“Hmmph.” Alison sat back as McClellan entered with the tea tray and then took a seat to join the discussion. “So, assuming Tyler’s chemical analysis goes as Wrex suspects it will, we now have proof that Taviot’s consortium caused the fire at Maudslay’s laboratory?”
“Correct,” confirmed Charlotte, accepting a cup of fragrant Oolong from the maid. “And the drafts of Maitland’s upcoming speech for the gala reception wax poetic about the momentous discovery within the da Vinci manuscript—which, by the by, proves that someone within the consortium murdered Greeley—and yet we don’t think there is any such revelation in its pages. So we have good reason to suspect that despite their experiments with a propeller, they haven’t succeeded in building a workable prototype for an oceangoing steamship.”
“Which would mean that the consortium is deliberately defrauding its investors,” said McClellan.
“So it would seem,” she agreed.
Alison looked a trifle disappointed. “Are you saying that there is no reason for us to attend tonight’s soiree at Taviot’s townhouse? If Wrex has all the evidence he needs of their skullduggery to pass on to the authorities, then there is nothing left for us to do.”
“On the contrary, after thinking it over, I think it imperative that we make an appearance.” Charlotte blew away the plume of vapor rising from her cup. “I’ve sent word to Wrex at the Royal Institution informing him of our plan. But I think he’ll agree that we should be sociable and act as if nothing is amiss to avoid setting off any alarm bells.”
“I dislike the idea of you two walking into the wolf’s den,” said McClellan. “But your reasoning makes sense.”
“I confess, I’m also curious to observe Lady Kirkwall, now that we know the truth about her brother,” admitted Charlotte. “I have found much to admire in her. It disturbs me to think that she is aware of the blackness of his heart as well as the crookedness of the consortium—and yet can promote the venture with such calm confidence.” A shiver skated down her spine. “Do you think she knows?”
“I am the wrong person to ask,” answered the maid. “There’s no question in my mind that she and Taviot knew of their younger half-brother’s depravity. So I can’t help but think that the whole family is rotten to the core.”
“Lady Kirkwall’s late husband was also enmeshed in scandal,” mused the dowager. “It does raise unsettling questions.”
“Either she’s very, very naïve,” replied Charlotte. “Or very, very evil.”
The spark rekindled in Alison’s eyes. “Well then, another reason to keep a close watch on her and her brother and see if we can discern which of the two possibilities is the truth.”
* * *
Wrexford made a second visit to the magistrate’s office on Bow Street, only to meet with another apologetic shrug. It was, he knew, unreasonable to be so impatient. Griffin had apparently been sent by the magistrate to oversee the murder investigation of a night watchman in St. Giles, and God only knew when the earl’s hastily scribbled message would catch up with him.
“If you hear from Griffin, send word immediately to my townhouse on Berkeley Square.”
“Yes, milord,” The clerk gave a pained sigh. “Be assured that I haven’t forgotten your request.”
Knowing that he was too unsettled to wait in his workroom for the Runner to respond, the earl sent word to Tyler of his intended destination and then headed to the Royal Institution to have a chat with Hedley about propellers.
The inventor hadn’t been able to offer any help to Cordelia concerning the amount of steam power necessary for propeller-driven ocean travel, but Hedley was fascinated by the question and had begun to think about the possibiites. So the ensuing conversation was a welcome distraction from fretting over Griffin’s whereabouts.
Charlotte’s message informing him of Taviot’s soiree also required his attention. But after thinking through the ramifications, he agreed with her that it was a prudent move for her and Alison to attend.
Afternoon was fading into night when a messenger from Griffin tracked the earl down at Hedley’s laboratory with a note arranging a rendezvous at an out-of-the-way tavern in the slums of St. Giles.
Wrexford gathered up his portfolio of evidence and thanked the inventor for his time. “As always,” he said, “talking about the complex challenges of Progress with a man of your intellect is illuminating.”
Hedley gave a wry chuckle. “Though not always of practical use to you, milord.”
Once out on the street, Wrexford flagged down a hackney and headed east toward Soho Square, the glitter of Mayfair rapidly fading into the squalid shadows of the ramshackle rookeries. As he descended from the vehicle—the narrow lanes demanded that he go the rest of the way on foot—Wrexford couldn’t help but wonder why Griffin had chosen the spot. Given his seniority and sleuthing skills, the Runner wouldn’t be assigned to solving a crime in this area unless there was a good reason.
The reason soon became evident when Wrexford entered the seedy tavern. Through the fug of smoke and guttering lantern light he saw that Griffin wasn’t alone. And the man with him was unpleasantly familiar.
“Sorry,” apologized the Runner on catching the earl’s expression. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“Indeed, your friend is way too principled to have betrayed your current activities,” said Griffin’s companion. “Do sit, Wrexford, before you draw attention to us.”
There was little risk of that, thought the earl. The men who frequented this sort of place would make a point of seeing and hearing nothing. Still, he did as suggested.
“What areyoudoing here, Pierson?” he demanded.
At their first meeting, which had occurred earlier in the summer during the investigation into the murder of Peregrine’s uncle, the man had introduced himself as a mere dogsbody. But Wrexford had since learned his name was George Pierson and that he was a top operative for Lord Grentham, the head of state security.
“I assume that you’ve finally learned that Taviot’s consortium was responsible for the fire at Maudslay’s laboratory,” Wrexford continued, “and likely behind the clandestine attack on the Royal Navy’s research facilities at the King’s Dockyard.”
