Page 39 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

“You’re exactly right,” he acknowledged.

“But the calculations you and young Master Sloane perform will be very helpful in that regard. They will tell me a great deal about what I can offer to pay for consols, as well as how many of them I can afford to hold—and for how long. If we are careful and watch our timing, I think we can both help our country by stabilizing prices …”

A fleeting smile touched his lips. “And come out quite well financially in the end.”

It was Raven who grasped what Ricardo was implying. “Does that mean you are considering putting together a consortium to bid on the annual loan for the government so we can thump Napoleon, sir?”

“Yes,” responded Ricardo. “I am beginning to give the new loan some serious thought. It poses certain great difficulties …”

His lips compressed for a moment. “However, let us put that aside for now. I want to raise something else, which is the real reason why I decided to bother you at this late hour.”

Ricardo’s voice took on a troubled edge. “Your reactions and experience will be invaluable to me.”

“But of course,” said Sheffield, after a perplexed glance at Cordelia. “Please go on.”

“I have been thinking about what you confided to me the other day,” began Ricardo.

“That you and Lord Wrexford investigated—and disproved—rumors that the French had developed an electrical telegraph was very important to the government because it was feared that if such rumors went public, it would cause panic here in London, which would quickly spread throughout the country.”

“Yes,” replied Sheffield tersely. He turned to Cordelia and Raven. “Wrex agreed that I could pass on that information. Given Mr. Ricardo’s inside knowledge of the complex forces at play both here and abroad, it seemed wise for him to be aware of that piece of the puzzle.”

“As it turns out,” said Ricardo, his gaze taking on a martial glint, “I am now quite certain that your telling me about the threat of a destabilizing rumor is a critical piece of information.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Because it hints that something even more dangerous is in play.”

Charlotte extinguished the Argand lamp on her desk and took up a candlestick to light the way up to her bedchamber. Her drawing for Mr. Fores was finally done, but still feeling a bit too restless for sleep, she changed her mind and headed downstairs to see if the earl was still in his workroom.

“You must be tired from trudging around all the various shops on Bond Street,” said Wrexford. He was sitting by the hearth, perusing a map of the Low Countries. “I know how much you dislike shopping.”

“A little,” she admitted. “Eddy seems no more eager than I am to spend endless hours oohing and ahhing over fashion plates and fabrics.” A sigh. “I take that as a good sign.”

“Perhaps I should take her to my tailor for a riding coat and breeches.”

“Mention that at your own risk,” warned Charlotte. “She will likely take you seriously.”

He chuckled. “I think you’re right.”

Relaxing with some lighthearted banter felt good for the spirit after all the whirlwind activities of getting Eddy settled. She saw the map in his lap but decided to ignore it.

Reality would rear its ugly head soon enough.

Instead they talked of mundane things—summer plans for spending time in the country … perhaps a trip north to the Lake District so that the Weasels and Eddy could explore the natural beauty of the rugged hills … a visit to Charlotte’s brother and his family.

“We should also discuss a trip to the estate in Yorkshire,” she ventured, even though the mention of where his late father had chosen to live after his sons had left home would stir uncomfortable emotions.

“You mean that we should make a thorough search for an official document affirming that my father married Eddy’s mother—assuming that it exists,” responded Wrexford.

“We need to know, and the sooner, the better,” said Charlotte. “So that we may plan how to deal with … whatever the truth turns out to be.”

“I assume that Miss O’Malley has already searched every conceivable place,” he pointed out.

“Miss O’Malley may have known your father well, but not in the elemental way that you did,” replied Charlotte. “You may think of meaningful places to him that wouldn’t occur to her.”

A nod conceded that her instincts might be right. “When the current threat to our country is resolved,” he said, “we will turn our full attention to the challenges that lie closer to home.”

Several moments passed in silence as Ricardo appeared to be putting his thoughts in order before continuing.

