“You may go ahead and speak freely, Kit,” murmured Charlotte. “Alison has already guessed that we’ve once again become caught up in the crosscurrents of intrigue.”
“Thank God. That cane has averysharp point.” Just to be safe, he edged back a step before picking up where he had left off.
“Apparently, the librarian has some new information that may have a bearing on the murder. I wished to be here just in case Wrex needs any assistance.”
The answer stirred up Charlotte’s worries over her husband’s quest. “Herr von Münch gave no hint as to what that information might be. I fear . . .” She looked up for a moment, watching the moon scud in and out of the clouds. “Wrex has taken this murder very much to heart. But with so few clues, I fear he may be terribly disappointed if all his efforts to find the killer come to naught.”
Sheffield nodded in understanding. “I’ll go join the diplomats gathered by the gardens and keep an eye out for any trouble.”
Cordelia waited until the crunch of gravel faded away. “What of the missing manuscript? I take it that Wrex hasn’t located a copy of it?”
“Not yet,” replied Charlotte.
“What we need is to find a thread that pulls all the disparate pieces of the puzzle together,” observed Cordelia.
Charlotte lifted her shoulders in a baffled shrug. “If there is one, I’m not clever enough to see it.”
* * *
“Lord Wrexford!”
The earl turned as von Münch broke away from a very spirited discussion—in several different languages—on the Peace Conference taking place in Vienna and joined him on the walkway.
“I confess, I much prefer the calm and quiet of a reading room,” said the librarian, “where conflicting opinions express themselves on ink and paper rather than in stentorian shouting.”
“I, too, find solitude and silence more conducive to serious thinking,” agreed Wrexford. “But throwing volatile elements into a cauldron and lighting a fire beneath it can also create worthwhile discoveries.”
The observation made von Münch chuckle, but the sound was quickly carried away by the evening breeze. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “Please follow me. I have something very important to tell you.”
Gravel crunched beneath their shoes as the librarian abruptly indicated that they should take one of the side footpaths that led through a copse of trees down to the lake.
“As you know, I am working on writing a history of King Frederick’s reign, including his complex relationship with Napoleon during the constant wars that plagued the Continent for over a decade.” The shadows from the overhanging leaves masked the librarian’s face as he spoke.
Just as hard to discern, decided the earl, was where the conversation was leading.
“‘Complex’ is a polite way of putting it,” he interjected. “There are many who would call your sovereign an amoral, opportunistic toady who sold his loyalty to the highest bidder.”
“Ja, that is true,” acknowledged von Münch.
“However, as interesting as the subject may be for you,” continued Wrexford, “I don’t see how Fickle Freddie’s treachery has any connection to my concerns.”
The skitter of stones had given way to the rustling of fallen leaves as the path wound closer to the lake. The noises of the gala party sounded very far away.
“I am about to get to that.” The librarian came to halt. “It is a terrible but undeniable fact that treachery is rampant in times of war, stretching from the glittering throne rooms to the muck and gore of battlefields too obscure to have a name.”
The earl’s throat went dry. “What are you saying?”
“The Kingdom of Württemberg supplied troops to the French army when it invaded Spain, deposed its king, and put Napoleon’s brother Joseph on the throne,” continued von Münch. “Greeley’s obvious mental distress when we discussed the military campaign that led to his grievous injuries got me to thinking . . .”
He hesitated for a heartbeat. “And so for the history I am writing for King Frederick, I made a point of arranging to interview one of the senior Württemberg officers who served as liaison with Napoleon’s staff at the end of ’08.”
1808.Wrexford drew in a sharp breath.
“As you know, the British landed an army in Portugal, and under General Moore’s command it entered Spain to help fight the French,” continued von Münch. “The officer I interviewed mentioned that part of the French success in surrounding the British army and forcing the disastrous retreat that led to the battle at Corunna came about because of information passed on by a British traitor.”
“Who?” rasped Wrexford.
“My officer was never given the traitor’s name. But he told me who on the French general staff might have known it.”
