“Have you been to visit Lady Urania before?” she asked, seeking to keep Sophia’s nerves from growing too tight.
“Yes. Several times.”
“It would be helpful if you remember anything about the layout of the rooms.”
There was a whispering of wool as Sophia stirred against the squabs. “Let me think . . . They share a study. It’s the center room at the rear of the house, and each has a small separate workroom on either side.”
“Excellent,” murmured Arianna. “It’s likely that only one or two trusted servants are permitted to clean there, so at this time of day, I should be safe enough.” She checked that the small pocket pistol was snug in her waistband. “Relax. You’ve shown a great aptitude for clandestine activities. Just do your best to prolong the visit. Cough. Complain of the chemicals making your throat scratchy, and perhaps Lady Urania will offer you tea.”
“Improvise, improvise,” repeated Sophia, as if she were reciting a prayer.
“Trust your instincts,” murmured Arianna. The curtain twitched as the wheels clattered to a halt. “Ready?”
* * *
The wintry shadows, a chill gunmetal gray that reminded her of Grentham’s eyes, hid her movements through the garden. Hugging close to the overgrown ivy vines, Arianna crept along the perimeter wall, surveying the back of the town house for the best point of entry. The ground-floor windows were guarded by heavy iron grilles—Canaday looked to be taking security seriously—and for a moment, she feared that her plan was all for naught.
But a closer study revealed that the decorative facing of pale Portland stone provided perfect footholds for someone used to climbing through the rigging of a West Indies schooner.
Her gaze followed the carving up to the second floor, where the diamond-paned glass stared out, unprotected, at the leafless trees.
Ha, she thought grimly. It appeared that Prometheus Mortley, the self-styled god of fire from the Greek myths, had an Achilles’ heel.
Moving lightly over the last few yards of half-frozen turf, Arianna made her way up to the window ledge. A stealthy peek showed the room was empty, and her blade made quick work of releasing the lock. Leaving it open just a crack for a quick escape, she took shelter behind an ornate pearwood desk and considered how to proceed. From the corridor came the sounds of conversation drifting out from the drawing room. So far, so good. But Sophia could only be expected to occupy Lady Urania for at most a half hour. Twenty minutes was more likely.
“Not much time to gather proof of a perfidious traitor,” she whispered wryly. But with the hounds snapping at his tail, Renard may have gotten a little careless.
Keeping one ear cocked for the fall of footsteps, Arianna began a search through the desk drawers and the papers piled on the leather blotter. Nothing . . . until small map of the southern coast caught her eye. Hidden beneath a copy of a sporting journal, it was marked with a snaking red line leading from Dover to Calais. Strange. The route was not the shortest distance, but rather a helter-pelter twisting that made no sense to her. A route through the perilous currents and tides, perhaps? The Channel waters were notoriously dangerous for any sailor unfamiliar with them.
She made a quick tracing of the map and put it back in place, then moved on to the book cabinet by the arched door connecting the study to one of the side workrooms. It held only a variety of chemistry books and glass beakers filled with liquids and powders that gave off a faintly noxious smell.
“Damnation.” She mouthed a soundless mutter. “What did I expect? A beribboned diary detailing the recipes of their many betrayals?”
Closing the cabinet, Arianna circled the room, checking all the obvious hiding places—a wooden humidor, a bust of Socrates, a classical red and black krater.
Perhaps this visit had been an impetuous decision.
A wiser move might have been to wait until night offered the chance for a more thorough search of the premises. But too late now for misgivings, Arianna told herself, hesitating in front of the connecting door and listening for any whisper of movement. Nothing but silence; however, Lady Urania’s brother might very well be reading . . .
The hurried click of steps and then a snatch of conversation drifting down from the drawing room forced a decision.
“Forgive me for interrupting, Miss Kirtland.” It was Canaday’s voice, unruffled as always. “But may I draw my sister away for a brief moment?”
Easing the latch open, Arianna ducked into the workroom.
“Could it not wait?” hissed Urania as the pair entered the study.
“No.” The viscount’s silky voice was now turning a little rough around the edges. “Stoughton has been hauled off to Horse Guards, and I fear he will crack like an egg.”
Silence.
“Cayley—” he began.
“Forget Cayley,” said his sister decisively. “As we’ve discussed before, there are times when we must cut our losses. We have the papers—the plans and the formulas. Those are the ultimate prizes.”
But where are they? Holding her breath, Arianna pressed closer to the door.
“If we get away with them to France,” went on Lady Urania, “then all of our efforts will have been worthwhile.”
“Having Cayley in our control would be an even greater achievement,” protested Canaday. “There is time, if we move quickly.”
Lady Urania seemed to hesitate. “No. I know you wish to leave England in a blaze of glory, my dear. But we must be smart.”
Another tiny silence. “We’ll dispatch Grimmaud to do away with Cayley. Even if there are other drawings of his invention tucked away somewhere, they will be of little use to Britain without the formula for the explosive. And we’ve ensured that the chemists involved have taken its secret to the grave. So let us not risk ruining our ultimate achievements. Le Chaze is waiting to take us across to Calais. We must go now.”
