“As a matter of fact, I have taken a close look at him, and so far have uncovered nothing that sparks concern. But there are records I’ve not yet been able to access.” He countered Grentham’s gaze. “Perhaps you could use your influence to obtain information on his financial transactions.”
“That won’t be a problem. Do you know who serves as his bankers and man of business?”
A sip of brandy seemed to have settled Lawrance’s nerves, noted Arianna. He rattled off several names without hesitation.
“What is your impression of Lord Canaday and his sister?” she asked, watching a skirl of smoke waft around a brace of candles.
“An interesting pair,” he replied slowly. “A study in contrasts—he has a free and easy charm while she is shy and reserved. They are twins, as you well know”—he gave a wry grimace—“having pumped me like a leaky frigate for information.”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be. I learned a valuable lesson about looking more closely at a beautiful woman.”
“In the netherworld of intrigue and espionage, one must view everyone with a healthy skepticism,” put in Saybrook. “Assuming one wishes to live to a ripe old age. Witness Brynn-Smith.”
“Yes, that was a graphic reminder.” Lawrance tipped the glass to his lips and drew in a mouthful of the amber-dark brandy. “There are a good many distasteful things about conducting an investigation like this. The need to turn over every stone along the way and examine the dirt clinging to its bottom means you uncover secrets that might cause ruin for those innocent of any involvement of the case.”
Arianna stopped picking at a thread on her cuff. “I take it you’ve found something unpleasant about the brother and sister.”
“Perhaps,” said Lawrance. “One of the old family retainers hinted that the twins are not the actual children of the late viscount, but rather the by-blows of his younger brother. He and his wife were childless for nearly twenty years before returning from a Grand Tour with two lusty infants and a dying brother.” Another swallow. “It’s said that the fellow died of syphilis, and was a mad, raving lunatic at the end.”
“The story, if true, would mean that Canaday has no claim to the title or the lands he’s been brought up to think of as his own,” mused Arianna. “Nor would his sister have any standing in Polite Society.”
“Correct,” said Lawrance tightly. “He’s a pleasant fellow, and her genteel life revolves around the institution and its members. So it seems somehow sordid to pursue the matter.”
Saybrook shrugged. “Their personal history doesn’t appear to have any relevance to our interests.”
Arianna glanced at Grentham, whose gimlet gaze didn’t betray any reaction.
But no doubt he is filing away the information in that dark, dank place he calls a brain.
As for her own feelings on the twins . . .
“The Bright Lights are not the only people we need to focus on,” said Saybrook, interrupting her musings. “I’m even more concerned about Sir George Cayley. The more I learn, the more I’m convinced he’s the lynchpin—however unwitting—of the current conspiracy.”
Lawrance nodded, and yet his expression pinched to a frown. “I agree, but I’m not sure why that is so. What the devil is he working on?”
“We have reason to know that Renard has access to a powerful new explosive,” went on the earl, after a tiny nod from the minister signaled permission to explain. “And I fear that Cayley may be perfecting a flying machine that will allow an aeronaut to target specific locations with an aerial bombardment. If that’s true, then God help us all if the French get hold of him and his plans.”
In spite of the heat from the stove and the simmering kettle, Arianna felt a chill skate down her spin.
“But I’ve spent weeks around the big balloons and their aeronauts. I would be willing to wager my life on the fact that they can’t be steered with such precision.”
“It isn’t a balloon,” said Saybrook curtly. He turned to confront the minister. “Lord Grentham, now that you’ve raked Lawrance over the coals, what about your own investigative efforts? You’ve supposedly been using your resources to try to locate Cayley. Any joy in that quarter?”
“It has, as usual, been maddeningly slow to rattle any information out of the military’s chain of command,” said the minister. “However, I’ve just learned that Cayley has been sequestered in a remote enclave near our naval base in Middlesbrough for the past few months. Apparently the wind patterns are suitable for the experiments he is conducting for a newly established secret unit of the Home Fleet.”
“Do we know that he is, in fact, still there?” demanded the earl. “We need to put him under special guard until Renard has been captured. But we can’t afford to rush off on a wild-goose chase.” Under his breath he added, “I’ll be damned if I subject myself to yet another hellish carriage journey, only to find he’s flown the coop.”
“I’ve given the question top priority. My most trusted courier is already en route to verify the information,” answered Grentham. “The fellow is tough as steel and rides like the Devil. We should have an answer by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Let us hope it isn’t too late,” muttered the earl.
In response, the minister pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped open the engraved case. “We’ve wasted nearly an hour dithering over your so-called Bright Lights. Do you have any other leads to follow, Mr. Lawrance, or do I need to assign one of my own men to take over the task?”
“I don’t think that would be a wise move at this point, milord. It would require far too much time for a new member to establish himself at the Royal Institution,” replied Lawrance stiffly. “I’ve a morning meeting with Willoughby’s secretary and expect to turn up some new leads.”
