Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

“We don’t have much time, so let us not waste it in frivolous barbs,” he replied. “Much as you may dislike me, in this particular instance, we’re on the same side.”

  “Emotions have no place in business,” answered Arianna. “So yes, let us put aside our personal feelings and work together to make sure we both get what we want.”

  “I knew I could count on you to be pragmatic,” said Grentham. “Your husband tends to let gentlemanly scruples cloud his judgment.” They spun through a twirl. “As for the baroness and the count, their involvement was a last-minute arrangement. An improvisation, if you will, which is why I've spoken to them before you. Unlike you and your husband, they aren't working together. They each have their own assignments, of which you need not be concerned. However, opportunities may arise for you to help each other. But I shall leave that to your discretion.”

  His reply only raised more questions than it answered.

  “Speaking of last minute—why the helter-pelter rush for us to leave for Elba on the morrow? You wouldn’t be pressing for speed until there’s a good reason.” She spun through a quick turn. “And I wish to know it before we go any further.”

  Grentham raised his brows in mock surprise. “I would have thought the reason is obvious. Your husband’s dear friend is missing, and if one assumes he’s alive, the clocking is ticking. The two of you need to save him from his captors—or from himself. Either way, time is of the essence.”

  Arianna couldn’t argue with the minister’s logic. And yet she was sure he was holding something back. “Why is it that I suspect this mission is not simply about learning whether one man has turned traitor?”

  The minister spun through an intricate set of steps without a hitch. “I must say, I’m grateful that whoever shot at you missed. Your husband wouldn’t fare as well in this endeavor without you. I know how much he values your observations and assessments.

  Their eyes met for a moment, and Arianna knew she would get nothing more out of him. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “You really think Napoleon is planning to retake the French throne?”

  “Speculation can be even more dangerous than ignorance,” he replied tersely. “I need proof, not conjecture.”

  Yes or no. They either accepted the mission or told Grentham to go to the devil. And she knew her husband’s decision was already etched in stone.

  “As I said, if we are to agree to your request, I need to know more about the other people involved.” Drawing an uneasy breath, she went added. “So let us get back to Lady Plessy-Moritz. She seems to be well acquainted with you.”

  “We've worked together in the past,” replied Grentham. “And in this case, her interests seem to align with ours.”

  “You trust her?”

  A low laugh. “Good God, of course not. Nor should you. But she may prove useful in her own way.”

  “How so?” she pressed.

  “She’s a good friend of Hortense de Beauharnais—”

  The daughter of the late Empress Josephine by her first marriage, noted Arianna. And thus Napoleon’s stepdaughter.

  “Which has given her a close connection with Napoleon’s inner circle of friends,” went on Grentham.

  “That would seem to put her at odds with Britain’s objectives,” she replied.

  Another spinning box step.

  “You, of all people, know that in the viper’s nest that is Europe these days, nothing is as it seems. Her beloved older brother plotted against Napoleon’s brother-in-law in Naples and paid the price for it. The official explanation was a boating accident. But Lady Plessy-Moritz assumes—quite rightly, I might add—that he was murdered.”

  Arianna gave a small nod. “Revenge is a powerful motivation.” Indeed, her own burning desire to avenge her father’s murder was what had caused her to first cross paths with the minister. “But Napoleon’s brother-in-law turned on him and allied with the Austrians to save his own throne.”

  “The baroness sees them both as enemies, and is happy to do what she can to make trouble for both of them.” Grentham executed a flawless glissade. “Unless, of course, she has in the meantime attached herself to some gentleman whose interests lie elsewhere.”

  She frowned. “Isn’t that the just sort of smarmy information you should know?”

  A sour smile. “Be assured I am working on it, Lady Saybrook. For now, let us assume she is telling the truth and has several friends within Napoleon’s court on Elba who are willing pass on secrets.”

