The Greatest Challenge of Them All

by Stephanie Laurens

  He stood on the pavement and watched the carriage roll away. And felt faintly disgusted that, instead of feeling relieved over his escape from further temptation, he felt…disappointed.

  She’d warped his mind.

  He shook himself as if to shake off her disturbing influence, then crossed the street, nodded to the guards in their boxes flanking the gates, and stalked into army headquarters.

  CHAPTER 15

  J ust before four o’clock, Louisa started down the grand staircase of St. Ives House. As she’d intimated to Drake, she’d spent a busy morning calling on three ladies, all hostesses of significant standing, and being entertained with hot chocolate and tiny cakes while subtly seeking information on the Chilburn family.

  All her endeavors had revealed was the apparently universally held view that the family was unremarkable if not boring, with no scandals or whispers of misdemeanors, much less odd political leanings, to lend the slightest spice. The current viscount and viscountess were held in mild respect. As for Lawton, their youngest son, no one knew much about him at all, other than to agree that he’d largely dropped from social sight over the past five or more years.

  Defeated to some degree, she had returned home in time to enjoy a late luncheon in her grandmother’s apartments with her grandmother, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, and her grandmother’s bosom-bow, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone. Although now very old, not to say ancient, and rarely appearing in public, both ladies still managed to keep their fingertips firmly on the pulse of the ton. Indeed, to most of the ton, the pair figured as society’s éminences grises. Courtesy of their steel-trap memories, the two old ladies knew more about the elite families that made up the ton than any other living source.

  True to form, in keeping with Louisa’s fond expectations, the old ladies had had a little more to offer regarding the Chilburns and Lawton, some of which might possibly cast some light on the current investigation.

  Eager to learn what the others had discovered—and hoping it was more than she had—she reached the front hall and walked swiftly toward the door. On hearing footsteps hurrying after her, she turned, smiled at Crewe, and waved him back. “I’m just heading to Wolverstone House. I daresay I’ll be back with the others in an hour or so. I’ll certainly be in for dinner.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Despite her attempt at dismissal, Crewe insisted on hurrying past her, opening the front door, and bowing her through.

  After bestowing an appreciatively gracious smile, she walked onto the porch and started down the steps.

  “Heading for the meeting?”

  The question had her looking up—at Antonia, who was walking along the pavement on Sebastian’s arm.

  Louisa smiled upon them both. “Yes.” She fell in beside Antonia, and they continued along the street. “Have you been at Green Street?” Antonia’s parents lived in a town house in Green Street.

  “We have.” Sebastian exchanged a glance with Antonia. “The Chillingworths are almost as curious about Drake’s mission as Mama and Papa, but like them, appear to accept that dealing with such matters now falls to us rather than to them.”

  “Even Mama has been entirely supportive,” Antonia declared. “I had thought she would be more difficult, what with our engagement ball so close and our wedding pending.”

  Louisa waggled her head. “On the other hand, having you both distracted with Drake’s intrigue leaves the reins of both ball and wedding more firmly in their hands—meaning your mama’s and our mama’s. You have to admit that’s an outcome they are unlikely to rail against.”

  Sebastian snorted.

  Antonia grinned. “True. But regardless, everything seems to be working out for all of us.”

  “Let’s hope,” Sebastian said as they approached the Wolverstone House steps, “that grace extends to Drake’s mission as well.”

  A clatter of hooves had them turning. They paused as a hackney drew up beside them. The carriage door opened, and Michael stepped out. “What-ho! It appears we’re all here.” He reached into the hackney and helped Cleo to the pavement.

  Cleo grinned at them, then shook out her skirts and resettled her reticule while Michael paid off the driver.

  In a group, they climbed the Wolverstone House steps. Hamilton responded immediately to their knock; he’d clearly been waiting to conduct them into the library. There, they found Drake standing before the fireplace and Finnegan hovering unobtrusively before one long window.

