A Question of Numbers

by Andrea Penrose

  “As I said before, most of Wellington’s battle-hardened regiments from the Peninsula were sent to deal with the conflicts that broke out in North America in 1812. The treaty of Ghent, which officially ended the war, was only signed a short time ago. It will take months before they arrive back in Europe in any numbers.”

  “The question is whether we have months.”

  “We don’t.” He took her arm. “Come, let’s not linger. The sooner we reach Brussels, the better.”

  The earl organized the servants and personal baggage into one of the carriages, then settled the ladies into the other one. Climbing up behind them, he took a seat next to Arianna and rapped on the trap for the driver to be off.

  Constantina’s buoyancy was back. Nose pressed close to the windowpanes, she was watching the raucous chaos swirling around the docks with undisguised interest. “Hmmph. I had forgotten how interesting foreign travel is. Now that the Continent is once again open to English visitors, we must make sure it remains that way.”

  “Heaven forfend that Napoleon interfere with your desire to enjoy croissants and café au lait,” said Saybrook with a hint of a smile.

  “Hmmph.” Eyes narrowing, she thumped her cane against his boot. “It’s time we put that dreadful man somewhere far, far away where he can’t cause any more death and destruction. And I mean to do more than sip coffee and nibble pastries to ensure that happens.”

  “Napoleon has no idea what formidable opponents he’ll be facing if he marches east,” murmured Sophia. “Aside from Wellington and Blücher.”

  Arianna refrained from comment. She hoped that in the grand scheme of things, military strategy would distract the Emperor from pursuing a personal grudge. However, he was known for his ability to deal with a great many issues at once.

  She could only pray that would not come back to bite her . . .

  Along with her friends—and Pierson, if by some miracle he was still alive.

  Saybrook shifted beside her, the tension in his muscles indicating he was thinking the same thoughts.

  “Confidence is all very well, my dear aunt,” he said. “But don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating Napoleon’s intelligence and strategic brilliance. He’s outfought and outfoxed most of the greatest generals and politicians in all of Europe.”

  “It’s true,” added Arianna. “The satirical cartoons may have mocked him when he was exiled to Elba, but we must never forget his competence in so many fields. His mind is sharp as a razor.” She released a sigh. “And just as deadly.”

  The dowager’s expression sobered. “I didn’t mean to make light of the task ahead. I’m aware that we must be exceedingly careful.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her reticule, along with her gold-rimmed spectacles. “I did some reconnoitering in the drawing rooms of Mayfair before we left Town. Lady Jersey and Lady Esterhazy know all the latest gossip from Brussels, and so I’ve made some notes on the lay of the land, so to speak.”

  Looking up, Constantina fixed the earl with an owlish squint. “You may think I’m dozing in my armchair, but in fact I do listen when you and Charles discuss the importance of gathering intelligence before undertaking an action.”

  His mouth twitched, but his voice remained grave when he answered. “I’ve never underestimated you, either. But I’m heartened to hear you understand the need for caution and discretion.”

  Arianna saw the quicksilver flicker of worry in his eyes. She knew fear would prick like a daggerpoint against his conscience until they were all home safely.

  “That goes for all of us,” finished Saybrook.

  Silence gripped the air . . . and then was broken by the stiff crackling of the unfolding paper.

  “I’ve gathered more details about life within the charmed circle of English aristocrats living in Brussels,” began Constantina after consulting her notes. “Where the power lies, who is friends with whom, the daily rituals, which will allow us access to those who hold both influence and information.”

  She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dim light inside the barouche. “The Duke and Duchess of Richmond sit at the pinnacle of social prestige. Their eldest son, Lord March, is aide de camp to the Prince of Orange, who commands a part of the Allied Anglo-Dutch forces—”

  “I thought Slender Billy was considered an impetuous fribble, more skilled in drinking and partying than military tactics,” interrupted Sophia. The prince was known by the disparaging moniker because of his long, thin neck. However, Arianna knew the prince had another, even less flattering one—the Young Frog.

  “The prince is a fribble,” answered Saybrook. “However, politics demanded that he be allowed to lead part of the army. Which makes Lord March even more influential. He served as Wellington’s assistant military secretary during the Peninsular campaign, so has the Duke’s ear.”

  “Even more importantly,” announced Constantina, “Wellington is very fond of Georgiana, the Duke and Duchess of Richmond’s third daughter. He’s known her since she was a child and finds her company amusing. He and his staff will be frequent visitors at their residence.”

