Page 6 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
T he earl put his cup down and took a long moment to assess the damage. “Is that …”
“Yes, it’s a bullet hole,” confirmed Charlotte.
“I went into the schoolroom just now to tidy up all the equipment from last night’s adventure that the boys had dropped on the floor.
” She blew out a troubled sigh. “I imagine they meant to hide the incriminating evidence this morning before any of us had a chance to spot it.”
After gingerly setting the sack aside, Charlotte added, “The Weasels have a great deal of explaining to do.”
“For many struggling souls here in the city, the five gold guineas offered as the reward for the return of the monkey is a fortune,” observed McClellan. “The boys must have been close to capturing the animal.”
“Oiy, we were oh-so close,” intoned Raven from the depths of the darkened corridor.
“Our cleverly constructed net was poised to drop—” began Hawk.
“Stubble the details,” counseled Peregrine in a hurried whisper. “I don’t think they are interested in hearing about that part of the evening.”
“Correct,” said Wrexford in a tone that didn’t hold a hint of amusement.
“You might as well come in, Weasels,” added McClellan. “The breakfast muffins are just about to come out of the oven, and no doubt you are famished.”
The three boys reluctantly filed into the kitchen, still clad in their nightshirts.
“As m’lady would say, Festina lente ,” mumbled Hawk. Charlotte was in the habit of muttering Latin aphorisms in the face of trouble. “I told you we should have put everything away before seeking our beds,” he added.
“ Make haste slowly is a wise concept to keep in mind,” she agreed. “However, let us not digress into discussing philosophy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
With a sigh, Raven dutifully recounted their hunch concerning the monkey’s likely whereabouts and their spotting of the animal after following several sightings by their urchin friends … which led them to a brick building by the river.
“All was going exactly according to plan,” he continued. “And then, as Hawk and Falcon were lowering me to the portico roof, the ratcheting gears of Falcon’s ingenious winch jammed and the rope got stuck …”
Charlotte listened in growing horror as he explained about the two gentlemen who were then joined by a florid-faced fellow, and the trio’s reaction to spotting him.
“The man with the pistol had devil-dark eyes and a pointy chin. As for what they were doing, there was a large pile of bank-notes on the table, along with what looked to be a wig and perhaps false side-whiskers atop a piece of crumpled cloth,” he said.
“But what really caught my eye were the other financial documents. From what I saw, the papers appeared to be stock certificates. Mr. Sheffield has shown me some examples of them and explained how a single document can represent a great deal of money.”
He frowned in thought. “I also caught snatches of their conversation, though it was just random words here and there—stocks, exchange, coordinated positions, a few goddamns. And then, just before the shot was fired, I heard Florid Face cry out another ‘Goddamn.’”
A shrug. “Sorry. That’s all I heard.”
“Merchants often accept letters of credit from their buyers, which can be redeemed at a local bank,” mused Wrexford.
“It’s hard to blame them for thinking you were part of a gang of thieves intent on robbing their business,” interjected McClellan.
“My guess is, they had just made a lucrative sale of merchandise and suspected that one of the criminal consortiums who control thievery along the River Thames had gotten wind of it.”
“But shooting at children?” Charlotte tucked a lock of loosened hair behind her ear.
“Money doesn’t grant anyone the right to serve as judge and executioner.
The law of the land decrees that only the duly appointed representatives of the government have the authority to make those solemn decisions. ”
“You’re right, of course,” said Wrexford.
“In principle. Unfortunately, people taking matters into their own hands to protect their assets happens more frequently than we would like to think. We all know that the law of the jungle rules along the riverside wharfs and warehouses. Even the mighty East India Company has been forced to hire its own private army of guards to keep from being robbed blind.”
“Perhaps I should do a series of drawings on the subject,” responded Charlotte. “That might help put pressure on the government to finally move on creating a professional police force.”
A pause. “We should at least mention to Griffin that lawlessness is getting out of hand along the river.”
“I agree that agitating for proper policing is a worthy endeavor. But in this particular case, I think it wise that we don’t kick up a dust.” Wrexford met her gaze. “For all the obvious reasons.”
Charlotte looked away, unable to muster an argument. However, another thought suddenly came to mind. “But what about the wig and false whiskers? That strikes me as very strange—unless they themselves are criminals and were up to no good.”
