The Stolen Letters

by Andrea Penrose

  “There’s no need for such extreme measures just yet,” cut in Arianna. “I know who has the stolen documents.”

  A sharp exhale—whether it was relief or trepidation was impossible to discern—slipped from Constantina’s lips.

  “However, to get them back will require some very demanding logistics.” She and Grentham had worked out a preliminary plan. But first, there was an initial obstacle to overcome.

  Sophia fixed her with an expectant look.

  “I visited a source that has proved helpful in the past . . .” Grentham had extracted a solemn promise from her that his part in this affair would remain a secret. “And it led to a key disclosure.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, simply a stretching of the truth. Her friends didn’t need to know the details of the plan, and the complication with Dampierre’s papers. For now, there was no need to complicate Constantina’s worries. Time enough to cross that bridge when—and if—they came to it.

  “Someone else knows of my folly?” The dowager’s face turned pale as bleached muslin as she swallowed hard. “Dear God. I’m ruined.”

  “On the contrary,” countered Arianna. “My source gave his word that your liaison will remain a secret, and I’m absolutely sure he will keep his promise.

  Constantina looked torn between hope and doubt.

  “You see, I may have made a deal with the devil. But so has my contact,” she explained. “He wants those papers out of the hands of the Prussians as badly as you do, yet his involvement can’t ever come to light.”

  “Who—” began Constantina.

  “Never mind. All that matters is he and I have an understanding, and neither of us can afford to break it.” A pause. “That seems to me to be the best sort of bond.”

  “So it does,” murmured Sophia. “But how—”

  “I’m about to get to the plan. But first things first,” said Arianna. “The task will be daunting—and there is no earthly way I can attempt it without Saybrook getting wind of it.” A wry sigh. “No matter how distracted he is at the moment with his scholarly research, he won’t fail to notice something havey-cavey is going on under his nose.”

  She looked at Constantina. “The choice is, of course, yours.”

  The dowager looked a little ill.

  “I think—”

  “There must be some way,” interjected Sophia. “Is there any chance he could be encouraged to make a trip to Oxford? Surely there must be manuscripts in one of the archives that he needs to consult.”

  Arianna reluctantly considered the suggestion. “That might work. Assuming he doesn’t smell something smoky and decide to sniff out where the fire is.” She thought for a moment. “And then there’s the fact that we can’t predict when he’ll return. Sandro might very well decide the material is uninteresting and hare back to London at an inopportune moment.”

  “That certainly won’t fadge.” Sophia pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose there is a distant relative who could fall ill?”

  She arched her brows in undisguised skepticism.

  “You’re right,” responded Sophia with a resigned sigh. “Saybrook would never fall for such an obvious ruse.”

  A grim silence fell over the room. Arianna really couldn’t see a viable solution other than to—

  “Perhaps . . .” Constantina’s hesitant murmur trailed off as a gust of wind rattled the leaded windowpanes.

  “Go on,” said Arianna. In for a penny, in for a pound. Having given her word to the dowager to help, she would allow herself to be governed by Constantina’s decision on the matter.

  “Perhaps Sandro would consent to help me resolve some questions regarding the management of my estate in Kent,” said the dowager. “He has been offering to make a visit and assess the lands, as well as the ledgers, to determine if there should be a change in what crops are grown. So I could press him to do it now.”

  “It’s the dead of winter,” pointed out Sophia.

  “Yes, but it can be argued that without vegetation, the land’s contours and problem areas are more visible,” mused Arianna.

  “I can say my steward is anxious to arrange the meeting, in case there are some changes to be made for the spring planting,” responded Constantina.

  “But he would likely expect you to be there as well, wouldn’t he?” she asked.

  “There are some benefits to being old,” replied the dowager dryly. “I can simply say I don’t feel up to making the journey, what with the cold and rutted roads.”

