“Suit yourself.” Wrexford reached for his driving coat, which he had slung over a tea table. “If I recall correctly, a mere baron cannot claim the right to be tried by his peers in the House of Lords. What a pity. The Old Bailey’s judges tend to be quite severe for the crime of murder, especially when they get their hands on a minor noble.”
“Wait.” The word came out as a whisper.
Wrexford paused, hat hovering just above his head.
All the fight drained out of Canaday. Slumping into the chair, he closed his eyes for an instant, and drew a ragged breath. “Several investments have gone bad, leaving me a . . . a little dipped for funds.” He blotted his brow with his sleeve. “Good God, you know how it is—it takes a hellish amount of blunt to keep up an estate and London residence.”
“I’m not interested in gentleman-to-gentleman palavering, Canaday. As a man of science, I care only about the facts.”
The baron shot him a hateful look. But it quickly sagged into surrender. “Josiah learned about my financial troubles, and offered to buy some of the rare books and manuscripts in my library,” he admitted. “Said he had an acquaintance, an avid collector of arcane books on the occult, who would pay a fortune for them. As it was just musty old medieval nonsense, I readily agreed.”
“How did he know about them?” asked Wrexford, curious as to whether the baron would answer truthfully.
“He spent a number of summers here, and was always more interested in ancient books than I was. I assume he had come across them during the countless hours he spent poking around in there.”
So far, so good. “Go on.”
“My cousin made a down payment, but then he kept putting me off about the rest. That wasn’t part of the deal.” Canaday wet his lips. “So yes, I was angry. But for God’s sake, I-I certainly didn’t kill him.”
Then why was it that the baron had gone white as a ghost?
“What else aren’t you telling me?” he asked softly.
“Nothing! I swear it!”
Wrexford could smell the fear oozing out of Canaday. Along with yet more lies. No question the baron was holding back secrets. But for the moment, he decided to put that aside and pursue the matter of the library.
Moving to the decanters set on the sideboard, he poured a measure of brandy into a glass and handed it to Canaday. “What books did Holworthy buy from you?”
The baron gratefully gulped down a swallow before answering. “I-I really don’t remember.”
“Your collection is said to be quite large. Surely you have a ledger cataloguing it.” Most estate libraries had records of their contents. Like land, livestock, and jewelry, books were valuable commodities.
“Yes. Though I’ve not used it much.” Canaday took another swallow of brandy. “You are welcome to look through it if you wish.”
No doubt thinking there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of spotting what was missing. It would take days, or perhaps weeks, to cross-check every entry against the endless rows of books.
“Thank you.” Wrexford smiled. Using the library mark Charlotte had found, a search for the book’s title within the ledger should yield a result, and finding its position on the shelves would make guessing what other books had gone missing an easier task. “I shall take you up on the offer.”
Canaday appeared surprised, but he couldn’t very well refuse. Draining the last of his drink, he set aside the glass and levered to his feet.
“Follow me.”
CHAPTER 16
Smoothing the creases from her walking dress, Charlotte did a slow turn in front of the cheval glass. She had lost weight since last wearing the patterned silk and it now hung too loosely from her hips to be fashionable. Not that a four-year-old gown could ever hope to be a la mode here in London. Still, it brightened her spirits to feel it against her skin.Memories, memories.The finespun fabric and delicate flowers reminded her of Italian sunshine and the smell of country air washed clean with summer rain.
Her reflection stared at her in mute reproach.
“Yes, I know. It does no good to think of the past.” Charlotte reset a few of her hairpins before putting on a plain chip-straw bonnet and tying the ribbons in a neat bow. Her hair, she noted, had long since lost any of the golden highlights from her time abroad. Mouse brown, which perhaps was fitting as her present life was all about creeping through the shadows and avoiding notice.
A dark merino cloak, more iron grey than blue, completed her outfit. One that wouldn’t draw a second glance from the beau monde.
Thank God for that.
A fool’s errand, perhaps. In return for the latest favor she had asked of him, Jeremy had demanded one of his own—being allowed to take her to Gunter’s Tea Shop for a treat of their special ice cream confections after they finished their serious business. She should have insisted on a different forfeit. After all, classical mythology was rife with warnings on the dangers of crossing back and forth between two worlds.
With a turn of the key, she carefully locked the front door behind her.
