“I—”
“Secondly,” she went on before he could interrupt, “Stoughton is related to Lord Reginald Sommers. A second or third cousin, but still, the connection is there.”
Taking a pinch of the dark red pepper powder from the stone mortar, Saybrook slowly rubbed the spice between his fingers. Light licked across his hand, the candle flames turning the spice’s hue to the color of fresh-spilled blood.
“Stop that,” she snapped, then quickly expelled an apologetic sigh. “Sorry. My nerves are a little on edge.”
“Understandably so.” There was an oddly hesitant hitch to his voice, which seemed to linger in the air as he dusted his fingertips on his trousers. “It is not just our enemies who are keeping secrets from us, but also our friends.”
Is he upset over the fact that Miss Kirtland has not shared her past with him?
Arianna tried to read his expression, but he had turned to add the pepper to the chocolate pot. The strands of his hair fluttered, forming a shimmering, silken curtain of midnight black.
An apt metaphor, she thought a little sourly, seeing as her husband still had deeply private places within himself that she was not invited to enter.
Was anyone else?
But after a moment of petty brooding, it suddenly sank in that his words could have a different shade of meaning. “Why isn’t Basil here?” she asked abruptly. “It’s unlike him not to accompany you back here for a council of war after such a deadly encounter.” She hitched in a breath. “Did he suffer a new injury?”
“No more than a few bumps when I shoved him aside,” replied Saybrook. “As to why he’s not here, it appeared to me that he was occupied with other concerns.”
“What other concerns?”
“I don’t know.” He explained about the interrupted meeting and the furtive hiding of papers.
“Damnation,” swore Arianna. “What do you think he is planning?”
“Nothing good,” said the earl glumly. “His friend was a fellow Scot, so I fear it may be some sort of revenge or retaliation for his nephew’s death. However, there is no use speculating.”
“True.” She sketched a small circle on the tabletop, intimately aware of the nicks and scars cut into the wood. “There are more accurate ways of gathering information.”
Their gazes met over the flicking flame.
“True,” he echoed. “But we already have enough conundrums to solve. We need to attack them first.”
An oblique way of saying that he drew the line at spying on close friends.
“Then we had better devise a battle plan for doing so. This latest murder is yet another reminder that time is of the essence.”
“Tomorrow I will deal with the tailors and Grentham,” said Saybrook. “What about you?”
“I am meeting with Lady Urania to attend Willoughby’s evening lecture at the Royal Institution. But in the afternoon, I plan to pay a visit to the new chocolate shop and see what I can learn about the corps of aeronauts stationed at the Artillery Grounds.”
“Let us hope that some new lead arises from our efforts.” Steam hissed as he added boiling water into the chocolate pot and began to spin the molinillo between his palms. “I am growing heartily sick of feeling that I’m chasing naught but my own tail.”
“Then come to bed, Sandro,” she whispered, feeling the churning of her own doubts and frustrations. “It does no good to exhaust yourself running in circles. In the morning, we will renew the hunt.”
16
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Chai-Spiced Hot Chocolate
4 cups low-fat (1%) milk
3/4 cup bittersweet chocolate chips
10 cardamom pods, coarsely cracked
1/2 teaspoon whole allspice, cracked
2 cinnamon sticks, broken in half
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
5 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
6 quarter-size slices fresh ginger plus 1/2 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla extract, divided
1/2 cup chilled whipping cream
1. Combine the milk, chocolate chips, cardamom pods, allspice, cinnamon sticks, black pepper, 4 tablespoons of the brown sugar, and the ginger slices in a medium saucepan. Bring almost to simmer, whisking frequently. Remove from the heat; cover and steep for 10 minutes. Mix in 1/2 teaspoon of the vanilla.
2. Meanwhile, whisk the cream, the remaining 1 tablespoon brown sugar, the grated ginger, and the remaining 1/2 teaspoon vanilla in a medium bowl until it forms peaks.
3. Strain the hot chocolate. Ladle it into 6 mugs. Top each with dollop of ginger cream.
The door—an ornate confection of jewel-tone leaded glass set in a frame of dark mahogany—opened, and Arianna was immediately enveloped in a cloud of warm, sugar-scented air. Stepping inside the chocolate house, she inhaled deeply, the heady mix of sweetness and spices a piquant reminder of a childhood spent in the West Indies.
Yes, definitely the smell of the tropics, she thought wryly, detecting a whiff of rum mixed in with nutmeg and cacao beans.
Whisky and brandy also teased at her nostrils. A glance at the crowd explained why. Big, muscled men were lounging at the tables near the hearth, smoking cheroots and tossing back pewter tankards filled with hot chocolate—well fortified with spirits. On the wall pegs hung fur-lined hats, sheepskin coats and an assortment of leather gauntlets, all emitting tiny tendrils of vapor as they dried in the heat of the fire.
Aeronauts, aviators, aérostiers. Whatever moniker they went by, the men who defied gravity in their flying balloons were a boisterous, cocksure flock of daredevils—as was made clear by the rising volume of their raucous shouts and good-natured teasing.
“May I help you, señora?”
Arianna turned to find a slender, dark-haired female eyeing her over a tray of freshly washed mugs.
