Page 68 of Murder on Black Swan Lane

Perching a hip on the edge of her desk, the earl continued to page through the book. “And it means what?”

“Ye god, I’m no seer or soothsayer!” She expelled a harried breath. “But even if I were, I sense there is no simple answer to that.”

“Light and darkness . . . resurrection . . . ladder . . . serpent.” He looked up from reading the headings interspersed among the images. “This is not science, it’s fantasy.”

“There are different planes of perception, milord.” Charlotte watched the sway of the lamp’s flame. “How we interpret them may lead to surprising discoveries.”

“I am not sure whether you are a genius or a Bedlamite, Mrs. Sloane,” he muttered.

Charlotte made a face. “Neither am I.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. In the stillness, the sounds drifting in through the window seemed unnaturally loud—a dog howled, a costermonger cried out the price of his cabbages. Ordinary life. Which seemed a world away from the swirl of shadows and secrets that held them in thrall.

“But whether I am mad or not, it can do no harm for me to keep studying these books. Perhaps I’ll stumble on something that will help answer some of our questions.”

“Hope springs eternal,” said Wrexford sarcastically. “Unlike us mortal creatures, no matter how much we might rail against a finite existence.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” murmured Charlotte.

That drew a grudging smile. “True. As I said, I prefer to base my beliefs on empirical knowledge.”

“Then leave the more nebulous artistic and spiritual matters to me. If it’s merely a wild goose chase, you’ve lost nothing in the bargain.”

“I am happy—nay, grateful—to do so, Mrs. Sloane. Though I’m not very sanguine about your chances.” He stood, and she was once again reminded of what a large and imposing figure he cut.

Shifting out of his shadow, she looked up and asked abruptly, “Is there a reason you told the boys you had a brother—and that he’s dead?”

“Should I not have done so?” His expression was back to its usual granite-like hardness. “They seem to have a healthy awareness of life’s realities. Death is a part of that.”

“Yes, I am aware of that, but for heaven’s sake, sir, they are brothers. And Hawk was . . .” She bit her lip, realizing how foolish she must sound. “Oh, why bother trying to explain. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Quite right. The Devil Incarnate has no use for children—save to eat them for breakfast.”

Beneath the sarcasm, there was a hint of some other emotion. Uncertain of what it was, she pretended not to notice. “Actually, I imagine you would much prefer a plump beefsteak to skin and bones.”

A smile softened the stone. “Correct. So you see, the fledglings are safe from my jaws.”

Loath to part on that strange note, Charlotte quickly changed the subject.

“Have you any more promising leads to follow?”

“I’ve yet to talk to Canaday about the library mark you found. If we could discover what book Holworthy had with him when he was murdered, that might be helpful,” answered Wrexford. “And my valet is taking a closer look at the charred scraps of paper from Drummond’s laboratory, in case there is some other clue hidden there.”

“And the Runner, sir? Has he not found any new evidence that might lead him to the real killer?”

“Mr. Griffin does not appear to be looking beyond his nose. And said nose is locked firmly on my scent. He came by my town house for yet another interview last night. And though he’s not yet dared to arrest me, I suspect that may change sooner than later.”

“Then we must do his job for him,” said Charlotte, “and identify the guilty party before he can act.”

The earl reached for his hat. “Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero,” he murmured.

Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.She nodded. “Yes, indeed we must.”

He paused, and fixed her with an odd stare.

Damnation, a foolish slip of the tongue. “That is,” she quickly added, “I’m assuming anything that sounds so impressive must be a call to arms—like all those fancy mottos under the lordly crests inDebrett’s.”

“Yes, well, I find that Latin adds a certain gravitas to any words,” replied Wrexford slowly. “No matter if those around you have no idea what you are actually saying.” With a quick touch to his brim, he turned and was swallowed by the shadows.