The Cocoa Conspiracy

by Andrea Penrose

  Her husband possessed a number of interesting talents, as she was slowly discovering. One of which was an expertise in the forgery of letters and seals, learned as part of his military intelligence skills.

  Saybrook chuckled and then drew her aside as a line of heralds, resplendent in gold-threaded livery, trumpeted the arrival of yet another royal. “The King of Wurttemberg,” he muttered as an enormously fat man toddled by. “It’s said that a special half moon has been cut in one of the Emperor’s dining tables to accommodate his girth.”

  “Good God,” said Arianna through her teeth after slanting another look around. “In some ways I sympathize with the radicals of the French Revolution. The amount of money that is squandered by the aristocracy on personal vanity is . . . obscene.” The torchieres danced in the swirling breeze, the towering tongues of flames gilding the crowd with a golden glow. “Let us hope that this Peace Conference can right some of the more egregious inequities of the old social order. Merit should matter more than birth.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” murmured Saybrook. “But much as I sympathize with democratic ideals in principle, I can’t condone murder as a means of achieving those goals.”

  Arianna nodded, their bantering mood disappearing along with the last swallow of champagne. No mere mortal has the right to play God.

  “So we must set aside our personal dismay at the extravagant excesses and concentrate on stopping Kydd and his cohorts from carrying out their plan.”

  “In other words, keep my focus on the mission,” she said.

  “Much as I hate to say it, the real goal is to keep Kydd’s focus on you for tonight,” responded Saybrook. “Despite the new plans, you must continue to try to win his trust.”

  “Yes, I know.” She watched the shifting patterns of colors, the hues blurring and blending as the guests moved in and out of the light and shadows.

  “I’ve been thinking about the code you showed me this morning. You said that it’s not necessarily more complex than the one you solved at the marquess’s estate, just different, correct?”

  Saybrook confirmed her statement with a gruff nod. “I made a lucky guess concerning the key word. Intuition tells me that we’re still looking at Vigenère Square, but a new key word has been used to make it even more secure.” He made a face. “It could be anything.”

  “The individual who wrote it might well use a word that has some personal significance. Something like a battle cry, a motto, a hero.”

  The earl’s gaze sharpened. “Possibly.”

  “Do you think Kydd wrote it?”

  He thought for a long moment before answering. “Hard to say. Again, it’s possible. I’m assuming that the codes I cracked were meant for whoever is in charge of the assassination plot. The unsolved one may well be for the head of the whole conspiracy.” His hand tightened around his empty glass. “But the damnable truth is, it’s all mere conjecture. So far, my guesses have all come up empty.”

  “You need more information to work with,” said Arianna resolutely. She didn’t like to see his face pinched in such a brooding uncertainty. “Time to go flutter around Kydd and see if I can get him to share some of his innermost secrets.”

  “I don’t see how he can keep from acting the hungry cat with a canary,” said Saybrook, darting a sidelong look at her plunging neckline.

  “Actually, I feel a little like a drab English sparrow flitting among a flock of regal Birds of Paradise.” She smoothed the heavy silk of her gown over her hips as she made another survey of the crowd. “My London plumage pales in comparison to the Continental styles.”

  There was no denying that the ladies who had flocked to Vienna from all over Europe were elegant in the extreme. The colorful crepe outer dresses were complemented by a whisper of pastel satin underneath. Sleeves were long and edged with lace, or short poufs of silk paired with long white gloves. On this particular evening, the ladies had been asked to wear blue or white, the colors of Peace, and in the twilight, the rippling of silks and satins created a sparkling sea of ocean hues. Gold and silver embroidery accentuated the effect, as did the profusion of precious stones and pearls.

  “The Count de Ligne has described the ladies as looking like brilliant meteors when the dancing begins,” murmured Saybrook.

  Arianna could well imagine it to be true. “Yes, they must spin by in a blinding blur of light.”

  “Illusions,” muttered her husband, unmoved by all the finery.

