Wrexford made no sarcastic comment, for which she gave silent thanks. She knew he didn’t like the risks that she was taking, so the fact that he supported her wish to continue as Magpie meant the world to her.
“Hmmm? Angelo teaches fencing to women?” mused Cordelia. “Perhaps I should also sign up for instruction.”
Sheffield choked on a bite of eggs.
Cordelia batted her lashes at him. “Did you say something?”
He shook his head.
“Wise fellow,” drawled Wrexford. He poured himself another cup of coffee. “As soon as it is proper to pay a call, I shall visit my scientific friend and see what I can learn about Carrick.”
Charlotte rose, eager to begin the day. “While you two lollygag over breakfast, Cordelia and I will get to work.”
“Ah, breakfast is still being served?” said a voice from just outside the door. “I was hoping that I hadn’t missed the chance to share a meal with you, milord.” For a big man, their friend Griffin, Bow Street’s most respected Runner, moved with surprising stealth. “Riche said that if I hurried there might be a crust of bread left.”
Wrexford made a rude sound. “The word “share” is an interesting way of describing our dining habits—I pay for prodigious meals, and you eat them.”
Charlotte waved for Griffin to enter and take a seat. “Ignore His Lordship. He’s always grouchy at this hour in the morning.”
“Thank you, milady,” responded the Runner as she poured him a cup of coffee. To Sheffield and Cordelia he added, “Allow me to offer my felicitations on your recent nuptials.”
Despite the happy words, Charlotte noted that his voice was shaded by a hint of tension.
“I take it this is not just a social call,” she murmured.
“Correct,” said Griffin, not looking overly happy about the fact. “Word has reached Bow Street about the murder of Jasper Milton.” A pause. “And the evidence given by one of his colleagues indicates that Oliver Carrick must be considered a suspect for the crime.”
His gaze had remained on Sheffield and Cordelia. “My understanding is that Carrick is your cousin, Lady Cor—”
“I prefer to be addressed as Mrs. Sheffield,” interjected Cordelia. “As for Oliver, yes, you are right about the relationship.”
Griffin put down his cup. “Have you any idea of his whereabouts?”
“No,” she answered.
“None of us do,” added Wrexford.
“And to be honest, I don’t think that I would tell you even if I did know.” Cordelia’s chin rose a notch. “Because I simply refuse to believe that Oliver could have murdered his friend. They’ve been kindred spirits for years.”
The Runner’s eyes pooled with sympathy. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to believe it either. But alas, my experience has taught me that if provoked by certain circumstances, most every one of us mortal beings can be pushed into the abyss of evil.”
“Ye gods,” exclaimed Sheffield. “The evidence against him is hearsay! You know as well as I do that we all have arguments with those who are close to us and say things we don’t really mean in the heat of the moment.” A scowl. “An outsider might very well misinterpret the words, as well as the tone in which they are said.”
“I don’t disagree with that, sir,” responded Griffin. “But the government has asked Bow Street to take over the investigation, and I have been put in charge.”
Wrexford frowned. “Why is the government taking an interest in the murder?”
“They don’t convey their reasoning to the likes of me.” Griffin gave a grateful nod as McClellan bustled from the kitchen with a platter heaped with her breakfast specialties and set it in front of him. “Still, I have been tasked to solve the crime.”
He made no move to pick up his fork. “And I sincerely hope that we may pursue the investigations as friends, not enemies.”
“That would be preferable,” responded Cordelia.
Which was, noted Charlotte, a very ambiguous reply.
* * *
The earl waited until noon before setting out for the Royal Institution, where his friend, like many of the leading scientific-minded gentlemen in London, had his laboratory.
