Wrexford wasn’t entirely sure about that, but he decided not to spit in Lady Luck’s eye by saying so.
“As for von Münch’s ability to track down the French officers, his explanation rings true to my ears,” she added. “The king of Württemberg was Napoleon’s ally, and his troops were working with the French during the Peninsular War.”
“In this case, it is you who are being the voice of reason,” he admitted. “You’re an excellent judge of people, and what you say makes rational sense. I like von Münch, too.” A wry grimace pinched at his mouth. “Which is why I’m taking pains to look at him from all perspectives.”
She allowed a ghost of a smile. “Put in artistic terms like that, I can hardly disagree. Let us exercise caution in what we reveal to him as we seek to take the final steps in bringing the miscreants to justice.” The smile grew more pronounced. “But let us also not let vague suspicions color our thinking.”
“Fair enough.” Wrexford gestured toward the back of the townhouse. “And now we ought to return to the others. Kit needs to get some sleep before he nods off into his plate of shirred eggs. But after that, I’d like for him to arrange a meeting with his friend Maudslay and find out whether the fellow was experimenting with propellers.”
He rubbed at his chin. “As for Cordelia, I’d like for her to visit Hedley and see if there are some mathematical calculations that can be made to predict how much power a steam engine would need to generate in order for a propeller to move a ship through stormy ocean waters.”
He made a face. “Granted, I have no emotional investment in whether Taviot’s consortium is legitimate or a fraud. But as a matter of principle, I dislike seeing anyone being cheated out of their money.”
“And I shall think about what sort of provocative drawing I can do about a propeller that will grab the public’s attention,” mused Charlotte. “The fact that an American designed a warship using propeller technology may make some waves here in Britain, especially if I hint that advances in steam-driven propellers are on the cusp of changing how we navigate the world around us.”
Wrexford didn’t demur. It was time to put a stop to the evil emanating from Taviot—in all its guises.
CHAPTER 23
On returning to their inner circle, Wrexford lost no time in explaining the assignments he wished them to undertake. Cordelia hurried away to Hedley’s laboratory at the Royal Institution, while Sheffield set out to find Maudslay. As for Charlotte, she headed upstairs to her pens and watercolors after asking McClellan to ensure that the boys were not late to their fencing lesson.
As Tyler retreated to the laboratory to analyze the chemical sample brought back from the consortium’s secret lair, Wrexford leaned back in his chair, savoring a moment of quiet solitude in which to clear his thoughts before writing to Griffin and assembling his collection of evidence to pass on to the authorities—
A tentative knock on the adjoining library door was followed by a soft hail. “Wrex?”
“Come in, lad.” He felt a pinch of guilt as Raven approached, realizing how little time he had spent with the boys of late. Death shouldn’t overshadow Life, and yet he had allowed it to cast a pall over his family.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but . . .” The boy swallowed hard, then let his gaze slide away.
“But what?” he encouraged. “I would hope that you’re not afraid to speak to me about anything.” Unlike Hawk, Raven was wary about revealing his feelings.
Raven’s mouth quivered for an instant. “D-Do you remember when we first met—you know, when the nameWeaselswasn’t meant very nicely—and you told Hawk and me about your brother?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Wrexford softly. “M’lady didn’t like it. She thought that mentioning the fact that my brother had been killed would frighten the two of you.”
“Ha!” Raven blinked. “As if we didn’t know about the Grim Reaper and his blade.”
Uncertain of where the boy was headed, he said nothing, waiting for him to take the lead.
“Then, when Hawk got snatched by that smarmy villain from the Royal Institution, you p-promised me that you wouldn’t let anything happen to him. And you didn’t.”
Wrexford nodded, still mystified.
Raven swallowed hard. “So when you had us pick an official name for the legal documents that m’lady needed to make us her wards, I chose T-Thomas in honor of your b-b-brother . . .”
His voice cracked, forcing him to draw a ragged breath before he could continue. “I just want to know if you think we have enough evidence to make sure that muckworm Taviot will swing for his sins.”
“Yes,” answered Wrexford. “I believe we have enough to ensure that he is punished for his crimes.” He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “As for hanging, that is a decision for a judge to make.”
“But don’t you want to see Taviot suffer? Won’t that bring you some measure of satisfaction?”
“Vengeance doesn’t soothe the soul, lad.” Wrexford reached out to touch Raven’s shoulder—and then pulled him into a fierce hug. “It’s forces like love and family which bring the light that helps banish the darkness.”
His arms tightened. “That you carry Thomas’s name forward with the same spirit of steadfast honor and integrity that he possessed is a source of true joy and comfort to me,” he said. “My brother would be very proud of you.”
“W-Would he?”
“Without question.” Wrexford smiled. “Thomas would have loved your curiosity, your courage, and your compassion for others.”
