* * *
“How is he, Murray?” asked Saybrook.
“Running a bit of a fever,” replied Henning’s friend. “I’ve made him drink another dose of laudanum, so he’ll be sleeping for some hours.” He sounded tense, terse. “I wud rest easier mesself if those Sassenach soldiers weren’t blocking me doorway.”
“I shall try to see if I can get them withdrawn,” said the earl. “But I cannot promise it.”
“How soon before Basil can be moved?” inquired Arianna. She and her husband had decided that it would be best to get Henning away from St. Andrews as soon as possible. Stoughton’s authority did not extend to Edinburgh. “We think it might be prudent to get him out of St. Andrews to ensure that no more unfortunate accidents take place.”
Murray made a face. “A practical suggestion, and we Scots pride ourselves on being pragmatic. However, I dunna like the idea of him jostling over these rough roads. We must be cautious with a wound like this.”
“Fever might not be the most serious threat to his well-being,” said Saybrook softly. “My feeling is that recuperating at the home of his sister might be the best option.”
“I suppose that a journey to Edinburgh will do no great harm. But I must advise against any further travel. He needs a long period of rest and quiet to ensure full recovery.”
“Yes, I understand that a grueling trip to London would leave him sapped of strength,” said Saybrook. “Let me pay a visit to the authorities now and see what I can arrange. I shall return in a few hours. There are some papers I wish for Baz to look at, assuming he feels up to the task.”
“We’ll see how he feels when he wakes,” growled Murray. “But be warned, in this weakened state, he’s in no condition to concentrate on papers. As I said, a gunshot wound is a serious injury.”
But it’s likely that the mental hurt is even more grave, thought Arianna grimly.
“I understand,” replied her husband. “The last thing we wish to do is press him too hard.”
“What about ye?” asked Murray. “Will ye be returning here once ye’ve settled Baz with his sister?”
“No,” said the earl. “I think I’ve learned all that I came to St. Andrews for. So after seeing Baz safely to Edinburgh, my wife and I will be returning to London.”
7
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Triple Chocolate Espresso Bean Cookies
21/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons freshly ground espresso powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon finely ground sea salt
1/2 cup natural cocoa or cacao powder, not Dutch-process
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
11/2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
2 large eggs
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
8 ounces chocolate-covered espresso beans
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cocoa. Set aside.
3. In a large bowl, beat the butter with an electric mixer until it is fluffy and lightens a bit in color. Beat in the sugars—the mixture should have a thick, frosting-like consistency. Mix in the eggs one at a time, making sure to incorporate the first egg before adding the second. Add the vanilla and mix until it is incorporated.
4. Add the dry ingredients to the wet mix in four batches. Stir a bit between each addition until the flour is just incorporated. At this point you should have a moist brown dough that is uniform in color. Stir in the espresso beans and chocolate chips by hand and mix only until they are evenly distributed throughout the dough.
5. Form the dough into balls using roughly 1 heaping tablespoon of dough for each one. Place on a cookie sheet with at least an inch between them so they won’t melt together.
6. Bake for about 10 minutes on the middle rack. Don’t overbake these cookies or they will really dry out. If anything, underbake them just a bit. Cool on racks.
“Welcome home, milady.” Their butler, a taciturn Spaniard of unflappable demeanor, inclined a courtly bow as Arianna came into the entrance hall of their Mayfair town house. “Bianca has been busy in the kitchen since we received His Lordship’s message that you would be arriving this afternoon. A pot of her special spiced chocolate is simmering on the stove, and platters of pastries fresh from the oven await you.”
“Thank you, Sebastian,” she said, untying the fastenings of her fur-lined cloak and gratefully handing it over. After breathing in the sweet fragrances of fresh-cut pine and melted sugar, she let out a long sigh. “The healing nourishment of chocolate will be most welcome. I feel as if every bone in my body has been bounced to Hell and back.”
“I trust that the comforts of familiar surroundings will be a balm for your aches, and that the decorations of the season will restore a measure of good cheer,” replied Sebastian. “The house has been hung with evergreens from your Somerset estate, and a lovely Yule log has been readied in the main drawing room hearth.”
Oh, Lord—Christmas was only two days away, realized Arianna. She certainly wasn’t feeling in a very festive mood at the moment. They had left Henning on the mend in body. But as for spirit . . .
The surgeon had read over the papers taken from Girton’s laboratory, and while he had offered a few observations and suggestions, it was clear that his heart wasn’t in the task.
No, we cannot look to the north for help in pulling England’s goose out of the fire, she thought wryly. The dangerous flare of flames would have to be doused here in London.
“That sounds lovely,” murmured Arianna, flexing her stiff shoulders. The cozy warmth from the blazing fireplaces was, in fact, already helping to dispel the pervasive chill of Scotland. “His Lordship and I will freshen up from our travels, and then refreshments in the library would be most welcome.”
A short while later, Saybrook set his cup down with a contented sigh. “Remind me again of why I gave up a life of quiet scholarship to immerse myself in murder and mayhem.”