“Now?” echoed her brother. “But that will mean a nighttime crossing.”
“I fear that Lord Saybrook and his she-bitch have been sniffing around a little too closely at our activities,” said Lady Urania. “Their presence in Vienna had a plausible explanation, but Stoughton did not mention their visit to Scotland until yesterday. Otherwise I would have acted sooner.”
There was a rattle of wood and metal that Arianna couldn’t identify.
“It’s the one mistake I regret—but let us not dwell on that. We have to assume that the colonel’s planned attack on the countess never materialized, as Miss Kirtland is here.”
“A coincidence that is rather hard to swallow,” muttered her brother.
“Indeed,” said his sister. “So we can’t afford to tarry, and with the British navy in control of the Channel waters, we run too great a risk trying to go by boat.” A rustling of paper. “Le Chaze knows the air currents and has the nerve to fly in the dark. Even if the English somehow get wind of our flight, their aeronauts will not dare follow.”
Balloons! thought Arianna. Of course—they had meant for Cayley to disappear into thin air!
A soft laugh. “As always, my dear sister, you think so clearly, and boldly. I shall regret giving up our game of twisting the inner circle of Whitehall around our fingers. But with this final secret in our grasp, we can soon make a triumphant return to London.”
“Let us not gloat just yet. We still have much work to do,” cautioned Lady Urania. “Gather the papers while I get rid of our guest.”
So the papers were here. Arianna eased the pistol out from her waistband.
“Perhaps I should simply use my stiletto,” said Canaday in a low voice. “That Miss Kirtland rides in the park with Lady Saybrook must mean she is somehow involved in forcing our hand.”
“She can’t hurt us now,” mused Lady Urania. “However, you have a point. Like Icarus, she ought to suffer the consequences for trying to soar
too close to the Sun.”
“And the heavenly planets, my dear sister, the muse of the starry skies.”
Good God, the two of them were sounding more and more unhinged.
“Your glow is all the brighter for being set against the midnight-black sky.” His voice dropped to a dreamy whisper as he quickly recited some lines of poetry.
Descend from Heav’n Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art call’d, whose Voice divine . . .
“Paradise Lost—Milton’s epic is an apt choice, as we find ourselves forced to leave our home by inferior beings,” replied Lady Urania when her brother was done. “But this time, we shall be a grand part of helping noble Lucifer triumph in his rebellion against the Powers That Be.”
One bullet, two villains. Arianna eased the hammer of her pistol to full cock. But how many servants loyal to their nefarious scheme?
She had only an instant to make a decision.
“Go ahead,” said Lady Urania. “But be quick about it.”
Kicking the door open, Arianna took dead aim at Canaday’s chest. “Not so fast.”
21
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Sparkling Ginger–Chocolate Chip Cookies
1/2 cup turbinado sugar
6 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2 cups whole wheat or regular pastry flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
41/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/4 cup unsulfured molasses
2/3 cup fine-grain natural cane sugar, sifted
11/2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger, peeled
1 large egg, well beaten
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F with racks in the top and bottom third of the oven. Line a couple of baking sheets with unbleached parchment paper and place the turbinado sugar in a small bowl. Set aside.
2. Finely chop the chocolate into 1/8-inch pieces.
3. In a large bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda, ground ginger, and salt.
4. Heat the butter in a saucepan until it is just barely melted. Remove from the heat and stir in the molasses, sugar, and fresh ginger. The mixture should be warm but not hot at this point. If it is hot to the touch, let it cool a bit. Whisk in the egg. Pour over the flour mixture, and stir until just combined. Fold in the chocolate.
5. Form the cookie dough into small balls (the size depends on how large you like your cookies!). For each one, add a sprinkling of the turbinado sugar you set aside earlier to your hand and roll each ball between your palms to heavily coat the outside of each dough ball. Place the cookies a few inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake for 7 to 10 minutes, or until the cookies puff up, darken a bit, and get quite fragrant.
The viscount fell back a half step in surprise but quickly composed himself with a rumbled laugh. “A dashing disguise, a gleaming pistol—dear me, it appears that you have been reading too many horrid novels in the solitude of your fancy town house, Lady Saybrook.”
Arianna smiled grimly in return. “I’m glad you find me amusing, sir. It will likely be your last laugh for quite some time.”
Lady Urania stood as still as a statue, her face pale, devoid of expression. Like cold marble.
“Is it?” he jeered. “You have only one puny bullet and there are two of us. Apparently you aren’t very good at mathematics.”
“I can add up the fact that a shot through your heart leaves me to go mano a mano with your sister. So, given her frail form, I’m willing to wager that the numbers favor me,” she replied. “Lady Urania, you will be so good as to tell me where those papers are, else your brother is a dead man.”
“She’s bluffing,” said Canaday calmly. “Even if she has the nerve to pull the trigger, the shot will likely sail far wide of the mark.”
“I’m quite experienced in handling both pistols and knives, as the unfortunate Lord Reginald would tell you. That is, were he still alive.”
