Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  “It would appear you do as well.”

  Hamilton shrugged. “The captain of a ship doesn’t have the luxury of ever lapsing into a deep slumber. Too many things can go wrong without warning.”

  “Like me,” she murmured.

  “You're more of a complication than a danger to the ship and its crew,” he replied. “That is, assuming you don't intend to stir up any trouble with Neptune.”

  “Not intentionally.” Arianna took shelter from the icy gusts behind the mainmast. “Though Captain Holden was of the opinion that women bring bad luck to a ship.”

  A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Given all the mishaps that occurred aboard his ship, it appears he is right.”

  She said nothing. Saybrook had deemed it prudent not to tell anyone about Holden’s murder just yet.

  “However, I prefer to believe we all make our own luck,” went on Hamilton, “whether on land or at sea.”

  “I, too, like to feel we are responsible for creating our own fate,” she replied.

  “Whether you shape it with a seductive caress or razor-sharp chisel?”

  “I did say I was sorry, Captain Hamilton.”

  His mouth quirked at the formality. “You used to call me Patrick.”

  “I’ve changed,” said Arianna. “As, I’m sure, have you.”

  A fleeting smile, though its meaning was unreadable.

  “Look, I was very angry at the world back then,” she went on, “and intent on exacting retribution for the wrongs I felt had been done to me.”

  “Are you avenged?” asked Hamilton.

  “I am at peace with the past,” answered Arianna. And that was, perhaps, the best revenge of all.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And what about you?”

  He shrugged—eloquence had never been his forte—and coolly changed the subject. “You’re chilled.” He slipped off his oilskin cape and draped it over her shoulders. “Would you care for some coffee?”

  The thought of hot coffee sent a shiver of longing down her spine. “Is that possible at this hour?”

  “Being captain has its privileges. Follow me.”

  * * *

  Hamilton left her by one of the stern-chaser cannons to go confer with the helmsman. Arianna quickly finished her mug of coffee, but found herself loath to go back down below, even though the iron-grey sea stirred a sense of foreboding. There was much to think about, and the ship still had an aura of quiet solitude that would disappear with the changing of the watch.

  She descended the quarterdeck ladder and turned to find Wright, the first mate waiting to ascend.

  “The wind and currents are looking very favorable, milady,” he said after snapping a jaunty salute. “We should have a good run today.”

  “No doubt that will be welcome news to all of your officers,” she replied dryly. “I imagine we’ve inconvenienced some of you by taking over your quarters, so the sooner, we reach Elba, the better.”

  “Oh, it’s no inconvenience at all for such a short trip.” The first mate flashed a gallant grin, and then lowered his voice. “You’re far more congenial passengers than the one we picked up when we stopped in Tenerife for water and supplies.”

  “There’s another passenger aboard?” Interesting. Hamilton had made no mention of it.

  “Aye. A Frenchman, who took over the gunnery master’s cabin on the lower deck,” explained Wright, who appeared in a garrulous mood. “The captain says the fellow prefers the dark and quiet. And I must say, he keeps to his cabin most of the time, as if he’s afraid of the sunlight.”

  The first mate made a face. “The truth is, he seems an arrogant coxcomb—he avoids us like the plague and won’t speak to anyone but the captain.”

  Arianna was curious. “Is he a diplomat?”

  “I don’t rightly know. Seems to think himself above the rest of us. But then, foreigners are odd fish—” Wright cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough. “Er, no offense, milady.”

  She smiled. “None taken, Mr. Wright.”

  He looked relieved. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I must go to teach our midshipmen their lesson in nautical knots.”

  As he scrambled up the ladder, Arianna turned and picked her way up to the heavy struts and stays around the foremast. Finding a niche that afforded some protection from the wind, she settled into the slivered space and drew the oilskin cloak that Hamilton had lent her up over her head.

  Thrum, thrum. The music of a ship in motion was always calming. Arianna drew her knees to her chest and sat very still, letting the sounds wash over her.

