“This isn’t about science.” Tyler waved away the glass. “It’s about making amends.”
Wrexford frowned, the show of uncertainty taking him by surprise. Whatever his inner emotions, the valet usually hid them beneath a show of sarcastic self-confidence.
“Here, drink this.” He forced a glass into Tyler’s hand. “Then stop sniveling and tell me what pitchfork the devil is jabbing in your arse.”
The valet took a morose sip and remained silent.
Not a good sign.Needling usually roused Tyler from any brooding. After coaxing the fire back to life, he took a seat and waited for the flames to warm the chill from the air.
“Brooding only begets brooding,” he murmured. “I should know.”
That, at least, elicited a glimmer of a smile.
After another moment of silence slid by, the earl rose and went to examine the books on the counter.Compendiums of plant engravings, von Humboldt’s accounts of his travel through Spanish America, medical texts on malaria . . .
“Hmmph.” Wrexford quaffed a swallow of whisky and set his glass on the sideboard before returning to his chair. “You’re a logical fellow, Tyler. So I don’t need to tell you that looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack is an exceedingly difficult task under the best of circumstances.” He tapped his fingertips together. “And when you have no idea what the needle is, it becomes an impossible one.”
The valet’s nostrils flared as he drew in a ragged breath.
“This investigation seems to have turned very personal for you. I understand that Hosack is an old friend—”
“It’s not Hosack. It’s . . .” The fire-gold glow of the flames accentuated the deep hollows beneath Tyler’s eyes. “It’s you. It’s Lady Charlotte. It’s Hawk.” His gaze angled away from the flames. “Due to my blabbering, I’ve drawn all of you into a murder, and put you in danger—especially Hawk.”
“You think Lady Charlotte would have kept her distance, once she got wind of DeVere’s possible involvement?”
“We can’t say for sure what she would have done,” countered Tyler. “However, there’s no question that the boy wouldn’t have been involved, save for my negligence. If I hadn’t left him alone in the conservatory, he wouldn’t have been the only one to see the murderer.”
“The murderer doesn’t know about Hawk.”
“We don’t know that!” The valet’s voice took on a brittle edge. “You’re breaking your own damnable rules by making an assumption we can’t prove.”
“I’m not merely spitting into the wind,” he replied. “I’m basing the statement on rational deductions. The killer has shown himself to be both cunning and clever. If he knows about the boy and what threat he might pose—which seems highly unlikely, given Hawk’s account of the incident—he would have made a move by now.”
Tyler couldn’t muster a retort to that.
“The investigation is already a diabolically difficult one. Let us not make it more so.”
The air slowly leaked out from the valet’s lungs. “I know what you say is sensible. And yet I can’t help feeling to blame for this bumblebroth.”
“Then let us resolve it quickly,” replied the earl. “By finding tangible clues and then piecing the puzzle together.”
“Any ideas on where to look next?” Tyler glanced at the books on the counter. “I feel as if I’m simply turning in circles.”
“As a matter of fact,” answered Wrexford, “something I heard this evening has given me pause for thought. Put together with some information I received from Kit, it might lead us somewhere . . .”
* * *
Charlotte looked down at her finished drawing, feeling gratified that she had satisfied both Wrexford’s request to avoid stirring further rumors about Becton’s demise and the demands of her own conscience.
A storm-tossed ship with torn sails and leaking hull . . . a grim-faced North Wind about to engulf the foundering vessel in a maelstrom of rain clouds and thunderbolts . . .Cordelia’s information on Quincy’s shoddy practices was just the sort of topic that suited A. J. Quill’s pen. The public would be roused enough to demand answers, forcing the government to take a closer look at the American’s shipping business.
If Quincy was involved in murder and theft, the scrutiny might well pressure him into making a slip as he tried to cover up his crimes.
After adding highlights of color to the pen and ink lines, Charlotte rolled up the paper in a protective covering of oilcloth. The boys would be happy to run it down to Fores’s printshop after they returned home from the tutor.
Her work done, she headed downstairs to brew a cup of tea.
“There’s a kettle on the hob, and a pan of fresh shortbread about to come out of the oven,” called McClellan from the pantry.
