A Question of Numbers

by Andrea Penrose

  Saybrook curled a sardonic smile. “Are you saying that love addles a man’s wits?”

  Arianna ignored the comment.

  “Secondly, Monsieur Dampierre is cognizant of the fact that I did him a great favor recently.”

  Grentham continued to hold her gaze. His expression gave nothing away.

  “And so gratitude may also help loosen his scruples and his tongue,” she finished.

  “I take it you’re advising me to be part of the meeting?” asked the minister after several moments of silence.

  “It’s merely a suggestion. Heaven forfend that I ever presume to offer you advice.”

  That provoked a ripple of amusement beneath his dark lashes.

  “Only a fool ignores good counsel,” murmured Sophia. “And I’ve never thought you a fool, Lord Grentham.”

  “Merely the Devil in gentleman’s clothing.”

  Sophia choked back a laugh. “I confess, I’m sadly disappointed to see no green scales hidden beneath Weston’s tailoring.” She glanced at his mud-spattered boots. “But I reserve judgment on the cloven hooves.”

  “As for your attending a meeting here,” went on Arianna. “I don’t think it stirs any untoward speculation. A foreign diplomat was murdered at Mellon’s residence, so it’s only natural for you to be involved in a private meeting to discuss possible reasons, given the complex political situation. Just as it’s natural for you to wish to do so away from the prying eyes and ears of an official government venue.”

  “That makes sense,” allowed Saybrook. “We need only discuss European politics with Dampierre, and elicit his opinion on who might be involved in the conspiracy. As for further information about Grunwald, I’ll wait until it’s just the four of us before revealing it.”

  Grentham reached for the fresh shirt and awkwardly tugged it over his head.

  Arianna interpreted the action as tacit agreement to her plan. “I’ll have our butler come fetch you in a few minutes, and bring you to the drawing room as if you’ve just arrived.” She watched him fumble with the fastenings of his collar. “Do try not to use your injured arm, sir. The gash is rather deep and you risk re-starting the bleeding.”

  “I can hardly enter your drawing sans cravat without stirring questions I don’t wish to answer.” He reached for the length of linen, but Sophia whisked it off the table.

  “I disliked how my father’s valet tied a Trone d’Amour knot,” she muttered, “and always insisted on re-doing it for him.” Before Grentham could protest, she looped the cravat around his neck and turned up the points of his shirt. “So I’m quite conversant with how to make a gentleman look presentable.”

  “Then we shall leave the two of you to manage,” said Arianna. However petty, she couldn’t help enjoying the sight of Grentham, perhaps the most feared man in all of London, looking so nonplussed. “Come, Sandro, and let us see what secrets we can coax from Monsieur Dampierre.”

  Chapter 4

  “Thank you for coming at such an ungodly hour, Constantina.” Saybrook flashed a fond smile at his great aunt as he and Arianna entered the drawing room.

  “With such intrigue running amok last night, how could I possibly resist?” replied the dowager with an aggrieved sniff. She had been present at the soirée, though she hadn’t been aware of their involvement until after the actual murder. “I thought you two were intent on having a peaceful summer devoted to scholarly studies.”

  “So did we,” responded Arianna. “I’m afraid the fault lies with me.”

  “It seems that Arianna unwittingly forged a friendship with the murdered man last autumn during our trip to Vienna. And . . .”

  He paused as Sophia joined them.

  “Well, well—this looks like a true council of war,” observed Constantina with a welcoming smile, as Sophia was a friend and occasional partner-in-scheming. “I suspected as much, which is why I asked Gerard to accompany me.”

  Dampierre inclined a gracious nod to the group.

  “If there’s Trouble threatening, I assume it has to do with the French,” went on the dowager, after seating herself on the sofa.

  “How can I help?” interjected Dampierre as he joined her.

  “That depends,” said Saybrook dryly, “on which side you’re on.”

  “Hmmph. If you’re scheming with Napoleon, tell me now, Gerard,” said the dowager before her paramour could reply. “If I find out later, I shall cut out your liver with my book knife.”

