Page 21 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

H enning was the first to arrive the following morning. “Ah, excellent! I was hoping that breakfast was still being served.” He quickly heaped a plate with offerings from the chafing dishes on the sideboard, then took a seat at the table.

“I’ve been wondering why you hadn’t yet come around to pester me about Boyleston’s body and have a look at the fancy pistol that was found at the scene of the crime.” After pouring a cup of coffee from the fresh pot that McClellan brought over, he added, “Well?”

“It appears that the pistol was meant as a red herring,” answered Wrexford. “To make it look like the murder was because of a personal grudge.”

Henning chewed thoughtfully on a kipper before asking, “Why?”

“To distract the authorities from the real reason that Atticus Boyleston was murdered,” said Charlotte.

“Now you have me intrigued,” mumbled the surgeon through a mouthful of sausage. “But then, we never seem to stumble over simple crimes.”

The Weasels began to chortle but quickly fell silent as Charlotte speared them with a warning look. “Death and mayhem should never serve as a source of amusement,” she chided.

The boys bowed their heads and quietly resumed eating their porridge.

Sheffield and Cordelia appeared a few minutes later, and a thump-thump in the corridor indicated that the dowager was not far behind them.

“Now that we are all here,” said Charlotte, once Alison was helped to her seat by Tyler and served a plate of eggs and toast. “Wrex and I will endeavor to explain what we know—though there is still much we need to learn. Suffice it to say we are facing a …”

She hesitated, uncertain of how to phrase her fears without sounding melodramatic.

“We are up against a very cunning and dangerous enemy,” said Wrexford, “unlike any that we have faced before.”

The clatter of plates and cutlery ceased, and the room went unnaturally silent. It was as if nobody dared to draw a breath …

“To the devil with them,” announced the dowager in a loud voice, breaking the tension. “They have never faced us before.”

“Oiy!” Raven picked up his butter knife and cut a flourish though the air. “ En garde .”

“Oiy!” Hawk and Peregrine brandished their own weapons.

Alison flashed them a martial smile.

“Enthusiasm—and courage—are all very well,” counseled Charlotte. “But we must proceed very carefully, for it’s not only our fate that hangs in the balance.”

Looking around at the expectant faces of her loved ones, she felt even more determined to guard them from harm. “I shall let Wrex begin.”

“First of all, I shall be entrusting you with a momentous secret,” he said. “And I must have your solemn promise that you will not speak of it to anyone outside of our inner circle.”

All heads bobbed in understanding.

Satisfied that everyone grasped the gravity of the situation, he continued, “The government suspects that Atticus Boyleston was murdered because of a new scientific innovation on which he was working. The question of whether or not he succeeded in creating it has grave implications for our national security.”

He paused. “Here’s where it gets rather complicated.”

“We’re very good at untangling the truth,” observed Alison.

“I fear that this will be a daunting challenge, even for us,” responded Wrexford. “There’s no hint of his research in his workspace at the Royal Institution. So I have no idea as to whether it exists.”

“What is the innovation?” asked Tyler. “Or are you not allowed to reveal it to us?”

Wrexford blew out his breath. “It’s a messaging system. But rather than being some sort of optical telegraph, like our established semaphore routes or the naval system of signal flags, it’s an electrical telegraph.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “You mean using some sort of voltaic pile to transmit messages through wires ?”

“Yes, precisely. And that would allow the transmittal of messages to take mere seconds or minutes, rather than hours or days by traditional means.”

“But …” The valet shook his head in disbelief. “But surely that’s not possible.”

“That’s what we need to learn—and as quickly as possible,” interjected Charlotte.

“If it works, the technology provides an incalculable advantage in communication, which affects so many critical aspects of daily life,” added Wrexford.

“Egad,” intoned Alison after giving it some thought. “the possibilities are quite earthshaking, aren’t they?”

“Indeed they are,” agreed Charlotte.

“Are you perchance implying our country fears that some other power is also working on developing this wondrous invention?” ventured Cordelia. “And that they may be close to success?”

Charlotte slanted a look at Wrexford, who cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he answered.

The room once again went very still for several long moments.

“Unless I am much mistaken,” said Cordelia, “the only country with a community of advanced scientific thinkers in electricity that matches ours is France.”