Wrexford was about to retort but then simply lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Speculation seems pointless, my dear. Whatever their reason for firing on Raven, I think we can assume it was to protect the money, whether or not it was theirs legally.”
“Or to make sure that Raven couldn’t tell anybody about what he saw,” she countered.
Wrexford understood why she was loath to let go of her concerns. And yet …
“Come, let us not spin this unfortunate incident into a complicated plot worthy of an Ann Radcliffe novel,” he counseled. “Sometimes the simplest answer is actually the right one.”
“Though rarely with the troubles that tend to entangle us,” pointed out McClellan.
Charlotte appeared to ignore the maid’s comment and merely gave a wordless nod, but he could see in her eyes that she hadn’t surrendered her misgivings.
That was what made her such a good commentator on social ills and issues, he reflected. She kept poking and prodding at a conundrum, looking at it from every possible angle until she was confident that she had spotted the truth among all the flitting shapes and shadows.
He couldn’t help but applaud her stubborn courage.
Even though it frightens me half to death.
The rattle of plates and cutlery broke the awkward silence as McClellan assembled a tray of fresh-baked muffins and jam and carried it to the kitchen table. “Who would like eggs and gammon?”
The boys eagerly accepted, and though Charlotte demurred, she asked for a plate of toast. But after refilling his coffee cup from the pot on the hob, the earl excused himself and headed for his workroom.
The parlor maid had kindled a fire in the hearth, and the cheerful crackling of flames had already dispelled the chill from the air.
Wrexford paused and rubbed his palms together before moving to his desk.
The soothing sounds and familiar sight of his well-worn books and research papers was usually a balm for the spirits, and yet he couldn’t quite shake a vague sense of malaise.
It was as if an unseen specter was dogging his steps.
Watching and waiting.
Dismissing the thought with a gruff oath, the earl took a seat and began to sort through a pile of unopened letters from the early morning post.
“What the devil is von Münch up to?” he muttered, the rustle of paper reminding him of Charlotte’s comment from the previous evening. “Why hasn’t he been in contact as he promised?”
A pointless question, given that the rascal couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth about anything. “The damn fellow is an insufferable arse,” he added, a sentiment punctuated by the snap of a wax wafer as he opened an official-looking missive.
Seeing it was only an invitation to a lecture at the London Geological Society, Wrexford tossed it aside.
“Milord?” A tentative hail drew him back from his brooding. “Riche said you were already up and wouldn’t mind being disturbed.”
“Don’t just stand there, Griffin,” said the earl, gesturing for the Bow Street Runner to enter the room. “The sooner we finish with whatever business you have in mind, the sooner you can toddle off to the breakfast room and plunder my well-stocked larders.”
“It shouldn’t be termed plunder quite yet. By my reckoning you still owe me several meals to make up for your shabby treatment of our friendship during the last investigation, milord.”
The earl allowed a grudging smile. “I’ve apologized for that.” A pause. “Several times, in fact.”
“Yes, but your words will taste far more sincere if accompanied by some of Mac’s excellent cooking.”
A bark of laughter. “Then let us be quick. What business do you have with me?”
“The murder at Somerset House—” began Griffin.
“The answer is no,” snapped Wrexford. “Bloody hell, I don’t know why Bethany wished to have me involved. I’ve already informed him that I have no unique skills or knowledge that would help solve this particular crime.”
“Nonetheless, he wants you, sir,” answered the Runner.
“Well, we all must learn to live with disappointment.”
Griffin coughed to cover a snort. “I’m not sure that Lord Bethany would agree.”
“Don’t worry about Bethany. I shall write him a note this morning and clarify my position on the matter. And unlike you, I won’t go out of my way to be tactful.”
“Very good, milord.”
“Any clues yet as to who might have murdered Boyleston?” asked the earl as Griffin turned to leave.
“I thought you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not interested,” he replied. “I’m merely curious.”
“We found what appears to be the murder weapon at the scene of the crime. Though I shall send both it and the corpse to Henning in order to confirm the surmise.”
The earl’s good friend, Basil Henning, was not only a skilled surgeon but also possessed the uncanny ability to coax secrets from victims of foul play and help bring their killers to justice.
“Ah. How convenient for you,” replied Wrexford.