  “So her visit to the island is—”

  “Merely social, and should raise no suspicions,” finished Grentham. “Yours is for scientific reasons. Your husband’s peculiar interests do, on occasion, prove useful. Napoleon has a deep interest in science, and several botanists of note are among his coterie. That gives the two of you a perfectly reasonable explanation for a visit.”

  “Thank you,” said Arianna. “This is all very helpful to know.” There was just one other piece to fit into the puzzle. “Now, about the count . . .”

  “Ah, yes. Count von Wolfram.” The minister let several moments pass. “An interesting fellow.”

  A sudden prickling of gooseflesh teased up her bare arms. “In what way?” she demanded.

  Grentham’s expression gave nothing away. “I shall allow you to judge for yourself, Lady Saybrook.” He glanced around the crowded ballroom. “He should be here by now.”

  The reply only ratcheted up her sense of foreboding. His evasiveness could mean nothing good.

  Round and round they twirled, keeping in perfect time to the music. Quelling her impatience, Arianna clenched her teeth, knowing she would get no further information from Grentham until it suited him.

  Indeed, his next comment veered far enough from practicalities as to throw her off balance for an instant.

  “You dance very well for someone who grew up hearing the primitive beat of voodoo drums rather than Mozart, Lady Saybrook.”

  The West Indies hadn’t lacked the trapping of civilization. Her disgraced father had simply been too poor to afford such luxuries after he had been forced into exile.

  “That’s the thing about being considered the dregs of society,” she answered after a quick, steadying breath. “One learns to pivot and spin to most any music.”

  “A useful skill to have.” Before she could retort, Grentham added, “Ah, there is von Wolfram now.”

  Arianna jerked her head around to follow his gaze. For an instant, all she saw within the dimly lit archway was the stately flutter of peacock plumes as a pair of stout matrons made their way toward the supper room. And then there was a more subtle stirring within the shadows. Dark against dark, a figure dressed in faultless black evening clothes shifted and stepped forward. The spill of light from the ballroom flashed over the fancy gold and enameled medal hanging from a sapphire-colored silk ribbon just below the tails of his elegantly tied cravat.

  Her eyes ran up over the folds of snowy white linen, past the starched shirtpoints to the pointed chin and beaky nose . . .

  Bloody Hell. Arianna felt the color drain from her face.

  “That man,” she said softly, “isn’t Count von Wolfram.”

  Chapter 5

  Grentham’s brows betrayed a twitch of surprise. “And just how, might I ask, do you know that?”

  “Never mind,” she muttered as the movements of the dance caused her to lose sight of the so-called gentleman and his shiny medal. “But take my word for it, he’s a fraud.”

  Amusement lit in the minister's eyes, giving them a silvery gleam. “I know that. And apparently, you know that. And I daresay Saybrook will know that by the end of the evening. However, most people will have no reason to question whether the gentleman is who he says he is. And if they do, his official credentials are impeccable.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” retorted Arianna. “I imagine your department of forgers are very good at what they do. But that doesn’t begin to answer the question of why the devil James Wolff is here in London masquerading as a
German aristocrat.”

  Grentham’s gaze held hers for a long moment—probing, probing, like a sliver of steel—before he answered. “He’s here because he’s clever, resourceful and can charm the venom from a cobra.”

  I’m well aware of that, reflected Arianna, though she kept the thought to herself. She feared she had already given too much away.

  “Add to that the fact that he's fluent in a half-dozen languages, and can act a role better than the great Edmund Kean,” continued the minister. “We need to learn what Napoleon is up to, and if my resources are right, we haven't much time. So in case you and your husband fail at your mission, I prefer to act by the adage that there is more than one to skin a cat.”

  “Wolff’s a liar and a swindler,” she pointed out.

  “Aren’t we all?” murmured Grentham. The waltz was ending, and he spun her through the last few intricate figures at a quickened pace that left her a little breathless.

  With her pulse pounding in her ears, Arianna only vaguely heard the minister greet Count von Wolfram and make the requisite introductions before disappearing into the crowd.