“I have heard much praise for the quality of your chocolate beverages and should like to sample a taste,” she responded. “Are ladies permitted to patronize this establishment?”
A throaty cackle answered the inquiry. “If you can tolerate the mayhem and foul language, you are welcome to sit.” Setting down the tray, the woman gestured at several tables by the bow front window. A display case of pastries set them slightly apart from the main room. “Be forewarned, if the cursing becomes too offensive, it is you who will have to leave. They have rough manners, but they spend freely.”
“My ears are not easily scalded,” replied Arianna.
“Bueno. Then I am happy to take your money as well.” The woman brushed back a bit of lace from her cheek. She was wearing a black mantilla, a traditional Spanish head scarf that spilled over her shoulders from a high, carved comb perched at the back of her head. Her thick black lashes and prominent nose made her look a little like a raven, an impression accentuated by her high-neck black gown and beady-eyed gaze. “I have a variety of flavored chocolates. Would you like to try one of my exotic spices, or does your English palate prefer a plain brew?”
“If you are using criolla beans, I should like to try something with a sweet spice like cinnamon or nutmeg to complement their subtle delicacy. If the choice is trinitaro beans, I would rather have a more robust brew, based on achiote peppers and cochineal.”
“You appear to know something about Theobroma cacao,” said the woman with an appraising glance.
“Yes,” answered Arianna. Switching to Spanish, she introduced herself and explained how she was translating the notes and recipes collected by the earl’s grandmother.
“Recipes?”
She had deliberately mentioned them, hoping the woman would bite. “Sí. Some are from the very early days of chocolate’s introduction to Spain. I find them fascinating.”
The wom
an’s reserve melted a little. “I am Señora Delgado, the proprietor of this shop. Sit, and allow me to serve you one of my favorite mixes, which is based on a batch of my special criollas.” She cleared her throat with a tiny cough. “Perhaps, if you find it to your taste, on your next visit you will share one of yours.”
“Gladly.” Taking a chair that afforded a good view of the main room, Arianna quietly smoothed her skirts and peeled off her gloves. A book appeared from inside her reticule, along with a pencil. But under the guise of reading, she kept her ears and eyes open to what was going on among the other occupants of the shop.
The aeronauts were discussing—quite loudly—the different methods of creating hydrogen, the light gas that was used as an alternative to hot air in their balloons. There were eight of them, and as names and technical terms flew through the air, she jotted some notes in the margins of the open page. Oddly enough, it was the smallest, slightest fellow of the group who seemed to command the most respect.
Señora Delgado reappeared to deliver a porcelain pot of her special chocolate and then once again retreated to make another round of drinks for her other patrons.
Ambrosial. The complex aroma tickled at Arianna’s nostrils, giving a hint that the proprietor understood the nuances of Theobroma cacao. Distracted, she took another sniff, and then a sip of the frothed beverage, nearly missing the faint tinkling of bells as the shop door swung open.
Henry Lawrance entered and quickly made his way through the tables to join the pair of burly men seated closest to the hearth. They seemed to know one another and, after a quick exchange of casual quips, fell into a more serious conversation.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall, thought Arianna. Unlike the others, the trio had dropped their voices to a discreet murmur.
Whatever they were discussing, Lawrance looked unhappy with what he was hearing. His face furrowing in a frown, he drummed his still-gloved hands on the table and appeared to ask a series of short questions, which elicited naught but negative shrugs from his companions. He didn’t stay long—after several minutes, he rose abruptly and headed for the door. It was only as he cut around the pastry case that he noticed her.
Arianna quickly lowered her gaze, but not before noticing his look of surprise. She heard his steps stop, as if he were perusing the selection of fruit tarts beneath the glass, but she had a feeling his gaze was on her.
Damnation. Her skill at disguises was excellent, but a discerning eye might begin to notice an uncanny resemblance between the Countess of Saybrook and Mrs. Greeley, the recent arrival from America.
Shifting, Arianna reached for her reticule and began to search through its contents. After a long moment, Lawrance moved off, and the soft snick of the latch falling shut signaled his departure from the shop.
“Are you enjoying your chocolate?” Señora Delgado paused for a moment by her table after dispatching a serving girl to the aeronauts with their drinks.
“Very much so. The hint of sweet vanilla is a perfect complement for the earthy roast of the criollas,” she replied. “Might I have another pot?”
The proprietor bobbed her black-shrouded head. “Ah, it is a pleasure to serve someone who appreciates my artistry.” Lowering her voice, she added, “These balloon men have their heads in the clouds—I could serve them mud if it were laced with enough brandy and they wouldn’t notice.”
“I daresay they don’t notice if you inflate the bill,” drawled Arianna, “so you may make sure that you are paid handsomely for your skills.”
“A lady who understands business as well as chocolate. I think we shall become good friends, Lady Saybrook.” The raven-like cackle was interrupted by the approach of the aeronaut leader.
“Madam Delgado, might we trouble you for an extra measure of rum? The morning flight was a bit brisk, and the fellows need a bit more heat to chase the chill from their toes.”
“Will a cup do?” asked the proprietor.
