Wrexford pursed his lips. “Any incriminating evidence is likely tucked away in a less obvious hiding place.” He took a moment to relight the candle on the desk. “A globe, a fancy curio . . .” His gaze returned to Raven. “Any sign of a safe?”
“I haven’t finished checking the room, sir. But I noticed there’s several blank spots on the walls where paintings recently hung.”
“Woodbridge may be discreetly selling off some valuables,” mused the earl. “We also must check Lady Cordelia’s workroom for clues as to what’s happened to her and her brother.” A pause. “It’s come to my attention that she’s involved in some business interests that may have bearing on what dark mischief is afoot.”
The weak light caught the flush of color rising to Sheffield’s face. “Whatever you’ve heard . . . it’s not what you think—”
“I have no idea what to think at this moment,” snapped the earl. “But now isn’t the time to discuss it. As the Weasels so sagely pointed out, we need search the place as quickly as possible and take our leave—preferably not in manacles.”
“Lady Cordelia wouldn’t do anything wrong—” began Raven.
“As a man of science, I come to my conclusions based on empirical evidence, not wishful thinking.” He turned away. “Now let’s get to work.”
Woodbridge’s study yielded no further clues, and the four of them quickly moved up the stairs to Lady Cordelia’s workroom. On opening the door and seeing all the books and papers stacked atop the storage cabinets, Wrexford made a face.
“Well, at least there appeared to be some order to her arrangements.”
Raven examined the nearest piles. “Most of it involves work on specific mathematical theorems,” he explained.
“See if you can spot anything that strikes you as odd or out of place,” replied the earl. To Sheffield and Hawk, he added, “And you two look for any correspondence.”
While they began searching, the earl moved to the desk. More sheets of mathematical equations covered the blotter. But when he shifted the papers to set down his candle, something else caught his eye.
Drawings.
He carefully cleared away the mathematical calculations and began to page through a set of intricate mechanical drawings. Some showed a close-up of a specific part, while others appeared to depict sections of a complex assembly of gears, levers, and numbered disks. As for the margins, they were covered in a hodgepodge of complicated mathematical equations.
Frowning, he waved Raven over. “Any idea what these are?”
The boy appeared equally mystified. “No, sir. I’ve never seen them before.” He leaned in to study the notations. “And I don’t recognize the mathematics. The groupings appear to be a series of calculations, but”—he lifted his shoulders—“I don’t know what they mean.”
“Hmmph.” Wrexford spread out the drawings and studied them for a moment longer. “It appears to be the plans for some sort of . . . machine.”
“For adding and subtracting numbers?” said Sheffield after a long look. “Wouldn’tthatbe a godsend.”
“It’s been done before, Kit,” said the earl. “Several centuries ago, in fact.” He continued to stare at the drawings for another long moment, then quickly shuffled them back into order and twirled them into a tight roll. “I’ll take these with me. Maybe Tyler will have some ideas of what they are.”
The call of the night watchman making his rounds on the nearby street floated in through the drawn draperies.
“Damnation,” muttered Wrexford. “Let’s be off. We’ve got plenty to puzzle through.” He tucked the roll under his arm. “Though the devil only knows where it will lead us.”
CHAPTER 8
Charlotte patted back a yawn before taking a sip of her morning coffee. Dawn’s first rays had been teasing at the horizon by the time she made her way home from the docklands. Footsore from the long trek—and headsore from the copious amounts of piss-poor ale she had been forced to drink with her informant—she would have much preferred to stay abed until well after noon.
Perhaps there were some benefits to rejoining the ranks of indolent aristocrats, she thought wryly. But alas, they didn’t have deadlines hanging over their cosseted heads.
Wincing, she swallowed another mouthful of the scalding brew, hoping to jolt the muzziness from her head.
“A long night?” commented McClellan as she carried a platter of freshly fried gammon and shirred eggs to the table.
“Yes, I ended up working later than I intended.” Charlotte touched her fingertips to her brow. “And will likely pay for it.”
“And what’s your excuse, Weasels?” demanded the maid. The boys, who were always ravenous, had been suspiciously unresponsive to the delicious smells wafting up from the stove.
“Hmmm?” Raven blinked as he looked up.
“Please take your elbows off the table,” murmured Charlotte. “It’s very ungentlemanly.”
