Raven gave a solemn nod, signaling an end to any further butting of heads. “Speaking of friends, we’ve just come from seeing Skinny. He’s feeling much better, but he’s still a bit quiffy-niffy.” He looked to McClellan. “May we get some food and broth to bring to him?”
“Hmmph.” The maid rose and turned to the larder. “Never mind that. I’m coming with you. I’ve some purchases to make in Covent Garden, so I’ll have a look at him, just to be sure all is well.”
“If you’ve any concerns about his well-being, bring him back here,” said Charlotte. “I’ll set up a cot in the aerie. The boys can go ask Wrexford for—”
“For what?” queried the earl, pausing at the kitchen’s entrance. “Forgive me, but the front door was ajar, so I took the liberty of entering to ensure nothing was amiss.”
Charlotte felt a rush of relief. Oddly enough, his deep-throated drawl had come to have a steadying effect on her.
“Skinny has been feeling poorly,” answered McClellan. “I’m accompanying the boys to have a look at him. If need be, we may wish to borrow your carriage to bring him here.”
“Take it now. It’s right outside,” said Wrexford. “I’ll find a hackney for the trip home.”
As the maid began assembling a basket of food, Charlotte flashed him a look of gratitude, then turned her attention to the boys.
“Don’t fret about Skinny,” she said. “We’ll take care of him.”
“Oiy,” mumbled Raven, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets. But the assurance didn’t dispel his troubled expression.
“Come, Weasels. Let’s be off.” McClellan shooed them toward the corridor.
A sigh slipped from Charlotte’s lips.
“Rest easy. Skinny is in good hands.” Wrexford took her arm. “As for our other friends . . .”
She allowed herself to be led to the parlor. He was right. They could solve only one conundrum at a time.
“Any luck with Annie Wright?” he asked once they were seated on the sofa.
“Annie was wary—understandably so.” She explained the details of the encounter. “She clamped up tighter than an oyster when I mentioned David Mather. But whether it has any significance for our friends is impossible to tell.” A sigh. “However, she promised to think about my request. I’ll return in a day or two to press her further.”
“Assuming she doesn’t simply melt away into another one of the countless rookeries in London,” mused the earl.
“Seeing as I’m morally opposed to using the stick, I chose to use the carrot instead,” replied Charlotte. “I promised to help her find a situation more befitting to her station in life—a lady’s maid or a seamstress—than that of a barmaid in a hellhole neighborhood.”
“Clever,” he conceded with a ghost of a smile.
“I can, on occasion, be as pragmatic as you are,” she answered. “Speaking of Mather . . .” She recounted the unpleasant scene with the murdered clerk’s cousin. “His reaction seemed odd.”
Wrexford frowned. “Perhaps. But there are any number of reasons he might not have wanted his association with the dark-haired gentleman known.”
Charlotte conceded the point. “What about you? Have you any news to report?”
“I do.” He leaned back against the pillows. “Though it only casts more shadows rather than light on the situation.”
She listened with a sinking heart as he described the banking list that Sheffield had found in Woodbridge’s study.
“I suppose the stars could mean something other than a secured loan,” she said, unable to muster any conviction for the assertion. “Perhaps they merely mean he had an acquaintance at the banks.”
“And perhaps pigs have learned how to fly.” A pause. “However, there’s a glimmer of good news. Tyler is fairly certain he’s uncovered Professor Sudler’s location. It’s an isolated cottage on the outskirts of Cambridge.” He shifted. “An excellent spot in which to take refuge if one doesn’t want to be found.”
“I see.” Charlotte bit her lip, taking a moment to think. “I think it’s imperative for me to be part of the coming confrontation. I may have better luck at having a candid conversation with Lady Cordelia than you.”
“Sheffield will insist on coming, too,” said Wrexford. “By the by, I’ve told him everything. It . . .” He gave a wry grimace. “It felt like the right thing to do.”
She couldn’t help it. A laugh welled up in her throat.
“Yes, yes, I don’t need your hilarity to grasp the irony of me acting on intuition.”
