Rather than proceed through the archway and take the stairs up to Grentham’s offices, the earl ducked through a side door and cut though to the warren of rooms next to the stables.
“Is Colonel Greville in?” he asked the adjutant standing guard at the door. “Tell him De Quincy wishes to see him.”
The young man returned shortly. “This way, sir.”
“Sandro!” The colonel pushed aside a stack of dossiers and rose from his desk. “Or must I now tug at my forelock and call you Lord Saybrook?”
The earl responded with a rude oath. “I just heard you had been posted back here from Paris. When did you arrive?”
“Last week. Wellington doesn’t need a flock of intelligence officers around him in France, now that peace reigns in Europe.” The colonel made a face. “The only thing I have to decipher these days are a cursed cartload of supply and troop movements. Have you any idea how complicated it is to move an army from one place to another?”
“I’d rather not know,” quipped Saybrook. “Actually I would rather discuss a military matter, if you don’t mind.” He glanced around to make sure the door was shut. “Might I ask you a few questions concerning your work in the Peninsula? In confidence, of course.”
“Of course.” Greville signaled for him to have a seat. “Trust me, I much prefer to talk about war than barrels of moldy biscuits.”
Saybrook shifted a stack of ledgers. “You helped handle the question of ballistics for Wellington’s invasion of Spain, correct?”
“Yes,” answered the colonel. “There were a great many challenges—bridges to blow up, mountain passes to clear, city walls to breech during the sieges.”
“I’ve recently heard some rumors that the government enlisted the help of a number of scientists here in England, including Sir Humphry Davy, to secretly work on creating new explosives.”
Greville cleared his throat. “May I ask why you are interested?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been asked to do a little informal investigation for a department within Whitehall. I can’t tell you more, except to say that it’s important—and it’s imperative for you to keep the fact that I’m asking you this in the strictest confidence.”
His old comrade nodded. “You can trust me to keep mum.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.” The earl rose and began pacing back and forth across the well-worn carpet. “So tell me about Davy.”
“He was engaged in a project to develop an explosive far more powerful than gunpowder,” replied Greville. “I believe the work began around 1808. The research was so secret that he didn’t work in his regular laboratory at the Royal Institution but had a special place in Tunbridge.” The colonel pursed his lips. “It turned out to be a bloody dangerous job. He nearly lost an eye when a tiny grain of the stuff blew up in his face.”
“So he invented a substance that worked?”
“Yes. But it proved unstable. We didn’t dare use it except for the really difficult jobs. Understandably, Davy himself became a bit skittish after that about continuing with his experiments. However, he did continue to do some theoretical work on the subject. He’s a brilliant chemist.”
“Yes, I know.” Saybrook took another turn. “Were there any other scientists involved with him to do the practical testing?”
Leaning back in his chair, Greville rubbed at his jaw. “Damned if I can remember. Can you not ask Davy?”
“Davy is in Europe at the moment, making a Grand Tour with his wife and assistant Michael Faraday to celebrate his recent knighthood. Time is of the essence, and besides, the subject isn’t one that can be discussed in a letter. Try to remember, and if it comes to you, trot along in person to my town house. I’d prefer that you don’t commit any message to paper.” The earl allowed a pause before asking, “What about a fellow named Cayley? Do you know if he ever was brought in to consult with Davy?”
The colonel’s chair hit the floor with an audible thump. “Ye God, Sandro. You are touching on some very sensitive stuff here.”
“So the rumors are true,” he mused.
“Yes. For a time, the two of them were looking at certain . . . possibilities. If feasible, they would have revolutionized warfare.”
“As if we aren’t adept enough at killing,” muttered Saybrook.
His former comrade nodded grimly. “Yes, but this . . .” Greville blew out his cheeks. “In any case, after much study, the plans were still merely theoretical and I was shifted to other work. I assumed that the project was abandoned. And now that peace has come . . .”
The words trailed off, leaving a speculative silence.
“We soldiers know that peace can be a very fragile thing,” murmured Saybrook.
“Good God, is there a new threat looming? I thought those fancy diplomats in Vienna were making some progress in their negotiations, despite all the partying and philandering. Everyone here at Horse Guards assumes that with Wellington taking over as the head of England’s delegation, the other leaders will snap to attention and quickly finish up the last little details of restoring world order.”
“Sorry, Grev. I’m not at liberty to say more.” The earl paused to regard a large map of Europe that hung on the wall. “Like you, I wish to see the peace conference live up to its name. But just in case there is a hawk lurking among the doves, I wish to be ready to clip its wings.”
10
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Rosemary Olive Oil Cake
3/4 cup spelt flour
11/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
11/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
3 eggs
1 cup olive oil
3/4 cup whole milk
11/2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped
5 ounces bittersweet chocolate (70% cocoa), chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Rub a 91/2-inch fluted tart pan with olive oil. Alternately, use a 41/2 x 13–inch loaf pan lined with parchment paper.
2. Sift the flours, 3/4 cup of the sugar, the baking powder and the salt into a large bowl, pouring any bits of grain or other ingredients left in the sifter back into the bowl. Set aside.
