Feeling unsettled—he wasn’t usually plagued by self-doubt—Wrexford rose and fetched the bank list that Sheffield had found in Woodbridge’s desk before taking a seat in front of the dancing fire. He tried to make himself believe that the tiny stars drawn next to the bank names could mean something other than success in negotiating a loan.
But Reason refused to yield to Desire.
“Money,” growled the earl, wondering what the devil Woodbridge was up to. “Money is the root of all evil.”
“Actually, most people misquote the Bible.” Tyler shouldered his way into the room and came to warm his hands by the fire. “The exact wording is ‘For the love of money is the root of all evil.’ Timothy, chapter six, verse ten.”
“Please don’t quote the Scriptures at me,” said Wrexford. “I’m in a foul enough mood as it is.” He glanced down at the list. “Did you learn anything new about the murder?”
Tyler shrugged out of his overcoat and placed it on the work counter before answering, “A bloody knife was found this afternoon, hidden in a stack of crates waiting for shipment on Queen’s Landing. Bow Street thinks it may be the weapon used to murder the clerk.”
“Does it provide a clue as to who the killer is?”
“Not exactly.” His valet moved to the sideboard. “Would you care for a glass of brandy?”
In answer, Wrexford uttered a scalding oath.
“Lud, you really are in a foul mood.” A mutedchinkof crystal. “If you don’t mind, I’ll help myself. I’ve been sleuthing for hours, and it was damnably cold down around the docks.” After a quick swallow, Tyler took a seat in the other armchair.
The earl expelled a breath, trying to dispel the worst of his fears. “Forgive me for snapping. This investigation has turned very personal. Kit may be tangled in whatever trouble Woodbridge and Lady Cordelia have gotten themselves into, and I fear it may destroy him unless we can find a way to help.”
“We will,” said Tyler. The firelight winked off the faceted glass, setting off amber sparks. “Heaven help any villains who dare threaten our friends.” His mouth twitched. “Lady Charlotte would cut out their livers with a rusty penknife.”
A grudging smile ghosted over Wrexford’s lips. It shouldn’t be of moral comfort that Charlotte was his partner in mayhem. And yet it was. Yes, she was putting herself in danger. But Charlotte wouldn’t be Charlotte without her fierce passions. He was learning to live with that.
“True,” he murmured. “However, if I get to them first, they will already be chopped into mincemeat.” He watched the flames lick up from the logs. “But at the moment, I feel like I’m wandering in the dark. I’ve just come from a meeting with Lord Copley, a director of the East India Company . . .”
Wrexford explained what he had been told. “The baron is under the impression that Bow Street thinks the murder may be a crime of passion and has nothing to do with money. But I’m finding that difficult to accept.”
“I had better tell you about the knife.” Tyler’s expression turned troubled. “It’s quite distinctive. The blade is Damascus steel, honed to a razor’s edge,” he explained. “And the hilt is made of chased silver.”
“Argentum,” mused Wrexford.
The valet nodded. “That’s not all. On the butt is an ebony knob, inset with an ornate silver lion rampant.”
Lion rampantwas a heraldic term, signifying a lion standing on its hind legs, with its front paws raised.
The earl pursed his lips. “The majority of aristocratic families in Britain have a lion rampant as part of their coat of arms. Including the royal family.”
“And including the Earl of Woodbridge,” said the valet.
* * *
With a twitch to her skirts, Charlotte resettled herself against the pillows. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you about my artistic work and how I earn my bread.”
Alison’s expression turned even more owlish. “You mean to say you don’t draw pictures of the latest fashions for publication?”
“Not precisely. Though I do occasionally highlight what people are wearing.”
A chuckle. “By Jove, that reminds me of the wickedly sly caricatures you used to make of the pompous prigs among your father’s friends. Perhaps I shouldn’t have encouraged your drawings, but you had an uncanny knack for capturing their foibles.”
The dowager gave another laugh. “You must enjoy A. J. Quill’s satires as much as I do. The man has a razor-sharp eye and a cutting tongue. However, one cannot help but wonder . . .” She pursed her lips. “How on earth does he manage to uncover all those secrets?”
Charlotte fingered an ink stain on her cuff. “Through an extensive network of informants, no doubt.”
Alison looked skeptical. “He would have to be rich as Croesus to buy that sort of information.”
“Not necessarily,” she replied. “You might be greatly surprised to discover just how intimately well servants know their employers, and how much is seen by the people on the streets—the streetsweeps and the flower girls, the costermongers and the urchins—who go unnoticed by their so-called betters.”
