“Then please tell him to let Bow Street know. He would make an excellent Runner.”
“You couldn’t afford him. He has very expensive tastes.” Wrexford moved to the sideboard and poured himself a whisky, then stalked over to refill Griffin’s glass. “Given the hour, I take it this isn’t a purely social call.”
“Correct.” Griffin savored a sip of the brandy before going on. “I’ve uncovered some further information about the clerk who was murdered at Queen’s Landing. It seems he had a cousin, the Honorable David Mather, who’s employed at C. Hoare & Co.—you know, the private bank. Mather is the son of a baron, so he moves in more exalted circles than his late relative. And yet they were apparently close friends.”
“It’s a heartening tale of family loyalty,” interjected the earl as he returned the brandy bottle to the sideboard and took a seat. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“If you’ll permit me, I’m getting there, milord,” said the Runner dryly. “In my slow and plodding way.”
Wrexford waved him to continue.
“Naturally, I paid Mather a visit, to see whether he might have any ideas of who might have wished his relative dead.” Another leisurely sip. “His reply was that he couldn’t imagine such a thing—the clerk hadn’t an enemy in the world.”
“It’s bloody late, Griffin, and I’m in no mood for a bedtime story—”
“The trouble is,” went on the Runner, “beef-witted as I can be at times, I have a good nose for sniffing an untruth. The fellow was lying through his teeth.”
The earl stopped fidgeting in his chair.
“So I decided to take a closer look at Mr. Mather’s activities. Interestingly enough, he’s had some recent business dealings with the Earl of Woodbridge.”
The Runner now had his full attention.
“As has Woodbridge’s sister—though of course, not officially, as a female has few legal rights to manage money or own property in her own name.” Griffin was now eyeing him over the rim of his glass. “Am I right to assume you’re acquainted with Lord Woodbridge and Lady Cordelia?”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford, aware of an uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck. Until he had a chance to think through all that he had learned earlier in the evening, he wouldn’t be ready to share the recent information he had learned about Woodbridge and his sister—especially the fact that they had gone missing. “But I don’t see what that has to do with the murder.”
“I’m not sure it does have any connection, milord,” replied Griffin. “And yet . . .” The Runner paused. “I can’t help but be curious about the fact that Lady Cordelia and your friend Mr. Sheffield recently opened an account at Hoare’s for a newly formed company. The bank clerk who assisted them with the paperwork distinctly recalls the conversation between the lady and your friend. She was quite vocal about it being damnably unfair that she couldn’t be listed a shareholder—because she was, in fact, part owner and running the company.”
Wrexford kept his face expressionless.
“So Sheffield is listed on the official papers as one of the two stockholders. However, he holds only a small percentage of the shares.” Griffin set down his glass. “The majority owner is you, milord.”
A sound—something between a grunt and a growl—rose in his throat before the earl could stop it.
“Were you not aware of that?”
Wrexford was forced to shake his head. “I made him a loan, and he did insist that it was to be a business arrangement, so I would be given stock.” He hesitated, but there seemed little point in further prevarication. “When I asked about his partners, he told me he wasn’t at liberty to disclose that information for the time being.”
“And you accepted the assertion without more probing?” The Runner lifted a shaggy brow. “You appear to have a very cavalier attitude toward your money. It was a rather large sum.”
“Sheffield is a friend. I trust him without question.”
“I see,” murmured Griffin. “I’m aware that your friend likes to gamble.” The Runner allowed a sliver of silence before adding, “I hope he’s improved his skills, for past experience has shown he isn’t very good at it.”
What the devil has Kit gotten himself into?
Wrexford pushed aside the unsettling question. Until he had time to carefully consider the revelation and all its ramifications, he had no intention of discussing it with Griffin.
“Whatever business they are in, I don’t see Sheffield and Lady Cordelia as cutthroat murderers,” drawled the earl, though it wasn’t quite the truth. Like Charlotte, Cordelia possessed a core strength and courage, but he wasn’t entirely sure that her sense of right and wrong was forged from unbreakable steel.
Griffin didn’t crack a smile.
“So I suggest we turn our attention back to Woodbridge and his dealings with the bank,” he pressed. “What sort of business is he doing with the dead man’s relative?”
“That I can’t tell you, milord,” answered the Runner. “I had no authority to interrogate the fellow about it, and the junior bank employees were tight lipped when I tried a few discreet questions.”
“Couldn’t you ask the Bow Street magistrates for official permission to pursue the matter?”