A wink of gold, a snap of metal, sounding overloud in the grim silence. “Then it seems any further talk here is pointless,” said Grentham. “Let us hope tomorrow provides an opportunity for decisive action. So far, you all have been moving”—he slanted a sneer at the crocks of spices and condiments—“slower than molasses.”
“Why, bravo, sir. You actually recognize some of the contents of a kitchen,” murmured Arianna.
The flick of her husband’s dark lashes semaphored a clear message—bite your tongue. She looked away. “Speaking of which, is anyone else feeling peckish? The refreshments at the institution were inedible.”
“Thank you, but no. As the minister says, it is late, so I’ll join him in taking my leave without further delay,” said Lawrance.
“It’s best that you don’t leave together,” replied the earl. “If Lord Grentham would kindly wait here for a few moments, I will show you the way out through the mews.”
The minister chuffed an impatient grunt, but as it was obvious that Saybrook wanted a private word, he remained where he was.
“Would you care for some of my chocolate pastries, Lord Grentham?” The door to the larder swung open. “The ancient Aztecs considered Theobroma cacao a very healthful substance,” she added. Her first encounter with the minister had come when she was the prime suspect in the poisoning of the Prince Regent. That she, a lone female, had evaded his network of operatives still seemed to stick in his gullet—a fact that she couldn’t resist jamming down his throat.
“I don’t care for sweets,” he answered curtly.
“Aunt Constantina seems to think you weren’t so sour in your youth.” A low laugh echoed the rasp of the storage tin popping open. “Were you ever young, sir?”
“No—like Athena, I emerged fully formed from the forehead of Zeus.”
The quip took her by surprise. She must have betrayed her ignorance because Grentham was quick to add, “It is one of the core tales of Greek mythology, Lady Saybrook. Athena is the goddess of wisdom . . . and war.”
“Th-t
hat sounds contradictory,” she said, carefully placing several pastries on a plate.
“The ancient Greeks had a keen understanding of human nature. It’s one of the reasons that we study the classics”—he allowed a tiny pause—“in our youth.”
Feeling a little off balance, Arianna drew in a steadying breath. I must be weak with hunger to allow Grentham to put me on the defensive.
“I did not attend Eton, or any fancy English school, sir,” she replied, trying not to sound snappish. “My education was of a more pragmatic bent.”
“Ah yes, that’s right—you were taught far more practical skills by your swindler father.”
“Really, sir, such juvenile taunts ought to be beneath you.”
His response was another jolt to her equilibrium. Rather than fling further insults at her head, Grentham reached for the brandy bottle and poured a little more into his empty glass. “That is rather the pot calling the kettle black, is it not, Countess?”
His words struck home harder than she cared to admit. “True. But one of the lessons I learned very early in life was that I could either be intimidated by a bigger, stronger opponent—and therefore be crushed—or I could take the offensive and throw the first punches. A show of fearlessness is often a far more powerful weapon than actual force.”
“An interesting philosophy.”
“It wasn’t philosophy; it was necessity,” replied Arianna tartly.
“You appear to have led a rather serendipitous life.”
“No, I have led a desperate life, Lord Grentham.” She sliced one of the sultana-studded pastries into quarters. “Have you ever been hungry—truly hungry? Or so cold that you would have gladly sold your soul to the Devil if Hell would have warmed the ice from your bones?”
He stared at her unblinking.
“Well, now that we’re sharing intimacies with each other, I am curious, sir.” He had made her feel vulnerable and she wished to pay him back in kind. “Were you or weren’t you ever married? Saybrook seemed uncertain when I asked him.”
“Yes, I recall overhearing your question at Lord Trumbull’s house party. As you no doubt intended.”
He was right. She had, of course, made some highly unflattering speculations in querying her husband.
“Allow me to satisfy your curiosity. I was married,” said Grentham softly. “My wife died in childbirth, along with my newborn son.”
“A-and you are heartbroken?” she replied, covering the clench of her insides with a sardonic sneer.
“Precisely,” he answered, mimicking her tone. “Ah, but we are both forgetting—I don’t have a heart.”
Arianna wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
He rose and straightened the pleats of his trousers. “I am surprised you and your husband haven’t yet questioned whether I have cojones.”
“Why, Lord Grentham, you shock me.” Her mouth twitched in grudging acknowledgment of this new dimension to his character. “It seems you do possess a sense of humor. I shall have to inform Constantina.”
“While you are at it, you may tell the old dragon that if she ever threatens to burn my bum again, I shall lock her in a Newgate dungeon with no sweets for a month.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“No.” The minister turned at the sound of footsteps in the corridor, hiding his expression in the swirl of shadows. “Probably not.”
Saybrook halted in the doorway, as if the strange sparks of tension in the room had sent up a warning flare. “What wouldn’t the minister dare?” he growled at Arianna.
“To cross swords with Constantina,” she replied lightly. “Which shows he possesses at least half a brain.”
“You wished to discuss something with me, Lord Saybrook?” demanded the minister. “For however entertaining it is to hear your wife’s opinion of my intelligence—or lack thereof—I’ve other work to finish this evening.”
“I won’t keep you long,” said the earl. “I simply wanted to ask whether you are satisfied with Lord Mory’s explanation of the Foreign Office’s independent investigation.”
