Page 28 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

S hades of muted pink and purple tinged the sky as afternoon deepened into early twilight.

The last rays of the setting sun flickered through the dark branches of the trees edging the road, casting light and shadows over Wrexford’s profile.

Head bowed, his chin half-hidden in the lapels of his coat, he looked lost in thought.

Though a myriad of questions were swirling like whirling dervishes in her mind, Charlotte was loath to interrupt his process of parsing through what had just happened and all the possible permutations.

She could almost hear the whirr of mental gears spinning, spinning …

As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned, and for an instant his expression was one of surprise, as if he had entirely forgotten her presence.

“Forgive me,” he said, pulling himself back to the present moment.

“Given what you coaxed out of our captor—by the by, that was adroitly done—I am trying to think through all the evidence we have and piece together a pattern that may help us see what he and his fellow conspirators have as their ultimate goal.”

“The fact that he intended to kill us made it easy to loosen his tongue.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “So, assuming we believe that he’s not so diabolically clever as to have done a double feint—”

“Heaven help us and our country if he is,” murmured Wrexford.

“I don’t think he is,” she responded. “Which means that all the clues we’ve found so far have been deliberately left to send us—”

“ And the authorities scampering off on a wild goose chase,” interjected the earl. “Though Grentham and Pierson did discern that finding Boyleston’s actual killer was a red herring.”

“What does this tell us about our adversaries?” mused Charlotte.

“They are extremely canny and quick to seize a situation and turn it to their advantage,” said Wrexford. “My sense is, Boyleston’s killer would have struck anyway and left the Egg pistol, knowing there was bad blood between the victim and Egg’s relative.”

“Which means they are flexible and have done their research very carefully, putting themselves in position to pounce on a weakness when they spot one and manipulate it in their favor.”

A chill slid down Charlotte’s spine. “And that in turn tells us they are incredibly dangerous.”

“Indeed.” He leaned back, his gaze turning shuttered as he once again retreated into his own thoughts.

Charlotte watched the shadows dip and dart outside the windowpane as the carriage trundled toward Hyde Park. Like teasing, taunting phantoms, daring her and the earl to discern their true objective.

“However, despite all their cleverness, our adversaries made a mistake this afternoon. We now know that whatever grand scheme is in play has nothing to do with an electrical telegraph,” she reasoned.

“Our captor intended to kill us to prevent any word from reaching our government that an electrical telegraph is not currently possible to build. They wanted Britain to be wondering and worrying over whether France possessed a working model, which would distract them from another more potent threat.”

“Yes, their plan was to convince Grentham that the threat to our country’s security was coming from one angle, when in truth it’s coming from a completely different direction,” mused Wrexford.

Charlotte sat up straighter. “Is Wellington returning to London from Vienna to confer with the government on the state of affairs in Europe and whether the rumors of Napoleon’s desire to return to France have any truth to them?”

“A good question. An assassination would rob any future Allied Coalition of its best military leader,” responded the earl.

“What else would weaken Britain and give the French an immediate advantage if war once again breaks out?” she asked.

The wheels clattered over the cobbles, sharp, staccato raps of iron against stone.

“I don’t know. But we need to figure it out—and quickly.”

“Tomorrow evening’s gala reception at Carlton House will afford us a chance to start the search for what it might be,” pointed out Charlotte.

“In addition, the Weasels must continue to keep Ducasse under tight surveillance. I can’t believe that the Frenchman’s sudden appearance in London is not connected in some way to our adversaries. ”

Wrexford nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps when that becomes clear,” she added, “the other pieces of the puzzle will come together.”

Flaming torchieres, red-gold points of fire against the chilly blackness of the following day’s night, flanked the imposing columned entrance portico to Carlton House.

A gust of wind tugged at Wrexford’s overcoat as he hurried Charlotte up the shallow stairs and into the welcome warmth of the grand foyer.

Inside the Prince Regent’s imposing mansion, all was aglitter.

Crystal chandeliers, lit with a myriad of candles, blazed bright as diamonds, and the gilded wall sconces cast a golden glow over the checkered marble floor.

Two footmen, their scarlet liveries festooned with silver braid, rushed over to take their outer garments, allowing them to join the long line of diplomatic dignitaries and influential members of the beau monde making their way into the West Ante Room and the formal receiving line.

“As we discussed earlier, I think it a wise strategy for us to split up,” said the earl softly.

“Attach yourself to Ducasse and see who gravitates to him. I will seek to join in conversation with any members of the Foreign Office I spot and see whether I can learn whether there’s any concern over Napoleon and his recent activities. ”

Charlotte nodded, keeping her eyes looking straight ahead. “What about the prime minister and his council? I assume Prinny has invited a number of them to attend the festivities.”

