Page 3 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
Grasping the cauldron with the two ends of a towel, he moved it to a trivet on the counter and covered it with a sheet of glass. Once it had cooled overnight, he would be ready for the next step in his experiment. But for now …
Wrexford straightened and took a moment to massage a kink in his neck.
A glass of Scottish malt and a bit of reading by the banked fire would be a pleasant way to spend the rest of the evening.
Indeed, the pleasures of a quiet evening at home feel even sweeter in this new year , reflected the earl, as he moved from his laboratory and poured himself a measure of spirits.
“ Sláinte ,” he said to the cosmos in general before settling into the soft leather of the armchair angled by the hearth in his workroom. The previous summer and autumn had brought a number of unexpected upheavals—
“You look thoughtful,” said Charlotte as she appeared from the shadows of the corridor and joined him in the mellow glow of the glass-globed oil lamps and red-gold coals.
“Grateful,” he replied with a wry smile. “To think that we’ve had blessed peace and quiet for over—”
“Ha! Cast that thought to the wind.” She took a seat in the facing chair. “Ensconced as you were in the cerebral solitude of scientific inquiry, you’ve not yet heard of the Great Escape!”
Wrexford tightened his grip on his glass. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me that Napoleon has—”
“What a macabre imagination you have! But grace à Dieu , no, it’s not quite that dire.” Charlotte allowed an amused smile. “The monkey—a grey langur—recently gifted to the king by the Sultan of Golcanda escaped from the Tower Menagerie yesterday …”
She proceeded to explain about the animal’s pilfering of the Prince Regent’s special sweets from Carlton House and the subsequent reward being offered for its recapture.
Wrexford chuckled.
“You might want to stifle your mirth until I finish,” she warned.
“Ah.” He took a prolonged swallow of whisky and stared down at the dregs in his glass after hearing what the Weasels had in mind. “I should have known better than to spit in the eye of Fate by raising a toast to the fact that we’ve eluded murder and mayhem for several months.”
Charlotte rose in a rush and grabbed a bottle from the sideboard. Pulling out the cork, she splashed a measure of the amber liquid into the coals.
Smoke and steam billowed up with a serpentine hiss.
“May Eris, the goddess of Chaos, accept this libation as an apology for a mere mortal’s hubris,” she intoned.
“Amen to that,” responded Wrexford. He blew out his breath. “A lone monkey on the loose in a very large city filled with all manner of buildings and hidey-holes …” He pursed his lips. “The odds of the boys finding it are not good.”
“Indeed not,” announced their close friend Kit Sheffield as he entered the room. An unofficial member of the family, he—along with his now-wife Cordelia—came and went as he pleased at the Berkeley Square townhouse.
“If you wish, I could do the mathematical calculations.” Sheffield pinched at the bridge of his nose. “But I’d rather not. I’ve spent the last five hours wrestling with mind-boggling numbers and equations.”
“A budget meeting for the Bristol Road Commission?” asked Wrexford.
Sheffield and Cordelia were the owners of a highly profitable shipping business, though as members of the beau monde they had to keep their involvement in trade a secret.
He had become a vocal critic of Britain’s antiquated system of roads and transportation infrastructure for moving goods and people around the country, and when the opportunity had arisen to have a voice in shaping the future, he had seized it with great enthusiasm.
However, observed the earl, their friend was presently looking a little deflated.
“Yes,” replied Sheffield, frustration sharpening his voice. “And I decided to stop here and whinge before heading home. Cordelia has listened to my recent rants about our lack of progress with grace and good humor.” He made a face. “However, patience has its limits.”
“But Love does not,” observed Charlotte. “Cordelia admires and applauds your dedication to making the country a better place for all who live here. Nonetheless, you are always welcome to unburden yourself here. Heaven knows, we’ve drawn you into enough of our troubles.”
“So what’s the current issue?” queried Wrexford.
“We’ve a number of important projects planned and have spent months hammering out the final costs.
But the funds promised by Parliament have slowed,” replied Sheffield.
“I’ve been told that there has been some unexpected fluctuation with the sovereign debt, and thus government spending has been cut back for the moment. ”
The earl frowned. “My understanding is that financial markets are always fluctuating.”
“Don’t ask me to explain how they work.” Sheffield blew out a mournful sigh. “I liked it better when I was a feckless fribble and everyone assumed that I wasn’t capable of intelligent thought.”
Their friend had a reputation in Society of being a charming but ne’er-do-well rascal. However, over the past few years he had proved himself to be an astute entrepreneur and had recently taken an interest in the world of finance.
Charlotte smiled. “No, you didn’t.”
That drew a wry chuckle. “I suppose not. Cordelia wouldn’t have given me a second look if I was a complete lackwit.” He fluttered his lashes. “Despite my beaux yeux .”
“You’re an idiot,” commented Wrexford as he rose to refill his glass. “Would you like a drink?”
“True. However, I do appear to have some people fooled,” drawled their friend after giving a grateful nod.
“A fellow member of the Bristol Road Commission just asked me to be chairman of the Finance Committee and take charge of trying to convince the government that funds for the project are an important investment in the future of our country.”
Sheffield paused to accepted a glass of spirits from Wrexford.
“But getting back to Cordelia, I’ve received an even more important invitation because of her.
Several weeks ago, she met a very interesting fellow at a symposium held by the London Society of Mathematics, and they spent a great deal of time discussing economics and the use of mathematics for modeling risk and reward. ”
“A subject that Cordelia no doubt found fascinating, both for its abstract intellectual challenges and its practical applications for your shipping business,” mused Charlotte.
