Wrexford crossed his legs. His boots, she noted, had a heavy spattering of straw-flecked mud marring the highly polished leather—strange how the mind seized on insignificant details as a distraction from difficult situations.
The seconds continued to slide by as if mired in molasses. His expression was a conundrum—a smile appeared to be waging a tug of war with a frown. Charlotte didn’t trust herself to decipher its meaning.
At last, his gaze turned from some distant point in the gloom. “Death,” he said, “is not a cerebral subject that one contemplates from afar.” Though his voice held an edge of mockery, there was an undertone of raw emotion she hadn’t heard in him before. “One’s reaction to it does tend to be personal.”
“Which does not make it right or rational.”
“True,” agreed the earl. “But I have great respect for your powers of perception, Mrs. Sloane. If you think something is dreadfully wrong, then it likely is.”
Charlotte was surprised at how relieved she felt by the fact that he didn’t find her crazy. “So, how do we go about proving it?” she said in a low voice.
Wrexford considered her question for a long moment. “Let us order the facts we have now. Your husband was lured back to London and invited to join The Ancients by Stoughton—for what reasons we don’t yet know. He began to earn a little money, but you began to notice unsettling things about him, including unexplained paint on his hands, and an alarming change in his behavior. And then signs of acid burns and death.”
She nodded.
“And then there is Holworthy’s murder, which also involves acid and a connection to The Ancients through Canaday and the bookmark you found.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “We have a great many pieces of a puzzle. The question remains, how do we begin fitting them together?”
“Slowly and methodically, as in a scientific experiment,” he answered. “First of all, I need to visit Henning and see whether he’s found anything unusual about Mr. Drummond’s corpse.”
“How do you know the body was brought to Mr. Henning?”
“My valet is useful for more than merely ensuring that my cravats have the perfect amount of starch,” answered the earl. He held up the library marking. “Might I keep this? The next step will be to pay a visit to Lord Canaday’s estate in Kent.”
Charlotte nodded. It made sense for him to have the piece of paper.
“I will also take a closer look at the fragments I found in Drummond’s laboratory.”
“I thought you considered them a mere coincidence.”
He hesitated. “They probably are nothing.”
“Why is it that I’m beginning to sense you don’t believe that?”
The earl evaded her question by ignoring it. “And then I want to learn a little more about what goes on at the Royal Institution. I pay little attention to its connection with the social swirl of London, but as science and its new wonders have become the darlings of Society, it’s worth a closer look. Power and knowledge can be a potent combination.”
The world of lords and ladies was closed to her, and yet she chafed a little at finding herself left standing outside the gilded gates, with no way to help in the hunt for the truth. Unlike the earl, she had no prestige, no influence, no favors to call in. She had naught but her pen.
“A moment, milord,” she said quickly as he rose and reached for his hat. “About the murder this morning—describe the scene for me.”
A scowl scudded across his face, clouding the austere angles of his face.
“Look, not only would it seem strange if A. J. Quill did not comment on the latest death, but it also serves our purpose to keep attention focused on the crimes,” she explained before he had a chance to protest. “Serpents prefer to slither in the dark, so to shine a relentless light on their doings may provoke them into making a mistake.”
Charlotte paused for thought. “I’ll spend the next few days whipping up a lurid interest in this latest murder, and I shall start a series that focuses on The Ancients.”
“You mean to poke a stick in the nest of the vipers?” he asked in a flat tone.
“Your valet has his particular skills and I have mine, sir. Satire can be a powerful weapon. We know its members use their prestige to keep their activities shielded in secrecy. They won’t like public scrutiny. It may force them to try to cover up their tracks,” she replied. “And cause them to make an errant move.”
“Or cause them to coil and strike at their tormentor.”
“It’s a risk I am willing to take.”
“You have courage,” conceded Wrexford. He blew out his cheeks. “Too damnably much of it for your own good. A woman is supposed to—”
“Supposed to be seen and not heard?” interrupted Charlotte. “Like you, milord, I have little interest in conforming to the rigid expectations of my station in life.”
