Page 84 of Murder on Black Swan Lane

“And ours is known for his polished charm and easy manner.”

“Which leaves you still stumbling around in the dark about your Golden One,” observed Henning grimly. He sat on one of the stools and took out his pipe. “D’you mind if I blow a cloud, Mrs. Sloane? It helps me cogitate.”

She nodded absently.

A spark flared, and a silvery plume of smoke curled up, only to be quickly swallowed by the gloom.

A taunt from the cosmos? Wrexford watched another puff rise. However faint, the murderer had left a trail.

They just had to see it.

* * *

Charlotte couldn’t shake off the niggling sensation that a telling clue was hovering just beyond the outer edges of her consciousness.Special books, intricate images, strange phrases—they all seemed to be tangling together, trying to tell her something.

Uno.With a sinuous whisper, the Latin word foroneslowly uncoiled from the amorphous jumble.

She exhaled a harried sigh. Yes,onething seemed certain—her life was tumbling to hell in a handbasket.

The sound drew a swift glance from Wrexford. He, too, looked unsettled. Shadows hung from his dark lashes, accentuating the deep-set hollows under his eyes.

Unable to sit still, Charlotte rose and began to gather up the sketches lying on her desk and shuffle them into an orderly pile.

“I’ve asked my friend Sheffield to help with checking what other members of the Institution are fair-haired,” said the earl to the surgeon.

“You have no other clue as to the identity of ‘Golden One’?” pressed Henning.

“It may be spitting into the wind, but unless you have any better ideas . . .”

Their voices blurred to a low hum as Charlotte suddenly set the papers aside and fumbled in the desk’s top compartment for the hidden key. A quick twist unlocked the bottom drawer.

With the men still deep in discussion, she took out the top book and hurriedly thumbed through the sections.Canaday. Yes, there was the baron’s entry at the top of the page, but she ran her finger down the other entries.Canterfield, Cappell, Carberry . . .

Carnsworth.

Charlotte stared at the crest and for several long, painful moments found her lungs refused to draw a breath. Swallowing hard, she made herself read over the entry for the Marquess of Carnsworth twice before looking up.

“Declan Hervey Julian Lowell,” she announced loudly.

Wrexford turned. “I beg your pardon?”

No doubt he thought she had lost her mind.

Charlotte held up the book. “According toDebrett’s Peerage, the Marquess of Carnsworth’s third son is named Declan Hervey Julian Lowell.”

Henning coughed on a mouthful of smoke.

“But that’s not all,” she added, trying to keep her voice steady. “You need to look at this.”

The earl crouched down by the desk as she put the volume down and turned it to face him. Henning crowded close behind him.

“Ye god,” muttered Wrexford after careful scrutiny. “At times, I’m tempted to think you have the gift of black magic, Mrs. Sloane. How the devil did you think of that?”

“It’s not magic, sir. I’m merely following the scientific principle of empirical observation,” explained Charlotte. “I spent some time studying Canaday’s crest, and as you see, this one is on the facing page. It attracted me because it’s rather unusual, and when you mentioned the Golden One, it triggered a connection.” She made a face. “Though it took me a while to figure out what it was.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said the surgeon, squinting at the page. “What am I missing?”

Wrexford tapped a finger to the ornate colored crest of the Lowell family. “Look more closely at the quartered shield.” Two sections held a scarlet lion rampant. And two held a large golden numeral one. “Now, let me read you the motto in the fancy scroll—Ab uno disce omnes.”