Angry and indignant when she uncovered hypocrisy, lies, and greed. But never gratuitously cruel.
“Or so I hope,” she whispered. A commitment to honesty mattered, as did an unwavering belief in justice.
Once again, Charlotte felt her conscience begin to prickle. Now that she would be moving among the beau monde, there was a good chance that she would face the prospect of having to skewer someone with whom she had formed a friendship. It would be a moral dilemma she hadn’t faced before.
Truth and lies. Right and wrong.Those were indelible concepts, written in black and white. To allow any shade of grey to creep in . . .
Would be the end of A. J. Quill.
Charlotte picked up a cloth and began to clean her pen. “I shall cross that ethical bridge when I come to it.”
And pray that I make the right decision.
The simple task of putting away her paints and washing her brushes helped calm her uncertain thoughts. She was tired, and the act of murder always made her feel low.
As she rolled up the drawing and wrapped it in a length of oilskin for delivery to Mr. Fores, the murmur of voices downstairs in the parlor grew louder. Charlotte cocked an ear. It seemed Hawk had returned, bringing with him more news on the crime.
“And One-Eye Harry heard that the dead man was likely up to something havey-cavey.”
The words seemed to stir a chill within the corridor’s shadows as she approached the parlor.
“The guards at the gate said he worked in the big, fancy East India House on Leadenhall Street and was involved in accounting, not shipping, so had no reason to be around the docks,” went on Hawk. “Especially at night.”
“Are you saying the authorities think it’s not simply a random robbery?” asked Charlotte.
Raven set down his pencil and looked up from the sheets of paper spread out across the sofa table. “Sounds like bad blood between thieves to me. You don’t cut a cove’s throat just to pick his pockets.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “It does speak of anger or fear of betrayal.”
Cordelia made a small sound of distress.
Distracted by the new facts about the crime, Charlotte had momentarily forgotten about her friend’s presence. “Forgive us, Lady Cordelia,” she said with an apologetic grimace. “We’re interrupting the lesson with such ghoulish talk of murder.”
“Oiy, but there’s more,” piped up Hawk. “Alice heard from one of the girls who sells eel pies at the wharves that Bow Street has been asking the supervisors what they know about something called ar . . . argentum.”
“Argentum?” repeated Charlotte. Her brows pinched together. “I know that’s the word for ‘silver’ in Latin,” she mused. “But why would Bow Street be making inquiries in Latin? It must mean something else.”
“Alice didn’t know,” replied Hawk.
“Perhaps it’s a ship—” began Raven, but a sudden rustling of paper cut him off.
Cordelia quickly shuffled the sheets of equations into a neat pile and set them aside. Her hands seemed a little shaky as she closed the mathematics manual and stuffed it into her satchel.
Charlotte glanced at the clock. A routine had developed over the months since Cordelia had begun giving lessons to Raven. She always stayed for supper. He, too, looked aware that something was amiss.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he said in a tight voice. “I know we haven’t finished—”
“It’s me who needs to apologize,” replied Cordelia. “I . . . I’m afraid I must be going.”
To Charlotte’s eye, her friend’s face looked unnaturally pale. “Are you unwell?”
“Aye, you look a little green around the gills,” offered Hawk.
“I must have eaten something last night that disagreed with me,” answered Cordelia.
“McClellan makes a very good ginger tisane,” said Charlotte. “I’ll ring—”
“Thank you, but no.” Cordelia rose. “I think it would be best for me to return home without delay.”