  Holden, Wolff, Jelena. Eduardo, Napoleon, the consortium of French merchants . . . what was the truth and what was mere smoke and lies? She was usually very good at putting the pieces of a puzzle together, but this one was proving perniciously difficult.

  Perhaps because it was so personal. The reappearance of Wolff and Hamilton had stirred old memories . . . and forced her to confront the person she had been in the past.

  It wasn’t a pretty picture. Arianna closed her eyes for an instant and drew in a fresh lungful of air. And then found herself smiling.

  Thank God Sandro saved me from myself. In truth, they had been good for each other. Together they were stronger than they had been on their own.

  The thought helped her focus on the conundrums they were facing. The answers were there. She just had to see them.

  Thrum, thrum.

  Lost in her musings, it took her a moment to realize that another sound had suddenly intruded on the rhythm of ropes and canvas.

  Footsteps, coming closer. And then voices, pitched low.

  “The work up here won’t start for another hour, so we have privacy.” It was Hamilton speaking. Arianna winced as his shadow passed over her hiding place, but remained silent.

  Privacy implied secrets being shared. She cocked an ear, straining to hear what was being said.

  “ . . . The earl and his wife can’t be allowed to see me. Nor, for that matter can the others, which means I had better stay confined to my cabin for the next few days.” The accent was definitely French. Arianna assumed it was the mysterious passenger Hamilton had picked up in Tenerife. She twisted ever so slightly, trying to get a look at the man’s face, but the mast blocked her view.

  “Your being cooped up is a minor irritation,” said Hamilton. “I’d be more concerned with the death of Captain Holden.”

  “An unfortunate twist.”

  A prickling teased at the nape of her neck. How did they know . . .

  “I’ll just have to sort all that out in Elba,” added the Frenchman.

  “Better you than me,” said Hamilton gruffly. “When I put a bullet into someone, I prefer to be looking him in the eye.”

  “We all fight to our own strengths, Captain.”

  Something about the Frenchman’s voice was unsettlingly familiar.

  “Let us hope you are very good at what you do,” muttered Hamilton.

  “I am.”

  Arianna heard their boots shuffle as they shifted position. She could now see a tiny peek of the Frenchman’s profile. If she dared lean a little more to the right . . .

  A brusque cough nearly made her jump out of her skin. But the fellow merely moved to the rail and spat over the side. “As to getting me ashore without anyone on Elba being the wiser . . .”

  “That won't be a problem,” said the captain. “We have a small skiff that we use for checking the hull. Once we've dropped anchor in Portoferraio harbor, we’ll wait for the cover of darkness and I’ll row you ashore to some secluded spot.”

  “Excellent.”

  “With whom are you making contact? I assume it’s—”

  “Don’t make assumptions, captain. You don’t need to know the details of what I’ve been tasked to do.”

  Looking a little nervous, Hamilton glanced back down the length of the ship. “In that case, you had better return to your quarters. Our other passengers have a knack for turning up unexpectedly
.”

  The Frenchman swore softly and then turned.

  Damnation. She caught only a blur, but something about his face stirred another frisson of recognition. And yet, she couldn’t put a finger on why. As their steps retreated, Arianna pursed her lips and thought hard.

  Where have I seen you before?

  * * *

  As if drawn by the ambrosial scents of frying gammon and eggs, the baroness and Wolff made their appearance in the officers’ wardroom for the breakfast being served to those coming off the early morning watch.

  Arianna joined them at the table. Eager to share her discoveries, she had returned to her cabin, only to find Saybrook gone. He was now on the foredeck, engaged in conversation with the master gunner, so revelations would have to wait.

  The baroness appeared to have regained her composure since leaving Gibraltar, observed Arianna. Wolff, however, had lapsed into an uncharacteristically subdued mood. Looking lost in thought, he had barely spoken a word during the meal and hardly touched his food.

