“It’s about your youngest brother.”
The baronet’s gaze turned clouded. “It’s not a subject I enjoy discussing.”
“I understand,” replied Wrexford. “I’d simply like to ask if you know his current whereabouts.”
A hesitation, punctuated by an unhappy exhale. “Some graveyard in Jamaica, though I couldn’t tell you which one. As far as the family is concerned, his memory is best left buried in oblivion, along with his corpse.”
Wrexford gritted his teeth.Damnation. Yet another dead end.
Seeing the earl’s reaction, Sir Bentley added, “Fenwick was killed several years ago. An altercation over business matters.”
“Might I ask exactly when?” inquired Sheffield.
The baronet pursed his lips. “Three . . . no, less than that . . . It was the summer of eleven.”
“And in what sort of business was he engaged?” pressed Sheffield.
Another awkward silence.
“We’re not asking out of prurient interest, sir,” said Wrexford. “We’re aware of your brother’s trouble in India and are trying to discern whether he might have been part of a current trading enterprise.”
“An illicit one, I take it,” said the baronet tightly. “Perhaps he was.” A pause. “Since I’m aware of your reputation for solving crimes, I’m willing to tell you the sordid details, milord. But I ask for your word of honor in keeping it confidential.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Very well.” Sir Bentley blew out his breath. “A well-placed friend in the governor-general’s office in Jamaica let me know that Fenwick was suspected of trading goods with the French on Martinique. That would, of course, be not only illegal, but . . .”
“Treasonous,” said the earl softly.
“So, you understand why I wish to leave my brother dead and buried,” responded the baronet. “I trust that answers your questions. If you are looking to punish those responsible for a current crime, you may rest assured that Fenwick is already roasting in hell for his sins.”
The devil seemed to be taking malicious delight in tangling the Argentum conundrum into a proverbial Gordian knot. Wrexford glanced at the rack of practice weapons hanging on the wall.Perhaps I need to borrow Angelo’s rapier to slice through it.
But even then, would it cut to the truth?
“Thank you for your candor, Sir Bentley. Be assured that you can count on our discretion,” he replied. “We won’t detain you any longer.”
Once out on the street, the earl gave vent to his frustration with a muttered oath. “Hell’s teeth, we’re not a damnable step closer to finding the dastards.” He hated feeling so lost. “Let us hope Lady Charlotte has had better luck with Annie Wright.”
Though that was a two-edged sword, as she would insist on following any lead. Which would likely put her in danger.
“Come, we had better return to my townhouse and see if the Weasels have brought any message,” Wrexford added.
“You go on,” said Sheffield. “I have a few things I wish to do first. I’ll meet up with you later.”
* * *
Silk rustled against silk as Charlotte shifted against the sofa pillows. And then shifted again. She put down her teacup and fluffed her skirts, then rose and moved to the bowfront window overlooking the street.
“Do stop skittering around like a cat on a hot griddle,” counseled Alison. “I’m sure Wrexford will come as soon as he gets your note.”
Charlotte knew her impatience was irrational. The ship had sailed. And even if it hadn’t, they would never have been permitted to board an East India Company vessel and interrogate its passengers.
“Sorry.” She flicked at the draperies. “I was naïve to think Annie Wright would trust me. If only—”
“If only there were winged unicorns, we could fly to the heavens and take tea with the Man in the Moon,” drawled the dowager. “If only I were forty years younger, I would . . .” A pause. “Oh, pish. I would likely do not a thing differently.”
Charlotte laughed in spite of her jangling nerves. “Do you think the Man in the Moon prefers Bohea or Hyson tea?”
