He stood for a little longer, watching the moonlight wax and wane over the nearby grove of oaks. The clouds were beginning to clear. Dawn would soon be dappling the horizon.
Then, just as he started to turn and begin retracing his steps, a tiny creak caught his ear. He froze, and waited. Thesnickof a latch followed, and Wrexford suddenly realized that there must be another exit door close to him. He started to move, only to spot movement within the long shadows cutting across the lawn.
A shape—a man moving stealthily—disappeared into a glade of elms. A moment later, he suddenly broke free of the trees. For a heartbeat, he was visible in the muted light before darting through the opening in the walled gardens that sloped down to the main road.
Pursuit was pointless. The runner would be long gone before Wrexford reached the door.
And yet, for the brief instant the man had been visible, the moonlight had shone a little brighter. And although he had a muffler hiding half his face, his head had been bare . . .
Allowing a telltale flicker of sun-bleached mahogany-colored hair.
“Well, well, Captain Daggett,” muttered Wrexford. “What mischief is America up to on British soil?”
CHAPTER 17
After breakfast, Charlotte had rolled her latest drawing in a protective covering and sent the boys off to deliver it to Mr. Fores. Now she was determined to set aside all thoughts of murder and deal with the normal little everyday tasks of ordering their household.
“As if,” she huffed while gathering up a pair of Raven’s mud-encrusted boots from the entrance foyer, “my life bears any resemblance to normal.”
A chuckle rumbled behind her. “You would be bored to flinders by a normal life,” said McClellan. She was carrying a jar of beeswax and a polishing cloth into the parlor. “As would I.”
“True,” Charlotte conceded. “But if only we could stop tripping over dead bodies.”
“Alas . . .” The boys had left the front door ajar, and Wrexford poked his head in through the gap. “Then you’re not going to like hearing what I’ve come to tell you.”
She felt her blood turn to ice.“Who?”
“Should I pour a glass of brandy for m’lady?” asked the maid.
His hesitation stirred another frisson of fear.
“Perhaps you ought to make it whisky, Mac.”
“Hartley—”
Wrexford caught her sleeve and drew her close. “No, no—it’s no one dear to us.”
The scent of his shaving soap and the steady beat of his heart calmed her nerves.
“Quite the opposite, in fact,” he added.
Charlotte let him lead her into the parlor, and dutifully obeyed his command to sit on the sofa, before demanding, “Explain yourself, Wrexford.”
“As soon as Mac arrives with the spirits,” he replied grimly.
The maid quickly reappeared, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea—and the bottle of malt. The earl added a healthy splash of it to Charlotte’s brew before passing it over.
The warmth of it made her realize that her hands had gone cold.
“Go on,” she said after a quick sip.
“I decided to follow a hunch I had, based on several things Kit had discovered. So he and I—along with Tyler and Hosack—decided to have a look around DeVere’s conservatory last night.”
The mention of that terrible place, where she had very nearly lost her life, sent a shiver down her spine.
Wrexford’s eyes clouded with concern, but after a tiny hesitation, he continued. “We were looking for Becton’s specimen. But instead, what we found was an unexpected shock.”
She listened in stunned silence as he recounted the gruesome discovery and the presence of Moretti.
