“Perhaps,” he answered. “It does seem strange that Maitland would choose to wax poetic about the da Vinci manuscript when there are other more practical examples to use.”
“But a genius like da Vinci and the story of a long-lost manuscript is most likely to capture the imagination of potential investors,” observed Sheffield. “My involvement in business has given me an opportunity to observe people who wish to sell their goods or services to others. The best of them are skilled showmen. They appeal to emotion as well as practicality.”
“You mean that they create an aura of desirability about a product?” mused the earl.
“Look at Josiah Wedgwood,” responded Sheffield. “His genius lay in doing just that. In fact, it was he who thought of the idea of giving his pottery to influential people to create an aura of exclusivity and build demand.”
“Interesting,” said the earl.
Cordelia—who prided herself on practicality—tapped her fingertips together. “So, how do we discern the truth about the consortium? Do we simply wait for their gala reception, which takes place in two days, and see what they say?”
For a long moment, the only sounds were the clink of cutlery as Sheffield helped himself to eggs and gammon.
And then Wrexford cleared his throat. “I confess, my first instinct is to confront Taviot, now that we have material evidence proving his crime.” A pause. “However, last night’s encounter with one of Taviot’s conspirators makes me realize the danger of allowing my emotions to get the better of me. We have the rule of law to deal with criminals.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, the earl moved to the windows overlooking the back gardens. “So I intend to send word to Griffin and arrange a private meeting with him to explain what I have learned and pass over the evidence.”
Charlotte couldn’t hold back a hiss of relief. “I think that is extremely wise, Wrex.” She shot him a look of gratitude. “Passions don’t make for good life-and-death decisions.”
Before the earl could react, a discreet knock interrupted the exchange. “Forgive me, milord and milady,” intoned their butler, “but Herr von Münch is requesting to see you. He apologizes for the early hour but says it’s quite urgent.”
Wrexford glanced around at the others.
“I assumed that you would wish for him to wait in the main drawing room,” added Riche, “rather than have me bring him here.”
“Thank you. M’lady and I will join him there in a moment.” He met Charlotte’s gaze. “Much as I like the fellow, there is no need for him to know about our inner circle.”
* * *
“My apologies for intruding at such an ungodly hour,” said von Münch as he turned from studying a watercolor painting of a stormy seascape and inclined a polite nod. “What a very interesting work of art. The nuances of light and the illusion of motion are remarkable, allowing the artist to capture the raw power of Nature.”
“Mr. Turner possesses extraordinary talents,” said Charlotte. “He helps one to see the very essence of his subject.”
“Indeed,” responded von Münch, his eyes crinkling in thought. “Rather like your gadfly satirical artist A. J. Quill. The fellow makes you think—and feel.” A wry smile. “No matter if it’s uncomfortable at times.”
The remark caught Wrexford’s attention. Since his recent involvement with Pierson, who was one of the government’s top intelligence operatives, he couldn’t help feeling suspicious when a relative stranger mentioned Charlotte’s pen name.
“Art is meant to challenge one’s preconceptions,” Charlotte replied. “You have a perceptive eye, Herr von Münch.” A smile. “But I daresay you haven’t come here to talk about art.”
“I would greatly enjoy such an exchange, milady,” he said. “Regretfully, you are right. We have more pressing matters to discuss.” His lips thinned for a moment. “I took a rather hurried leave from you last time I was here because the glass of wine you kindly offered suddenly reminded me of something I had overheard recently.”
He turned to the earl. “A current member of King Frederick’s personal staff was stationed in the wine region of Portugal during the Peninsular War to ensure that the flow of the country’s famous ports to Württemberg suffered no interruptions.” He cleared his throat with a cough. “As you know, my king has a prodigious appetite for sumptuous food and drink.”
“And precious little conscience about what he must do to possess them,” observed Wrexford.
“You will get no argument from me on that. However, let’s put aside the king’s peccadilloes for now.”
Wrexford heard a note of rising excitement in the librarian’s voice.
“I’m here because I am all but certain that I have discovered the name of your elusive traitor!”
The announcement seemed to hang suspended, sending ripples through the air.
“Let me guess,” he replied. “You’re going to tell us that it’s Lord Taviot.”
Surprise flitted across von Münch’s face.
“We just learned of it ourselves,” interjected Charlotte, with an apologetic shrug. “We were going to send word to you this morning.”
