Page 48 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

“H ow are things going?” inquired Charlotte, looking up from the note she was reading as Raven came into the earl’s workroom on returning from the Sheffield residence.

“Mrs. Sheffield and I are making some headway on the mathematical calculations. And Mr. Ricardo seems pleased with what I’ve been able to learn,” came the reply.

“I know from my urchin days how to blend into the woodwork. To the traders and investors, boys like me are like the rats and feral dogs that roam the city streets. And so they assume we’re dumb beasts incapable of comprehending what they are saying or doing. ”

“Still, you must be careful. They are canny and make a living reading people,” she counseled.

“Oiy,” agreed Raven. A frown flitted over his face.

“Over the last few days, Mr. Ricardo has noted some increased downward pressure on the price of consols. However, he’s managed to stabilize the trend by buying them at elevated prices.

He’s explained to me that because of his reputation for anticipating market trends, a number of fellow stockjobbers and investors simply follow his lead in bidding for the securities without doing research on their own. ”

“A clever strategy.” Charlotte held out the note. “But it sounds as if there may be trouble brewing. Kit just sent this urgent request for you to meet him first thing in the morning. Mr. Ricardo needs to talk with you before the Exchange opens for trading.”

Seeing him pat back a yawn, she added, “So you had better get some sleep.”

“I would rather stay up with you and wait for Wrex to return.”

“We all have our responsibilities, sweeting, and you must be sharp for tomorrow,” countered Charlotte. “Wrex will be fine,” she assured him, forcing a confidence that hid her own worries.

Raven hesitated.

“Go.”

He did so, but not before giving her a quick hug.

She leaned back in Wrexford’s chair, drawing comfort from the faint bay rum scent of his shaving soap that pervaded the room. “Wrex will be fine,” she repeated, refusing to believe otherwise. “Wrex will be fine.”

Her faith—and her incantations—were rewarded a short while later when she heard the familiar tread of his steps in the corridor.

Charlotte shot up and flung the door open. “Holy hell!” After pulling back from a quick embrace, she eyed his singed coat. “What happened?”

“I ought to attend church more often,” muttered Wrexford. “Had I been more familiar with Edward the Confessor’s chapel, I wouldn’t have bolloxed things.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, milord,” said von Münch, who had followed him into the room. “Le Loup is considered a very dangerous man.”

“Even more reason that we shouldn’t have let him slip through our fingers.”

“We did get two clues,” said von Münch to Charlotte. He told her what they had overheard.

“Le Loup’s informant is a high government official who is selling some vital information to the French?” Charlotte frowned. “What could it be?”

“Clearly something of momentous significance,” replied Wrexford. “Though I can’t even hazard a guess.”

“We both need to press our various contacts within the government—discreetly, of course—and try to learn what sort of delicate negotiations, either at home or abroad, might give Napoleon a weapon for blackmail,” mused von Münch.

“Blackmail.” The earl thought it over. “That makes great sense. Napoleon is a genius at strategy. We know he’s attacking our financial markets.

But our other weakness is the Allied Coalition, which is rife with rivalries and mistrust. If he can somehow foment trouble there, it gives him another important bargaining chip, even if he loses the battle. ”

As von Münch looked away, Charlotte saw a sudden spark come to light in his eyes. “I’ll take my leave of you now,” he said abruptly. To Wrexford he added, “You’ll hear from me soon.”

The earl shook his head in consternation once they were alone. “I confess, I’m never quite sure what he is thinking.”

“Never mind that now,” she counseled. “Have you any idea who the traitor could be?”

“I know his voice—I’m sure of it—but it was too muffled to identify who it was.

” A pause. “The man was the right height and build to be Elias Fogg. And Fogg is a high official at the Foreign Office.” Wrexford let out a sigh.

“I shall pay him another visit tomorrow. And this time I won’t be so polite with my questions. ”

Raven jumped down from the carriage as it paused in one of the side streets near the Stock Exchange.

“I will see you later,” said Sheffield, who was heading on to a meeting with a banker friend.

“Oiy,” Turning away, he darted through several narrow lanes, quickening his pace as he entered an alleyway next to Capel Court.

“What do you need me to do?” he blurted out before Ricardo could finish his greeting.

“Steady, lad. A key in dealing with any crisis is to keep a cool head,” counseled Ricardo with his usual unflappable calm.

