Before Charlotte could reply, a brusque knock on the front door indicated that they had a visitor.
“Are we expecting company?” asked the maid, quickly coming to full alert.
She shook her head.
“I’ll answer it.” McClellan wiped her hands on her apron and ducked into the kitchen for a brief moment. “Please wait in the parlor.”
Charlotte didn’t look too closely at the bulge in the maid’s pocket.Cavendum est optima parte errare. It is best to err on the side of caution.One man already lay dead.
The door clicked open a moment after she slipped into the parlor, the metallicsnickfollowed by the sound of voices.
Releasing her pent-up breath, Charlotte stepped away from the bookcase, where a mahogany tea chest on one of the shelves concealed a loaded pistol.
“Forgive me for dropping by unannounced, as I know how busy you are,” said Cordelia, untying her bonnet and then setting it on the sideboard. “But Octavia just received a letter from her American cousin, who works with our business agent in New York, and I felt it important that you be aware of some of its contents.”
Charlotte had become acquainted with Octavia Howe at Lady Thirkell’s salon for intellectually-minded ladies. She was impressed with her air of highly-organized efficiency and razor-sharp logic. Indeed, the wife of a high-placed general had quipped at a recent meeting that if the military men at Horse Guards appointed Miss Howe as quartermaster for Wellington’s army, the war would be over in a fortnight.
“I’ll make tea,” said McClellan. “Shall I also bring ginger biscuits?”
“Bless you, Mac.” Cordelia sank into one of the armchairs and blew out a harried sigh. “I confess, I’m famished. It’s been a hellish day, and I’ve not eaten since breakfast.”
“I hope you’ve not had any bad news about your ships and crew,” said Charlotte.
“Thank goodness, no,” replied Cordelia. “Just some problems with a few regular clients.” She made a face. “Quincy Enterprises is undercutting our prices in several American markets, and it’s hard to convince people that saving a few pennies now will come back to bite their bank accounts.”
Her mouth thinned for a moment. “I happen to know Quincy is scrimping on sail canvas to save money, as well as deferring maintenance on caulking and fastenings for the hulls of their ships. In my opinion, they ought to be strung up from the nearest yardarm for negligence. For mark my words, a disaster will happen—it’s merely a question of when.” A pause. “And hurricane season is coming to life in the Atlantic.”
“That they are deliberately putting their crews in danger ought to be a criminal offense,” mused Charlotte.
“And yet it’s not.”
An idea suddenly occurred to her. She had sworn a solemn oath to herself never to use A. J. Quill’s pen for personal reasons. But regardless of her own feelings for the man, if Quincy was a threat to innocent lives, then pointing a finger at this particular evil was in the public’s interest.
And if stirring a stick in that dark cesspool brought other wrongdoings to the surface . . .
The clink of cups and plates interrupted her musings.
“I took the liberty of bringing more substantial sustenance than mere biscuits,” said McClellan as she placed a large tray on the tea table. A basket of bread, still warm from the oven, sat beside a platter of sliced cheddar and ham. Next to it was a wedge of apple pie.
Cordelia closed her eyes and inhaled the earthy fragrance of the fresh-brewed Oolong tea. “That smells positively ambrosial.”
“Eat,” ordered the maid, handing over a plate heaped with food.
After a few quick bites, Cordelia put down her fork. “I’m very grateful, but I didn’t come here to impose on your hospitality—”
“Among close friends, there’s no such thing as imposing,” said Charlotte. “Just as there’s no need to conform to polite manners.” A smile. “You can eat and talk at the same time.”
That drew an answering grin. “Very well—as you know, I take great delight in breaking Society’s rules.” Cordelia broke off a bit of bread and swallowed it before continuing. “Getting back to my earlier announcement, Octavia received some news from her cousin. I’m not sure if it means anything, but as it relates to possible suspects in Mr. Becton’s murder, I thought you ought to hear it right away.”
“As of yet, none of the fragments of information we’ve uncovered are fitting together into any discernable picture,” Charlotte replied. “So any additional piece is most welcome.”
“Then here is what Henry Chauncey passed on to Octavia’s cousin,” replied her friend. “Chauncey is our American agent, and he’s based in New York. He was born and raised there, so is intimately familiar with the city, and has friends in every strata of society.”
“A useful thing for a man of business.”
“Very useful,” agreed Cordelia. “He was drinking with an acquaintance in one of the rougher taverns in the vicinity of the city’s harbor when a conversation concerning Quincy Enterprises caught his ear. The two men involved were in a secluded booth, but Chauncey and his companion were in a shadowed nook close by and must have gone unnoticed.”
Cordelia paused for a bite of cheese topped with a sliver of ham. “In any case, he could hear the two men clear as a bell. One of them was Captain Samuel Daggett of the United States Navy. And the other was Reginald Lyman, who is someone my partners and I consider to be no better than a blackguard mercenary for hire.”
