Cocking a small salute, Wrexford moved for the door. “Now it’s time to put an end to the rest of this sordid scheme.”
* * *
“Copley isdead?” Charlotte had risen from her chair when Raven rushed into her workroom, but now sat down again rather heavily.
“Oiy!” The boy explained about the shove that had sent the baron to his death, and the ensuing struggle for the documents.
A horrified hiss slipped from her lips as he described his escape from the man’s clutches. “Thank heavens for Skinny’s quick thinking.”
Raven grinned, accentuating the purpling bruise spreading over his jaw. “Us guttersnipes stick together.”
“That scrape needs to be cleaned, and a cold compress put on the swelling,” she said, forcing herself not to think of what else might have happened. As for Skinny . . .”
“No need to fuss!” Raven danced out of arm’s reach. “McClellan said she’ll have a piece of beefsteak ready to put on the bruise by the time the batch of ginger biscuits comes out of the oven.”
Charlotte surrendered a sigh. For the boys, sweets were panacea for every ailment. “Very well. But let us go to the kitchen now.”
McClellan had just set the hot pan of pastries on the hob as they entered the sugar-scented room. A moment later, Hawk flew in through the back door.
“Biscuits!” he chirped. “Huzzah! I’m famished.”
A telltale smudge of jam on his chin belied the assertion. And it explained why he had taken so long to return from delivering a note to Alison.
“After you’ve gobbled down your share,” said his brother, “we need to go down to the docks and ask around for a man by the name of Blue Peter.”
“Blue Peter?” pressed Charlotte.
“Oiy.” Raven told her about Copley’s last words. “His Lordship and Mr. Sheffield think the cove must know something important.”
“Perhaps he’s privy to the identity of the man who’s manipulating all this mayhem,” suggested McClellan.
Charlotte shook her head. Raven had dodged enough danger for one day. One did not spit in the face of Luck. “No, I think it best not to stir up suspicions on the wharves until Wrexford has decided what to do.”
The boy made a face, but he didn’t argue. “Optimam partem exercitus discretio,” he murmured.Discretion is the better part of valor.“I suppose that makes sense. His Lordship wants us all to gather at his townhouse right after dark, so we can draw up a plan for crushing these bastards.”
“Don’t say ‘bastard,’ ” whispered Hawk. “It’s very ungentlemanly.”
Raven crammed a biscuit in his mouth. “Those bastards ain’t gentlemen.”
* * *
“Well, well.” Sir Darius steepled his fingers and stared pensively at the fire burning in the private parlor’s hearth. “Both Alston and Copley are dead?”
Wrexford nodded. “Within hours of each other.”
His friends Jiang and Gu exchanged troubled looks.
“Our informants have passed on no other names,” said Jiang. “That means whoever is in charge is—”
“Diabolically clever and cunning,” finished Sir Darius.
“There’s Mather,” pointed out Gu. “Though it would surprise me. He’s ambitious enough but doesn’t strike me as having the cold-blooded imagination for such actions.”
For a long moment the only sound in the room was the hissing of the undulating flames.
“Copley said the name Blue Peter with his dying breath.” Wrexford raised a brow at the two Chinese diplomats. “Have any of your informants mentioned a man by that name?”
They shook their heads.
