Brow furrowed in concentration, he studied the scraps of paper spread out across her blotter for several long moments.
“Why does an eel appear so often?”
“An eel?” said Charlotte blankly.
“Yes, an eel,” said Hawk. A budding naturalist, he was particularly interested in creatures that crawled or wiggled through the muck. “You can tell by these two pectoral fins just behind the head and gills.” He tapped a finger to one of the sketches. “And the way the body looks taller toward its tail because of the long fluttery fin that wraps its top and bottom.”
Charlotte shook her head in confusion. “I can’t for the life of me think of how an eel relates to a compendium of technological inventions from the Italian Renaissance.”
“Perhaps it’s a symbol,” suggested Hawk. His expression sharpened. “Or a name. Our friend Smoke, who works down at the dockyards, knows several sailors called “Eel.” He made a wry face. “Though it’s not meant very nicely.”
Charlotte considered the suggestion. There was something to be said for the suggestion.
Or was she simply grasping at straws?
“It’s a very interesting idea,” she said. “I shall ask whether Mr. Greeley knew anyone called Eel.”
Seeing Hawk stifle a yawn, Charlotte ruffled his hair. “But for now, I think we both ought to get some rest.”
However, once the boy had padded off to the stairs, she made no move to retire. Wrexford had left no word as to his evening activities, and the fact that he had not yet returned was making her jumpy. She was impatient to tell him about the discovery of the manuscript and show him the arcane drawings.
Picking up her pen, she tried to force her attention back to Greeley’s cryptic notes. After several useless minutes, she conceded defeat. Sleep was out of the question, and so she decided to wait in her husband’s workroom, where the familiar scents of leather, paper, ink, and Wrexford’s bay rum shaving soap might help settle her nerves.
The night’s chill hung heavy in the deserted space. After taking a moment to light an oil lamp, Charlotte chose a random book from the shelves and took a seat in one of the leather armchairs.
Where she soon slipped into a fitful doze.
* * *
It was way past dark before Wrexford was too weary in both body and spirit to continue his aimless wandering through the park and the adjoining Kensington Gardens. Turning his steps for home, he exited through the Grosvenor Gate and made his way to Berkeley Square.
“Milord.”
He whirled around to see a familiar figure step out from the shadows of the wrought-iron fence surrounding the center garden.
“Griffin!” The earl’s pulse kicked up a notch. “What are you doing back in London? Have you discovered something?”
“Let us go somewhere where we can talk more comfortably,” said Griffin. He hesitated and shot a glance at the earl’s nearby townhouse before adding, “I know a tavern near here, by the burying ground off South Audley Street.”
“Where I will have the privilege of buying you a midnight supper?” replied Wrexford, using the retort to compose himself. “Or is it time for breakfast?”
“Actually, I’m not hungry, milord.”
“Ye gods, are you ill?”
Griffin didn’t smile. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he stood in silence, waiting for the earl to make a decision.
From the look on the Runner’s face, Wrexford guessed that the news was bad. Indeed, a sense of foreboding had gripped his heart from the moment he had first touched Greeley’s letter begging him to come to Oxford. Still, he couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of revelations he was about to hear.
But if he was about to receive an emotional punch to the gut, perhaps it was best to do so away from Charlotte and the rest of his household. His self-control was already a little shaky, and he would rather have some time in which to compose himself.
“Well, then it seems I shall get off cheaply tonight.” He gestured for Griffin to lead the way, then fell in step beside him as the Runner picked a path through a tangle of alleyways that led away from Berkeley Square. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I stopped at your townhouse earlier, and Tyler told me you were out. So I decided to wait.”
Another sign that the news was not good.
As they emerged onto a narrow side street, Griffin headed for a stucco and timber building squeezed in between two brick warehouses. A gleam of mellow lamplight lit the night as he tugged open the door to the tavern and led the way to a table nestled in a far corner of the room.