“I had a word earlier this afternoon with Norwood, my former military comrade who now serves as a chief aide to the Home Secretary and is privy to the confidential reports received by the prime minister,” replied Wrexford.

“Rumors are rife, but so far he’s not convinced that the smoke indicates an actual fire. ”

He glanced around the room, taking in the ladies swathed in colorful silks and glittering gems, accompanied by gentlemen strutting like peacocks in their evening finery.

Was one of them intent on unleashing the former emperor to wreak fresh havoc across the Continent?

“Let us hope he is right,” whispered Charlotte.

On that note, they both pasted on smiles and uttered the requisite pleasantries to the majordomo in charge of greeting the guests before continuing on to the Crimson Drawing Room.

The sonorous tones of a string quartet playing a Haydn cello concerto provided a mellow undertone to the fizz of popping champagne corks and convivial conversations.

The mood was festive, but Wrexford found himself even more on edge, wondering whether the bonhomie was merely a deceptive calm before the storm.

Spotting a high-ranking officer from Horse Guards with whom he was acquainted, he nudged Charlotte. “I need to go have a word with someone who might be in a position to tell me the military high command’s assessment of any threat to the status quo.”

“Be on your way,” she urged. “Several of Alison’s fellow dowagers are by the refreshment table. I’ll join them until I see Ducasse and can attract his attention.”

“Be careful,” he added, though uncertain of what had prompted the impulse. The gilded splendor of Carlton House attracted any number of dangerous gentlemen, but the weapons they wielded tended to be power and privilege rather than blades and bullets.

Charlotte flashed him a quizzical smile. “Always.”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat before turning away and striding off to one of the side salons.

“I’m surprised to see you here, milord,” remarked Colonel Duxbury as the earl joined him. He was standing apart from the crowd around the refreshment table and appeared lost in his own thoughts. “I was under the impression that you have a distinct dislike for frivolities such as these.”

“I do,” agreed the earl, angling a quick look around to make sure there was nobody close enough to overhear them. “However, I’m not looking for mindless entertainment.”

Duxbury stared down into his sparkling wine and slowly swirled his glass.

“Then what is it you’re seeking?” he asked, after taking a sip of his champagne.

The two of them had met in a previous investigation, where the colonel himself had been the earl’s prime suspect.

So Wrexford didn’t blame him for looking a little wary.

“I’ve heard some disquieting rumors about the state of affairs in Europe,” said Wrexford.

“So have I,” responded the colonel.

“Are they true?”

A hesitation, which stretched on for several moments.

“I would dismiss them as absurd if they didn’t involve a military genius who has outfoxed and outfought every general the various Allied Coalitions have thrown at him.

” Duxbury blew out his breath. “That said, Wellington is still in Vienna, with no plans to return to London in the immediate future, so he doesn’t appear to be spooked. ”

A smile touched Wrexford’s lips. “The duke is not prone to panicking over mere specters.”

“Let us hope he knows more than we do.”

They stood in companionable silence for an interlude before Wrexford changed the subject. “Is there any talk at Horse Guards about covert French activity here in London?”

“Why do you ask?” demanded the colonel after taking a long swallow of his drink.

“The recent murder of an inventor stirred some unsettling questions in my mind,” he replied.

The colonel looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard nothing. But then, the military doesn’t handle domestic threats. That’s Grentham’s department.”

“Quite right.” Wrexford wasn’t surprised by the answer, but it had been worth a try. “And we both know he’s rather good at what he does.”

“Perhaps you should have a word with Elias Fogg at the Foreign Office,” added Duxbury. “He occasionally confers with Grentham’s office and reports to us if there is anything that affects our concerns.”

Taking his leave with a nod of thanks to the colonel, Wrexford made a mental note to visit Fogg and then moved on, looking to find someone who might possess a modicum of scientific expertise, not for any other reason than to while away the time while waiting for Charlotte.

But a quick survey of the salon dimmed his hope for intelligent conversation.

The Prince Regent and his circle of friends had little interest in intellectual pursuits.

After accepting a glass of champagne from a passing footman—Wrexford would have preferred strong Scottish malt—he returned to the main drawing room and resigned himself to suffering through the blathering of fribbles until Charlotte had finished eliciting what she could from Ducasse.

With that thought in mind, he quaffed the sparkling wine in two hurried gulps and looked around for another footman.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Wrexford …”

The earl turned and found himself face to face with a total stranger whose expression looked as if it had been chiseled out of granite.

“Yes?”

“You need to come with me.”

Already in an ill humor, Wrexford found the fellow’s presumptive manner abrasive. “Why should I?”

“Because it wasn’t a request, milord.” The man took his arm. “This way.”