“All the more reason to appreciate this moment, and hold it close to brighten a darker day.”
Raven shrugged, and yet beneath the fringe of his dark lashes, Charlotte could see his gaze had turned pensive.
“And now it is my turn to give a gift.” She took a shilling from the purse in her desk drawer, along with two pencils and several sheets of sketch paper, and handed them to Hawk. “There is still plenty of daylight left. Treat yourselves to a visit to the Tower Menagerie. I would like for you to draw me some pictures of the lions.”
“Huzzah! Lions!” cried Hawk. He made a fearsome face and let out a throaty roar.
“Aye and you’re just the right-sized morsel for their afternoon tea,” teased Raven. “Have a care, runt. You’re puny enough to tumble through the bars and end up as pudding fer the beasts.”
“I’m growing,” protested Hawk. “Soon I’ll be nearly as big as you!”
His brother answered with a very rude sound.
“Run along and enjoy yourselves,” said Charlotte, finding their youthful exuberance had given her the courage to smile.
As they ran off, playfully pushing and shoving to see who could get out to the street first, she carefully relocked the door and returned to her desk.
The gloom shivered, sending dark-on-dark ripples through the shadows as it came back to life and started to creep out from the corners of the room.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Charlotte looked down at the bundle of books. She picked up her penknife. Though feather light, its weight pressed heavily against her palm.
Choices, choices.
Snick, snick.The blade severed the cords.
“Alea iacta estz,” she whispered, tugging the twisted hemp free of the covering. The die has been cast.
* * *
Lowell was surrounded by a circle of prominent Institution patrons by the time Wrexford made his way to the salon. There was, he noted, no dearth of other luminaries crowded into the room. Davy’s good friend the famed poet Samuel Coleridge was present and chatting with Joseph Banks, the éminence grise of scientific London, while the dashing Count Rumford, one of the principal founders of the Institution, was regaling the novelist Maria Edgeworth with stories of his adventures on the Continent. And, of course, the ladies of thetonwere flocking round them, like so many brilliant butterflies in their gossamer silks and jewel-tone colors.
After accepting a glass of champagne punch, Wrexford strolled over to join a group of fellow members, curious to hear what was being said about Drummond’s demise.
“Though it may not be kind to speak ill of the dead, he was an unpleasant fellow,” responded Lord Thirkell to the earl’s casual question. “His attention was focused more on snooping around what the rest of us were doing, as if looking for a way to steal the march on our discoveries.”
Several nods confirmed the sentiment.
“You don’t think he was engaged in his own research?” probed Wrexford. “I thought I heard somewhere that he had become interested in old writings on the philosopher’s stone?”
A chorus of guffaws greeted the question.
“The stone?” Farnum made a pained face. “What utter fustian. Though I suppose it doesn’t surprise me that Drummond would be drawn to such fiddle-faddle.”
“Aye. The man didn’t have a sensible—not to speak of original—idea in his cockloft,” agreed Lord Greeley. “We shall have to be more careful as to who is elected to take his place.”
As the men began to debate the merits of several potential candidates, Wrexford drifted away, pausing to exchange inconsequential conversation with a few other acquaintances before spotting Lowell break away from the Scottish visitors and take refuge in the lee of a massive floral arrangement set atop a marble plinth.
“An impressive turnout,” he murmured, lifting his glass in salute as he joined the superintendent.
Lowell gave a wry smile. “Murder may have added to the allure of the event. People have a ghoulish fascination with scandal.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” he answered dryly.
A chuffed laugh. “Sorry if I have touched a sore spot, Wrexford.”
“I assure you, I’ve long since ceased to feel any sort of discomfort from what is said about me.”
“You truly don’t give a fig for what others think?”
