A twinkle of amusement lit in the admiral’s eyes. “I can, on occasion, improvise. Lord Ainsley is suffering from an attack of gout, so my cousin agreed to serve as a substitute for tonight’s game.”
“Though a poor one I may be,” announced a voice from the corridor. “I prefer chess to backgammon.”
Sir Charles made a rude sound. “My cousin dislikes that the luck of the dice comes into play. He favors a game where a player is allowed to make his own decisions on strategy.”
“But chess still requires a player to react to his opponent’s moves,” said Wrexford.
“A very astute observation, sir,” responded the admiral. “My dear Elgin, allow me to introduce Lord Wrexford, a gentleman known for his incisive intellect.” He waggled a warning finger. “So if I were you, I’d have a care on crossing verbal swords with him.” To the earl, he added, “My cousin, Elgin, Baron Copley.”
Copley smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Let us cry pax, Lord Wrexford. As I’m engaged in endeavors which require a pen, not a sword, I would never be so foolhardy as to challenge your steel.”
“These days I’m a man of science, not war,” replied the earl. “Though I do confess, I’ve been known to cut up something fierce with fellow members of the Royal Institution if I think their views on a subject are flawed.”
“Ideas can certainly spark a war of words,” said Copley.
“Speaking of which, Lord Wrexford was just asking how the board of directors has reacted to the Charter Act,” interjected Sir Charles.
“Thank you.” Copley accepted a glass of Madeira from the earl and took a sip. “That’s averyfine wine,” he murmured before addressing his cousin’s comment. “As to the directors, there is, of course, some disagreement among them as to how to proceed. Old ways die hard, especially when they have proved profitable in the past.”
“And you, Lord Copley?” asked Wrexford. “What is your opinion?”
“The world is changing. Our company must do so, too,” replied the baron. “Yes, we will relinquish some past benefits, but new trading opportunities are opening up. Rather than bemoan our losses, we ought to be focused on taking advantage of them.”
“A very practical and pragmatic viewpoint,” replied Wrexford.
“Elgin is the leader of the forward-thinking directors who favor change,” said Sir Charles.
“You exaggerate, Charles,” murmured Copley. He cleared his throat. “Might I ask why you’re so interested in the Charter Act, Lord Wrexford, and how it affects the East India Company?” A faint smile. “Are you perchance a stockholder?”
“No, my interest is purely personal.” The earl had anticipated the question. “My valet was a good friend of your company clerk who was recently murdered at Queen’s Landing,” he lied. “He seems to have gotten it in his head that the reason might have to do with some turmoil within the Company brought on by the Charter Act.”
Copley stared at him for a moment in mute disbelief before slowly shaking his head. “Merciful heavens, I can’t imagine how he came to have that idea! We are a very respected trading company run by gentlemen, not a gang of murderous cutthroats.”
That is just as much a lie as my own farididdle, thought the earl. The East India Company was the most powerful private enterprise in the world. A veritable empire unto itself, it had a monopoly on trade with the Indian subcontinent, along with its own private army of over 260,000 men to subjugate any local rulers who dared challenge its hegemony.
“That is yet another sad thing about murder,” continued the baron. “It seems to stir all sorts of scurrilous rumors. Henry Peabody deserves better than that. He was a very valued employee—highly competent and totally trustworthy—and will be much missed.”
“Did you know him personally?” asked Wrexford.
“I did,” replied Copley. “He was the head clerk in one of the sections under my authority. His work was beyond reproach.”
The baron set down his glass and drew a tight breath. “Bow Street is doing its best to keep the matter quiet and solve the murder without it coming into the public eye.” He exhaled. “God forbid that scribbler A. J. Quill starts stirring ghoulish speculation about the East India Company simply to earn a few shillings from the poor man’s death.”
“Ha! If you ask me, the government ought to track down the fellow and have him arrested for libel,” muttered Sir Charles. “Lord Almighty, you, of all people, Wrexford, ought to agree.”
The earl shrugged at the mention of Charlotte’s satirical drawings concerning his own public quarrel with the late Reverend Holworthy. It was, in fact, the cleric’s murder that had brought them together.
“On the contrary, I rather admire the scribbler,” replied Wrexford. “A. J. Quill plays a role in keeping the high and mighty from abusing their power and privileges.”
Copley plucked at his coat cuff. “I’m aware of your background in the military, and the fact that you’ve had some experience with Bow Street. Indeed, I’ve heard rumors that you helped them unravel some recent mysteries.” He lowered his voice. “Are you perchance actively involved in helping the Runners solve Henry Peabody’s murder?”
“As I said, my interest is purely personal,” said Wrexford, carefully choosing his words.
“As is mine. Though, of course, I also have a professional interest,” replied Copley with a heavy sigh. “So I pray that the crime is quickly solved. It’s a sordid business, but I’m quite certain, it can have nothing to do with the East India Company.” Looking uncomfortable, the baron shifted his stance. “Given your past association with Bow Street, I feel I can share some facts about Henry Peabody’s murder that will let you put your valet’s mind at ease—but I must ask that you keep what I tell you in strictest confidence.”
The earl gave a small nod, deliberately saying nothing.
“At first, Bow Street assumed it was a random robbery,” continued the baron. “But given the new developments, they are now of the opinion that it was likely a private quarrel over a woman that ended in blood being spilled.”