  Wolff wasn’t one to meekly ponder his sins, she mused. More likely, he was trying to decide just how much he could bend the truth without incurring Saybrook’s wrath when the earl continued his interrogation. Her old friend would be wise not to mistake the earl’s outward show of detachment for a lack of inner fire.

  Those who did so usually ended up badly burned.

  “Where’s your husband?” asked Wolff, pushing away his plate and refilling his coffee.

  “On the foredeck, conversing with the master gunner about the ballistics of the American cannons.”

  “I, too, feel like some air. Would you care to join me?”

  She rose.

  The baroness seemed too involved in her flirtations with the junior officers to notice them leaving.

  Wolff led the way in silence, up through the hatchway and to a secluded spot in the lee of the ship’s launch. Arianna waited for him to speak, but he simply set his elbows on the railing and stared moodily at the horizon.

  The rigging thrummed as the wind plucked at the taut lines and stays. From the other side of the mainmast came the rhythmic scrape and splash as sailors went through the daily ritual of cleaning the deck with holystones.

  “Is there something you want, Wolffy?” she finally asked. “Aside from the pleasure of my company?”

  He ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. “Perhaps a razor with which to cut my throat?”

  “Such maudlin sentiments don’t suit you, so you can leave off trying to stir my sympathy—I’ve none to give you.”

  He blew out his breath. “I’m in a bit of a pickle, Annie.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Wolff pursed his lips. “I’m trying to determine just how high a stickler your husband is. If I am to be completely forthcoming, I need to know—

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  “I wonder.” He slowly straightened. “How much does His Lordship know about your relationship with Captain Hamilton?”

  “As it happens, he knows everything.”

  “Does he?” Wolff’s attention momentarily strayed to the foredeck.

  “Careful, Wolffy.” She, too could make oblique threats. “Blackmail is a two-edged sword. Don’t mistake where my loyalties lie.”

  “Like me, you’ve always looked out for yourself, Annie. People don’t change.”

  “Perhaps not. But they do on occasion stop lying to themselves about who they really are.”

  Wolff merely grunted, then turned as Saybrook ducked under a canvas awning and came to join them. The wind ruffled his long hair, the dark, dancing strands softening the angular planes of his face.

  “You didn’t choose to partake in American hospitality?” said Wolff after the earl took a seat on one of the stanchions facing the rail. “They serve a better breakfast than our Royal Navy.”

  “Their sailors are volunteers, not conscripts,” replied Saybrook. “The carrot works better than the stick.”

  “Now that,” said Wolff, “is an elemental dilemma for those who wish others to do their bidding—is force better than persuasion?”

  A smile touched the earl’s lips, but it disappeared so quickly that Arianna wondered whether it had merely been a quirk of light.

  “An interesting philosophical debate,” agreed Saybrook. “But at the moment we have more pressing things to discuss.” He looked to her. “Will the baroness be joining us?”

  “She’s too busy tying poor Mr. Hale’s heart into knots,” answered Wolff. “Callous, perhaps. But’s it’s good to see her back in fighting fettle. She’ll need all her wiles in the days ahead.”

  “As shall we all,” remarked the earl. “Along with a modicum of confidence that we won’t be betrayed by one of our own.”

  “That,” pointed out Wolff, “will require a leap of faith.”

  This time, the smile was unmistakable. “Or tossing the traitorous party over the side of the ship.”

  “Most aristocrats I’ve met would find it impossible to be that cold-blooded. They possess the necessary ruthlessness, but they can’t bear to get their hands dirty.”

  “I’m not like most aristocrats,” said Saybrook. “You would be welcome to ask the half dozen French operatives I eliminated in the mountains of Portugal if they weren’t rotting in unmarked graves.”

  A muscle on Wolff’s jaw gave a tiny tic.

  “You are forgetting the dastard in Vienna,” reminded Arianna. “And the one in Scotland.”

  “Thank you, my dear. But I didn't feel it necessary to give the full list to make my point.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Actually, it's just as well Lady Plessy-Moritz isn't joining us, Wolff. I prefer that you and I finish our discussion from last night without any other distractions.”