  The plan was, decided Arianna after careful consideration, a viable one. She could see only one flaw. “Your butler and steward would—”

  “Would have to understand there is a reason we wish to keep him in Kent for several days,” interrupted Constantina. “Yes, yes—I’ve thought of that. I can dispatch a message to them, explaining that you and I are arranging a surprise fete for him and need him out of town.”

  “Brilliant,” exclaimed Sophia. She looked to Arianna. “It seems to me this can work.”

  “So it does,” agreed Arianna. And then swore softly as one last obstacle occurred to her. “However, we would need to get him to leave tomorrow, for there is an ideal opportunity to steal back the documents in two days.”

  The dowager waved off the worry. “I shall tell him my steward has a family obligation that requires him to leave shortly for an extended time. So the consultation needs to be now.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ha! Unless I’ve lost all my powers of persuasion, I’m confident I can convince him to do this for me.”

  Arianna was glad to see Constantina back to her usual feisty dragon-like self, a challenge sparking fire rather than fear. The dowager loved a good fight.

  “Then it’s agreed,” she said. “You’ll make a plea for Sandro to travel to Kent. But if that doesn’t work—”

  “If that doesn’t work, we’ll tell him the truth,” conceded Constantina. “But I don’t intend to let it come to that.”

  Sophia reached for the plate of pastries and selected a ginger-spiced chocolate confection. “Now that we’ve solved what to do about Saybrook, tell us who the enemy is and how we are going to beat him at his own game.”

  Her husband wouldn’t be happy if he knew he was being dismissed as naught but a pawn on the board, casually swept from his square before the action became interesting.

  Pray God he never finds out.

  The dowager helped herself to a sweet and passed the plate on to Arianna. “Is it Orlov?”

  “No, but Sandro was right in his surmise of the two likeliest suspects,” she answered. “It’s von Stockhausen, the Prussian envoy, who arranged the theft. But as Luck would have it, he’s holding a diplomatic soiree at his residence on the day after tomorrow. Our co-conspirator will suggest to Charles that he invite us, as the presence of ladies always adds a note of conviviality to such a gathering.”

  “Ha!” murmured Sophia with a satisfied grin. “We shall definitely keep them entertained.”

  “Indeed, that will be your role—to keep the men distracted,” pointed out Arianna. “And yours, too, Aunt Constantina. I’ll be given a sketch of the townhouse’s layout, so I’ll know where von Stockhausen’s private study is. At some point in the evening, I’ll contrive to slip away and retrieve the documents from the room. And for that, I’ll need your help in creating enough of a distraction with your charm and flirtations that my absence won’t be noticed.”

  “I don’t mean to cast a pall over our enthusiasm, but isn’t there a chance that von Stockhausen has already sent them on to his government’s ministry in Berlin?” ventured Sophia.

  ‘Yes,” answered Arianna. “But only a slight one. As Constantina surmised, the meeting between the Allied envoys and the senior officials of our government is a critical one. They will vote on several matters concerning former Bonaparte supporters who are still holding positions of power in Spain and Italy. Our co-conspirator is quite confident that Prussia plans to use the stolen documents to pressure Dampierre.”

  “In what way?” de
manded the dowager.

  Arianna lifted her shoulders. “He refused to explain the politics, saying it involved sensitive government secrets. Ones that can’t remain in Prussian hands.”

  “Hmmph.” Not a happy sound, but after a small hesitation, Constantina seemed to accept the explanation. “Well, since you appear to trust him, I shall assume he is right on this.”

  “I believe that he is,” she replied. Not that there was any other alternative from which to choose. “In any case, we have nothing to lose in trying.”

  “Unless, of course, we get caught,” pointed out Sophia in a matter-of-fact voice. “Science demands objectivity, so I feel compelled to point out the possibility.”

  “I’m willing to take our chances,” responded the dowager. “I have every confidence in our abilities.”

  “As do I,” agreed Arianna, even though the risk of being caught red-handed was not to be dismissed so lightly. “Once I get hold of the guest list we can reconvene and decide on the best strategy for using our wiles to distract the gentlemen. But for now—”

  Constantina was already on her feet and ringing the bell for her maid to come and clear away the tea things. “For now, I will adjourn to my parlor and begin composing a plea for assistance to my great nephew.”