“I’m convinced that Napoleon and his operatives created their diabolically clever telegraph rumor with the ultimate aim of spreading fears on the London Stock Exchange that the French possessed an instrument of great military significance.

Such fears were designed to panic investors … ”

He paused. “And destroy our government’s ability to raise money to fund the coming war.”

“Do you really think—” began Cordelia.

“Yes, I do,” said Ricardo. “Let me remind you of a little recent history concerning the Stock Exchange. Early last year, a group of speculators had built up an enormous position of government consols, purchased almost entirely on credit, expecting prices to rise. However, the French suddenly had unanticipated military successes on the Continent, causing the consol prices to fall sharply.”

“Oiy, that makes sense,” said Raven. “Good news for the French is bad news for us.”

“Correct,” said Ricardo. “The loans that the speculators had taken out to buy consols were coming due shortly, and they faced enormous potential losses. But then suddenly, an alleged aide to a British general in Europe arrived, claiming Napoleon had been killed in battle and the monarchy restored. The same news was also trumpeted by three men dressed as French royalist officers who drove around the city, claiming that they were on their way to 10 Downing Street to inform the prime minister.” He allowed a pause.

“The price of consols shot up twenty percent in a single day.”

“I vaguely recall hearing about that,” mused Cordelia. “But the news seemed to die down rather quickly.”

“Well, the truth of the matter is that Lord Cochrane, a Member of Parliament and a celebrated naval hero, was one of the speculators involved in creating the false rumor, and so the whole miserable plot was hushed up as much as possible. Cochrane was jailed for a year and now is abroad, apparently commanding the Chilean and Brazilian navies in their wars of independence.”

“It’s frightening that consol prices would rise so quickly and so dramatically on an unsubstantiated rumor,” muttered Sheffield.

“Exactly my point,” Ricardo responded. “It doesn’t take much to set off huge price fluctuations if rumors are permitted to take hold.”

“Bloody hell.” Sheffield shook his head. “We spent a great deal of time unraveling the hoax about the telegraph but were flummoxed in trying to figure out exactly why it was attempted.”

He paused for a moment. “Wrexford was a bit surprised that Grentham’s agents came into possession of the Laplace-Ampère letter so easily.”

“The letter was a rather clever touch,” said Ricardo. “As long as our government believed that an electrical telegraph might exist, they were not in a position to correct any market rumors about the French having developed such an important new military innovation.”

“But then Mr. Boyleston was murdered!” Raven suddenly interjected. “Not because his scientific paper was going to reveal that he had developed a telegraph, but rather because it was going to reveal that he had not!”

“Quite right, lad,” said Ricardo.

“Clearly an elaborate plot of misinformation to upset British financial markets has been in play,” reasoned Cordelia. “But Napoleon was rather busy planning his escape from Elba and then marching up from southern France during these events. So who was orchestrating all of this?”

“Does the name Gaudin mean anything to you?” responded Ricardo.

Cordelia and Sheffield exchanged puzzled looks.

“Ummm …” Raven cleared his throat. “I—I seem to recall that A. J. Quill did a drawing about a brilliant French finance minister who was invaluable in creating clever ways for Napoleon to pay for his wars.” Another cough. “Wasn’t his name Gaudin, sir?”

“Indeed it was. You clearly have an eye for detail and an excellent memory, Master Sloane.” Ricardo looked thoughtful. “I confess, I was slightly skeptical when Mrs. Sheffield asked if you might join us working on our project. But now I understand why she said you would be a major asset.”

“So again,” said Cordelia, “if this electrical telegraph hoax was all a massive misinformation campaign by the French designed to upset our financial markets, isn’t the threat now over?”

“Far from it, I’m afraid,” replied Ricardo. “I rather doubt that anyone as clever and skilled in intrigue as Gaudin would have only one arrow in his quiver. I’m sure he has other alternatives planned for disrupting the market and making it impossible for us to finance a war against Napoleon.”

“Dare I hope that you have some ideas on how to counter his nefarious plans?” inquired Sheffield.

