Taking the steps of the back stairwell two at a time, Raven—the older of the two former street urchins who were now officially the wards of Charlotte and Wrexford—reached the top landing and headed for the schoolroom, where his brother Hawk and their friend Peregrine were waiting.
“I think m’lady and Wrex are hiding something from us,” he announced, after quietly shutting the door.
The large iron-grey hound who lay sprawled on the rug beside the two boys pricked up his ears and let out a lowwoof.
“What?” asked Hawk, Raven’s younger brother.
“Dunno,” muttered Raven as he placed a book on one of the desks and joined them on the floor. “M’lady told me the fire was nothing to fret about when she returned home . . .”
It was Raven who had learned about the blaze while visiting with one of his urchin friends who swept a street corner near Cockpit Yard. He had quickly brought the news back to Berkeley Square, but Charlotte had forbidden him to come along with her when she went to see it for herself.
“But from what I heard just now, I have a feeling that something havey-cavey might be afoot.” Raven scowled. “She’s trying to protect us from the sordid things in life,” he went on. “As if we haven’t seen the worst of human nature.”
He and his younger brother had once been homeless orphans, fending for themselves in the squalid stews of London. But after a chance encounter with Charlotte, she had taken them under her wing.
“Oiy,” agreed Hawk. “She and Wrex ought to know that we’ve no intention of turning into proper little aristocrats.” As for their first meeting with Wrexford, it hadn’t gone well—he had dubbed them the Weasels because Raven had stabbed him in the leg and Hawk had thrown a broken bottle at his head. He had long since forgiven them because they had thought he was threatening Charlotte. But to everyone’s amusement, the moniker had stuck. It was now a source of mirth and, for the Weasels, a badge of honor.
“By the by, how do you know there’s trouble lurking?” inquired Hawk. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“No . . . not precisely,” answered Raven. “As I was looking for a certain book on mathematics in Wrex’s library, I couldn’t help but overhear Mr. Sheffield mention something suspicious about the fire.”
“Why does this particular fire concern m’lady and Lord Wrexford?” asked their friend Peregrine—or rather, Lord Lampson. Raven and Hawk had taken the orphaned heir under their wing when Wrexford and Charlotte had been drawn into a harrowing murder investigation involving Peregrine’s uncle and a devastating family betrayal.
Their bond forged—quite literally—by fire, the three boys had become the best of friends, and with things fraught among his own relatives, Peregrine had become an honorary member of their family, a situation that suited everyone. He was spending the month of August with them before it was time for him to return to his schooling at Eton.
“Because,” answered Raven, “the building that burned down was Henry Maudslay’s laboratory.”
“Maudslay?” Peregrine’s eyes widened. “The brilliant inventor and engineer?”
“Oiy. Mr. Sheffield found it odd that some technical drawings seemed to have disappeared from a part of the building that was untouched by the fire. And we all know . . .” Raven made a sympathetic sound before continuing. “We all know that inventors can be a tempting target because of jealousy or greed.”
Peregrine’s late uncle, who had specialized in designing advanced mechanical devices, had been murdered by someone who wished to steal his revolutionary innovation and sell it for a fortune.
Hawk gave a solemn nod and glanced at Peregrine before responding.
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“I think,” answered Raven, “that tomorrow night we should do a little sleuthing on our own around Cockpit Yard and see whether we can discover any helpful information.”
CHAPTER 2
Despite the long night, Charlotte awoke early, only to find that Wrexford had already risen. Perhaps he, too, had been plagued by unsettling dreams.
She dressed in a rush, unsure why a feeling of misgiving still plagued her thoughts. The fire, however unfortunate, didn’t spark a reason for A. J. Quill to bring it to the attention of the public. As for the so-called race to discover an oceangoing marine propulsion system, she didn’t know nearly enough about the subject to make an informed commentary.
Not yet.She had already done a series of prints on steam engines and their momentous effect on society. But if this new development was as revolutionary as Sheffield had implied, perhaps it merited a closer look.
The ambrosial scent of fresh-brewed coffee drew her to the breakfast room. Wrexford wasn’t there, so after pouring herself a cup, Charlotte headed to the rear of their townhouse.
She paused in the doorway of his main workroom. He was sitting at his desk, head bent, his face half in shadow. She guessed that he hadn’t heard the whisper of her slippers in the corridor, for he didn’t look up.
Charlotte took a moment to study his profile. Even hazed in the half-light of early morning, she could recognize all the little subtle shades of his expression, all the tiny fissures and angles of his face that had become so inexpressibly dear to her....
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “Have you learned something more about the fire?”
“No, no.” He gave a wry grimace. “I doubt Kit will rouse himself from sleep until suppertime.”
Yet there was an undertone of agitation in his voice that stirred a frisson of alarm. “Then what’s troubling you?”
