“As it happens, I came to have a word with Mr. Drummond. But it seems someone else arrived here first.”
Lowell blanched, his well-shaped features pinching to a mask of harried concern. “I came in quite early, in order to sort through the paperwork for the upcoming chemistry lectures. In a sense, it’s a blessing in disguise, as I’m able to deal with the terrible news and have some control as to how it becomes public knowledge.”
He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed auburn hair. “I hope you don’t think me callous. Of course I am devastated about Drummond—a terrible loss of a respected member. But, to be honest, I am concerned about the Institution as well.”
His lips thinned in a momentary grimace. “There are many people who don’t like what we do here—the forward thinking, the modern ideas, the willingness to change the way things are traditionally done frightens them. I fear they will use this as some sort of sign from heaven that our experiments are against the natural order of the world.”
Wrexford gave a curt nod of sympathy. “I don’t doubt that you are right.” Lowell had always struck him as a smart, shrewd, and pragmatic fellow. He moved in a circle of up-and-coming young and influential intellectuals—Babbage, Herschel, Peacock—and like them was a voice for reforming old rules. Perhaps he could use those qualities to his own advantage. “We men of learning understand each other—you may count on me to do all I can to keep the details from leaking out.”
Lowell chuffed a sigh of relief.
Lowering his voice, he went on, “Like you, I have an interest in seeing this solved quickly and quietly.” He shot a meaningful look at the porters, who were huddled a respectful distance away, waiting for a signal from the superintendent on how to proceed. “I’d like a look at the laboratory before your men fling around their sand and cart away the debris.”
Lowell instantly came alert. “Anything in particular?” he asked softly.
“I simply want to get a better impression of the scene,” lied Wrexford. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man, but there were too many strange pieces to the puzzle scattered around. Until he could begin to make sense of them he was wary about revealing anything.
“However, the Runner has taken an unreasonable dislike to me.” A sardonic smile. “And so has tossed me out on my ear.”
Lowell nodded in understanding. Drawing a large ring of keys from his coat pocket, he moved quickly to the other side of the corridor and unlocked a storage room. “Wait in here. I will handle the matter.”
Wrexford and Tyler slipped into the cramped space. The door closed quietly, leaving them in darkness.
A few minutes later, the agitatedclop-clopof boots beat a hobnailed tattoo on the corridor floor. The sound receded fast.
Silence. Wrexford smiled to himself.
Lowell returned and eased the door open. “I told him I needed to clear the dangerous chemicals from the room and couldn’t permit him to stay. However, he’ll be returning in a half hour. That was all the time I dared demand.”
“It’s quite enough. Thank you,” replied the earl, grateful for the superintendent’s coolheaded and decisive handling of the situation. “As for you and your men . . . in order to work quickly and efficiently, it would be better if my assistant and I could have the room to ourselves.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Lowell looked around. “Haversham is out of Town. I’ll take my men into his laboratory, which is identical to Drummond’s layout, and go over the procedures for dealing with the damage.”
“Much obliged,” said Wrexford, signaling Tyler to proceed. “I shall come let you know when we are finished.”
He wasted no time in following his valet into the laboratory, and took the precaution of locking the door from the inside.
The reek of smoke hung heavy in the still air, pungent with a harsh chemical tang that burned the throat with every breath. The main Argent lamp had given up the ghost, and the two surviving oil lamps were burning low, their weak flames casting ghoulish shadows over the jumbled furniture and equipment.
Drummond’s body lay half turned on its side, the dark pool of blood spreading slowly through a spill of powdered sulfur. Wrexford repressed a twinge of pity as he stepped over the chemist’s lifeless legs. Would anyone care about his passing?
However odious, no man should die unmourned.
Dismissing such momentary musings, the earl turned his attention to the here and now. “Move the lights closer,” he said to Tyler, indicating the far end of the work counter. A quick search of the drawers revealed one filled with scientific instruments. Wrexford found several pairs of long, needle-nosed tweezers, along with a thin copper spatula, and carried them over to the pile of charred books.
“Let us salvage as much of the note paper as possible,” he said.
Tyler leaned in to assess the damage. “It will be tricky. I suggest we find an undamaged book and place the fragments between the pages. That way, we can always cut through the binding and move them under your microscope for examination.”
“Having a valet who knows more than the fine points of starching a shirt is a distinct advantage in certain situations,” murmured Wrexford.
“I shall remind you of that, said Tyler, after scavaging an unsinged volume from the side closet. “Especially as these ‘certain situations’ appear to be escalating with increasing frequency.” A pause. “Alas, the same cannot be said for my wages.”
“I pay you very well.” The earl handed him one of the tweezers.
“Not well enough to risk a stay in Newgate Prison.”
Wrexford grunted and shifted to allow a better angle at the papers in question. “Hold up the cover of Levoisier’sTreatise on Chemistryso I can better reach the fragments.” What an irony that the famed French chemist was known for his experiments on the role of oxygen in combustion. “And be ready to slide in the spatula to stabilize the paper.”
