“A Bridge to Freedom,” she mused, thinking aloud about a possible title. The captions would discuss the preachings of the French radicals, who claimed that cheap and reliable transportation would give workers a modicum of power by allowing them to seek better wages in other areas of the country if their local employers refused to pay them fairly for their labors.
A part of her yearned to publish the Napoleon print. If war erupted in Europe again, it would affect millions of lives. But she knew in her heart that she didn’t know enough about the situation to make such a risky decision.
“Which one do you intend to submit to Fores?”
Charlotte turned around to face Wrexford, who had entered her workroom without making a sound. “I don’t really have a choice. One of them is too reckless, and I know it.”
He came to sit on the arm of her chair and brushed a quick caress to her cheek.
A fleeting touch, and yet it lifted her spirits.
“It may feel like we are struggling right now to beat Evil. But we have faced the devil before,” he said softly, “and pitched him back into the fires of Hell.”
“Amen to that,” she murmured as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear.
It was strange how the little everyday gestures were a source of courage to face the unknown threat.
Love, friendship . . .they were far stronger than fear.
“What did Griffin want?” asked Charlotte, after reaching for his hand and twining her fingers with his.
“He took me to a secluded spot across the river to meet with George Pierson, who wanted to have a chat about what happened at Vauxhall Gardens. He’s been ordered to find Milton’s papers.”
“By Lord Grentham, I assume,” responded Charlotte. Merely saying the man’s name made her skin prickle. They had crossed paths with the minions of Britain’s shadowy minister of state security in the past. She didn’t relish the idea of getting involved in another encounter.
“But why?” she added.
“I asked Pierson the same question. He did not deign to give me an answer,” replied Wrexford. “That’s no surprise, of course, but he did offer an explanation of why Wayland and the Frenchmen were shot dead.” A frown. “However, based on the evidence I saw, it can’t be true.”
His expression turned troubled. “I saw no weapons around the bodies of the three victims. And yet Pierson claimed that his men told him that they did not fire the first shot but responded in self-defense.”
“My sense is that Pierson’s position as Grentham’s top operative requires him to lie without compunction,” observed Charlotte.
That’s true,” agreed the earl. “However, why bother? He had no reason to lie to me. He could simply have said that matters of state security demanded the elimination of the two Frenchmen, and that Wayland was guilty of conspiring with the enemy, so deserved his fate.”
Charlotte considered his point and had to agree with him. Pierson was pragmatic. Wrexford had proved helpful to the government in the past, so spinning pointless faradiddles risked alienating a useful ally.
“So, there was one party made up of Wayland and his two French contacts, and a second party made up of the two government operatives,” she mused. “Are you thinking that a third party was present and deliberately instigated the mayhem?”
“It seems the only logical explanation,” said Wrexford.
“I can’t see how that would play to anyone’s advantage,” she said. “Indeed, if the object was to steal Milton’s papers, the strategy was absurdly risky—”
“But what if the third party knew that the papers were false?” interrupted Wrexford, “and used the mayhem to eliminate Wayland?”
An involuntary gasp slipped free as she grasped his meaning. “Axe!” Charlotte steadied her voice. “You think Milton’s killer was afraid that Wayland might remember something that would lead him to realize Axe’s identity?”
“Perhaps,” replied the earl. “Garfield was murdered, and now Wayland has also been killed. To call it mere coincidence sticks in my craw.”
He absently picked up one of her pencils and slowly twirled it between his palms. “I think I should pay a visit to Ezra Wheeler to inform him of what has happened. If I were he, I would come to the conclusion that London is a decidedly unhealthy place for a member of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society to be until a cunning murderer is caught.”
CHAPTER 26
Wrexford had just crossed through the central garden of Berkeley Square and turned down Hay Hill, intent on paying a visit to the Royal Institution, when a figure emerged from the shadows and fell in step beside him.
“I have learned some new information concerning the murder of Jasper Milton, milord,” said von Münch. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
‘There’s a great deal I don’t like about this investigation,” replied the earl. “But the quest for the truth doesn’t allow us to pick and choose.” They walked on and turned left onto Dover Street. “Go ahead and say what you have to say.”