  “My dear, I would expect no less from you,” murmured Dampierre. “However, as I prefer to have my liver—along with all my other vital organs—remain intact, I can assure you, and your family, that I’m as appalled as you are that the former Emperor has re-seized the throne. France must look to forge a new future, not seek to repeat the past, which was bathed in far too much blood.”

  Arianna was inclined to believe him, if only because she didn’t doubt that the dowager would make good on her threat. Constantina valued loyalty and integrity above all else.

  Saybrook’s faint smile seemed to mirror her assessment. “Then you can be of a great deal of help,” he replied. “At present, French politics appear more tangled than a nest of vipers. Anything you can tell us about which factions might favor a return of Napoleon, even if their public statements might say otherwise, would be welcome.”

  Dampierre pursed his lips in thought.

  “Take some time to consider it,” went on the earl as he took a seat facing the sofa. “We’re waiting for one other person to join us.”

  Silk rustled as Arianna and Sophia settled themselves in a pair of armchairs.

  Several minutes ticked by before a discreet knock sounded on the door. “Milord, Lord Grentham has arrived.”

  “Percival.” Constantina raised her quizzing glass as the minister entered, and then a silvery brow. “You are looking . . . quite rumpled.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Sterling,” he drawled. “Murder has a way of rumpling one’s night.” To Dampierre he added, “This is an unofficial meeting, which is why it’s not taking place at Horse Guards. So consider yourself sworn to secrecy. I assume you’re just as concerned as I am that word about us conversing doesn’t reach the wrong ears.”

  “Correct,” replied the Frenchman.

  Arianna caught Saybrook’s eye and darted a glance at the leather armchairs set by the hearth. The earl rose and wordlessly moved one over to their circle. Grentham gave a tiny nod and sank into the cushions. Caught in that angle of the lamplight, his face appeared ash-gray.

  Constantina didn’t miss it either. “You look dead on your feet, Percival. You should be sleeping, not talking.”

  “Alas, for now there is no rest for the wicked,” he replied.

  Arianna rang for more coffee.

  “I can tell you what I know about the various factions within the French king’s court. Like His Majesty, most of the Royalists have fled to Ghent, or to Brussels,” said Dampierre without further ado. “It’s still uncertain what men Napoleon has brought to power in Paris, but I know a few names and am happy to offer my thoughts.”

  “Any information is useful,” replied the minister coolly. “Tell me what you know.”

  For the next half hour, the Frenchman proceeded to give a crisp summary of the players and the power struggles taking place among the supporters of the French King. As Arianna suspected, there were those who switched sides before, and were likely to do so again.

  “I will be traveling to Brussels the day after tomorrow to meet with the French king’s foreign advisors and assess the situation,” finished Dampierre. “We of course hope that through negotiations with the Allied Coalition, we may bring pressure to bear on France to force Napoleon to relinquish his unlawfully-seized throne without blood being shed—”

  “Blood will be shed—a great deal of it,” cut in Grentham. “Napoleon is already mobilizing his armies. He’s the consummate military strategist and realizes his only chance of keeping the French throne is to seize the offensive. The obvio
us move is to quickly attack the Anglo-Allied armies positioned outside of Brussels before the Austrians and Russians can reinforce them. If he beats them, he can force us all to the bargaining table.”

  The minister shifted in his chair. “So it all hinges on the Prussian army near Brussels. Whether they will agree to fight or not will decide the fate of Europe.”

  Mellon shifted uneasily. “What of last night’s murder? Have you uncovered anything more about it?”

  “Henning learned that the blade missed the heart by a scant quarter inch and nicked an artery, but I daresay that’s of little interest to either us or Grunwald,” replied Saybrook. “I thought it best not to say anything last night, amid all the commotion, but Grunwald did utter a few words to Arianna before he expired. I shall let her explain.”

