For the first time, the Wolf’s cynical veneer dropped; his voice turned cruel. ‘The Odd Fellows have gone underground since Armitage and his runners ransacked our coastal establishments. We cannot afford to bring more attention to ourselves with obvious assassinations.’ He poked a finger into the Stag’s chest. ‘This is an order from the top.’
Charlotte suppressed a sharp intake of breath. The Odd Fellows. She recognised the name—the same nefarious group responsible for kidnappings in her county. Her friend Grace andher now-husband had helped rescue some of those girls; she had thought the ringleaders imprisoned. But here it seemed they were very much operational.
‘How?’ the young man asked dejectedly.
The older man produced a small glass vial; it gleamed in the moonlight like some bewitched concoction. ‘Slip this into Lord Stanley’s drink.’
Stanley? Charlotte struggled to recall who that might be.
‘But I thought—I mean, isn’t poison obvious?’ he asked, taking the vial to inspect the liquid.
A low, rumbling laugh came from the Wolf. ‘This is no ordinary poison. It contains extracts of foxglove, amongst other substances; once ingested, the effects will linger for several days before he perishes. There is a flu endemic ravaging London—the symptoms are strikingly similar. Commission our doctor’s services, and when he dies no one will suspect you in the least.’
‘Egad—this is remarkable,’ the younger man said, smiling broadly.
The older man nodded.
Charlotte frowned.
‘You do this, and you take your place at Alderley Park as the true heir and baron.’ A short pause followed.
‘I’m playing cards with him shortly. I can do it then.’
‘How convenient,’ the older man murmured.
Not convenient, Charlotte thought. Planned.
‘No point in saying it, but it feels strange to do this to my cousin.’ The Stag hesitated; his voice became small.
Charlotte hoped the boy would not go through with it. After all, familial bonds ought to mean something.
‘What of it?’ The Wolf waved his hand dismissively. ‘It is not personal—just business, my friend. A means to the greater end. Without funding from Huntley and now Stanley, Wilberforcewill become an obscure, impoverished idealist—and no longer a threat to our establishment.’
‘And I suppose my inheriting the barony is a happy coincidence.’ The Stag smirked.
‘Now you understand.’ The Wolf nodded approvingly.
As they turned to leave, the older man gripped the younger’s arm. ‘If you fail or are caught, you will be silenced. Forever. I’m sure you understand.’
The younger man gave a nervous laugh. ‘Relax, old man. Leave it to me. What could possibly go wrong?’
Charlotte winced at the cavalier tone, as though murder were all just a game.
‘Meet me at the stables after you have completed the deed.’ The Wolf took another sniff from the snuff box.
The Stag walked back through the terrace doors, whilst the Wolf turned towards the stables.
Charlotte exhaled, only now realising she had been holding her breath. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her gown; her fingers were numb. As she drew shallow breaths and shook feeling back into her hands, her chest hammered so hard she feared it would burst.
She had a choice: warn this Lord Stanley, whoever he might be, follow the older man to the stables, or pretend none of this had happened.
Cowardice would be safer.
But if she did nothing, she would hear of his death—and know she
had let it happen.
Chapter 2