“To begin with, you met me,” answered Arianna. “I’m a bad influence on you.”
“You are hardly to blame for these last few months.” He reached for the chocolate pot and spun the molinillo, sending up tendrils of steam from the spout. “One almost wonders if Baz’s outlandish suspicions about Grentham might have a grain of truth to them. It seems everyone close to me has been caught up in some dark intrigue.”
A sidelong glance showed that worry had taken its toll on him. Candlelight flickered on his taut features, accentuating the deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. The shadows looked like bruises.
An apt analogy, reflected Arianna, for he was letting the problems of this investigation fester beneath the skin. Being cooped up in a carriage for a long journey had offered too many hours for introspection. The earl had a tendency to brood, to blame himself when anything went wrong.
“Don’t let your imagination run wild, Sandro,” she said briskly. “This is real life, not a novel. You were the first to point out that the plotline suggested by Basil was too implausible to take seriously.”
“I am also the one who often points out that truth is stranger than fiction,” he quipped. “But point taken.” He inhaled deeply, and the spiced aroma of the chocolate seemed to lighten his expression. “Let us keep our thinking confined to the practical considerations.”
“Yes, let’s,” murmured Arianna, quickly reaching for her notebook and thumbing to a section near the middle. “Before we left Scotland, you got a list of Girton’s possible confidants from Henning’s friend Connery.” She read off four names. “I assume you will begin seeking an acqua
intance with them here in London.”
He nodded. “Along with seeing what more I can learn about Sir George Cayley.” Cursory questions around the university had elicited some interesting information. The baronet was a scientist with a broad range of interests—including ballistics and the design of ingenious mechanical devices.
“Sir George is certainly an intriguing figure,” she replied. “Speaking of possessing an active imagination . . .”
“Perhaps too active.” Saybrook poured himself more chocolate. “The mention that he is working on inventing some sort of engine that runs on a flammable liquid sparks a rather alarming concern,” he added dryly. “He definitely merits further scrutiny.”
“And while you deal with that scholar, we must come up with a plan to get involved with the Royal Institution, in order to learn about the so-called Bright Lights.” During the journey home from Scotland, they had decided that Girton’s cryptic note had to be considered a compelling clue. And so it had been agreed that it was imperative to make friends with the group of intellectuals who made up the inner circle around Sir Humphry Davy and Trevor Willoughby.
But how to concoct a formula for doing so was another matter.
“Yes.” Saybrook grimaced. “And yet I’m still puzzled on how to go about it. I’m confident that our involvement in both Vienna and Scotland were secret enough that Renard cannot know the full extent of our efforts. But he’s not a fool—the fact that we were in Austria is enough to make him suspicious should we take a sudden interest in the Royal Institution lectures.”
“I agree,” said Arianna. “So I’ve thought it over and I think I’ve come up with a plan.”
Her husband set down his cup. “I have the feeling that I’m not going to like this.”
“Probably not,” quipped Arianna. “But it will work.”
He blew out his breath. “Go on.”
“The institution lectures are popular with both sexes, so an eccentric foreigner, newly arrived in London, will not raise too many eyebrows.”
“Arianna—”
“Come, you have to admit that I’m very good at accents and disguises,” she said, quickly cutting off his protest.
“Too good,” he growled. “Dio Madre, your masquerades have nearly gotten you killed three times since I met you . . .”
Ah, it was a good thing he knew nothing about her Caribbean capers.
“So how the devil do you think I feel about letting you take another such risk?”
“Not overjoyed,” she said dryly. “However, personal feeling cannot be allowed to color our decisions. Renard and this chemical concoction are too great a threat. If we don’t stop him, there’s a chance that a great many innocent people will die.”
The string of Spanish curses that followed told her that he knew she was right.
“Sandro, this time, the danger for me is not so great. My role will simply be to watch and listen. The institution attracts plenty of people who simply wish to rub shoulders with the intellectual elite. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect that I have ulterior motives for seeking to be part of their circle.”
His grunt was eloquent in its skepticism.
“I shall, of course, have to learn a little about chemistry,” went on Arianna. “My lack of bookish knowledge may present a problem. But perhaps my knowledge of mathematics will help me hide my shortcomings and still attract the attention of the Bright Lights.”
“Like Davy, Willoughby has become the darling of Society, and his lectures attract a huge audience of females who have, to put it mildly, no formal training in science,” said Saybrook grudgingly. He was silent for a moment before a smile slowly curled at the corners of his mouth. “Trust me, they will be intrigued by your ingenious mind—as well as your more obvious endowments.”
Arianna popped a small morsel of chocolate-studded cake into her mouth. “How very edifying that you think so. Though some ladies might be a trifle disturbed to hear their husband sound so cheery over the prospect of feeding his wife to the foxes.”
“But not you,” said the earl.
But not me. Arianna swallowed quickly, trying to keep a sour taste from coating her throat. Seeing as she had just encouraged him to view the investigation dispassionately, it was absurd to feel a tiny twinge of disappointment that he had not voiced a warmer response.