His face darkened, whether in anger or uncertainty was hard to tell.
Arianna adjusted her aim just a hair. “I won’t ask again, Lady Urania.”
“They are in the cabinet to your left,” said Canaday’s sister.
“I already looked in there,” she countered. “It contains naught but books and vials of chemicals.
“Oh come, you don’t think I would be stupid enough to leave them lying in plain sight,” said Lady Urania. “They are hidden in a false book at the back of the bottom shelf.”
“Step away from your sister, Lord Canaday.” A curt gesture indicated a spot out of arm’s reach of the desk and any implement that might serve as a weapon. “Call in Miss Kirtland, Lady Urania. And do it nicely, without raising any alarm. I am easily spooked when I’m nervous. You wouldn’t want my finger to twitch on the trigger and extinguish Prometheus’s flame.”
“Oh, aren’t you the clever one,” murmured Canaday while his sister shot her a venomous look.
Nonetheless, Lady Urania performed the request exactly as ordered.
“Now move clear of the door, if you please.” Arianna was careful to choreograph every little movement. She did not underestimate their cunning or their quickness.
A moment later, Sophia stepped cautiously into the room, a dainty little cake fork grasped in her hand. “Oh, thank God. I feared things had gone awry.”
“No.” Arianna curled a quick grimace. “A good thing, seeing as that is not good for attacking anything other than spun sugar.”
“I thought it a better choice than the butter knife,” replied Sophia.
“Indeed. Now, please circle behind Lord Canaday and come stand by me. His sister is about to retrieve a cache of documents from its hiding place and hand it over to us.”
Lady Urania had not yet moved a muscle.
“What made you, two scions of pampered privilege, betray your homeland?” demanded Sophia.
Arianna bit back a cynical comment. She had long ago given up asking villains to justify their actions, for the self-serving answers were usually as worthless as horse dung. However, given the complex cleverness of the pair’s conniving, it might be possible to learn some practical information about how they gathered state secrets, if they could be goaded into a response.
“Oh, don’t bother asking, Sophia. In my experience, it’s not noble idealism but filthy greed that motivates most traitors.” She shot the twins a contemptuous look. “How much are you being paid to sell out your country?”
“Our country?” The viscount’s voice quivered with emotion. “Britain be damned! My father hated the snobbery and arrogant self-importance of the English aristocracy. He renounced his family during his first year at Oxford and moved to Paris, where he embraced the radical republican ideals of France. As Citoyen Mortley, he joined the common people in rejoicing when they sent their king and queen to the guillotine.”
“Keep your hands by your side, sir,” warned Arianna. The pistol maintained its unwavering aim. “So, I take it your mother was French?”
Glowering, Canaday clenched and unclenched his fists.
It was his sister who answered. “Yes. The revolution empowered intelligent women. My mother served with Robespierre in creating a new France, a better France. One based on merit and equality—”
“One bathed in blood,” said Arianna.
Lady Urania shrugged. “Change requires sacrifice.”
“It’s easy to sound so cavalier,” snapped Sophia, “when the head that is rolling is not yours.”
The pale eyes remained opaque, emotionless. “You think I speak lightly of death and suffering?” Lady Urania glanced at her brother. “Theus and I were made orphans by my priggish uncle, who could not bear to think of his family t
ree blighted by a republican. He hired an English adventurer who was spiriting French aristos out of the country to kidnap my ailing father and us.” The words were coming out as a monotone drawl—she might have been reciting a shopping list for the butcher and greengrocer. “My mother tried to stop the men who broke into her home. They shot her dead.”
A muscle jumped on Canaday’s jaw. He started to reach for his sister, but Arianna’s order stopped him short.
“Don’t move, sir.”
“It was all for our own good,” went on Lady Urania, ignoring the brief interruption. “Or so our aunt assured us when she revealed the full the secret of our background on our sixteenth birthday. She expected gratitude, I suppose.”
“What she got was a draught of hydrogen cyanide,” said Canaday with a chilling smile. “We both were already very skilled in chemistry. Our so-called father followed her to the grave soon after.”
The foul odor from the cabinet was beginning to make Arianna’s stomach queasy. “A sad tale, but it’s no excuse for your actions. Because of you, many innocent people have already died.” She flicked an impatient gesture at Lady Urania. “Get the papers.”
A flutter of pale blue silk stirred, its soft hue looking deceptively innocent against the dark-grained wood.
At the same instant, Canaday slid a hand toward his boot.
“Stop!” cried Arianna.
Both of the twins froze.
“Unknot your neckcloth, sir and toss it over here.” Her eyes had strayed for only a fraction of a second. “Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
To Sophia she said, “Take the linen and bind his hands. Tightly and double the knots.” Once the viscount was well and truly trussed, she would have Sophia search for the hidden knife. “Have a care that you stay to the side—”
Too late.
Sophia, in her haste to help, had moved directly into the line of fire. Sensing her position, Canaday reacted with a serpent’s slithering quickness. Spinning around, he whipped out his weapon with one hand while the other snaked out to catch Sophia and pull her close to shield his own body.
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 27
