“She may be guilty as sin,” intoned Sheffield. He gave the coals in the hearth another jab with the poker and turned to face them. “Let us be painfully honest. She is one of the villains, and I think we need to treat her as such.”
Cordelia bit her lip but didn’t argue.
“The Weasels and their urchin friends have her under surveillance,” said Charlotte. “If she does anything suspicious, we will immediately know about it.”
Wrexford couldn’t decipher Cordelia’s expression, save to comprehend that it was a mix of conflicting emotions. She wanted very much for her cousin to be innocent, but such a hope was fading with every passing day.
“Patience,” he counseled. “We all know that investigations lead us through shadows and darkness before we see a glimmer of light.”
Before anyone could respond, a discreet knock sounded on the closed door.
After a moment, it opened a crack. “Milord, Mr. Griffin is here,” said their butler, “and is requesting an audience on a matter of great urgency.”
“Show him in, Riche.”
The Runner entered the room and stopped short on seeing that the earl wasn’t alone.
“Bad timing, Griffin,” drawled Wrexford. “No meal is being served at this hour.”
Griffin didn’t crack a smile, which didn’t bode well for the coming conversation. “Forgive me, milord. Riche didn’t mention that you had company.”
“You may speak freely.” He gave a wry shrug. “You know damn well that I will immediately pass on any information you tell me in private to those who are present.”
“I would hope that we are all friends, not enemies,” replied the Runner after a meaningful look around the room.
“So would I.”
Griffin thought over the earl’s carefully chosen words before responding. “Then with that assumption in mind, I shall proceed.” However, his gaze fixed on Cordelia for a moment before he continued.
“I just had a second visit from Mr. Ezra Wheeler, who as you know, is a member of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society founded by Mr. Milton and Mr. Carrick. He seems an observant fellow.” A pause. “With a sense of public duty to report any suspicious activity to the proper authorities.”
“Sarcasm is my bailiwick, Griffin, not yours,” murmured Wrexford. “Do go on.”
“Wheeler said he saw Mr. Mercer Wayland, who is—”
“Yes, yes, who is another member of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society,” interjected Cordelia.
The Runner nodded. “Apparently Mr. Wheeler spotted Mr. Wayland working in a study room in the library of the British Museum. He said that Mr. Wayland had half a dozen rare mathematical books—including several by Sir Isaac Newton—open on the table, and there were a number of papers with calculations and drawings spread out around him—”
“That’s hardly suspicious. Mr. Wayland is a talented engineer who, like his fellow society members, is presently engaged in overseeing the building of roads and bridges,” pointed out Wrexford.
“Yes, but Mr. Wheeler said that Mr. Wayland appeared alarmed at being seen, and quickly shuffled all his papers together to hide their contents.”
Griffin looked at Cordelia. “However, Mr. Wheeler had caught a glimpse of them. And according to him, the incident seemed very odd, seeing as Mr. Wayland’s expertise is not in any area of mathematics that would require the type of book he was consulting. Would you agree, Lady—that is, Mrs. Sheffield?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with Mr. Wayland’s current work, so I wouldn’t know,” she answered.
“And you, milord?”
Wrexford experienced a twinge of conscience at being less than forthcoming with the Runner, who had always been forthright with him. But for now, he felt his loyalties lay with Cordelia . . . at least until they knew more about Oliver Carrick and why he was missing.
“I’m afraid that I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
“Hmmph.” Griffin huffed a reproachful sniff and regarded the earl with a hard stare. “And you know nothing that might shed some light on the situation?”
He shook his head.
“Well, then . . .” Griffin twisted the hat he was holding in his meaty hands and inclined a stiff bow. “I won’t take up any more of your time, milord.” Without further words, he turned and left the room, closing the door with a touch more force than was necessary.