3. In another large bowl, whisk the eggs thoroughly. Add the olive oil, milk and rosemary and whisk again. Using a spatula, fold the wet ingredients into the dry, gently mixing just until combined.
4. Stir in two-thirds of the chocolate. Pour the batter into the pan, spreading it evenly and smoothing the top. Sprinkle with the remaining chocolate and run a fork along the length of the cake so that the batter envelops the chocolate just a bit. Sprinkle with the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar.
5. Bake for about 40 minutes, or until the top is domed and golden brown, and a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean.
The last words of the summation were still echoing through the decorative colonnading when a thunderous applause rose up to fill the lecture hall.
Smiling, Trevor Willoughby acknowledged the crowd with a graceful bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He managed to inflect a note of boyish surprise into his voice—a charming artifice, thought Arianna. And quite effective, she noted, taking a surreptitious look at the people seated near her. The men were regarding the professor with undisguised admiration, while the ladies . . .
The ladies were staring in adoration.
She bit back a cynical smile. Willoughby was as skilled as any actor at playing his audience. His performance—tone, gesture, posture—had been very impressive.
“Isn’t he magnificent?” gushed a buxom blonde to her companion. Both ladies tittered behind the waving of their painted fans.
Somehow Arianna doubted that they were commenting on the content of the lecture. As
to its quality, she didn’t feel qualified to judge—indeed, it had seemed incomprehensible at times. But despite the theatrics, she assumed his reputation was built on more than hot air.
“Was he good?” she murmured to Sophia, once the people surrounding them had filed out to the adjoining hall.
“Very. His research on voltaic batteries is quite advanced.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, Sophia added, “Just say, ‘Oh, what an interesting observation on the reaction of potassium,’ and you will impress any of the members.”
“Thank you,” replied Arianna.
Sophia was already heading for the doorway. “Come, I saw that Lord Chittenden is here. He’s someone you should meet.”
Several large refreshment tables draped in crimson damask had been set up at one end of the room. There was champagne punch, served in large crystal bowls, along with silver platters of sultana cakes and gingerbread. At the opposite end, a pianoforte sat on a raised platform, and a balding gentleman with a beak of a nose was gamely playing a Mozart sonata.
But no one appeared to be paying particular attention to the music. Even with the lecture over, Willoughby was still the center of attention. He was surrounded by well-wishers, all eager to get a word with him.
“Has the professor invented some magical love potion that exerts a captive hold on his audience?” murmured Arianna.
Sophia suppressed a smile as she scanned the room. “If he has, he could make a fortune bottling and selling it to the ton.”
“Looking for someone, Miss Kirtland?” A sandy-haired gentleman wearing an exquisitely tailored coat approached them. “I couldn’t help but see that you and your friend are without a cup of good cheer.” With a flourish, he offered two glasses of punch.
“How kind,” said Sophia, hesitating just a fraction before accepting the drink. “Mrs. Greeley, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Henry Lawrance. Mr. Lawrance, this is Mrs. Greeley, a friend recently arrived from America.”
Lawrance lifted Arianna’s gloved hand to his lips. “Enchanted, Mrs. Greeley. And what brings you to our Sceptered Isle?”
“Curiosity,” answered Arianna. “A wish to broaden my horizons.”
Light winked off his lashes as he looked up. “Both are laudable qualities in a scientist. Are you interested in chemistry?”
“I should like to learn more on the subject,” she replied. “And it seems as if I have come to the right place. Willoughby’s observation on potassium was quite interesting.”
His brows notched up. “It seems you are being far too modest about your abilities. I daresay few ladies here would understand what the professor was talking about.” He looked at Sophia. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Arianna noted that her companion-in-intrigue avoided his glance.
“Ah, there is Chittenden,” announced Sophia. “Do excuse us, Mr. Lawrance.”
The rules of etiquette left the gentleman no choice but to step aside. “Will you be staying in London long, Mrs. Greeley?” he asked in parting.
“That depends,” said Arianna coyly.
“On Mr. Greeley?”
“No, I am a widow,” she replied. “Which leaves me free to make my own decisions.”
“Then I do hope you will favor us with a long visit. I am sure the city won’t disappoint you.” Lawrance bowed politely. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”
There had not yet been an opportunity to have a detailed discussion on who was—and wasn’t—important to know, mused Arianna. That was the next order of business after today’s meeting was over. The so-called Bright Lights needed to take on an individual shine.
As if reading her thoughts, Sophia leaned in and said softly, “Chittenden holds a weekly soiree for the scientific set. The institution’s inner circle are all regulars, so an invitation will gain you entrée into their group.”
Edging through the crowd, they made their way to where their quarry was holding court by the punch bowls. Introductions were made, and with a few silky hints and smiles, Arianna had no trouble having her name added to the guest list for the next gathering.
