The newly mown grass muffled their steps as they darted to the far side of the privet hedge bordering the walkway, using it as cover to make their way down the sloping lawn to the river. A cluster of barrels and crates on the dock provided a hiding place . . .
“Hell’s bells—it’s a steam launch!” intoned Peregrine, stopping short as he caught a glimpse of the dark-on-dark engine and chimney rising up from the middle of the boat tied to the mooring cleats.
“Stop gawking and hide yourself,” ordered Raven, though he, too, was mesmerized for a moment by the sight.
Wrenching his gaze away, he ducked under a coil of rope hanging from an iron stanchion and inched the crates apart just enough to create a peephole.
“Hold still,” he warned as footsteps thudded onto the dock’s wooden planking.
The eddying currents swirled against the pilings with a deep-throated gurgling.
“Remember to stoke the boiler slowly, Jed.” It was the woman’s voice, steely with the note of command. “This particular grade of cast iron can crack if heated too quickly.”
“Aye, Mrs. Guppy.”
“Better check the coal bin as well. We should have enough fuel for tonight’s journey, but best to be prepared.” A pause. “I’ll leave you to get everything ready while I return to the house and fetch our passenger. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Her retreating footsteps were soon swallowed by the crackle andwhooshof the steam engine coming to life. Metal clanked against metal as the boatman checked the level of the coal and muttered an oath. Raven saw him take up a large canvas sack and head for the boathouse.
“Mrs. Guppy—” began Hawk.
“Is a friend of the missing Mr. Carrick,” finished Raven. “And so is Mademoiselle Benoit.”
“Are you thinking that—”
“Yes,” said Raven. “There’s a chance they are going to rendezvous with him.” There was no time to dither—he made a decision. “You two hurry back to Town and tell Wrex and m’lady what we’ve discovered.” He passed over the purse, which was still well filled with coins. “I’m going to stow away in the boat and see what they are up to. I’ll return as quickly as I can.”
“But—”
Raven had already slipped over the rail of the launch. In a flash, he wriggled his way inside the storage locker built into the prow of the boat and pulled the door shut just as Mrs. Guppy’s helper emerged from the boathouse, dragging a bulging coal sack in his wake.
* * *
“Dead?” Charlotte needed a moment to collect her wits. Both she and Cordelia had dozed off while reading in the parlor as they waited for Wrexford and Sheffield to return, and her mind was a bit muzzy. “But I don’t understand. I thought you went to confront Wayland—and yet you found Garfield dead?”
“Wayland wasn’t at his usual haunt,” explained the earl. “Nor was he at the Albany, so I wished to press Garfield further on why he thought Wayland was the most likely suspect for Milton’s murder.”
“W-Wouldn’t the fact that Garfield is now dead seem to indicate that Wayland is indeed the villain?” ventured Cordelia.
“I fear that may not be true, my love,” said Sheffield gently. “We found some evidence at the scene of the crime that . . .” He paused to choose his words with care. “That doesn’t look good for your cousin.”
The blood drained from Cordelia’s face.
Charlotte rushed to pour a measure of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. “Drink,” she urged, bringing the glass to Cordelia and holding it to her lips as Sheffield kept a steadying arm around his wife’s waist.
“W-What evidence?” demanded Cordelia after choking down a swallow of the spirits.
“Garfield wrote something on the floor with his own blood,” answered Wrexford. “Both Kit and I agree that it appears to be the lettersOandC.”
“Ican’tbelieve . . .” The lamplight caught the pearling of tears on Cordelia’s lashes. “Iwon’tbelieve . . .”
“I know how difficult it is,” said Sheffield, pressing a palm to her cheek, “but I fear you must.”
Charlotte moved away to join Wrexford by the hearth, allowing the couple some privacy. “Do you think Henning could tell whether the murder weapon was the same used on Milton?” she said softly as he stirred the coals to life.
“Perhaps,” he answered. “That would mean . . .” He hesitated. “I did send word alerting Griffin to the murder. Otherwise I feared it would cause an irreparable breach in our friendship if it came to light that I had discovered the crime and said nothing.”
“But you are worried that asking him to send the corpse to Henning may reveal that the same knife was used in both murders. And that Oliver Carrick will become even more of a suspect, especially given theOandCwritten in Garfield’s blood.” Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Do you think Oliver Carrick is the murderer?”