  Drake waved them to the chairs and sofa. Cleo, Antonia, and Sebastian claimed the long sofa, with Michael taking the armchair beside the end at which Cleo sat. For her part, Louisa elected to sit in the armchair directly opposite the one Drake plainly favored, leaving her seated to Sebastian’s right, with Drake to Michael’s left.

  Finnegan, Louisa noted, remained where he was. She was wondering why when Drake stated, “I suggest we report one by one on our activities and findings since last we met.”

  His gaze came to rest on Louisa.

  She arched a questioning brow at him and received a faint nod in response. “Very well—I’ll start. I spent some time searching for the Hawesleys with a view to discovering Lawton’s address in town. Finally, I cornered his lordship and discovered that Lawton’s rooms were in Cross Street, off Long Acre. Drake and I went there immediately—this was last night, or rather early this morning.”

  She paused and looked at Drake.

  As usual, she’d leapt ahead. “I suggest we describe what we found in Chilburn’s rooms later. First, Michael and Cleo need to hear what the rest of us learned when we called at Scotland Yard yesterday.” Drake smoothly added, “And what sent all four of us there, which takes us to our interviews at the London Working Men’s Association, both yesterday and again today.”

  Louisa adjusted her mental direction. “We—Drake and I—called at the association first thing yesterday morning and, again, first thing today.” Swiftly, she outlined what they’d heard and subsequently suspected when they’d called at the three Chartist militia leaders’ homes, suspicions that had been confirmed when they’d gone to Scotland Yard.

  Drake stepped in to describe the salient point of the method of dispatch.

  “In addition to that,” Sebastian said, “Antonia and I had a word with Inspector Crawford. He confirmed that the description of the man who is believed to have killed Connell Boyne was sufficient to establish that Boyne’s killer wasn’t Chilburn. Whether Boyne’s killer is the one who also wields a garrote is something we can’t yet say, but as Boyne’s killer was presumably the one who arranged for the carters to transport the barrels to London, and they were subsequently killed by garrote, then that seems a strong possibility.”

  “So all three leaders are dead, but killed by some killer quite different to the garrotter.” Cleo grimaced. “So we have two killers. At least.”

  “Had,” Drake said. “I strongly suspect Chilburn was the dagger-wielder, and it was he who killed the three Chartist leaders—the ones he’d spoken with, the ones who knew his face.”

  Antonia frowned. “But Chilburn was the gentleman-rider, the scar-faced man who worked with the two men who drove the gunpowder off into the fog.” She glanced at the others. “Will he have killed those men, too?”

  “He couldn’t have,” Sebastian pointed out. “Michael and Cleo removed him while the drays were driven on.”

  Drake shifted. “That said, as we know we have a second killer associated with this plot, then I doubt those men, if they are still alive, are safe. However, I haven’t heard from Scotland Yard of any more dead bodies, and we”—his gaze switched to Louisa—“have at least made a start on identifying those men. Incidentally, there were four of them, not just the two who drove the drays.”

  Dutifully, Louisa related the bare bones of what had occurred when they’d called at the Chartist headquarters that morning. “We finally convinced them that finding out which four men the leaders sent to meet with Chilburn was in their and the association’s and the cause�
�s best interests. The association secretary, a Mr. Beam, is driving that search at this very moment.”

  Drake noted her use of the royal “we” when it would have been more accurate for her to say “I,” but let the point slide. To his mind, there was no need to confess to her already-nervous brothers that her presence and active assistance had been invaluable. Bad enough that he knew, that he’d been forced to accept and face that fact.

  His gaze on her arresting, animated face, he murmured, “You intended to spend the rest of your morning chasing information about the Chilburns. Did you get any further forward?”

  She pulled an expressive face. “Not all that much.” She sketched what she termed the general view of the Chilburn family and the viscount and viscountess. “But I did learn a little more from Grandmama and Lady Osbaldestone. Apparently there are a lot of branches and therefore twigs on the Chilburn family tree, so Lawton has lots of cousins of varying degrees. That said, Grandmama and Lady Osbaldestone were not aware of any tension or situation that might inspire one of his cousins to spy on Lawton and his doings. However, they did go on to say that as Lawton had several male cousins of similar age, his ‘spy’ comment might have been occasioned by some competition or attempt to gain advantage—to find out what Lawton was doing so as to interfere and possibly gain something for themselves. In that respect, there are eight cousins who might be the one Lawton referred to.” Louisa closed her eyes and, after an instant’s pause, reeled off the eight names.