“Yes, I do.” Ricardo responded. “It may not be easy, given the example of the sophisticated telegraph plot. I’ve seen how rumors can develop quite quickly, causing downward pricing spirals and engendering yet more rumors.”

Seeing their alarmed expressions, he quickly added, “I have some specific suggestions as to how we can be on the alert for any market misinformation—and my efforts at price stabilizing can perhaps buy us extra time to quash them before the market spirals into chaos.”

The room seemed to shiver with silence as the momentous threat to Britain’s finances sunk in.

Ricardo gestured at Cordelia and Raven. “And I will need your mathematical assistance to help determine how we can form a syndicate to float the new government loan.”

“Doing both those things presents a daunting challenge,” observed Sheffield.

“Indeed,” agreed Ricardo with a confident smile. “But I would venture to guess that we’re all very good at overcoming challenges.”

Wrexford added a chunk of coal to the banked coals in the hearth and poured himself another glass of Scottish malt. Though the spring equinox was not far off, a lingering chill still tinged the evening air.

“Getting back to our present conundrums, I stopped by Bow Street and spoke with Griffin about aiding us in the search for the man you call Obsidian Eyes,” said Wrexford.

“He thinks he can convince the magistrates to allow him to take up the case, at least for a short while, without any official request from the Home Office.”

“Let us hope that Griffin can help us track him down.” A shadow skittered over Charlotte’s face. “I can’t help but feel unsettled by the fact that such a dangerous operative is still at large. He’s a threat to us and our family.”

“He’s a very dangerous fellow,” agreed Wrexford. “But his interest in sending us to our Maker was to keep our government from learning that the technology for an electrical telegraph doesn’t exist. My sense is that we’re no longer of any importance to him.”

When she didn’t react, he quickly moved on to his more pressing concern.

“I’ve been thinking more about Elias Fogg. Kit is following up on the rumors of his gambling for high stakes, which might have made him vulnerable to blackmail.”

“You think he could be a traitor?” asked Charlotte.

“I think someone high up in the government is. The French seem to know too much about our activities and vulnerabilities for my liking.” Wrexford glanced at his bookshelves. “Which is why I would like you to ask Alison to do a little research into his family background.”

“She’ll be pleased—” began Charlotte, only to shoot up out of her chair at the sudden clatter of running steps in the corridor. “The Weasels are up in their eyrie!”

Wrexford was almost at the door when Raven burst into the room—and ran straight into his arms.

“Hell’s teeth, you gave us a fright,” barked the earl after catching his breath. “Where the devil have you been?”

“With Lady Cordelia and Mr. Sheffield,” answered Raven in a rush. “Discussing the London Stock Exchange with Mr. Ricardo!”

Wrexford frowned in puzzlement. “At this hour?”

“An idea occurred to him while he was out taking a walk, and he wished to discuss it,” answered Raven. “But never mind why Ricardo was there—I mean, that was important, but not the most important thing …” An impatient wave as he gulped in a lungful of air—

“Slow down, sweeting,” counseled Charlotte. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Then allow me to help Raven explain,” said Sheffield, who had refrained from sprinting to keep up with his companion. “Thanks to the astute eye of David Ricardo, I think that we have finally cut through all the confusion caused by the elaborate feints and subterfuges created by the French—”

“And discovered what the Frogs are really intending to do!” crowed Raven.

Charlotte and Wrexford listened in stunned silence as Sheffield recounted Ricardo’s suspicions about a French plan to manipulate prices on the stock market, making it impossible for the government to raise a new loan.

“For what I have heard, Ricardo is both brilliant and not prone to jumping to conclusions, so I suppose we must accept his analysis.” Wrexford released a troubled sigh. “Heaven help Wellington. A financial crisis will doom his undermanned army to certain defeat by Napoleon.”

“Take heart,” said Sheffield. “Ricardo is going to think over the situation tomorrow—and come up with a plan to beat Gaudin and the French at their own game.”