Suddenly recalling Hawk’s comment from earlier in the evening, she added, “This may mean nothing, but along with examining the manuscript, I also began to look through the pile of papers that you brought back from Greeley’s desk. Do you perchance recall your brother and Greeley having a friend or acquaintance they called Eel?”
He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
Charlotte explained Hawk’s observation concerning the strange sketches on the scribbled notes. “But as I said, it’s simply grasping at straws floating in the wind.”
The statement drew a weary sigh. “I need to look at the manuscript.”
“It can wait until morning.” She took his hand and rose, drawing him to his feet. “You need some sleep.”
Wrexford brushed back an errant lock of hair from her brow. “You’re right,” he murmured, slowly curling the strands around his finger. “Let us retire for the night. And hope that the light of day will bring us some much needed illumination.”
CHAPTER 17
Roused by the rosy hues of dawn teasing through the windowpanes, Wrexford headed down to his workroom, determined to find a way to piece together the disparate pieces of the maddening puzzle.
The manuscript lay on his desk, its title—Nihil Est Quod Hominum Efficere Non Possit—a taunting challenge that seemed to mock his efforts at solving Greeley’s murder.
“There is nothing that man can’t accomplish,” he muttered, translating the Latin words as he opened the cover. “I damn well hope that is true.”
Wrexford soon found himself lost in the intricate drawings and handwritten text. He pored over the pages, turning back and forth to study the images and notations. But try as he might, he couldn’t find any clue that might point to a motive for the murder. Still, the earl couldn’t help but be fascinated by da Vinci’s scientific thinking.
“What a remarkable mind,” mused Wrexford as he admired the polymath’s amazing range of ideas for technological innovations. The numerous drawings of water in motion—swirling eddies, rushing streams, whirling currents—also caught his eye.
Sitting back, Wrexford pursed his lips in thought.
Tyler came into the room with the morning’s newspapers and set them on the desk. “Is that the missing manuscript?” he inquired, edging around for a closer look.
“Yes,” answered the earl as his gaze drifted back to a deftly drawn image of a river’s turbulence. “I just recalled that Reginald Maitland, the Taviot consortium’s chief engineer, mentioned there was a famous Swiss scientific thinker and mathematician whose work involved water—”
“Ah, yes, Daniel Bernoulli,” said the valet. “He wrote a famous book on how fluids behave when they are in motion calledHydrodynamica.” A grimace. “But don’t ask me to explain anything about it. I once took a look at it and gave up after the first chapter. Like you, I’ve never had an interest in that area of science.” A pause. “Perhaps Lady Cordelia would know if any of Bernoulli’s findings could possibly relate to marine propulsion.”
“I shall make a point of asking her,” replied Wrexford. “I can’t afford to overlook any clue, however far-fetched.”
Tyler studied the drawing of swirling water for a moment longer, then shrugged and left the room.
After yet another round of leafing through the manuscript, the earl conceded that he could wrest no further information from its pages and turned his attention to the task of identifying what current or former officers from Greeley’s old regiment might be residing in the area.
“Wrex.” Charlotte paused in the doorway.
The earl looked up from penning a note to an acquaintance who served as a senior administrator of the army archives at Horse Guards.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but . . .” She made a face before approaching his desk. “It may mean nothing, but I just found this stuck in among the papers you brought back from Greeley’s office.”
A flicker of color caught his eye as she unfolded a piece of art.
“Why, that’s—”
“Yes, it’s one of my prints,” she interjected. “An old one, and strangely enough, it looks to have been crumpled and discarded at some point.”
“Perhaps Greeley changed his mind and decided to save it because of its satirical edge,” mused the earl. “A great many people collect your art for its sharp-eyed view of the world and all its foibles.”
Charlotte slapped it down on his blotter. “Take a close look at it and its captions.”
After studying it for several moments, he let out a low oath.
“Damnation, indeed,” responded Charlotte. “I had completely forgotten about this drawing. It was part of the series I did on Progress some months ago but was more of an afterthought.”
She tucked a loosened lock of hair behind her ear. “I only included it because you had mentioned that some of the leading nautical engineers were holding a symposium on steam power and ships at the Royal Institution, which I decided to attend. However, they had little of interest to say, so it seemed that nautical innovations were stuck in the doldrums.” A frown. “Still, I made a few sketches of their faces while they spoke, deciding that a series on Progress ought to include a failure as well as successes.”