  “Alas, there’s actually precious little to tell,” said Arianna. “He was choking on his own blood when I arrived, and managed only to say ‘Andronovich.’” She paused. “Does that name mean—”

  “He’s the head of the Russian delegation negotiating the military treaty among the Allies,” interrupted Mellon. “They’ve just arrived in Brussels. Our diplomats are already there and the Austrian and Prussian delegations here in London are expected to follow within the next few days.”

  “So, we know who Andronovich is,” mused the earl. “But have no idea what Grunwald was trying to communicate.”

  Mellon made a face. “I don’t know him well. But he has a reputation for integrity.”

  “Be that as it may, one is tempted to see it as a warning,” murmured Arianna. “A last-gasp attempt to say the man is somehow aligned with the murderer.”

  “Only if you are an avid reader of Mrs. Radcliffe’s horrid novels,” snapped Grentham. “Though Radcliffe would likely have her victim scrawl the murderer’s name in his own blood.”

  Arianna cleared her throat. “As to that . . .”

  The minister muttered something under his breath. Whether it was an oath or a prayer wasn’t clear.

  “Ghoulish though it may seem,” she continued, “Grunwald did mark something on the stones as his life ebbed away. Sandro is of the opinion that it could have been merely a death spasm of his hand. But to me, it looked like a ‘V’.”

  An uncomfortable silence gripped the room for several long moments, and then was broken by the sound of Dampierre shifting in his seat.

  “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I feel I must.” He drew in a measured breath. “Lord Saybrook may be correct that it’s merely coincidence the mark appears to be a ‘V’. But I fear it isn’t.”

  Another whisper of wool as he leaned forward. “There is a man named Vecchio, a childhood friend of Napoleon from Corsica, who has, on occasion, performed services for the emperor.” A pause. “Very unpleasant ones.”

  “Don’t shilly-shally, Gerard,” whispered Constantina. “Say what you mean.”

  “He’s a deadly assassin,” responded the Frenchman. “Used when Napoleon wishes to eliminate a particularly worrisome threat. That’s because he doesn’t fail.”

  “Another element worthy of a horrid novel,” drawled Grentham. “But it’s not Vecchio. The execution was too clumsy.”

  “Grunwald is dead,” pointed out the earl.

  “Yes, but Vecchio wouldn’t have left him alive to point the finger, so to speak, at his killer.”

  “You know him?” demanded Arianna.

  “By reputation,” answered the minister. To Dampierre he added, “Thank you for the information. However, I don’t think it’s relevant.”

  “Well then, if there’s nothing more for us to discuss, we should take our leave,” said Mellon. “I’m sure the minister has much to do.”

  Grentham gave a brusque wave of dismissal.

  “We came in through the mews, so as not to attract attention.” Mellon gave a parting nod. “You needn’t stand on ceremony, Sandro—we can see ourselves out.”

  “The minister came in that way too,” replied Arianna. “But I think it prudent that he wait for a bit before following you out.”

  Dampierre rose along with Mellon and offered his hand to Constantina. “Lord Grentham, might I ask one question about the military situation? I know Wellington is currently in Vienna. Is he . . .”

  “The duke is on his way to take command of the Allied forces in Brussels,” answered the minister.

  “At least that is one bit of good news.” Dampierre looked relieved. “Wellington has never been defeated in battle.”

  Grentham curled a sardonic smile. “He hasn’t yet fought against Napoleon.”

  Arianna waited until the footsteps had died away in the corridor before ringing for the footman. “Have Lord Grentham’s meal brought to the breakfast room, along with a pot of hot chocolate.”

  The minister looked about to protest, then appeared to change his mind. “I would prefer coffee—preferably dark and hot as Hades.”

  “The ancient Aztec warriors drank chocolate to fortify their strength for a coming battle,” she replied.

  “Thank you for feeding me history lessons, along with shirred eggs and toast. However, I’m more concerned with the present and the near future.”

  Arianna didn’t bother retorting. “Follow me.”

  Once they were all seated around the table, Grentham leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “Now, I assume I’m finally going to learn what else you found on Grunwald’s body, aside from a mortal wound to the chest.”