The earl confirmed her surmise with a curt nod.

Cordelia looked about to say something else, but on catching a look from Sheffield she dropped her gaze and remained silent.

“To be perfectly clear, the government is greatly alarmed by the possibility that France is up to no good,” said Wrexford. “And it is depending on us to discover whether that is true.”

He looked around. “Which means that we need to learn the answers to three questions. The first one is, do the French possess a working model of an electrical telegraph? The second and third questions are linked—did Boyleston create the plans for a working electrical telegraph, and was he murdered by the French to prevent him from sharing them with our government? Or was he murdered because the French don’t have a working electrical telegraph, but they knew he did and so they stole his plans? ”

For a long moment, nobody ventured to speak. And then …

“Perhaps my mind is moving as slowly my feet, but I confess that I’m confused as to why France would be a threat to us,” said the dowager. “Aren’t we now allies? After all, King Louis XVIII lived here in London during his exile and owes his return to the French throne to the British government.”

“Let us just say that the crown rests uneasy on his head right now,” responded Wrexford. “There are disturbing rumors about the former emperor …”

He let his words trail off.

“Dear God,” intoned Alison, comprehension slowly dawning on her face.

Charlotte pushed back her plate and moved the notebook and pencil in her lap to the table. “Which means we need to draw up a plan.” Paper rustled as she opened to a blank page. “Or maybe several.”

Wrexford nodded. “I have been thinking about it all night,” he began. “Time is of the essence, and so it seems the most logical approach is to divide our forces, with each of us assigned a task that suits our skills.”

Alison’s eyes narrowed and took on a suspicious glitter, but she waited for him to go on.

“As there are no research papers or prototype concerning an electrical telegraph in Boyleston’s laboratory at the Royal Institution, we have to assume he was working on it somewhere else.

Given that the Weasels have a network of urchin friends throughout the city, I’m tasking them with making inquiries about a single gentleman who might have been noticed as being out of place in a neighborhood.

Boyleston was known to be secretive, so it’s likely he chose an out-of-the-way area where he wouldn’t be spotted by anyone who knew him. ”

The boys nodded in understanding.

“Tyler will also ask around among his sources.”

Charlotte was busy scribbling notes.

“Don’t forget my elderly friends and our drawing teas,” piped the dowager. “You might be surprised by how much information can be learned through their gossip.” A smile. “Many of the old biddies have nothing better to do than poke their noses into other people’s secrets.”

“That is what I’m counting on,” drawled the earl. “As for you, Baz, I know a number of your physician friends are interested in the medical possibilities of electricity—”

“Thank heavens the mad idea that electricity could reanimate the dead has been debunked,” interjected Henning. “But I understand your point. I can certainly ask around and see if any of them know where Boyleston might have conducted his experiments.”

“As for Kit and Cordelia, they will join Charlotte and me in circulating through the beau monde social gatherings to see what we can learn about any French visitors here in London,” continued Wrexford. “In fact, we already have one suspect.”

McClellan, who had been unnaturally silent since the start of breakfast finally spoke up. “What about me?”

“You are in charge of keeping our strength up with your marvelous cooking and baking!” shot back Henning, after taking the last of the muffins from the basket on the table. “Like an army, we travel on our stomachs.”

“Speak for yourself,” said the dowager. “Her ambrosial ginger biscuits have added several unwanted pounds to my middle.”

“Baz has a point, but your role is bigger than just cooking. Every army needs a quartermaster to handle all the logistics and organization,” said Wrexford.

Charlotte smiled. “Without you, we would all end up going to hell in a handbasket within a week.”

“No need for such effusive flattery.” McClellan began gathering the empty plates. “I’m happy to be of service.”

“Speaking of French operatives …” Sheffield gave a glance at the mantel clock and then locked eyes with Charlotte. “Don’t forget that we have a rendezvous with Monsieur Ducasse at the Royal Academy’s art exhibit this afternoon.”

“And I shall send a note around to Boyleston’s friend Mrs. Marcet and ask for a meeting with her,” said Wrexford.

Henning quickly plucked up the last bit of his muffin before McClellan could whisk his plate away from the table. “Well, then, let the hunt begin.”