“I was not unaware of the fact they have their own agents. I have dealt with Mory on several occasions and have no reason to doubt his integrity,” answered Grentham. “Is there a reason you ask?”
“Merely to consider all the possibilities, however remote. The thought did occur that maybe it’s not an individual we are up against but a group of people. Maybe a faction within the Foreign Office is betraying the government,” suggested the earl.
“A cabal within Whitehall? Good God, you are even more suspicious than I am.” Grentham gave a thin smile. “But the answer is yes, I’ve thought of that too, and have done enough probing to feel confident that the threat is not coming from that quarter.”
“How very terrifying that my mind might spin in the same direction as yours.” Saybrook perched a hip on the worktable and watched Arianna cut one of the pieces of her pastries into bite-size morsels. “Is that your new recipe for sultanas and orange peel?”
“Yes. I let the textures and flavors mellow for a few days. Here, have a taste and see what you think,” she said, lifting a nibble to his lips.
Saybrook opened his mouth and she placed the chocolate on his tongue. Their eyes met, sparking spontaneous smiles.
Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna caught Grentham watching them share the moment. His expression was impossible to read.
“Mmmm.” The earl swallowed thoughtfully. “Excellent, though I think it could do with a teaspoon or two less sugar. That would let the orange peel have a little more bite.”
“I think you are right,” she murmured.
“Would that the two of you would devote as much attention to cooking up a recipe to catch Renard,” said the minister, reaching for his hat.
“We are doing our best to assemble the ingredients, Lord Grentham. We can’t crack eggs until we can add your courier’s information to the mix.”
“Which way out shall I use?”
“Follow me.”
As the sound of their steps receded, Arianna propped her elbows on the scarred wood and inhaled deeply. Maybe the exchange with Grentham had her unsettled, but all at once the smells of the kitchen—caramelized sugar, fragrant spices, steam infused with the sweet scent of chocolate—stirred sharp memories of her childhood. Tropical colors and voodoo shadows, lilting laughter and pitiful screams, languid days and frenzied nights.
Life. Past and present seemed to bubble up from the copper cauldrons and wash over her, an ocean of memories surging, swirling, spinning. Strange, how her schemes now had a purpose, her relationships now had meaning. In years gone by, she had deliberately avoided commitment, caring only about surviving from day to day.
“I traveled wherever the whim took me,” she murmured. “Light as a feather, free as a sea breeze.”
Coals crackled in the stove.
“I’ve more substance, more depth, which I suppose is for the good.” Her mouth pinched in a rueful grimace. “But things back then were easier. Simpler.”
Love—love was oh so complicated, a coil of conflicting feelings twisting in her gut. A part of her resented the loss of emotional freedom . . .
“Ah, but would you rather be adrift on an ocean of loneliness, with no anchor to humanity?” Arianna asked herself. Freedom was not simple either.
Loss and compromise were part of both worlds. Ebb and flow. Like the sea, life had an elemental rhythm to it. And like the sea, there were shifting tides, dangerous rip currents, hidden shoals, ready to wreck the unwary sailor.
“Are you all right?”
Arianna looked up. She hadn’t heard Saybrook return.
“Just thinking.”
He bent down to pick up the knife that had slipped from her fingers. “About what?”
“D
id you study Greek mythology?” she asked evasively.
“Of course. Every schoolboy does.”
“Tell me one of them.”
Saybrook raised his brows. “Murder, betrayal, rape—they aren’t exactly the most soothing of bedtime stories.”
“Nonetheless, I wish to become familiar with them,” insisted Arianna, feeling sharply aware of the void in her formal learning. Most of his friends—including Miss Kirtland—possessed a classical education.
“Very well, let me think of where to begin . . . Ah, let us start with the one about light. An apt subject for our present predicament.” He offered his arm. “But if you don’t mind, let us retire to more comfortable quarters.”
19
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Chocolate-Dipped Shortbread Cookies
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup brown sugar
11/8 cups all-purpose flour
4 ounces semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
1/4 cup heavy cream
1. Preheat the oven to 300°F. Beat the butter with an electric mixer until creamy. Gradually add the brown sugar, beating until light and fluffy. Slowly add the flour, beating until blended. Chill for at least 1 hour.
2. Roll the chilled dough to 1/4-inch thickness between sheets of parchment paper. Remove the top sheet of parchment paper. Cut the dough into desired shapes using a cookie cutter. Remove excess dough.
3. Place the cookies with the parchment paper on a baking sheet. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, or until lightly browned. Remove immediately to a wire rack to cool.
4. In a small bowl set over a saucepan of hot water, melt the semisweet chocolate with the cream. Stir until smooth and keep warm.
5. When the cookies have cooled, dip one half of a cookie in the chocolate and return it to the cooling rack so the chocolate can set. Repeat with the remaining cookies.
“Lift your hands.” Sophia’s breath formed pale puffs of vapor against the early-morning gloom. “You are allowing your horse to control you rather than the other way around.”
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 24
