Page 27 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
“But of course.” Their captor expelled a mournful sigh.
“It’s because you have an unfortunate penchant for meddling in affairs that shouldn’t concern you, Lord Wrexford.
Things were perfectly planned—and then you felt compelled to poke your nose into the murder of Atticus Boyleston. ” A shrug. “I’m curious as to why.”
“Because Durs Egg is a friend, and he asked me to do so,” answered the earl.
“Friendship.” Their captor chuckled. “Such a quaint notion. What a pity it will be the death of you and your two companions.”
His tone turned harder. “You have only yourself to blame. If you had simply minded your own business and left it to the proper authorities to handle murder, you and your companions would not be in danger. But alas, I can’t permit any of you to repeat what you’ve just been discussing.”
“Why?” asked Charlotte.
Keep him talking , thought Wrexford. There seemed precious few options for altering their present predicament, and yet …
He darted a look around, only to draw a snarled warning. “Twitch another muscle, milord, and I’ll put a bullet through your wife’s brain.”
Both the earl and Ronalds froze.
“That’s better.” Their captor waggled his pistols. “As you see, Durs Egg is also a friend of mine, though an unwitting one. He does craft superb firearms.”
“Since you’re about to put a period to our existence, might we know the reason why?” asked the earl, echoing Charlotte’s request.
“Because the forces in motion on the chessboard are far more momentous than you comprehend,” came the answer. “While you putter around, intent on solving petty crimes, a much grander game is in play.”
“I still don’t see how Boyleston’s murder fits in your scheme. Did you think he had actually created an electrical telegraph, and that it might give Britain a powerful economic and military advantage?” pressed the earl.
“Quite the opposite,” answered their captor. “We know from the work of our own men of science that the possibility of creating an electrical telegraph still lies far in the future—”
“By your men of science, do you mean … France ?” interrupted Charlotte.
“ Bien s?r , madame.”
“I—I don’t understand. If you know it’s not possible …” she stammered, and then paused, looking utterly bewildered.
Wrexford never ceased to be impressed by her acting skills, and how easily Charlotte contrived to appear a feather-brained widgeon.
She had told him early on in their relationship that most men couldn’t resist flaunting their superior intelligence to a lady who clearly couldn’t follow rational thought.
In her opinion, vanity was an elemental, fatal flaw in males that was laughably easy to use against them.
He hoped their captor would take the bait. Every huff of hot air from his lips gave him and Charlotte a moment more to think of a way to survive.
“I—I confess, I don’t understand what is going on,” she finished.
“Don’t fret.” A pitying smirk. “Our diversion fooled even your vaunted intelligence ministry, who are tripping over their own feet chasing after the clues we have carefully planted for them.”
A diversion, thought the earl, which was meant to create a distraction.
But from what?
“Boyleston needed to die so that your government wouldn’t learn that he had not created an electrical telegraph.”
“Why?” pressed Wrexford.
“The truth in all its brilliance will become clear, not to you but to your country, in the near future—”
“Yes, well, before you start waxing poetic on the future,” drawled Wrexford, his gaze suddenly focused on a spot just over their captor’s left shoulder, “you might want to glance behind you.”
Their captor let out a sardonic laugh. “You disappoint me, milord. Surely you’re not so addle-witted as to think I would fall for that age-old ruse?”
A metallic click sounded.
“Lord Wrexford’s wits are in perfectly good working order,” announced a feminine voice. “Be assured that I have a fowling gun pointed at your gizzard. Granted, it’s loaded with bird-shot, so it might not kill you.”
Mrs. Ronalds allowed herself a grim laugh. “However, I daresay it will do a great deal of damage.”
Boots scraped over the stone landing as their captor crabbed sideways, allowing him to keep an eye on both his prisoners and the threat to his rear.
“Four bullets and four targets,” observed Wrexford. “However, logistics don’t favor you. My guess is one of us will get to you before you’re able to finish us all off.”