  “The gentlemen are equally dazzling,” she pointed out. “Look at all the gold braid and gaudy medals. Good God, if they all were such magnificent warriors, why wasn’t Napoleon exiled to Elba years ago?”

  He gave a mocking laugh. “Yet another question to add to our growing list.” Squaring his shoulders, he turned for the main walkway. “But enough worrying. We must appear to be enjoying ourselves.”

  Passing through a stone archway, they entered the building that Metternich had constructed specially for the celebration. Encircled by classical pillars, the wooden building was crowned by a dome that soared high overhead.

  “Shall we stroll out to the gardens?” inquired Saybrook. “Royalty will be dining inside, while the rest of us will partake of a supper under the stars.”

  Arianna followed, calming her flutter of nerves with a few deep breaths. Steady, steady. I’ve played enough roles not to have stage fright. Most of the other guests were probably just as much imposters as she was.

  The estate gardens were no less magnificent. Countless lanterns lit the winding walkways, the flickering flames illuminating the formal plantings and marble fountains. White tents dotted the grounds, and beneath the shimmering silk, servants dispensed Tokay wines and champagne. Several orchestras were tucked discreetly behind hedges in different parts of the estate, the lilting notes of the violins echoing the faint trilling of the nightingales.

  At the crest of the sloping lawn stood three classical faux temples. Moonlight dappled over the pale stone, its silvery glow swirling in tandem with the troupe of ballet dancers performing among the pillars.

  Mesmerized by the fairy tale splendor of the scene, Arianna stood in rapt wonder, drinking it all in.

  “Look—there’s Kydd,” said Saybrook.

  His whisper jarred her back to reality. “Shall I stroll over to see him while you make a show of picking one of the plumed Birds of Paradise to flirt with?”

  The opening chords of a Mozart sonata drifted through the greenery. “It would be best if he thinks we are not in harmony with each other,” answered her husband. “I shall meet up with you later.”

  She turned, but the touch of his hand held her back for just a moment.

  “Be careful. For all its veneer of civilized splendor, Vienna is a jungle—a jungle where predators are always on the prowl.”

  “Lady Saybrook.” Looking up at the sound of her steps on the graveled path, Kydd appeared upset, though he quickly covered it with a tentative smile. “How lovely to see you.” After glancing around, he added, “Are you . . . alone?”

  “I’ve been abandoned by my husband,” she answered. She gave a curt wave at the sparkling lights of the main lawns. “He met several Spanish ladies of his acquaintance and they wished to be at the center of the festivities.”

  “Quite a spectacle, is it not?” remarked Kydd, sounding distracted. On edge.

  “If you enjoy watching the rich revel in decadent pleasures,” she said softly.

  He studied her face for a long moment. “Would you care to take a stroll to a quieter part of the gardens?”

  “Please,” she murmured, accepting his arm. “I would much rather converse with a friend than cavort with strangers.” Her slippers slid lightly over the stones. “I do hope that I may consider you a friend, Mr. Kydd.”

  “Yes, of course, Lady Saybrook.” His voice grew taut. “I’m honored that you ask.”

  They walked in silence for a bit, the noises of the party fading until the only sound was the breeze ruffling through the leaves of
the tall boxwood hedge bordering the path.

  “It’s so peaceful here, now that we’re away from the crowd.” She sighed. “I hate these gatherings with all their false laughter, false flatteries and false promises.”

  He nodded. “Believe me, I know how you feel.” Arianna paused and looked up at the heavens. Careful, careful—one false move and I will ruin everything.

  Expelling a sigh, she turned her head slightly to meet his searching stare. “Do you?”

  Kydd blinked.

  “You speak so eloquently about noble principles. I—I come away from our talks feeling inspired by your idealism. And yet . . .” She deliberately let her voice trail off.

  A glimmer of starlight ghosted over his profile, catching the tiny, telltale tic of his jaw.

  Oh, the folly of youthful passions, she thought, suddenly feeling old as Methuselah.

  “Lady Saybrook, may I ask you a personal question?”

  At her hesitation, his pale skin darkened in embarrassment. “Forgive me—”

  “No, please. Of course you may.”