Raven bobbed his head. “Right, sir. You can depend on me.”

A smile. “I consider myself a good judge of character, so I am quite sure of that.” He fingered the tip of his chin.

“As you know, there have been a lot of willing sellers of consols these last few days, which is driving prices down. But I haven’t been able to detect any specific market rumors that would cause such a movement. ”

Ricardo frowned. “And that bothers me. My sources of information are usually quite good in picking up any such talk. It’s possible that the selling activity is simply a reaction to these very uncertain times, but it doesn’t feel quite right.”

After another moment of thought, he added, “I’m going to have you and a few of my other messengers circulate throughout the floor and try to discern with whom the selling originates and what the price trends are.

” A sigh. “Your messenger sales slips are in fact the best real-time information we have on that.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Ricardo checked his pocket watch. “Come along, the building is about to open and I wish to take up my position.”

Once they were settled in place, Ricardo studied his surroundings. “Pay close attention, as I have a specific request,” he said. “It’s important.”

Raven swallowed hard and nodded.

“Once the floor opens for business, head in the direction of Column Three, counting down from the left side of the clock wall. You’re familiar with the firm that does its activity there, correct?”

Another nod.

“I want you to pass by there frequently on your rounds of collecting slips and see if you can get a sense of what trading is going on and with whom. If you can manage to hear what they are saying, especially any mention of prices, that would be an added plus.”

“I won’t let you down, sir,” promised Raven.

“I’m quite confident of that.” Ricardo patted him on the shoulder and then strolled away.

Raven remained hovering in the shadows near Ricardo‘s spot until the opening flurry of trading had settled down. He was now familiar enough with the layout of the Stock Exchange interior to know all the little byways and shortcuts for maneuvering around the perimeter of the cavernous hall. It was on his third circuit that he spotted a quartet of gentlemen—their attire seemed to indicate that they weren’t from London—approaching Column Three.

After pausing for a moment, Raven sidled closer to the neighboring columns and pretended to be engrossed in sorting his sale slips into order.

“Welcome, welcome, gentlemen!”

Raven waited for the stockjobbers and their visitors to finish with their effusive greetings before looking up from under the bill of his cap.

Damnation.

The quartet of gentlemen all had their backs to him, and he couldn’t hear a word of what was being said.

He looked around, then moved off to disappear into one of the recessed areas, only to re-emerge a few moments later at a different column, allowing him a different angle of view.

The four faces were now all clearly visible.

One by one, he glanced at the first three, straining to catch a snatch of their conversation.

No luck.

After another silent oath, he focused on the fourth man …

Holy hell. His heart pounding loud as gunfire in his ears, Raven shoved the sales slips into his pocket and hurried off to find Ricardo.

“It’s him! It’s the fellow from the warehouse—the one who kept saying ‘goddamn,’” he explained in a rush.

“I called him Florid Face. He and three other fellows are dealing with the stockjobbers at Column Three, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Their English sounded very garbled. Perhaps they’re from Yorkshire. ”

“Well done,” murmured Ricardo. “You stay here. I’m going to take a stroll, and genial fellow that I am, I will, of course, stop to give my regards to my fellow stockjobbers.”

Sheffield found Raven a few minutes later. “Any new developments?”

A nod. “So far, Mr. Ricardo has spotted increased selling and thus pressure on the market for government bonds. The fluctuations seem a little more than he’s expecting.” He then explained about having discovered Florid Face.

Sheffield frowned. “Florid Face? That’s damnably odd. But let’s see what Mr. Ricardo thinks when he returns.”

They didn’t have to wait long. And when their mentor returned, his demeanor was quite grave.

“The quartet you identified are not Yorkshiremen, Master Sloane. They’re Dutch. That’s why you were having trouble understanding their English. And your man from the warehouse now has a name, as I recognize him.”

A small cheek muscle twitched as Ricardo tightened his jaw. “He is Johannes-Peter De Groot, an Amsterdam banker from a firm with whom I prefer not to do business. I strongly suspect the other three gentlemen are Dutch bankers, too.”

Ricardo tapped his fingertips together, looking lost in thought for several long moments. “I’m afraid that I may have significantly underestimated the nature of the threat we face.”

A look of alarm rippled through Sheffield’s eyes. “W-What do you mean?”