Sheffield smiled. “The fact that his father was involved in the outlawed Society of United Irishmen, a radical republican group that advocated independence for Ireland.”
“Ye gods,” whispered Charlotte.
“It gets even more damning,” said Sheffield. “The Society of United Irishmen formed close ties with the revolutionary government in France during its first clashes with our country at the end of the last century. And together they came up with the plan for France to send a large expeditionary force to Ireland to help expel the British.”
“The planned landing at Bantry Bay in December 1796,” intoned Charlotte.
“Which ended in utter failure,” replied Wrexford. “It was one of the stormiest winters on record. A number of the French ships foundered, and a great many lives were lost.”
“O’Connor’s father was arrested and died in prison, and his mother succumbed to illness a short while later,” explained Sheffield. “He went to live with relatives in Scotland—by the by, I know all of this because Tyler happened to know of him and his background—and then attended the university at St. Andrews, which is where he studied mathematics and science.”
“So, O’Connor has a good reason to have a grudge against Britain and feel a kinship with the French radicals and their desire to see Napoleon restored to power,” observed the earl.
“He’s built an admirable career for himself within the world of road and bridge construction, with no hint of any trouble concerning his personal life,” said Sheffield. “But of course, we need to dig deeper and see what dark secrets he may be hiding.”
“We have already discovered a dark secret relating to Eton, thanks to Peregrine, who just told us about some suspicious activity he witnessed at the school.” Wrexford went on to explain about the French drawing master, as well as what the boy had seen and heard.
“Given that O’Connor is working for the Bristol Road Project. . . and given that Lord Fenway, the provost of Eton, is head of the commission that oversees the project,” he concluded, “we need to pursue this lead and see if we can uncover any link between O’Connor and the new drawing master at Eton.”
The earl glanced at Cordelia. “That would certainly shift suspicion away from Carrick.”
“Perhaps the pieces of the puzzle are finally beginning to fit together,” suggested Sheffield. “A plausible scenario is that the two villains have Milton’s papers and are trying to steal proprietary information concerning construction plans for road building and other techniques that they can also sell to the Russians.”
“Let us be careful about jumping to conclusions,” cautioned Wrexford.
“Tyler should be returning shortly. Perhaps he can do some asking around among his various contacts in the slums and see if he can sniff out a connection,” replied Sheffield.
“We need to do so quickly,” mused the earl. “The authorities have been embarrassed by their failure to apprehend a suspect for the murder. Once Griffin gets his hands on Carrick, they will want the wheels of justice to spin swiftly.”
“No matter whether they have arrested the right man or not,” observed Charlotte.
The sun was settling beneath the horizon, taking with it the last rays of light. The shadows deepened within the workroom.
She hugged her arms to her chest and turned for the door. “Let us head to the dining room and have Mac order up a simple supper. Then I suggest we all get some much-needed rest and reconvene in the morning. In the light of a new day, perhaps the way forward will appear a bit clearer.”
* * *
By some unspoken agreement, they talked quietly of mundane things over the informal meal—news from friends traveling abroad, the renovations of the manor house on Cordelia and Sheffield’s estate, a new art exhibit opening next week at the Royal Academy—rather than the investigation. Sensing the mood, the Weasels were unnaturally subdued and excused themselves from the table as soon as their plates were empty.
“They must be ill,” quipped McClellan as a maid cleared the table and then rolled in the tea trolley. “They didn’t wait for the platter of ginger biscuits.”
Charlotte smiled, appreciating the maid’s efforts to add a note of levity to the proceedings.
“I think I shall forgo any sweets as well,” announced Cordelia as she stood up.
Sheffield pushed back his chair, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, you stay and enjoy a postprandial whisky with the others. I—I simply wish to take a short stroll in the back garden for a breath of fresh air.”
He hesitated, but after glancing up at her face, he gave a small nod. “Of course.”
“She needs some time alone to sort out her emotions,” counseled Charlotte after Cordelia had left the room. She thought back to her own fraught past and a shocking discovery about her late husband. “It’s difficult to come to grips with the fact that a loved one has been hiding a terrible secret.”
“Yes, it does seem likely that Carrick has left a trail of murdered friends.” Sheffield’s voice held a note of hope that she would contradict him.
But alas, she couldn’t make herself lie.
“And yet, why did he run away just now?” mused Wrexford. “We had accepted his word that he was innocent. He must have known that fleeing would force us to think the worst.”
“You’re right. It makes no sense,” agreed Charlotte. “But something must have triggered his actions.”