“Now let me look for Bartlett,” said Sophia, once they had moved past a decorative plinth holding a large urn of fresh-cut holly. “I—”
“Oh, Miss Kirtland, I was hoping you would be here.” A pretty but painfully thin lady dressed in pale green silk broke away from her two escorts and gave a cheery wave. “I have the book you lent me on nitrous gases.” A small volume bound in well-worn cloth appeared from inside her reticule. “I fear it was a bit advanced for me, but I made copious notes of my questions, and Theus has promised to explain them.”
“Then I daresay you will have no trouble in grasping the essentials of the subject,” answered Sophia. “Your brother is not only knowledgeable but also explains things clearly and concisely.”
“He says the same thing about you.” The lady smiled shyly at Arianna. “Forgive me for interrupting. My enthusiasm sometimes leads me to forget my manners.”
Sophia had already returned to scanning the crowd. “Hmmm?” she replied distractedly. “Oh.” A brusque cough. “Mrs. Greeley, this is Lady Urania Mortley. Lady Urania, Mrs. Greeley, newly arrived from Boston.”
“How wonderful! I think that travel must be a very educational experience, but unfortunately my circumstances keep me from venturing far from home,” exclaimed Lady Urania, looking a little wistful. “So I must live vicariously through the adventures of others.” A soft sigh punctuated the statement. “Boston is said to be a very interesting city.”
“Not as interesting as London,” said Arianna, hoping to discourage a spate of questions. She had learned enough about the New England port during her years in the West Indies to feel confident about carrying off her deception, but it was always best to avoid discussing too many details.
“I believe that one of the oldest universities in America is located there.” Undeterred, Lady Urania chattered on. “Har . . . Harworth?”
“Harvard,” corrected Arianna. “Indeed, it is the oldest and is considered a very fine institution of higher learning.”
“I take it you are interested in intellectual pursuits, Mrs. Greeley, seeing as you are here.”
“Yes.” One of her father’s friends in Jamaica had been a wealthy American trader in cacao and spices, and she quickly decided to adopt him as her own. Forgive me, Papa, but the truth is, Josiah Hammond was far more a model parent than you were.
“Very much so,” replied Arianna. “My late father was a trustee of the university. Growing up, I was often exposed to conversations on literary and scientific topics.”
“What subject did he teach?” asked Lady Urania.
“He was not a professor, but a merchant of spice and coffee—in America, working for a living in trade has no stigma attached to it.”
“I think that a very wise philosophy,” said Lady Urania resolutely. “It is very important to be useful, and not merely an indolent idler.”
One of the lady’s escorts turned away from his own conversation and came over to join them. “My dear Rainnie,” he murmured, brushing a light touch to her arm. It was a subtle gesture, more protective than possessive. “Have a care not to frighten Miss Kirtland’s guest with your radical views.”
Two hot spots of color bloomed on the lady’s pale cheeks. “Miss Kirtland isn’t intimidated by my ideas.”
He crooked an apologetic smile. “Yes, but others may not be quite so tolerant of how forcefully you express them.”
“I assure you, I am a firm believer that people should feel free to speak their minds,” said Arianna. “It is through disagreement and debate that we challenge our own preconceptions.”
Lady Urania’s chin rose a notch. “You see, Theus? I haven’t offended anyone.”
“You need not try to rein in your sister’s pass
ions on our account, Lord Canaday,” added Sophia. “I always enjoy a frank expression of opinion, as does my friend.”
He inclined a small bow. “You are kind to encourage Rainnie in pursuing her interests. Most of Society thinks intellectual endeavors are very unladylike.”
“I am well aware of the ton’s petty-minded opinions,” replied Sophia tartly. “We are considered unnatural, eccentric. Ape-leaders, bluestockings—and those are just some of the kinder monikers.”
“Does it bother you?” asked Canaday.
“Not particularly,” answered Sophia.
It was interesting that Sophia Kirtland seemed uncomfortably sharp with everyone, noted Arianna. So perhaps I should not take it personally. Reminding herself that Saybrook’s female friend was not her primary concern, she forced her attention back to her new acquaintances.
“Once again, I am forgetting my manners,” murmured Lady Urania. “Mrs. Greeley, please allow me to formally introduce you to my brother, Viscount Canaday.”
“Are you interested in science, Lord Canaday?” asked Arianna. “Or are you only here out of fraternal affection, to serve as your sister’s escort?”
“Theus could be a brilliant scholar, if only he would apply himself,” answered his sister.
“Fondness for her wayward sibling leads Rainnie to exaggerate. I do find science fascinating . . .” He flashed a roguish wink at Arianna. “But alas, I have not her monkish devotion to books.”
Lady Urania’s flush crept across her cheekbones. “Oh please, Theus, you will have our new friend thinking that I subsist on naught but bread, water and parchment.”
In truth, the lady looked like she lived on air and a few lettuce leaves.
Arianna regarded the fragile, birdlike bones and had to quell the urge to offer a recipe for spiced hot chocolate, thickened with sweetened cream. Her research had discovered that throughout history, cacao was often prescribed as a nourishing medicine for the weak and infirm. But Mrs. Greeley must be careful to show no interest in botany . . .
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 13