  He cleared his throat. “Why did you marry the earl?”

  “I take it you have heard that ours was not a love match.”

  Kydd shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Mellon does not indulge in gossip. But I couldn’t help overhearing several private exchanges with Lord Saybrook in which he voiced reservations about the match.”

  “I can’t say that I blame him.” Arianna let her tone go a little rough around the edges. “I was caught up in a scandal—please don’t ask me to explain—and so was the earl. I had precious few choices.” She shrugged. “As you know, females have little control over their destiny.”

  “I did not mean to stir painful memories,” he said haltingly.

  “Don’t apologize.” A tentative smile softened her expression. “Your company has been a source of comfort to me. It is very heartening to be able to converse with someone who shares similar beliefs.”

  “I do share them,” assured Kydd. “I haven’t betrayed my beliefs by working for the Foreign Office.”

  No—just your country and the honorable man who nurtured your career.

  “I am not at liberty to say more,” he whispered. “But I am working to effect real change, and create a better world for the future.”

  Arianna greeted his words with a tremulous sigh. “Oh, how I admire you. A better world—I shall look forward to that.”

  Kydd relaxed slightly. “Change is not easy, but there are goals that are worth fighting for. However . . .”

  Suddenly alert, she held herself very still, hoping that he would go on.

  “However . . . I am having some second thoughts about how to achieve my aim.”

  “Would it help to talk about it?” she asked softly. “I cannot promise to have all the answers, but sometimes simply expressing your doubts aloud helps to clarify your feelings.”

  “You—you are very kind. I can’t tell you how fortunate I feel to have a friend I can trust.”

  Arianna looked away, repressing a twinge of guilt by reminding herself that Kydd and his cohorts were planning a cold-blooded murder.

  “I can’t help but wonder . . .” Shuffling his feet, he abruptly offered her his arm. “Shall we continue along this path?” He gestured at a shadowed stretch of gardens up ahead. “A display of fireworks is planned for later, and as Herr Steuer is famous for his pyrotechnics, it promises to be spectacular. The rockets are being set up near the North Gate, so we shall have a better vantage point from up close.” His hand tucked a fold of her shawl more securely around her shoulders. “There is also going to be a balloon ascension to top off the entertainment.”

  “That sounds very exciting.”

  As they moved off at a leisurely pace, her mind began to race. Kydd was coming tantalizingly close to revealing his secrets. She didn’t want to risk making him suspicious, and yet surely there was some way she could take advantage of his current mood.

  Information—Sandro needs specific details, not vague hints that merely corroborate what we already know.

  Arianna thought for a moment, and then a gleam of light from behind the thickets of greenery sparked an idea. “Oh, look! They are beginning to inflate the balloon.” Looking up at the sky, she added, “Sometimes, when I stare at the stars, I let my imagination soar.”

  Kydd tilted his head upward.

  “You may think me foolish, but I like to think of the words that inspire me. Ones like ‘hope’ and ‘dream.’ ”

  “It’s not foolish at all, Lady Saybrook.” He moved closer—so close that she could smell the warm scent of his bay rum shaving soap.

  “What words make your heart sing?”

  “Freedom,” he answered without hesitation. “Equality. Democracy. Courage. Independence.”

  “All very noble sentiments,” she murmured, making careful mental note of them as possible key words. It was a shot in the dark, but as Saybrook said, luck and intuition were major weapons in a code breaker’s arsenal.

  A wry grimace tugged at Kydd’s lips. “You probably think me a pedant, to always be talking of principles and abstract ideas.”

  “Oh no, not at all.” Keep talking, keep talking. “I want to hear all about what thoughts, what dreams are important to you.”

  “Dreams,” he repeated. “I should like to see Scotland truly free, and in control of its own destiny. But at what cost?” Gravel crunched softly under his boots. “In a short while, I have a meeting in which I shall have to decide . . .”

  His voice trailed off in a harsh sigh.

  He seemed to be teetering on the edge of a precipice. Did she dare give him the last little nudge?