  James Wolff held out his hand with a gallant flourish. She couldn’t very well refuse.

  “Halloo, Annie,” he said softly after they had found a spot on the floor. “Je suis très heureux to see you have landed on your feet.” His French accent was flawless. “A countess, no less.”

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “A real one.”

  He gave an appreciative chuckle.

  “But it appears you haven't done too badly for yourself either, Wolffy.” The violins were trilling through their tuning for the next set. “You always did have a knack for turning even the worst fiasco to your advantage.” Several hair-raising incidents quickly leaped to mind. “But how on earth did you come to be involved with Lord Grentham?”

  His mouth quirked. “Ah, well that’s a long and convoluted story.”

  “With you, they usually are,” she responded.

  “Through no fault of my own,” responded Wolff with a rueful grimace. “You remember Harry Paynter?”

  “Good Lord, yes. He was an even bigger reprobate and rapscallion than you were.”

  “Yes, well, Harry got himself into a spot of trouble when we brought the troupe to England.”

  Wolff had been proprietor of the Wolff and Lamb Theatrical Company. There was no Mr. Lamb—Wolff had chosen the name as a sardonic jest of how often he fleeced the theater owners who booked his services. Arianna had spent a few months as an actress in the raggle-taggle troupe when they had toured through Jamaica and Hispaniola. The experience had taught her much about the fine art of survival.

  “What made you abandon the Caribbean? I thought you weren’t welcome on this side of the Atlantic.”

  “As to that . . .” Wolff took her hands and drew her through the first lively steps of a country gavotte. “Things became a trifle too hot for us in Barbados. I deemed that enough time had passed for old sins to be forgotten on this side of the Atlantic.” He executed a complex step without missing a beat. “I also took the precaution of changing the name of the company. Most of the players were new faces, and for those of us who weren’t, well . . .”

  Actors were, by their very nature, extremely skilled at disguise. Arianna rolled her eyes. “Have you ever considered applying your prodigious talents to running a legitimate theater troupe?”

  Wolff grinned. “Where would the fun be in that?”

  The dance drew then them apart for an interlude. Arianna spun through the requisite moves with another partner, using the space to try to order her thoughts. No easy task as everything about this upcoming mission seemed shrouded in secrets and subterfuge.

  She wondered how much Grentham knew about her past dealings with Wolff. He had seemed surprised. But that meant nothing. He, too, was a consummate actor.

  The lively skips and twirls finally brought her back to Wolff. “Finish the tale about Harry,” she demanded, wanting to understand her old friend’s connection with Grentham.

  “Let's just say, he chose to diddle with the wrong set of people,” responded Wolff. “He ended up in Newgate, facing the noose. However, Harry overheard his gaolers discussing a situation in between their interrogations of him. And in desperation—I can't say I blame him for it—he saw a way to dangle the troupe and me as a bargaining chip for his freedom.”

  Life with Wolffy and his merry band was never dull, she gave him that. “In what way?”

  “It was during the time of Tsar Alexander’s visit to London last year—you remember that?”

  Indeed I do. Arianna and the Russian Tsar had crossed paths on several occasions, the last time being a rather spectacularly memorable occasion in Vienna. She still had a pair of his personal dueling pistols to remind her of the meeting.

  “Yes,” she replied simply, seeing no reason to reveal anything more. “Go on.”

  “You know that the city was a hotbed of intrigue, given that the King of Prussia and Metternich were also visiting, accompanied by their retinues,” continued Wolff. “To cut to the chase, it turns out Lord Grentham saw a way to make use of our acting abilities to defuse a dangerous scheme. We succeeded, earning a reprieve for our past misdeeds. Since then, I’ve been useful to him on one other small occasion.”

  “You’re playing with fire, Wolffy,” murmured Arianna. “Don’t imagine the minister is a man you can cross and get away with it.”

  “Aye, he’s hard devil,” agreed her friend. “But fair in his own way. I think we understand each other.”

  Arianna wasn’t quite so sanguine.