“Yes. They’ve met several more times at the society’s frequent lectures, and when she mentioned that I was a member of the Bristol Road Commission and unhappy with the cutbacks in government funding for the project, the fellow—by the by, his name is David Ricardo—invited me to become a member of the Society for International Banking and Commerce, whose members include prominent leaders in the finance community. ”
“David Ricardo,” mused the earl. “I’ve heard that he’s a brilliant financier and is involved in helping to finance the government’s debts.”
“Yes, he’s apparently quite brilliant. Word is he started out in 1793 with only ￡800 in capital, and he’s now one of England’s richest men,” replied Sheffield. “He’s also published articles on economic theory, which are highly regarded by leading thinkers in the field.”
“I’ve also heard that he has a reputation for integrity,” added Wrexford.
“Now that you mention it, I included David Ricardo in a series of drawings I did several years ago on how our government financed the astronomical amount of money needed to wage war against Napoleon,” said Charlotte.
“As I recall, he also has an unusual personal background,” interjected the earl.
Sheffield nodded. “His family are Sephardic Jews of Portuguese descent, who relocated to Britain during the last century from the Dutch Republic. His father was a successful financier who traded on the stock market. However, Ricardo fell in love with a Quaker Englishwoman, and after eloping with her, he renounced his faith, which caused an irreparable break with his family.”
Charlotte’s expression turned pensive, mingling sadness and regret. “How unfortunate. Families are precious.”
Wrexford knew she was thinking of her own estrangement from her straitlaced father and mother, and how she had never had the chance to reconcile with them before they passed away.
“Families are complicated,” he replied.
That made her smile.
“Amen to that,” said Sheffield. “But sometimes they can surprise you in ways that you never, ever imagined.”
He spun his glass of whisky between his palm and took a meditative sip before abruptly turning the talk back to a less fraught subject. “Ricardo has become very wealthy through his profession as a stockjobber—”
“I confess, I’m confused by that term,” interrupted Charlotte. “Is it simply another name for stock trader?”
“No, Ricardo has explained to me that there is an important distinction. A stock trader picks and chooses whatever securities he wishes to buy or sell and only trades at times of his own choosing. A stockjobber plays a far more complex role in keeping the Stock Exchange functioning smoothly. He acts as a middleman of sorts, or a market maker—”
“What does market maker mean?” interrupted Charlotte.
Sheffield hesitated. “I’m still learning, so I can’t yet explain all the nuances.
But a stockjobber is, in a sense, the oil that keeps the gears of the London Stock Exchange turning smoothly.
He stands ready at all times to buy and sell whatever securities someone wants to trade, setting a stated price for each specific security at which he will buy it and a slightly higher price for which he will sell it. ”
A pause. “As I understand it from Ricardo, a stock trader usually buys from or sells to a stockjobber,” he continued.
“As does a broker, a bank, or an individual. It’s much easier for them to trade with a stockjobber, who is always there quoting a price, than to find an individual party and have to negotiate the terms. By serving as an intermediary, the stockjobbers allow the market to function efficiently. ”
Charlotte thought for a moment. “But as Wrex pointed out earlier, aren’t the markets always fluctuating? How can a stock-jobber possibly know how to price a security?”
“A stockjobber is constantly adjusting his prices for buying and selling,” answered Sheffield.
“Yes, he takes a significant risk that he may misjudge the direction of the market and incur losses. On the other hand, he can make considerable profits if he correctly anticipates where market prices are likely to go in the future. A major stockjobber like Ricardo will also use his central position on the floor of the London Stock Exchange to buy and sell securities for his own investment when he believes their prices warrant.”
Sheffield made a face. “And before you ask, I can’t explain all the various forces that affect the rise and fall of stock prices, but I hope to learn more about it from Ricardo.
He is said to have an uncanny ability to read the trends of the market through mathematics—so much so that many other investors tend to be guided by whatever Ricardo is doing if they can learn of his trades, which in itself makes it all the more likely that his investing will lead to favorable market developments. ”
“That certainly sounds like a demanding business, even if it can be highly profitable for those with the necessary talent and temerity,” mused Charlotte.
“But as I said before, I seem to remember from those previous drawings I did that Ricardo played a key role managing the large borrowings the government has had to make each year to pay for all the wars against Napoleon and his allies.”
“Yes,” Sheffield said, “that’s a somewhat separate but intriguing part of Ricardo‘s business. Those annual loans raised by the government are enormous. For example, two years ago, the government borrowed ￡49 million.”
The earl raised his brows at the mention of such a staggering amount.
“To facilitate the government’s borrowing of such immense sums,” Sheffield continued, “rival consortiums of a dozen or so bankers, stockjobbers, brokers, and other professional investors form each year to bid on making the loan to the government—but that process and how the public participates is a complicated story that I will leave for another day.”
A pause. “And besides, with Napoleon now locked safely away on the isle of Elba, such large-scale loans are happily a thing of the past.”
“That’s all very fascinating.” Charlotte massaged at her temples. “Though the thought of parsing all those numbers makes my head hurt.”
“Mine, too,” agreed Sheffield with a self-deprecating grin. “But enough jabbering on my various concerns. Let us return to the boys and their current escapade.”
A laugh rumbled in his throat. “Weasel versus simian? Hmmm, this could prove exceedingly interesting.”