“How do you mean?” asked Charlotte.
“He’s a devilishly good sailor with a very fast ship, and he makes his living doing very dangerous—and usually very dirty—jobs for people willing to pay him a king’s ransom because of his reputation for being slippery as an eel—and for keeping his mouth shut.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“Thankfully, what we know of him is hearsay, as our business has never crossed paths with his. However, what Chauncey overheard has us very concerned,” explained Cordelia. “Daggett was clearly angry and threatened Lyman with dire consequences if Lyman betrayed their agreement and did the shipping deal with Quincy on his own.”
“Shipping what?” queried Charlotte.
A chuffed sigh sounded in answer. “Would that I could tell you. No details were mentioned, only the fact that it was a very lucrative job.”
Damnation.This bit of information was like all the other clues, thought Charlotte. A quicksilver gleam that caught the eye, but turned into vapor when one tried to grab hold of it.
“Chauncey did his best to uncover more about the plan,” went on Cordelia. “However, people were either too frightened to talk, or the conspirators have guarded their secret very well. He couldn’t discover anything, but said he would keep trying to learn more. However, it could be months before we hear anything from him. In the meantime, he said that our office here should be on guard for any attempt by Quincy to tamper with our trading routes or partners.”
She poured herself some more tea. “Sheffield has some friends among the dockyard administrators and is doing some further digging into Quincy’s business. However, I’ve not yet heard from him on whether he’s found anything new.”
After taking a sip of tea, her friend looked up. “I realize that this is all damnably vague, like ghostly specters flitting through the night. But I thought you should be aware of it.”
The note of frustration in Cordelia’s voice was echoed in her own thoughts. Intuition told her that there had to be a connection between the three men and Becton’s murder—that DeVere would somehow also be part of it.
But feeling it was one thing. Proving it was quite another.
And at the moment, that possibility seemed as far away as the Man in the Moon.
* * *
Wrexford joined in the polite applause as the Dutch scholar gathered up his notes and stepped down from the stage. It had been an interesting lecture on Linnaeus and his classification for plants, but his mind had been wandering for most of it. Murder, notmonadria,was foremost in his thoughts.
Hosack, too, had seemed distracted, his gaze occasionally slipping away from the speaker to the audience. However, as the gentlemen around them rose and began to file out to the main salon, the doctor muttered something under his breath and turned in his chair.
“I’ve suddenly remembered something that may be of help to us. Let us hurry to join the others.”
They followed the crowd to the postlecture reception, where already thepop-popof champagne bottles was adding a festive note to the buzz of conversation.
“The lecturer’s mention of Alexander von Humboldt reminded me of an expedition to Spanish America that took place around the turn of the century,” said Hosack, looking around the room after accepting a glass of wine from one of the passing footmen.
A famous explorer and man of science, von Humboldt was renowned throughout Europe and America for his scientific expeditions and writings on the natural world.
Wrexford, who was growing impatient with diversions that led nowhere, was about to respond that history, however interesting, wasn’t proving to be much help when the doctor added, “Come, we need to find Markell von Stockhausen, who is part of the Prussian delegation.”
Swallowing his misgivings, along with a gulp of champagne, the earl fell in step beside Hosack.
As if sensing Wrexford’s reluctance, the doctor paused behind one of the floral displays in order to explain.
“Becton traveled for an interlude with von Humboldt’s first expedition to Spanish America, and I seem to recall having heard that von Stockhausen, who, like von Humboldt, is from a very prominent Prussian noble family, was also part of the group. Perhaps if the two of them kept up a correspondence, he’ll have some idea of who might have had any ill feelings for Becton.”
“Possibly,” said Wrexford, though it seemed grasping at a very fragile thread. “However, we must be very discreet with our questions. I’m aware that there are already some rumors being whispered among our colleagues that Becton’s death might not be from natural causes . . .” Charlotte’s drawing, alas, had done nothing to quell them. “And we don’t wish to encourage them.”
Hosack nodded. “Quite right, sir.” He finished his wine in one long swallow and set the empty glass on the pedestal. “I confess, I don’t have your expertise in this sort of investigation, so I will endeavor to let you do most of the talking.”
“Lead on,” said Wrexford.
Hosack soon spotted von Stockhausen conversing with several botanists from Sweden. Halting a short distance away, he and the earl waited for the group to drift apart before approaching him.
“Herr von Stockhausen, I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance!” said Hosack. “I’ve read your papers, and I must say, you have some very interesting ideas on how to improve Linnaeus’s classification system of plants.”
“Ha! The Swedes do not agree with you, sir. But I appreciate your sentiments,” replied the Prussian wryly. “You are Dr. Hosack, are you not? I, too, have been anxious to meet you. Word of your marvelous Elgin Garden in America has spread throughout Europe.”
