Sheffield took another sip of whisky while she twisted the fringe of her shawl between her fingers. “Actually, I think that’s fairly obvious,” he said after several fraught moments had slid by. “Whoever wins the race to build a workable oceangoing propulsion system will hold unfathomable power. So I imagine that the groups involved here in Britain—the Royal Navy, the Taviot consortium, the Soho Foundry, and even Maudslay—won’t hesitate to employ dirty measures to prevent their competitors from taking the lead.”
He put down his glass. “And then, of course, there are the foreign governments.”
Charlotte saw Wrexford nod in agreement.
“The Americans are probably the overall leader in the race, as they have been the innovators in river steamboats,” continued their friend. “One would imagine that their government might be just as ruthless as ours to preserve their advantage.”
“Are you merely speculating?” demanded Wrexford.
“Yes,” conceded their friend. “However, it seems a logical scenario to consider.” He tapped his fingertips together. “And we also know that Tsar Alexander yearns to make Russia a naval power.”
“Again, mere speculation,” muttered the earl.
Charlotte slanted a look at Sheffield. “I happened to encounter Kurlansky at last night’s soiree.”
“I thought he had left for Vienna,” said Wrexford
“So did I. But he said the tsar asked him to return to London,” she replied. “Of course, he was coy about the reason why.”
The earl ran a hand through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if it is true that foreign powers are intent on entering the fray, I don’t see that there is any reason for us to get involved in the skullduggery surrounding the competition to create a marine propulsion system. It’s none of our concern.”
His eyes narrowed. “Our government will have its operatives in the thick of things, and they are far more willing to get their hands dirty than we are.”
Charlotte drew in a measured breath. “I’m sorry, Wrex, but you can’t expect A. J. Quill to stay silent on the subject. The Royal Naval laboratory has suffered a clandestine attack, and there’s a question of whether the fire at Maudslay’s laboratory was deliberately set. So the skullduggery could have serious ramifications for our country in regards to both its economic and military stability.”
She fisted her hands in her lap. “I can’t in good conscience ignore those possibilities. So I feel compelled to look more closely into what is going on between the competitors.”
* * *
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. McClellan, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the discussion, rose and refilled the earl’s plate.
“I respect that, my love,” said Wrexford, after breaking off a morsel of bread and swallowing it. “I understand, and agree that you must do what you feel is right.”
He rose. “As must I.”
After moving to the hearth, he picked up the poker and stirred the banked coals. A few weak glimmers of red-gold flickered, only to be swallowed by the ashes. “We have two very different investigations facing us. Yours involves fundamental political, military, and economic issues with international ramifications. While mine is of a far more personal nature.”
Wrexford shifted his stance. “But for me it is no less important. The concept of right and wrong applies with equal force, no matter whether it touches an individual or an entire nation.”
Charlotte looked up through her lashes and nodded in sympathy. “You need to tell Kit about Greeley.”
Sheffield sat up a little straighter. “Yes, Charlotte mentioned that you had been summoned to Oxford by Neville Greeley,” he said. “Poor fellow—is he in trouble?”
“He’s dead,” answered Wrexford bluntly. “Stabbed to death in the Merton College Library before I had a chance to speak with him.”
Sheffield listened in shocked silence as he repeated the story he had recounted to Charlotte.
“Good God,” he intoned once the earl had finished. “Greeley, of all people. His murder makes no sense.”
“It makes even less sense after hearing it a second time,” opined Charlotte. “Does nobody at the college have an idea as to who might have wished Greeley ill?”
“No. By all accounts, he lived a very quiet life and kept to himself,” replied Wrexford. “However, the position of his corpse suggested that he knew his assailant.”
Charlotte frowned in thought. “And nobody saw an intruder or heard an argument save for the visiting librarian from Württemberg?”
“No,” he repeated.
“I take it that you are confident that this von Münch fellow is trustworthy and telling the truth?” asked Sheffield.