“Shall I simplify matters and just pull the trigger, milord?” asked Mrs. Ronalds.
Their captor didn’t wait to hear the answer. He fired two quick shots into the cannisters of pine spirits, igniting a whomp of an explosion and a whoosh of flames.
The percussive force of the blast staggered Mrs. Ronald, knocking her back on her heels. The gun barrel flew up, allowing their captor just enough time to kick the laboratory door shut and dart off into the trees.
Wrexford shoved his way free of the subterranean darkness and rushed to help Mrs. Ronalds regain her footing while her son and Charlotte quickly beat out the flames with heavy canvas tarps.
“Damnation!” she cursed, seeing the last little flutter of the fleeing gentleman’s coat disappear as he lost himself in a stand of pine trees that led into the dense woodland sloping up the side of nearby hill. “Sorry, milord. I should have shot the poxy varlet when I had the chance.”
“Tempting,” agreed Charlotte as she brushed streak of soot from her cheek. “But we mere mortals do not have the right to appoint ourselves both judge and executioner. I am glad that you don’t have his blood on your hands.”
A question suddenly occurred to the earl. “Did you perchance notice whether the fellow had a slight hitch to his gait when he turned and ran?”
“Just one slight misstep, sir, then he ran like the devil.” She muttered another oath under her breath. “As I said, I should have shot him—a hail of birdshot in his arse would have slowed him down enough to catch him.”
Ronalds held out his hand for the fowling piece. “I’ll take that, Mama.”
She handed it over.
“Next time you go after a cold-blooded killer, choose the Baker rifle, not a bird gun.”
“Bloody hell, Francis, I’m not a complete idiot. After all it was me who taught you all about firearms and shooting.” She made a face. “In my defense, I was in a bit of a hurry.”
“How did you know?” asked Charlotte.
“The fellow struck me as up to no good when I saw him from the kitchen window skulking up the footpath from the main road. And when he passed though one of the side entrances into the gardens, I decided to have a closer look—just in case.”
“Thank heavens you did,” said Charlotte.
“Speaking of thanks, the varlet ought to be thanking his lucky stars that his liver wasn’t turned into mincemeat,” observed Ronalds. “Mama is a crack shot.”
“I grew up in humble circumstances in the north of England, and all of us children learned how to help put food on the table,” she explained.
“Self-reliance—the art of knowing how to think through problems and solve them—is a fundamentally important skill to have in life. Though my late husband and I were able to offer our children a far more comfortable upbringing, we thought it important to encourage all our children to be curious and unafraid of the unknown.”
She smiled fondly at her son. “We wanted them to learn how to deal with all the unexpected challenges that Life throws at us.”
“An admirable pedagogical goal,” observed Wrexford. “We need more dons at Oxford and Cambridge who think like you.”
“Let us hope such change will come. But I won’t hold my breath waiting.” Mrs. Ronalds shook the bits of dried grass and mud from her skirts. “Now, please allow me to offer you the promised refreshments. The cakes are baked, and I can easily reheat the kettle for tea—”
“Many thanks, but I’m afraid that my wife and I ought not delay our return to Town. I must inform certain people of what has taken place here,” answered the earl.
Both mother and son nodded in understanding.
“I doubt the varlet will return, but as a precaution you might want to engage some men to keep watch here for the next few weeks,” he added.
“Hmmph! Let him try!” replied Mrs. Ronalds. “My garden staff includes several former soldiers. I daresay they will make sure no further French skullduggery happens within our walls.”
“Then I leave the details in your very capable hands, madam.” Wrexford then turned to Ronalds.
“You, sir, are even more important than your remarkable prototypes, so please take extra care of yourself. I look forward to seeing what innovative thinking you will come up with in the years to come. It’s imaginative minds like yours that will spark exciting new innovations.”
He glanced up at the overhead wires. “And make the world a better place for all of us.”