She waited, but he did not elaborate.
“I will check on the schedule of lectures,” she announced, making a notation in her book. “What with the Christmas and Boxing Day festivities, I imagine that things will be a trifle quiet for the moment. That will give me some time to read up on the subject.”
Her tone must have had an edge, for he looked up from his cup, a small furrow forming between his brows.
Pretending not to notice, Arianna continue to write.
Saybrook cleared his throat. “You know, I, too, have been thinking . . . As we have remarked, Baz’s absence leaves a hole in our ranks—a rather critical hole, as his expertise in chemistry was a key weapon in our arsenal.” A rather strange expression pulled at his features. “So, like you, I’ve come up with an idea . . .”
“Yes?” said Arianna, a bit taken aback by his hemming and hawing. It was unlike him to beat around the bush. “Do go on, Sandro.”
“Actually, I need to make a few inquiries first, to see if it’s even feasible. But if all goes as I hope, I would like you to come to a meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Is it really necessary to be so mysterious?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I’d rather not say any more until later.”
Biting back a sharper retort, she merely nodded, and murmured, “Very well.” They were both tired, she reminded herself, and nerves were likely rubbed raw by all that had happened in Scotland.
“By the by, Bianca reminded me that it is a Christmas Eve tradition for your great-aunt Constantina to host the family for a fancy repast,” she said, deciding to change the subject. “Your uncle and aunt are attending. She wants to know whether to send word to Constantina of our arrival.”
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t dare incur her wrath by missing it,” he replied with a wry smile. In truth, he was extremely fond of his elderly relative, whose tart wit and keen powers of observation were still as sharp as a tack. “In fact, she may be very useful in the coming months . . .”
Again, his words trailed off.
“Because of her connections in Society?” pressed Arianna. Constantina, the dowager Marchioness of Sterling, not only knew everyone in the beau monde, but also possessed a frighteningly accurate recollection of family histories, including past scandals and peccadilloes.
“If there is a skeleton in any attic, Constantina will know where the bones are hanging,” said Saybrook.
True. The dowager had been a source of critical information during their very first investigation.
“But we shall have to be very careful in how we involve her in this,” he went on. “Like you, she has a terrifying tendency to take risks with her own safety.”
“Constantina is clever and resourceful—and she likes the challenge of being useful.” Arianna sipped at her chocolate. “She says it keeps the blood pumping in her veins.”
“Yes, well, I wish to ensure that her heart remains in full pumping order,” he replied.
“I understand, but she’s proven that she can be trusted to use good sense and discretion,” said Arianna. “I think she deserves the respect of us allowing her to make certain decisions for herself about risk.”
Saybrook made a face. “You have a point. I, of all people, readily acknowledge the equality of the feminine intellect. But it’s still damnably difficult to let you ladies waltz into harm’s way.”
“I know that, Sandro. But short of nailing our dancing slippers to the parquet, y
ou will simply have to accept our spins into danger.”
He chuffed a low laugh. “Which means I shall just have to stay on my toes to make sure there are no slips along the way.”
“Correct.” She smiled. “But that said, you know that I’m just as concerned as you are about her safety. We shall be careful.”
“Careful,” repeated her husband. “We all must exercise caution. We are dealing with a cunning, ruthless adversary who has left a trail of dead bodies across half of Europe.”
Arianna waited for his frown to relax before turning the talk back to matters of strategy.
“We don’t know yet whether Lord Reginald was in any way connected with the Royal Institution,” she mused aloud. The Duke of Lampson’s youngest son had been part of Renard’s nefarious plot at the Congress of Vienna. On his death, the British government had decided to keep the young man’s betrayal of his country a secret, even from his family.
“That will be one of the first things for me to discover,” went on Arianna. “But I would be surprised if there is not a connection.” She thought for a moment. “Can you get a list of institution members? And perhaps one of regular attendees of the lectures?”
He nodded. “I’ve already made a note of it.”
“We both know that the heart of this conspiracy has to beat here in London, within the highest circle of power and privilege.”
Her husband tapped a silver spoon against his porcelain cup. “Agreed. Vienna and Scotland were roundabout routes through dangerous terrain, but I have a feeling that the journey will end here.”
The tall case clock in the corner began to chime the hour, its echo muted by the carved oak bookshelves and leather-bound spines.
“We had better get some rest,” he went on, gathering the tray of chocolate and rising. “We will need to keep sharp to negotiate the final twists and turns without a fatal mishap.”
* * *
A damp wind, sour with the smell of the nearby river’s low tide, cut across the parade grounds behind Horse Guards, its edge as sharp as a cavalry saber. Muttering an oath, Saybrook turned up his coat collar and quickened his steps, his boots beating a staccato tattoo across the dark stone tiles beneath the archway. A soldier stepped aside from the doorway, allowing him to enter the building and make his way up to Lord Grentham’s offices.
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 9
