He waggled his injured arm. “But as for my injury, it was actuallynotrelated to my work. It seems that being a tourist in Town is even more dangerous than climbing the heights of an unfinished bridge.”
Wrexford frowned. “What happened?”
“I was returning to my lodgings last night from an evening soiree given by a member of the Royal Society and chose to take a shortcut through Hyde Park, where I was attacked by footpads.” He made a face. “I should have known better, but I confess, I had imbibed more brandy than was wise.”
“The members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society appear to be attracting a number of deadly attacks of late.”
Wheeler’s expression turned grim. “Milton’s murder and Carrick’s unexplained absence are indeed unnerving.”
“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but things have taken an even more sinister turn,” said Wrexford. “Though it has not yet been made public, both Kendall Garfield and Mercer Wayland have met with violent deaths.”
“D-Dear God,” intoned Wheeler, his eyes flaring in shock. “Do you mean they were . . . murdered?”
“Yes.” Wrexford allowed a moment for his reply to sink in before adding, “As you know, my wife and I are close friends with Lady Cordelia and her husband, and so I have been doing some informal investigation into Milton’s murder.” Another pause. “Can you think of anyone who knew that Milton was working on a technological breakthrough for bridge design—and would be willing to kill in order to steal it?”
“I . . .” Wheeler looked away to the river, watching a flock of gulls dip and dart above white-capped water. “I can’t think of anyone, save for . . .” His voice trailed off into the thrum of the swirling breeze.
“Save for Oliver Carrick?” suggested the earl.
A shrug was the only answer.
Wrexford hesitated, and then asked, “Are you acquainted with any friend of Milton who is called Axe?”
Wheeler pursed his lips as he considered the question. “No,” he said slowly. “But there are always a number of carpenters who work at a bridge-building site. Perhaps Milton had formed a friendship with one of them.”
“That’s an excellent suggestion, and one that hadn’t occurred to me.” There was, of course, another alternative for the murderer—Wheeler himself. Aside from Milton, the other members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society had thought him aloof and a bit of an enigma.
But then again, reflected the earl,I, too, am considered eccentric and unsociable.
Glancing down at the lead-covered dome beneath the walkway, Wrexford decided to change the subject. “Are you interested in architecture, Mr. Wheeler? Domes in particular seem a very different type of engineering challenge from that of bridges.”
“I’m interested in any construction created by innovative thinking in structural engineering,” came the reply. “Sir Christopher Wren had a bold new vision for a dome that appeared airy and light, and yet would be larger than any other one in existence. The technical difficulties he faced—how to deal with stability and the distribution of weight and force—were enormous, and yet he found a way to overcome them.”
Wheeler moved to the low railing and leaned forward to observe the lower parts of the dome. “To do so, Wren created an ingenious design of three nested domes. The outer one that you see here is a majestic size and shape that dominates the skyline. Within it is a steeper dome, which is what people see from inside the cathedral. And then there is a hidden middle dome, which helps create strength and stability.”
“Interesting,” murmured Wrexford.
“As a man of science, you will appreciate the fact that Wren consulted with his good friend the legendary polymath Robert Hooke to use science to solve the structural challenges.”
“We are becoming more and more aware of how science is key to solving so many practical challenges.”
Wheeler’s face lit up with a look of passionate enthusiasm as he continued to expound on the innovative engineering ideas created by Wren. “Come, have a look at what I mean about the outer shape.”
As Wrexford approached the rail, Wheeler took hold of the earl’s coat sleeve with his good hand. “In my experience, most people get a little giddy when looking down from towering heights. Have a care. I’ll steady you.”
The earl leaned out, just as the wind changed directions and a gust from the opposite direction swirled around the spire.
Wrexford felt his weight shift, and for an instant he felt himself teetering. Another blast of wind hit . . .
And then suddenly he was pulled back. Wheeler retreated several steps and braced the earl’s back against the spire’s colonnading.
“One needs good balance and catlike footing when walking in high places,” counseled Wheeler.
“As well as nine lives,” murmured Wrexford.
That made the engineer chuckle. “Those of us who design bridges count on that old adage being true.”
“Speaking of lives,” continued the earl. “Given the fate of your fellow society members, and the attack on your own person—”
