He was surprisingly succinct with his reasoning.
“Damnation,” she muttered after spending several long moments looking for ways to poke holes in his thinking. “You truly think it’s safe to let the boys search Eton’s academic offices on their own even though there may be a ruthless killer at large?”
“I do,” he answered. “First of all, I will be meeting with the provost in his private lodging in Lupton’s Tower, which means I’ll be only a stone’s throw from where the Weasels are making their covert search.”
She averted her gaze.
“Second, the drawing master will have no reason to be in that section of the school late at night,” continued the earl. “And third, Peregrine has confessed to making a number of nocturnal forays to the school from his lodgings in town in order to explore all the nooks and crannies of the ancient buildings while he was a student. He knows of ways to bypass the main corridors and where there are secret places in which to take shelter. So even if Valencourt is out and about, he won’t spot the boys.”
Charlotte frowned. “What about Wheeler? We have agreed that for now he must remain on the list of suspects.”
“Yes, but if Wheeler is still at the school as a guest of the provost, good manners will dictate that he be included in our meeting,” pointed out Wrexford.
She drew in a breath . . . and then released it in a sigh.
“May I take that as a yes?”
“Only if the Weasels promise not to deviate so much as a hairsbreadth from their allotted roles,” answered Charlotte.
A nod indicated his agreement. “I will go inform Tyler and McClellan that they are to leave at first light to begin putting our plan into action.”
* * *
Twilight was fast giving way to darkness as Wrexford smoothed the folds of his cravat into place and donned his evening coat, patting the hidden inside pocket to settle his snub-nosed pistol into place.
It had taken two days to arrange, but McClellan and Tyler had found a house for rent in the town of Eton to serve as their base of operations, and all was now set for their plan to be put in motion. It was just a short distance from the school, which made the logistics easy.
As for the emotional elements . . .
Charlotte watched his preparations with misgiving, clearly unhappy at her role in the coming evening. “I still say that my presence wouldn’t attract any undue attention.”
“On the contrary, this isn’t the stews of London, where all manner of people prowl through the night. The school as well as the town will be still as a crypt at this hour,” reasoned the earl. “Dressed in your urchin garb, you would stand out like a sore thumb.”
“But the boys—”
“Even if the boys are spotted, people will assume that some schoolyard mischief is afoot rather than anything nefarious,” he pointed out. “I understand your frustration at not being able to participate. But sometimes the simplest strategy is the best choice.”
“I know that you are right,” she conceded.
“But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow,” added Wrexford. As he turned back to the cheval glass to check that he looked every inch the well-tailored, wealthy aristocrat, he mentally reviewed the plan to make sure all the pieces were ready to fit into place.
While Hawk kept watch from the chapel’s bell tower—with orders to raise the alarm if he saw anything suspicious by blowing three sharp blasts on the bosun’s whistle Wrexford had given him—Peregrine and Raven would sneak into the school under the cover of darkness and make their way into a mysterious locked area near the Ante-Chapel to search for incriminating evidence that would tie the new drawing master to Milton’s murder and the theft of his papers.
“It was fortunate that Lord Fenway agreed to meet with you,” said Charlotte, drawing him back to the moment.
“There was a note of urgency to my request, along with a few veiled hints that there might be trouble lurking within the Bristol Road Project.” Wrexford smoothed a small crease from his trousers. “My friends at the Royal Institution told me that the provost takes his responsibility for this particular project very seriously.”
Charlotte raised no further arguments. “I imagine Wheeler will be greatly relieved when the killer of Milton and the other two members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society is finally captured,” she mused.
“Yes, if I were he, I would certainly breathe a good deal easier.” He picked up his curly-brimmed beaver hat. “I must not be late.”
She stepped aside and then followed him out to the side entrance of the rented house where his carriage was waiting. The three boys were already hidden under the tarp of the boot. However, a sidelong glance at her taut face showed that all the precautions had done little to assuage her worries.
“We’ll be fine,” murmured Wrexford, clasping her hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Godspeed,” she murmured. “And be careful.”
* * *
