But of late, Charlotte reflected, she seemed to be testing the goodwill of the gods.
“You look tired,” said Jeremy as she joined him on the bench in Green Park an hour later. “You shouldn’t have walked here.”
“Beggars can’t be choosy,” she replied, then instantly regretted it on seeing his face tighten. “It’s just a common saying, Jem.”
“But no less true for being so. If you would let me—”
“No.” Charlotte summoned a show of steel.
He sighed. “I won’t give up, you know.”
“And I won’t give in.” There, the game had played out, as it had in the past and would again in the future. They both understood the rules.
That made him laugh. Even as a boy, Jeremy could never stay angry for long. Leaning back against the slats, he looked up and watched the clouds scud by, wisps of white against the sun-washed blue sky.
Charlotte used the silence to observe her surroundings. Lush green grass, tidy walkways, two well-dressed children at play, their governess hovering close by.
“Thank you for finding the book, Jem.” Knowing a lone woman asking for arcane writings would raise too many unwanted questions, she had asked her friend to look around in the scholarly bookstores on Sackville Street for a certain work by Eirenaeus Philalethes, the American whose alchemical ideas had greatly influenced Newton, Boyle, and the other scientific titans of the late seventeenth century.
“It led me on a merry dance, I’ll tell you that.A Breviary of Alchemy, or, A Commentary upon Sir George Ripley’s Recapitulation: Being a Paraphrastical Epitome of His Twelve Gates—I assure you, I received some odd looks on asking forthattitle.” He grinned. “I likely now have the reputation of being a half-mad eccentric.”
“My apologies—” began Charlotte.
“Oh, no need for them,” he interrupted. “It was actually quite exciting to feel like a clandestine agent, helping to ferret out hidden secrets.” He lowered his voice. “Holworthy was burned with chemicals, so I’m assuming this has something to do with the recent murders.”
“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, she told herself, simply an evasion. “I’ve heard some strange things and am trying to learn a little about the secretive world of alchemy in Newton’s day.”
“Secretive, indeed, and with good reason. The penalty could be death for trying to turn lead into gold.” Jeremy handed over the small, neatly wrapped package he had been holding in his lap.
“I owe you a great debt of thanks for this,” said Charlotte, as she tucked the book into her reticule.
“Which I shall collect very shortly,” he reminded her.
The idea of having to venture into the heart of Mayfair sent a shiver of trepidation down her spine. But a pledge was a pledge. She would not renege on her word.
“You know, I had a friend at Cambridge,” mused Jeremy, “a member of Trinity—Newton’s old college—who was fascinated by the subject of alchemy. I remember him regaling me with the fanciful names the practitioners used to disguise their basic chemicals.” A chuckle. “Like green lion, liver of sulfur, and dragon.”
“Dragon?” Charlotte covered her rising excitement with an amused laugh. “Did your friend ever discover what the terms meant?”
“Not all of them.” His brow furrowed in thought. “Though I seem to remember that ‘dragon’ referred to mercury.”
A sudden roaring seemed to fill her ears. She had seen many images of dragons within the books lent to her by Henning. And now, with this vital clue sparking a new way of looking at the scribbled lines, the sketch found on Drummond’s palm became clear.
That was it—the dead man had taken pains to draw the symbol of mercury on his flesh.
She plucked at a fold of her gown, trying to hide her excitement. One mystery was solved. As to the greater conundrum of what it meant . . .
That would be up to Wrexford.
“Come,” said Jeremy, interrupting her thoughts. “Enough of secrets and science. It’s time for more frivolous pursuits.” Rising, he offered his hand. “I highly recommend the strawberry ice cream. It’s their most popular flavor. Though you may prefer to try a more exotic one, like bergamot, white coffee, or parmesan.”
Quelling her impatience to rush home and dash off a note to the earl, Charlotte forced a show of good grace and followed her friend’s lead. He deserved no less.
Still, she felt her chest tighten as they crossed Piccadilly Street.
“Relax,” he murmured.
“I am,” she answered.