  “You sound uncertain,” she said cautiously.

  “I confess that I am. For the longest time, I was so sure that I knew what was right. And now . . .” Kydd raked a hand through his hair. “But enough of politics and philosophy.” His mood seemed to be veering wildly, from reflective to reckless in the blink of an eye. As he stepped closer, Arianna heard a different sort of intensity grip his tone. “Let us spend the rest of our time together enjoying each other’s company.”

  The moonlight tipped his golden lashes with the flare of fire. He was leaning in, his breath hot on her skin. In another instant his mouth would capture hers.

  Distraction. Diversion. Was there a way to deflect his advances without destroying his trust?

  Deception was a dangerous game to play. Her husband understood that, thought Arianna as she steeled herself for Kydd’s kiss.

  BOOM!

  A sudden explosion ripped through the shrubbery, throwing up a shower of fiery sparks and burning leaves. The force of the blast knocked Arianna to the ground. Dazed, disoriented, she rolled to her knees and tried to shake the terrible ringing from her ears.

  Flames shot up from the shattered hedge, forcing her to scramble back from the searing heat. A series of rapid-fire pops released plumes of colored vapors into the fire-gold glow, adding a mad, macabre beauty to the scene.

  The wind swirled, driving the danger closer.

  “Mr. Kydd!” she croaked, trying to see through the cloud of acrid black smoke.

  On getting no response, she pulled her shawl up to shield her face and started to crawl forward along the edge of the gravel. “Mr. Kydd!”

  Was that a whisper, or just the crackling of the branches?

  Choking back a cough, Arianna felt her way over the soot-streaked grass. Above the roar of the fire, she was vaguely aware of shouts and the pounding of running feet. But they sounded very far away.

  Her eyes began to water and the sour stench of gunpowder made it difficult to breathe. Damnation—

  Another loud bang rent the air.

  As she flinched, her hand grazed against a booted foot. Grasping the heel, she gave it a shake. “Mr. Kydd.” The blast must have knocked him senseless. “Wake up, wake up. There must have been an accident with the fireworks. We must move away from here.”

  In answer, a pair of
hands grasped her roughly around the waist and dragged her back from the raging fire.

  “No! Wait! Put me down!” she protested as she felt herself lifted from the ground.

  “For God’s sake, stop squirming,” ordered Saybrook. Gathering her in his arms, he stumbled down the hill and slid behind the shelter of a marble folly. “Stay down,” he growled, covering her body with his. “The rest of the explosives could ignite at any moment.”

  “But Mr. Kydd—”

  “Mr. Kydd is dead.” Soot blackened the earl’s face. Limned in the red glow of the burning bushes, he looked like the Devil’s own shadow from hell. “And you are bloody lucky to be alive.”

  “Drink,” commanded Saybrook, placing a large mug of brandy-laced chocolate in her hands.

  “I don’t need a posset.” Arianna nestled deeper into the armchair of their parlor and heaved a sigh before taking a sip. “I’m not about to fall into a maidenly swoon of shock.”

  The warm, potent drink did, however, taste ambrosial. Closing her eyes for an instant, she savored its soothing sweetness. Gulps of water had already washed the smoky grit from her throat, but the sour dregs of fear still lingered—more than she cared to admit.

  “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked her husband. He had taken advantage of all the confusion and chaos of fighting the fire to slip away from the estate unnoticed.

  “Just a few bumps and bruises.” She rubbed at a sore spot on her shoulder and winced. “But my wits were certainly wandering. Thank God you thought to whisk us away before anyone realized that I had been with Kydd at the moment of the accident.”

  Saybrook’s scowl deepened as he plunged the poker into the hearth and stirred the coals to life. “If it was an accident,” he muttered. After seeing her to the safety of their carriage, he had returned to the grounds for a quick surveillance. “Steuer’s foreman was adamant that all possible precautions had been taken around that section of the fireworks. He’s known as a stickler for safety and claims that it would have taken an act of God to set off the canisters of gunpowder.”