“You had best bring the bottle.” The aeronaut winked at Arianna. “My friends are rather large men.”
“It must take a great deal of muscle to work the ropes and stoke the fires of your flying balloons, sir,” said Arianna as Señora Delgado retreated to the kitchen. “And a great deal of courage, of course. I am quite in awe of those who dare to fly. The views must be heavenly.”
“They are indeed spectacular,” he replied with a friendly smile. “One feels like . . . like an eagle, soaring through the skies.” His arms flapped a little. “It’s hard to describe the sensation in words. But it’s a marvelous feeling.”
“Oh, I imagine it is!” she exclaimed.
His smile stretched wider at her obvious enthusiasm.
“I am curious,” went on Arianna quickly. “How do you control your direction, sir?”
“There are a number of ways . . .”
Seeing the proprietor reappear with the rum, Arianna waved a hand. “Please bring another bottle for these brave gentlemen, and put it on my bill.” With a flutter of her lashes at the aeronaut, she added, “I do hope you will allow me to express my admiration by offering a toast to your impressive exploits.”
His blue eyes lit up. Her guess appeared bang on the mark—adventurers rarely were plump in the pocket.
“With pleasure, ma’am.” He bowed. “James Sadler, at your service. I and my fellow aeronauts would be delighted to explain the fine points of flying.”
“I should love above all things to hear about it, Mr. Sadler.”
“If you can stand our coarse manners, you are welcome to join us while you finish your chocolate.”
“Oh, I can endure a great deal in the quest for knowledge,” answered Arianna.
“Ah, a lady with an adventurous spirit!” Another wink. “Ho, lads,” he called out. “I think we have a kindred soul in our midst. Now, mind that you devils keep a civil tongue in your heads while we answer a few of her queries on aeronautics.”
“If you wish to know the fine points of flying, you’ve come to the right place, madam,” called one of the men. “Sadler here is the finest aviator in all of Europe.”
“As you will soon learn, flyers are prone to exaggeration,” murmured Sadler.
“Ha! Who else could make an emergency landing smack in the sea, and then relaunch his balloon from the storm-tossed waves?” piped up another of Sadler’s fellow aviators.
Arianna felt her eyes widen. “You managed that feat?”
Sadler’s ruddy face turned a touch pinker. “My flight had been driven off course, and I was hoping to be picked up by a passing boat. But the captain seemed fearful of tangling his rigging in my lines and wouldn’t approach.” A self-deprecating shrug. “So I improvised and dumped my ballast.”
“Don’t be fooled, madam. That was no simple task,” said the largest of the aeronauts. “Sadler then went on to drop into the sea a second time—in the near dark, I might add—and had a more daring ship maneuver to run its bowsprit through his balloon’s lines to keep it from sinking.”
“How intrepid, sir!” enthused Arianna.
“That was three years ago, and my father was trying to cross the Irish Sea,” offered a young man who looked barely old enough to shave. “It would have been the longest flight ever completed in the British Isles, and in truth he flew more than three hundred miles in trying to catch the right current.”
“Now, now, Windham, don’t be boring our guest with ancient history,” said Sadler, looking even more embarrassed. “Especially as the attempt was a failure.”
“Oh, I assure you, this is all fascinating,” protested Arianna. “You believe there are currents in the sky, which can be used to navigate?”
“Actually, I do,” began Sadler.
“Father has a theory about oceanic air currents,” said Windham Sadler. “He believes that fixed patterns exist at different altitudes, all flowing in dif
ferent directions, and that it’s possible to map them, just as seamen have charted the seas.”
“Please forgive the lad,” murmured Sadler. “He tends to get a little carried away by the subject.”
“As I said, I truly am interested in the subject of flight.” Pausing for a sip of her chocolate, she considered what she had just heard. “Tell me, does that mean you think it’s possible to get from one place to another simply by using the winds?”
Sadler smiled. “Science is rarely simple, milady. Yes, I do think that one can navigate quite well by using valves on the balloon to alter altitude and thus catch prevailing currents. However, I have yet to prove my theory—and even if I do, there is no denying that fickle gusts would make any map merely a useful guide rather than a route that could be relied on.”
“So, to ensure a precise journey, an aviator would still need to have some controls over his flying apparatus—like movable wings or rudders?”
“Well, yes. That is the ideal, though in reality we have yet to invent a reliable way to steer. Those suggestions you just made, along with a great many others, have been tried,” answered Sadler.
“And failed,” chorused his fellow aviators.
“For the present, we are forced to rely on the very imperfect art of adding or subtracting air to our balloons,” added Windham.
“Or hydrogen,” pointed out one of the men who had been talking with Lawrance. “It all depends on what sort of balloon you choose to fly.”
Arianna frowned. “There are differences?”
“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Windham. “You have the traditional Montgolfier balloon, which is named for the brothers who invented the balloons used for manned flight. It uses hot air. The Charlier balloon, which is more favored by the French, gets its buoyancy from hydrogen gas.”
“A theory first suggested by the English chemist Joseph Priestley,” said one of Sadler’s tablemates. “Though we favor the Montgolfiers, as they are easier to adjust to the barometric pressure of the changing breezes.”
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 21