  Her mouth quirked up at the corners. “One he will dare not refuse.”

  Chapter 5

  “A letter has just arrived for you.” Arianna entered Saybrook’s study later that evening and placed a sheet of paper on his desk, its folds sealed with an ornate wax wafer. “It’s from Aunt Constantina.”

  “That’s odd,” he muttered, setting down his pen and giving the note a wary look. “If she’s up in the boughs about something, she’s usually not shy about storming through the door and breathing fire down my neck.”

  “That’s a bit unfair,” murmured Arianna. “Her calls are often purely social.” A pause. “She’s quite fond of you.”

  “As I am of her. But still, she can be as Machiavellian as Grentham,” he responded as he cracked the seal.

  “Another exaggeration,” she said softly.

  He made a sound deep in his throat. Paper rustled beneath his tapered fingers, the candlelight catching the flutter of the sheet unfolding.

  Moving to the sideboard, Arianna busied herself with rearranging the decanters into perfect alignment. For a moment she was tempted to pour a measure of dark amber brandy to quiet her conscience. She felt guilty about being less than honest with him, even though it was in a good cause.

  Rationalizing the fine points of morality was a slippery slope. How devilishly easy it was to start the slide down the Road to Perdition was something she had witnessed time and time again in her youthful struggles to survive. Her own father had been a master of it, spinning wonderfully elegant explanations of how circumstances demanded the tiny bending of this code of honor . . . and then that code of honor . . . until nothing was left but self-serving platitudes.

  Constantina’s fears had prompted Arianna to make a promise. She would keep it, but the effort did not come without a cost.

  “Hmmph.”

  Saybrook’s grunt drew her from her thoughts. Drawing a quick, steadying breath, she turned and raised a questioning brow. “That sounds a little ominous. Is something amiss?”

  “I’m not sure.” He skimmed the letter again, then offered it to her. “She wishes for me to make a trip to Kent right away and review some estate matters for her.”

  Arianna took the time to read what Constantina had written before responding. The dowager, she observed, had crafted a perfectly nuanced appeal, underlying her usual feistiness with a note of vulnerability.

  “It’s understandable that she might feel uncertain about such things,” replied Arianna, setting the note back on his blotter. “It appears to me that she’s concerned with important questions, and she knows you have a good deal of expertise and experience in agriculture.” She glanced down at the note again. “And it seems you did offer . . .”

  “Yes,” acknowledged Saybrook. “It’s just that . . .” Letting his words trail off, he lifted his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. “You saw her the other day—was there anything about her spirits that struck you as . . . out of the ordinary?”

  She took a long moment to consider the question. “She did seem a bit preoccupied, as if something was weighing on her mind.”

  He frowned. “Could her health be troubling her?”

  This was harder than she imagined. Scheming came quite naturally to her—perhaps because since her earliest childhood she had heard her father spinning Banbury tales—and she was damnably good at it. But her gut gave a nasty twist at having to exercise her skills on her husband.

  But having given her word to Constantina, she felt compelled to continue with the charade. With luck, he would never learn of the little deception.

  “Constantina is of an age where that is a worry,” she replied obliquely. She didn’t wish to worry him, but leaving a soupcon of doubt would work in their favor. “But no, she didn’t appear ill.”

  He drummed his fingers on the paper, a look of concern pinching at his features.

  “If a few days in Kent would help put her mind at ease . . .” murmured Arianna.

  Saybrook looked up. “Yes, yes, of course I shall go. I’ll send a note immediately and let her know I’ll be ready to leave in the morning. And I’ll call on her on my way out of Town to see if she has any further instructions.” He leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples. “In some ways, a short respite from reading these cursed 17th-century manuscripts will be welcome. The spidery scripts are the very devil to decipher.”