  She opened her eyes and looked at Drake, then at Michael and Sebastian. “Do those names ring any bells?”

  Together with Michael and Sebastian, Drake volunteered his thoughts on several of those named. Between them, they could claim nodding acquaintance with four of the eight. “All thoroughly and entirely law-abiding souls,” Drake summarized for the three ladies. “In fact, that entire family is not one you would expect to be drawn into a situation—an intrigue—such as this. They are dull, rather boring, and staunchly conservative.”

  Louisa nodded. “That was Grandmama’s and Lady Osbaldestone’s opinion, too. They were puzzled by the suggestion of wider family involvement.”

  Sebastian snorted. “If those two are puzzled, it’s no wonder the six of us aren’t making much headway with the Chilburns.” He glanced at Antonia. “We’ve been quietly asking around, too, much the same as Louisa, but with different sources.”

  “We called in at Lady Oliphant’s breakfast, then went on to a luncheon in Green Street with my Rawlings connections,” Antonia said. “There was no notion anywhere of anything at all strange about the Chilburn family or their connections.”

  Drake humphed and shifted his gaze to Michael and Cleo.

  Michael straightened. “We, on the other hand, called on the footmen on duty in Southwark this morning.” He glanced at Cleo. “Aside from confirming that ten barrels of gunpowder have not been taken from the area, with the men’s help, Cleo put together a list of all the different sorts of containers exported, as it were, from those particular lanes.”

  “If the gunpowder was to be transferred to some other receptacle, it seems reasonable to assume that the plotters would choose a type frequently seen moving out of the area,” Cleo said. “That reduces the possibilities to just two. Either barrels of pickled herrings or barrels of beer or ale.” She glanced at a list she’d pulled from her reticule. “I discounted the barrels used for spirits because they’re so much smaller. The gunpowder would fill so very many, the number would be problematic and draw attention to the hoard.”

  She looked at Drake, then at the others. “We then went to the office of the Inspector General of Gunpowder and talked to the most experienced clerk. According to him, there is no known way of safely transporting a large quantity of gunpowder, especially near or over water, other than by using properly made gunpowder barrels. And those, as we know, will be stamped.”

  “He—the clerk—poured cold water over any notion of using brewery barrels, much less herring barrels,” Michael said.

  All of those seated frowned. Eventually, Drake voiced the conundrum all were wrestling with. “If they’re not planning on disguising the gunpowder as something else, then… I’m finding it difficult to imagine how they propose to move the gunpowder into place at their chosen target.”

  Sebastian raised a shoulder. “Regardless, if they leave the gunpowder in gunpowder barrels, even if they change the stamp, the instant they try to move them out of Southwark, we’ll see and swoop on the barrels.”

  “Hmm, no.” Her frown lightening, Louisa looked around the circle. “You’re forgetting—Chilburn hired four men of certain trades and with a certain business. Two were the drivers of the carts—that’s one trade. So who—and what—were the other two? If he wasn’t intending to disguise the gunpowder by putting it into some other sort of receptacle, then…”

  Drake was nodding. “Then it’s hard to see what those other two men would have been needed for.”

  “If they were transferring the gunpowder into other containers,” Michael pointed out, “then Chilburn might well have needed all four men to get the transfer done before the morning.”

  “Perhaps,” Drake said. “However, given this plot has been so exceptionally well planned from the start, I can’t imagine them leaving such an obvious weakness—that of the gunpowder remaining in readily identifiable gunpowder barrels when moved to the target site—unaddressed.” He glanced at the others. “We’ve discussed this before. Their best and surest way to get the gunpowder safely to the target site is to disguise it as something else—something normally found at the target site.” He looked at Cleo. “Is there any chance we’re missing something with regard to transporting gunpowder?”