  Wolff’s expression didn’t change. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. He covered it by stepping into the shelter of the ship’s launch and lighting up a cheroot.

  The tip flared to red-orange glow as he inhaled deeply and then blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Yes, I suppose we might as well get right down to business.”

  He fixed each of them in turn with a challenging look. “As I told you, there is a conspiracy of international merchants who are key to Napoleon’s plan to bolt from Elba and retake the throne of France. And, believe me, they are very dangerous enemies. Grentham expects us to help stop them . . .”

  A dramatic pause. “The question is, how are we going to beat them at their own clandestine games?”

  “That,” said Saybrook, “depends on a number of variables. First and foremost of which is getting some truthful answers from you.”

  Wolff looked about to respond with a sardonic quip, then seemed to reconsider. Pursing his lips, he stared down at his boots and slowly drummed his fingertips together.

  The rhythmic tap-tap went on for several long moments before he looked up.

  “Fair enough. But in return, do I get some answers from the two of you? It’s all very well for you to present yourselves in a saintly holier-than-thou halo. But the fact is, you’re part of Grentham’s machinations, and I, for one, would like to know why.”

  Arianna flicked a glance at Saybrook, wondering just how much he was willing to reveal.

  “You’re a man who enjoys playing games of chance,” said the earl. “So you’ll just have to roll the dice and pray you can trust us.”

  A cynical curl played on Wolff’s lips. “So, I must take a gamble, eh?” A shrug. “Had I more bargaining chips, I might prolong the game. But I’m willing to wager that you are less of a threat than our recent assailants.”

  “For now,” murmured Saybrook. “But just so we understand each other, if you betray us, it will threaten those I love. And for that, be assured I won’t fail to kill you, even if I have to chase you to the ends of the earth to do so.”

  “No need for melodrama, sir. We understand each other,” drawled Wolff. He brushed a mote of dust from his cuff. “Now, go
ahead and ask me what you wish.

  “Let’s begin with why Grentham sent you here as Count von Wolfram?”

  “Because he suspects either Prussia or Austria might support Napoleon’s return in exchange for certain promises. There are a number of their representatives sniffing around the exiled emperor’s court and my task is to report back on who is allied with whom, and exactly what they are trying to accomplish.”

  “And just how are you to make that report?”

  “Through Colonel Neil Campbell, the British observer on Elba,” answered Wolff. “As you know, Campbell has no official power on the island because Elba is a sovereign nation. But Napoleon knows the slightest wrong move on his part will force the British to act.”

  Wolff paused for breath. “And as I mentioned, I was also tasked to check the government dispatch bag on board Basilisk to see if there was a sealed missive from a certain official in Foreign Office.”

  “Was there?” asked Saybrook.

  Wolff shook his head.

  “Very well, that answers the questions of your official mission,” said the earl. “However, I’m assuming the far more important element is your assignment as James Wolff, rascal and reprobate extraordinaire.”

  Wolff sat down on a wooden box by the ship's launch and crossed his legs. “Grentham expects that through my network of underworld connections I will hear of any plans the emperor has for slipping away from Elba. Arrangements will have to be made—transport to the mainland, contacts alerted in France, rendezvous points coordinated, supplies for the soldiers he'll be bringing with him. Such things require people with an expertise in running clandestine activities.”

  “You do know of such plans,” said Arianna. “So have you sent word to Grentham?”

  Wolff leaned back, throwing his face into shadow. “For the information to be of any use, I need the specifics— the names of the operatives and the actual dates.” He shifted his legs. “Which I don’t yet possess.”

  “If you don’t get them to him,” she murmured, “he won’t be pleased.”

  “As always, you’re sharp as a razor, Annie,” replied Wolff. “However, the minister doesn’t give a fig if I sign my own death warrant with the French conspirators in order to pass on what he needs. So—”