  Once again, they were separated by the figures of the dances. When they came back together, it was Wolff’s turn to ask a question.

  “So, does the minister know about your checkered life before ascending to the aristocracy?”

  She shrugged. “Some of it.”

  “You think he has any inkling of our connection?”

  “I don’t know.” Aware of how Wolff’s devious mind worked, she quickly added, “Nor do I much care. So stubble any thought that you might use the fact for a bit of blackmail.”

  “Moi?” Wolff assumed an injured look. “Surely you don’t think I would do such a thing. I think of all my actors and actresses as family.”

  “That’s not a very reassuring thought,” she replied tartly “seeing as you would sell your own grandmother to white slavers if you found yourself in a pickle.”

  A smile flitted across his lips. “It would have to be a very dire pickle. I’m very fond of the old bat.”

  As Grentham had pointed out, Wolff could charm the venom from a cobra. Which made him just as dangerous.

  “What about your husband?” probed her friend. “Has he any idea of what came before all this pomp and privilege?”

  It was her turn to smile. Wolff knew much about her, but not everything. She had never revealed to him that she was the daughter of an earl, and thus she was just as blue-blooded as Saybrook. “Don’t waste your time digging in that rabbit hole. Sandro knows everything.”

  “Surely not everything.”

  “Everything,” she emphasized.

  Wolff looked thoughtful. “He must be an interesting fellow.”

  “He is.” The music was coming to an end, and spotting Constantina and Sophia chatting in one of the side alcoves, Arianna inclined a cool nod. “Now if you don’t mind, I ought to rejoin my friends.”

  “But of course,” said Wolff smoothly. He added a roguish wink as he turned to escort her off the dance floor. “After all, we shall have plenty of time in which to catch up on our various misdeeds, both old and new.”

  * * *

  “Who is that popinjay?” asked Constantina, as she watched Wolff saunter through the crowd.

  “Count von Wolfram,” answered Arianna.

  “Hmmph. Judging by the size of that atrociously gaudy medal, I’m assuming he’s from one of those tiny Germany principalities—Schlessy-whatsy, or some such mouthful.”

&
nbsp; “I didn’t ask,” she murmured.

  Sophia couldn't hold back a frown but remained tactfully silent. Her sidelong glance, however, promised that a more detailed explanation would be expected later.

  The dowager let out another low snort, but then her expression suddenly brightened. “Well, I see Grentham coming this way. I shall find out from him.”

  The minister seemed to sense his peril and was about to change directions when the loud thump-thump of Constantina’s cane made it impossible for him to ignore her.

  “Step over here, Percival.” Thump-thump. “I have a few questions to ask of you.”

  The minister maintained a mask of stoic calm, but Arianna could sense his impatience. This was not a social occasion for him. He had work to do.

  “And I am always delighted to answer them.” A pause. “Assuming I can.”

  “I’ve never heard of this Count von Wolfram, and he seems a very vulgar fellow. Why is he here?”

  The minister appeared to give the question serious thought before answering, “To dance, I would imagine.”

  It was at rare times like this that Arianna wondered whether Grentham actually did possess a sense of humor.

  “And to drink Lord Merton’s excellent champagne,” he added. “Speaking of which, may I fetch you a glass?”

  “Don’t be impertinent.” The dowager fixed him with a quelling scowl. “I tell, you there’s something havey-cavey about the jackanapes. I trust you’ll keep a close eye on him.”

  “My dear Lady Sterling, I keep a close eye on everyone in London.” A pause. “Including you.”

  Constantina turned a little pale but chuckled. “Dear me, I ought to do something outrageous to keep you from expiring from boredom.” She waggled her cane, which was topped by a very weighty brass ball. “Perhaps I should cosh the count on the head.”

  “If violence is called for, you shall be the first person I summon. I daresay you'd strike more terror into his heart than a Death's Head Hussar”

  “Are you mocking me?” inquired the dowager. “Mind your manners—or else I will tell your mother.”