  Cleo bit her lower lip, then said, “There might be—indeed, I’ve a feeling there has to be.” She glanced at Michael. “There’s an old gunnery officer who used to work for Hendon Shipping. He’s retired now, but if anyone would know of other means of safely transporting gunpowder, it would be him. We should go and see him tomorrow.”

  “Do that.” Drake tapped his steepled fingers before his face. “They have to have some ploy in mind to get that gunpowder out of Southwark. Even though they don’t know we’re watching, the instant those barrels left the firework supply warehouse, they became very difficult to hide, much less excuse. Ten barrels of a hundredweight each. It’s hard to imagine normal people overlooking such a cache.”

  Michael met Cleo’s eyes. “We’ll go and find your old gunnery officer tomorrow.”

  Drake mentally reviewed all they’d discussed, then said, “That brings us to Chilburn’s rooms in Cross Lane.” He caught Louisa’s eyes and smoothly went on, “It was after midnight when Louisa and I reached there. The doors at street level and on the landing were unlocked, and the rooms had already been searched. Badger, Lawton’s man, wasn’t there, but as his clothes and brush and comb were, we’re not sure what conclusion to draw from that. He might have fled in panic. We searched all Chilburn’s papers that were still there—mostly bills and demands for payment. He had a lot of creditors, and many were growing insistent. However, Louisa noted that there were no accounts relating to rental payments. We decided that might mean that Chilburn’s landlord lived close by.”

  Drake turned his head and looked at Finnegan. “I sent Finnegan to Cross Lane this morning to hunt down the landlord and ask for any insights that individual might have regarding Chilburn and any frequent visitors to his rooms, and to see if the elusive Badger had returned.”

  With a lift of his brow, Drake invited Finnegan to relate his findings.

  As irrepressible as ever, Finnegan stepped forward, clasped his hands behind his back, and grinned. “The landlord was easy to find—he’s the baker who owns and works in the bakery next door. In return for a few shillings, he was willing to chat about Chilburn. Apparently, the rent’s up to date. According to the baker, who lives above his shop—so next door to Chilburn’s rooms—Chilburn rarely had company of any sort. He usually ca
me home in the early hours and left about lunchtime—he often came into the bakery for a pie. The baker saw him as a charmer, easygoing but with his pockets forever to let. I suspect the baker sized Chilburn up from the start and was careful to always demand the rent on time and in person—big, heavy chap, the baker. He also thought Chilburn had been in the cavalry because of the sword he sometimes sported and the scar, but other than that and the suspicion Chilburn came from a good family, the baker knew nothing else about his background.”

  “He—this baker—hadn’t seen any friends visit? Any close acquaintances calling?” Michael asked.

  “No, my lord. He—the baker—seemed fairly confident he’d have noticed any frequent visitors ’cause he’s almost always in his shop, and the window gives a decent view of the street and the approach to Chilburn’s door.” Finnegan paused to draw a portentous breath, then revealed, “What he had noticed was that a message arrived for Chilburn last week. It was brought by a shifty-looking sort. The baker thinks it was on Wednesday. He noted the incident particularly because this shifty-looking cove wouldn’t leave the message with Badger—the baker heard the argument on the stoop next door. The shifty cove insisted on hanging around in the lane until Chilburn came home. Of course, when Chilburn did arrive, the baker was all curiosity and watched from his shop. The cove stopped Chilburn in the street and gave him a sealed note. The baker swears Chilburn knew the man and was pleased to see him, pleased to get the note. Chilburn read the note then and there, then he asked a question, and the shifty cove handed him something—the baker didn’t see what, but Chilburn put it in his jacket pocket, and it was bulky enough to see a bulge. Then Chilburn dismissed the shifty cove, and the cove hied off.”

  Drake frowned. He’d heard Finnegan’s report before, but it had only just struck him… “Chilburn didn’t tip or pay the messenger?”

  “No, my lord. The baker was quite clear. He was watching closely by that point, and he noticed that particularly—it was something he’d expected to see happen, but it didn’t.”