  Chapter 5

  “There were, fact, several things, beginning with these.” Saybrook drew several papers from his pocket and smoothed them out on tabletop. “I found them concealed in Grunwald’s boot. But you’ll see there’s a faint smudge of blood on the right corner of the top sheet, so it would seem the assassin riffled through them. Which raises the question of why he left them.”

  “Perhaps they weren’t what he was looking for,” suggested Arianna.

  “That, of course, is the obvious answer.” Saybrook pushed them toward Grentham. “They appear to be sample summaries of the secret negotiations, corroborating the claim that the Prussians were receiving the supposedly secret details. But I daresay you can confirm that.”

  Grentham took a moment to read over them. “Yes. They’re extremely accurate.”

  “So, we have to assume the assassin wasn’t concerned with leaving proof that the negotiations are being betrayed.” He frowned. “I wonder why.”

  The minister said nothing.

  “If you knew who wrote them . . .” murmured Sophia. Her eyes widened. “Maybe the handwriting will tell you something.”

  “It won’t,” shot back Grentham.

  “How—”

  “Because if Grunwald had half a brain in his cockloft, he would have copied the originals, rather than steal them, so as not to give away the fact that he had discovered what was going on.” The minister refolded the papers. “And it so happens that it is his writing.”

  “You’re certain?” Sophia’s voice held a note of disbelief.

  “Quite.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I took a careful look at documents penned by Grunwald earlier this morning,” answered Grentham. “Along with handwriting samples of every member of Russian and Austrian diplomatic missions currently negotiating with Lord Saybrook’s uncle.”

  “I—I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you happen to have those,” muttered Sophia.

  “Not if your scruples are easily offended.” The minister looked back to Saybrook. “What else?”

  Another piece of paper appeared from the earl’s pocket, this one a mere scrap folded to the size of a fingernail. “This was snagged in the chain of Grunwald’s pocketwatch. To me it means nothing, save for the fact that he apparently enjoyed the attending the theatre. But you may see something I don’t.”

  Grentham opened it. Arianna could see it had naught but a few words scribbled on it.

  “Lorelei—see Jacques, Act II, Scene 7,” He rea
d aloud, then chuffed a grunt and pushed it away. “I see enough tragedies and comedies off the stage that I fail to find playacting of any interest. So my assessment agrees with yours. Though it may be worth having one of my codebreakers take a look—”

  Grentham stopped abruptly as Arianna grabbed the scrap.

  “A code,” she said. “I think it may be exactly that, and that he—he knew he was in danger.” Feeling a frisson of excitement, she tugged at the bellpull to summon a footman. “Thomas, kindly fetch a copy of Shakespeare’s As You Like It from the library.”

  Seeing Saybrook arch his brows in question, she explained. “As I mentioned to you last night, Grunwald was very enamored with Shakespeare and was delighted to discover I enjoyed the Bard as well. During our meetings in Vienna, he took to calling call me Lorelei—

  “Lorelei?” The earl’s brows lifted even higher. “The legendary Murmuring Rock that looms over the Rhine?”

  “He thought my voice had an aura of mystery.” She shrugged. “And was under the impression that I waxed poetic on the beauties of the Bard’s writing. His English wasn’t perfect, so apparently he gave me more credit than I deserved for my erudition and eloquence on the subject.”

  Tap-tap. Grentham’s only response was to begin drumming an impatient tattoo upon the tabletop.

  Saybrook watched the rapid-fire rise and fall of the minister’s fingers with a lidded gaze, his expression turning unreadable. But from the subtle tightening of his shoulders, she sensed there was yet another revelation to come—one which was troubling him.

  Tap-tap. Deciding there was no point in brooding on what it might be, Arianna turned her thoughts back to her own conundrum. Despite Grunwald’s misplaced admiration, she was no expert in Shakespeare’s play. The scene scribbled on the note stirred no momentous ah-ha moment.

  Indeed, her mind went blank. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember anything about it.

  Tap-tap. At last the sound of footsteps in the corridor rose above the minister’s drumming.