Griffin signaled for the barmaid to bring over two tankards of ale and then clasped his hands together and placed them on the tabletop.
“Whatever you have to say,” muttered Wrexford, “you might as well spit it out.”
A shadow suddenly fell over the table as the barmaid returned. Two tankards thumped down, foam sliding down the dark pewter to pool on the sticky wood.
Griffin took a swallow of his ale before clearing his throat. “I’ve made no progress on identifying a suspect in Mr. Greeley’s murder. Your brother’s friend lived a very quiet and solitary life.”
“I doubt you traveled here from Oxford just to tell me that.”
“Correct, milord,” responded the Runner. “I received an urgent note from one of my fellow Runners that convinced me to return to Town.” A pause. “I’m aware that coincidences make you highly suspicious. They have the same effect on me.”
“Stop talking in circles,” growled Wrexford, perplexed as to where the Runner was headed. “Just give me the facts.”
“A man has been arrested for starting the fire that burned down Henry Maudslay’s laboratory.”
The reply caught him completely off-guard. “I’m aware of that, but what the devil does it have to do with Greeley?”
“I’m about to explain, milord,” said Griffin, looking as though he would rather eat nails than go on.
Wrexford sat back and folded his arms across his chest.
“It turns out that the arsonist is a former soldier . . .” Griffin looked down into his ale. “And served in an infantry company attached to the same brigade as Greeley’s cavalry regiment.”
A chill slithered down the earl’s spine, but he shook it off. “In this case, a coincidence is likely just that. Foot soldiers and cavalry officers come from different circles of Society. They don’t fraternize with each other.”
“I haven’t finished my explanation,” said the Runner. “When he was arrested, the former soldier claimed he had been offered a large sum of money to start the fire by a fancy gentleman, and desperate to survive, he accepted it. He also claimed that he had recognized the man from his time on the Peninsula and could identify him—
“Who?” demanded Wrexford.
Griffin blew out his breath. “The former soldier refused to reveal it to my fellow Runner. He said that he would only speak to me, as apparently word in the stews is that my integrity can’t be bought.”
“Damnation!” The earl started to rise. “What are we waiting for? Let us go talk to the man now!”
“I had my fellow Runner set up a time for me to interview him at Newgate Prison for earlier today,” replied Griffin. “However, when I arrived, I was informed that the fellow had been knifed to death last night in a scuffle between prisoners.”
The earl slumped back in his chair. No wonder Griffin was finding the idea of random coincidence hard to swallow.
“As you know, I am like a mastiff—when I get a bone between my teeth, I am loath to let it go.” Griffin pressed his palms together. “There are rumors that a number of former soldiers—including officers—have joined with the radical Luddites who see all technology as evil because it’s taken away jobs that men need in order to survive. It won’t be easy, but I intend to keep delving into this situation and see what connections I can uncover.”
He paused. “Or would you prefer that I drop it?”
The earl considered the implications of the question. The Runner was obliquely warning that the truth might reflect badly on Greeley. Wrexford could well imagine that his brother’s friend might have sympathized with the returning veterans who now were struggling to find work and joined a radical group.
And von Münch’s revelations stirred an even darker thought, though he didn’t feel at liberty to mention it to Griffin. Was it possible that Greeley might in some way be connected to the British traitor? Money was a powerful temptation, and Greeley’s family had not been plump in the pocket.
But Truth is Truth, no matter how ugly, he reflected.If I begin to pick and choose when it matters, then I’m lost. I will no longer possess a moral compass.
“Of course I want you to follow the trail,” he replied, thinking of his own pursuit to uncover the truth.
Their eyes met.
“Wherever it may lead, milord?”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford without hesitation. “Wherever it may lead.”
* * *
Roused by the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor, Charlotte met her husband as he came through the doorway and slipped her arms around him. His body was taut as a tightly wound watch spring but softened as she drew him closer, all his muscled contours and chiseled angles somehow molding to her gentler shape.
