“As you wish, my lord,” she said. “Might I ask after your family’s wellbeing?” The question held a hidden meaning. The man put more stake in his family’s name than in its flesh and blood. His daughter, Catherine, had put herself in a precarious position the previous year, and it was a secret Effie held that rattled him to the core. She would never reveal it, of course. She could never bring herself to ruin a woman’s reputation just to spite the father.
But Lord Granville, like Sir Walter, was a man who believed everyone to be as cruel as himself. The smile he wore in response to her query remained pleasant enough for outward appearances, yet he wore it like a carnival mask. His shoulders stiffened and eyes hardened.
“It is a pleasant day,” he said. “Do not let us start with barbs. I believe you had business with Sir Walter?”
Effie painted a pleasant expression on her face to match the lord’s and tried to tamp down the anger welling inside. The man was correct, she had to concede. She had business with Sir Walter. Provoking Lord Granville did her little good.
“The Aerfenium stores at Balclune. You have access to some of it, do you not?” She thought it best to be direct. Both men were shrewd enough to understand the importance of her questions, and she had no desire to linger in their presence.
Sir Walter perched himself on the edge of his desk. He reclaimed his snifter as he studied her. “It is in my right from the duke,” he said. “I am charged with an allotment for scientific study.”
Effie nodded, grateful the man was forthcoming with that much at least, its public knowledge aside. “We have learned Cyrus Reed had a small portion and used it in his alchemy. Yet none was stolen from Balclune.”
Sir Walter’s lips twitched. His eyes flared, but he quickly masked his surprise. He took a slow sip of whisky. “You believe I would have dealings with a madman?” he asked. “I never met the fellow.”
She could see his mind working at something. “Then how did he obtain it?”
“I certainly do not know. Perhaps he stumbled onto it.” Sir Walter waved an absent hand, as if the answer were in the winds. “There are several caches lost in the hills of Scotland. We both know this to be true.”
“That would seem rather fortuitous for him,” said Effie. “Yet he was found near Balclune and had knowledge of its use for storing Aerfenium. It is not a leap to assume the reason for this. So perhaps he did not meet with you directly. Perhaps he had an agent.” She would allow Sir Walter that much. She did not believe he would jeopardize his position, and the wealth and notoriety he stood to gain, by knowingly conspiring with a madman.
“An agent?” he asked. “No, I rather doubt that. Though I suppose it is possible he stole it from someone given a portion.”
Effie jumped on the opening. “Then we must know who you gave Aerfenium to, so we can account for any that might’ve been stolen.”
“I rather feel that is my business,” said Sir Walter. He glanced at Lord Granville. She couldn’t tell whether he sought the man’s approval or wished to keep his accomplices in secret. Either way, she wouldn’t give up so easily.
“I will ask Cyrus Reed then. He may rave like a lunatic, but that does not mean he won't react when I mention your name.” She blurted the thought out of frustration. Having Cyrus Reed react to Sir Walter’s name would mean very little, they both knew.
But the man’s face tilted askance. “You haven’t heard the news?” he asked. “Cyrus Reed is dead. His jailors found him not a week ago with nary a mark on his body.”
Effie jerked in shock. “H…how?”
“These things happen to those feeble of mind, I hear,” said Lord Granville. He studied her with a smirk on his lips. “They just expire.”
She sucked in a breath and shook the surprise from her thoughts. “Then we shall ask his jailors. They may have overheard something.” The argument sounded weaker spoken aloud, and she cursed herself for uttering it.
Lord Granville chuckled. “Rather persistent, isn’t she?”
“Yes, I am well versed in her manner,” replied Sir Walter. The tension in his voice relaxed. He offered her a smug grin.
Conall planted himself before Sir Walter. “You jest as Germany and France gather at our borders, and Her Majesty’s regiments hunt for cries in the wind. Our armies are ill equipped to handle the current crisis, and yet they are trying anything they can, as are we. We are not asking for your associates to gain currency over you. We ask because the connection may lead us to the enemy—the true enemy who brings madness and mayhem to the empire.”
“So it is this demon again, is it?” asked Lord Granville. “The one no one can produce or find, yet all fey blame? The excuse grows rather tiresome.” He let the statement hang in the air for a moment, challenging them to deny it, before continuing. “What assurances do we have to protect Sir Walter's honor?”
“My word,” said Effie.
Lord Granville laughed again. “You hold your word in great esteem for one in your position. I am told you are not even a member of the Scottish fey’s court. You are an outcast. And outcasts will always remain outcasts, no matter their aspirations. You may have tricked me into cowing to your wishes before, but I will not have my name shamed again by one devoid of authority.”
“She is a more capable leader against this threat than all the lords of London,” said Conall. He stiffened defiantly. “You have my word on that account.”
“Do not make an enemy of me, Mr. Murray,” said Lord Granville. He raised a hand and calmed his voice. “As it happens, I am in a position to offer assistance. I have formed a council that will oversee and approve all uses of Aerfenium, including Sir Walter's allotment.” He nodded to Sir Walter. “And fortunately for you, you have found me in a charitable mood.”
Sir Walter gave attention to his drink, swirling the amber liquid. The ice clinked softly against the glass. Making calculations, Effie guessed. She doubted Lord Granville was ever as charitable as he now proclaimed. He stood to gain something by Sir Walter’s admission.
“I awarded small samples to men of notable reputation,” said Sir Walter. “They were inventors and scientists who could aid me in demonstrating Aerfenium’s worth to the empire.” He threw back the remainder of his whisky. “All of these samples are accounted for, their successes and failures documented. Yet I also gave some to Mr. Edward Waite, for purposes unknown to me.”
Effie choked down the urge to gasp. She saw it now, the vice that crushed down on Sir Walter. Lord Granville’s council of lords and the coal barons were at odds. Each strove for the lion’s share of profits from Aerfenium. Each wanted to put a stranglehold on controlling its usage. Lord Granville would win out, of course, because his profit would come under the guise of the empire’s security. But that did not mean he had no need to fight.
“Mr. Edward Waite,” Lord Granville said, as if mulling over the name. “He will not speak with you. He is a zealot who believes your kind are beneath him.”
“Yet, I suppose with a kind word from you...” Effie saw right away where the lord headed. Her skin began to crawl.
Lord Granville’s mouth parted as his lips pulled back. He laid bare his teeth. “Yes, I could use my influence in the matter.”