  “There is,” said Arianna lightly, “an old adage about killing two birds with one stone.” Or in this case, three. “Aunt Constantina receives the counsel she needs and your eyes get a much-needed rest.”

  A smile pulled at his lips. “Always the pragmatist, my dear.”

  Arianna repressed a wince. “Come, you ought to inform Sebastian that he should pack a traveling case for you.”

  “Well, that worked out perfectly with Sandro,” said Constantina with some satisfaction as Arianna and Sophia entered her parlor. “Let us hope the rest of our plans go equally well.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Arianna let out a sigh. “I confess, it wasn’t a very pleasant feeling having to lead him by the nose.”

  The dowager’s face fell. “I—I’m so sorry, my dear. I hadn’t considered how selfish it was of me to demand—”

  “No, no!” she said hastily. “In the scheme of things, protecting your secret is well worth a tiny twinge of guilt.” After exhaling another quick sigh, she crooked a wry smile. “Life requires us to make difficult decisions all the time. The choices are rarely clear-cut—”

  “And rarely perfect,” interjected Sophia.

  Arianna nodded. “Very true. And so we muddle through as best we can . . . though it would be best if Sandro never learns about our little subterfuge.”

  “Still, I dislike having put you between a rock and stone,” said the dowager.

  “I’m quite adept at slipping out of tight places.” Arianna shrugged out of her shawl and took a seat. “Let us take heart from Mr. Shakespeare’s assertion ‘All’s well that ends well.’” Enough talk of recriminations, she thought, taking several papers, along with a small notebook and pencil, from her reticule.

  It was time to focus on the task ahead.

  “I’ve obtained a copy of the guest list for von Stockhausen’s soiree.” She read off the names. “Aunt Constantina, you’re a font of knowledge on Polite Society. Let’s start making a list of each gentleman’s interests, so we’re prepared to distract whoever is necessary.”

  Arianna looked up. “As we all know, men find it irresistible when women ask them questions about their expertise.”

  Sophia muffled a snort. “Indeed, flirtation is just another name for shameless flattery. That’s a lesson drummed into us before we’re paraded on the Marriage Mart.

>   “Because it works,” replied Arianna. “So let us make sure to use it to our advantage.”

  “I know most of the people you mentioned,” said Constantina. “And for the few I don’t, I will have the needed information by evening.”

  “I noted that Prince Orlov wasn’t on the list,” observed Sophia.

  “Thankfully it’s one less complication to deal with,” remarked Arianna as she opened her notebook. “Now, let us get to work. The key to a successful mission is knowing as much as possible about all the variables you’ll be facing.”

  She chuffed a quick laugh. “That way, when all your careful planning ends up being knocked to flinders, you’re prepared to improvise.”

  Chapter 6

  Arianna took a seat at her dressing table, surprised to feel as if butterflies were beating their gossamer wings against her ribcage. It was strange—she had faced more threatening situations before, ones in which the slightest mistake would have cost her life. The stakes weren’t as high tonight, and yet her nerves were oddly jumpy.

  Her lady’s maid came up behind her and with deft strokes of a silver-backed brush—a wedding gift from Saybrook—began gathering her hair into a fashionably upswept topknot.

  “Your new gown is very lovely, milady,” murmured Bianca through a mouthful of pins. “The color is . . . how you say in English . . . mysterioso.

  Mysterious.

  “It suits you,” went on Bianca.

  The hue hovered between a deep, smoky blue and the dark slate green that one only saw when the ocean was on the cusp of a storm. Mysterious, yes. And a little dangerous, perhaps, reflected Arianna. Which seemed apt.

  “His Lordship will like it,” added Bianca.

  Yes, he will, thought Arianna. Saybrook appreciated subtle ambiguities. She would wear it for him soon.

  In response, she said, “Madame Tissot is an imaginative modiste. Her fabrics and designs are more interesting than the usual pattern-card creations of the other shops.”

  Bianca nodded as she threaded a matching ribbon through the artfully arranged curls. “Do you wish to wear the pearls or the peridots?”