That’s a very thought-provoking question, Wrexford.” Lord Bingham, a fellow member of the Royal Institution, and a noted expert in plant chemistry, looked up from his work counter. Steam rising from a glass beaker set over a spirit lamp swirled around his face, misting his forehead and leaving a droplet of water hanging from the tip of his beaky nose. “Thank heaven that I can always count on you to raise an interesting scientific challenge.”
A sniff, which caused the drop to splash onto his cravat. “Indeed, it’s a welcome distraction. Craven asked me to help him test one of his theories. I told him from the first that it was all wrong, and this particular experiment—a very boring one, I might add—is proving me right.”
“I’m always happy to provide a diversion,” replied the earl. “But as to the question, have you any ideas?”
Bingham didn’t answer right away. Lips pursed in thought, he extracted a pair of spectacles from his coat pocket, then pulled a well-worn leather-bound book from the pile on the counter and cracked it open.
Pages rustled as he thumbed through it, setting off the musty scent of old ink and damp paper.
“Hmmm.” Bingham turned back to a previous section and read through it before skipping to the back of the book.
Wrexford waited, knowing that creative thinking rarely moved in a straight line.
The liquid boiling in the beaker continued its low gurgling.
“Hmmm.” The chemist finally snapped the book shut. “We’ve known for several centuries that cinchona bark has a remarkable effect on fevers, but as to why . . .” He made a face. “We know that the ground bark won’t dissolve properly in water—it needs to be placed in distilled wine in order to dissolve properly. But as to its other chemical properties—most of them still remain a mystery. We simply don’t yet understand why it’s so effective.”
Bingham sighed. “I wanted to refresh my memory, to see if any new thoughts would leap to mind. But alas, at present, I haven’t a clue of what other botanicals might strengthen its effects.”
The earl hadn’t really expected any miraculous revelations, but he had thought it worth a try. “My thanks.”
“Might I inquire why you asked?” Bingham was aware of Becton’s death, but like the rest of the scientific community, save for a few members of the Royal Society’s governing committee, he had no idea of what momentous discovery the American scholar was going to reveal in his presentation.
“It was just an idea that came to mind.” Wrexford knew the chemist to be a solid, sensible fellow. “However, I would be grateful if you kept our meeting confidential.”
“But of course.” Bingham blew out the flame on his spirit lamp. “If you like, I can do some additional reading on the bark and see if I come up with any other ideas.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Excellent. As I said, a scientific challenge is always stimulating.” The chemist was already reaching for the stack of books. “And I’m grateful for you giving me the excuse to turn my thoughts to something more interesting than Craven’s experiment.”
“Then I shall leave you to it.”
Wrexford was soon back out on Albemarle Street, but instead of heading for home, he clicked open his pocket watch to check the time and then turned his steps toward White’s.
* * *
