Wrexford had urged caution. And he had given his word to Griffin that past crimes would remain secret.
Charlotte released an unhappy sigh. “And so I must tread a damnably fine line.” Adding a last splash of water to her palette, she wet her brush and set to work.
“It’s late.” The patter of bare feet paused in the corridor right outside her doorway. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Charlotte didn’t look up. “So are you.”
“We woke up . . .”Crunch-crunch.“And went to fetch a glass of milk from the kitchen,” said Hawk through a mouthful of crumbs.
“To go with all the biscuits you purloined from the picnic?” she asked with a smile.
“Technically, we didn’t purloin them,” shot back Raven. “McClellan made them, and as she’s part of our family, they would have come back here. And as we’re welcome to help ourselves from the jar in the kitchen, putting them in our pockets was merely a . . . convenience, not a theft.”
At that, Charlotte set down her pen. “Perhaps you should consider becoming a barrister.”
“What’s abarrister?” asked Hawk.
“A man who makes his living talking round and round in circles until everyone listening is tied into knots,” quipped Charlotte.
Hawk nodded sagely. “Raven would make a very good barrister.”
His brother made a rude sound. “A barrister is someone who argues cases in a court of law.” A pause. “The law is boring.”
“It’s not the least boring when you break it,” she replied.
“That’s assuming you get caught.”
The casual comment stirred a frisson of alarm. The fact that they were wearing their nightclothes was somewhat reassuring, but still . . .
Narrowing her eyes, Charlotte demanded, “Just what are you Weasels planning?”
“Nothing!”responded Hawk.
She relaxed slightly, as he hadn’t mangled his consonants.
Raven held up a mug of milk to emphasize their innocence. After handing it to his brother, he came around to study her drawing. “We ought to do a little more looking around the West India docks, where Quincy’s ship is docked. I figure there’s a lot more scuttlebutt to be learned if we ask around.”
The thought of icy-looking Captain Daggett and the ruthless men with whom he was consorting made her blood run cold. “This is a very complicated investigation. We mustn’t run off half-cocked. If Wrexford wishes our help, he will ask for it.”
Eyes still glued on her drawing, Raven considered her words. “Very well,” he finally conceded. “Unless we’re asked, we won’t hare off on our own.”
“Thank you.” Repressing a yawn, Charlotte flexed her tight shoulders and rinsed out her brush. “And now, I think it’s time for all of us to seek our beds.”
* * *
Careful to avoid the puddles of blood on the stone flagging, Wrexford approached the nearest of the two bodies sprawled on the floor. The corpse—for no man could possibly be alive with a large chunk of his skull blown to Kingdom Come—was lying facedown. Aside from the bullet wound to the head, there was no sign of violence to the well-tailored clothing. The victim didn’t appear to have fought for his life.
Tyler cleared his throat. “Is it . . .”
“Yes,” said the earl as he crouched down for a look at the lifeless profile. “It’s definitely Justinian DeVere.”
“So the devil has finally gotten his due,” muttered the valet. He, too, could summon no real sympathy for the fellow, who, in his judgment, was utterly lacking in basic humanity.
But does anyone deserve to die in such a horrible way?
“Let us leave morality aside for the moment.” Wrexford moved to examine the second body. There was even more blood—Tobias Quincy’s throat had been slashed. And by the cuts on his fingers, it appeared he had tried to ward off his attacker.
“Hmmph.” He rose and absently wiped his hands on the lapels of his coat, earning a pained wince from his valet. “It would appear that the two men were taken by surprise. I would guess that DeVere was killed first with a shot, and then Quincy was attacked.”
