“I, too, have a question,” said Sheffield after a moment of reflective silence. “What game is von Münch playing? He claimed to have put his cards on the table, so to speak, and yet he said nothing about his masquerading as Eton’s drawing master. What was his motive?”
“He promised to appear here this afternoon and explain,” said Charlotte. “But regardless of his motives, I am very thankful that von Münch was there and prevented Wheeler from discovering the boys.”
“I have my doubts about whether he will show up,” growled Wrexford. “Or whether we will ever get a straight answer out of him. I’m not convinced the explanation he gave us about being an agent for Prince William of Württemberg is true.” He looked around, half expecting the fellow to materialize from the woodwork. “Be that as it may, he did play a critical role in making sure Fenway couldn’t abscond in the confusion of the night.” A grudging smile. “According to the account Griffin heard, von Münch flashed some very ornate and impressive government credentials to the local authorities, which had them obeying his orders without question.”
“No doubt forged,” grunted Henning.
“No doubt,” agreed Charlotte. “But as I couldn’t reveal my identity, Fenway would have escaped justice if our friend hadn’t improvised.”
“You call him a friend despite all his untruths to us,” observed Cordelia.
“As I’ve said before, we all have our reasons to guard certain personal secrets. But I trust that his heart is in the right place.” Charlotte turned to Wrexford. “Speaking of friends, has Griffin forgiven you for not revealing everything you knew about the investigation?”
“He was hurt by my lack of trust, but when I explained that I didn’t wish to put him in an impossible situation regarding his superiors, he understood and appreciated my reasoning,” answered the earl. “I think his feathers may still be a little ruffled, but several hearty meals should quickly assuage any lingering hurt.”
“Well then, if there is nothing more to parse through, Cordelia and I are going to return home and begin planning our long-delayed wedding trip.” Sheffield stood up. “Rather than a toast I shall offer a resolution—let us all pledge to do everything in our power to assure that the coming months bring nothing but peace and tranquility.”
Henning snorted into his glass.
“That is an excellent way to end a fraught few weeks,” said Charlotte.
“May the cosmos look kindly on our request,” said Wrexford dryly. “I think we’ve earned it.”
* * *
Evening had fallen, and the town house was quiet. Their friends had all departed, and the Weasels had happily accepted the dowager’s invitation to accompany her home and stay for supper—which, thought Charlotte, would no doubt include copious sweets.
The thought of such normal little pleasures drew a mental vow from her to take Sheffield’s exhortation to heart.
“Peace and tranquility,” she whispered, as she continued to sketch a few ideas for her next satirical drawing.
“What did you say?” Wrexford looked up from the book he was perusing. The two of them had retreated to the earl’s workroom after supper, intent on spending the evening in relaxed contemplation.
“It was just a reminder to the goddess of chaos that we have had enough of Trouble.”
He returned to examining the pages.
She saw that a pile of books had been moved from the adjacent library to the back work counter where he stood. “Any further discoveries in your father’s books?”
“Nothing of note,” came the reply.
“I know you are anxious to pursue the matter of ‘A’ and the mystery surrounding that individual’s identity.”
Wrexford appeared lost in thought.
“The search will now have our full attention,” said Charlotte in a louder voice.
The sound must have startled him because he turned abruptly . . . and then stared down at his feet in consternation.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“The valise. It was here earlier today,” he muttered. As he looked around, his puzzled expression turned stormy. “The bloody, bloody rascal! Hewashere, and it appears that he has absconded with money that Sheffield and I recovered from Wayland’s rendezvous with the French radicals.”
“You think von Münch took it?” she exclaimed.
“Who else?”
He had a point.
