“I fear that Cordelia—”
The sound of footsteps on the back terrace had Wrexford up in a flash. He moved to a rosewood box on the bookshelves and clicked open the latch. “Extinguish the lamp flame,” he said as he cocked his pistol.
“Halloo? Halloo?”
“It’s Kit!” Heaving a sigh of relief, Charlotte turned away from the side table. “Dear God, what new mischief is afoot?” she muttered, hurrying to open the French doors.
“Sorry,” apologized Sheffield as he and Cordelia stepped inside, bringing with them a swirl of chill air. “No one answered our knock on the front door, but we noticed the lamps were still burning here as the carriage turned into the courtyard, so we thought that we would check on whether you were still downstairs.”
“Surely you have better things to occupy your time than coming by for a midnight chat,” drawled the earl as he put his weapon back in its case.
A blush rose to Cordelia’s cheeks, but she chose to ignore the gentle teasing. “I finally had the chance to sort through my mail from the last week. And given what Charlotte and I heard earlier today, we both thought you ought to see this without delay.”
She held up a travel-smudged letter. “It’s from Jasper Milton. He must have sent it just before he was murdered.”
CHAPTER 8
Wrexford took the piece of paper and unfolded it.
“Please read it aloud.” Charlotte remained standing by the doors. Moonlight glimmered through the glass panes, silhouetting her figure and making her face impossible to read.
“My dearest Hypatia,” began the earl.
“That was Jasper’s private name for me when we were adolescents,” explained Cordelia. “Hypatia was a famous woman mathematician from ancient times. That we had formed a close camaraderie through our shared passion for numbers seemed important to him. He didn’t have any friends other than me among the children of the area.”
“Why not?” queried Wrexford.
“Jasper was different,” answered Cordelia. “He was considered awkward and aloof. I suppose that’s because he felt more at home in the world of abstractions and intellectual challenges than in the everyday games and mischief-making that appeal to most boys and girls. I was the only one who understood and appreciated the way his mind worked.”
Wrexford knew that to have any chance of solving the crime they would have to learn a great deal more about Jasper Milton and his life. He wondered if that was why Charlotte seemed on edge.
Catching his glance, she moved to the hearth and put a fresh log atop the glowing coals. Sparks flared. A flame licked up.
Looking back to the letter, he resumed reading.
I fear that I’m being watched. I dare not say more here, but I shall soon visit you and explain further. In the meantime, I have taken precautions to ensure that nobody can meddle in my work.
On a happier note, I made a connection at the scientific conference in France which helped me clarify my thinking and bring me to a final discovery. It’s not something that I can discuss with my fellow society members—they are fine fellows but have limited vision and wouldn’t understand. I expected better of Oliver, but he—well, never mind that now. You are the only one who sees beyond ordinary conventions and will comprehend my latest innovation and its implications. I can’t wait to share it with you.
The paper made a whispery sound as Wrexford refolded it.
“I admit that when read aloud, it sounds like Jasper took a page from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s melodramatic novels,” said Cordelia. “It’s completely out of character for him. He was always very precise and rational in his thinking. Something appears to have spooked him, and given the intruder who broke in here the night before the wedding, I am inclined to think that he must have had actual cause for alarm.”
She frowned in thought. “After all, the intruder went straight for the escritoire. Perhaps he thought that Jasper had sent me the details concerning his work.”
“Have you thought any more on what Milton’s new innovation could be?” asked Charlotte. “As we heard this afternoon, his fellow society members think it revolves around an innovation for bridge building.” A pause. “Is that really so revolutionary?”
“The answer to your first question is no. What with his various projects in the north and his travels to France, we haven’t corresponded regularly over the last eight months,” answered Cordelia. “As to whether a new scientific breakthrough could radically change the design of bridges—”
“The answer is definitely yes,” interjected Sheffield. “Roads and bridges may seem unlikely candidates for innovation, but Thomas Telford and John McAdam are espousing some very interesting new ideas about grading, materials and basic construction that will revolutionize travel time.”
“Kit,” murmured Cordelia, “perhaps you need not explain—”
Caught up in his enthusiasm for the subject, Sheffield was already forging ahead. “Bridges offer even more possibility for innovation. Telford’s recently completed cast-iron bridge, which crosses the River Spey at Craigellachie in Scotland, is a marvel of innovative engineering. Its innovative design features a single span of 151 feet and uses a slender arch that would be impossible to do in stone.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that part of the reason for the latest improvements in bridge design are due to the new formulas for high-tensile iron that are being developed,” mused Wrexford.
“Word is, Telford is also experimenting with a bridge design that uses cables made of wrought-iron links . . .” Sheffield looked to the earl. “Though I cannot begin to explain the scientific principles by which that technology would function.”