  The dowager looked up over the rims of her spectacles. “And that means it will be the hotbed of gossip and information. So, our first social call will be to the duchess.” A page turned. “Another center of Polite Society is the charming park where the soldiers do their morning drills. Its lawns and winding pathways through the shrubberies and trees make it a favorite place in which to stroll. It also abuts the ancient ramparts of the city where one may enjoy a view over the city and the surrounding countryside. Within the park is an area named Vauxhall, after our own London pleasure gardens, where there is a small theatre and frequent fireworks displays.”

  “I shall,” murmured the earl, “inform Wellington that if he is in need of an additional reconnaissance officer, I can make a suggestion.”

  The wry compliment brought a touch of color to Constantina’s cheeks, though she pretended not to hear it. “There are parties every evening, one more frivolous than the next.” The dowager paused. “What with all the military officers from our various allies gathered in the city, there is a prodigious amount of drinking and flirting. The rules governing a young lady’s behavior are, according to Lady Jersey, shockingly lax in comparison to London.”

  “The aura of indiscretion will make it easier to coax out information,” mused Sophia.

  A fact that would not be lost on their enemies, thought Arianna. Beneath the heady swirl of pleasure, predators would be prowling, ready to pounce on the unwary.

  “There’s more,” continued Constantina. “I’ve a list of the more minor personages who may be a useful font of local knowledge. But we can go over all that when we set out on our first morning calls.”

  “As to that,” offered Saybrook, “we’ve been lucky enough to obtain a house within the best neighborhood—no easy feat these days. Even the Duke of Richmond had to settle for accommodations in a less desirable part of town.”

  “How did you manage that?” asked Arianna.

  “Grentham ordered one of the Foreign Office’s envoys to return to London,” he answered dryly.

  “Power has its perquisites,” she remarked.

  “I assume he chose an equally desirable place for himself,” mused Constantina.

  “I’ve no idea where he’s lodging,” responded the earl. “But I’m quite sure it won’t be anywhere grand. He’ll stay in the shadows, away from the public eye. To keep darkness at bay, he must meet it on its own turf.”

  Sophia leaned back against the squabs, a troubled look on her face.

  “Percival is more than a match for any enemy,” said Constantina stoutly. She hesitated, her lashes betraying a flutter of uncertainty. “Isn’t he?”

  The earl glanced out the window. “I see we’re coming to a coaching inn. I suggest we all get out and stretch our legs while they change the horses. We’ve another few hours of travel ahead of us.”

  Arianna came down early to the breakfast room of their re
nted residence, hoping to find it deserted. The space faced out on the house’s terraced back garden, the dappled glow of the morning sun over the colorful blooms filling it with a cheery warmth. And yet a chill seemed to have settled in the pit of her stomach.

  The calm before the storm.

  She rang for a pot of coffee, and sat back to ponder what exactly was weighing on her mind.

  Saybrook had left at first light to begin his own assessment of the city’s mood. He had seemed tense and distracted, and perhaps that had rubbed off on her. They were no strangers to difficult and dangerous missions, but this one stirred a sense of foreboding. It was as if they were playing some devil-made chess game—there were too many pieces for them to defend, and attack could come from any angle of the board.

  Orlov, Andronovich, Vecchio, Napoleon . . .

  Shifting in her seat, Arianna was aware of a sudden tickle of gooseflesh pebbling her forearms.

  “It’s foolhardy to fret over what-ifs,” she chided to herself. The real threats would come soon enough.

  A footman—their own trusted staff had arrived from England late last night—entered with the coffee, drawing her back to the moment.

  “Thank you, Tomás,” she murmured, and quickly quaffed a long swallow of the scalding brew, hoping it might dispel her unsettled mood.

  Fresh croissants appeared a moment later, followed in short order by Sophia.

  “That smells divine,” she said as she took a seat and helped herself to one of the piping hot pastries.

  “Mmmm.” Arianna gave a distracted nod. Saybrook hadn’t mentioned any meeting with Grentham, but she couldn’t help wondering . . .

  “You’re not eating,” remarked Sophia. “Something must be seriously amiss.”

  She forced a smile. “Perhaps I’m watching my girlish figure.”

  “Yes, and perhaps the moon is made of Stilton cheese,” replied her friend.

  “I hadn’t realized my appetite was of such interest.” She said it lightly, but Sophia’s brows creased in concern.

  “You’re evading the issue.” A pause. “If you don’t feel you can confide your concerns with me, then I don’t see how I can be of any use. With all the lies and intrigue swirling around us, we have to be able to trust each other.”

  Trust. A word that held such a multiplicity of meanings.

  “I’m either a strength or a weakness,” pressed her friend. “I can’t be both.”

  Honesty was also a word fraught with nuances. However, she would try.

  “It may seem so on an intellectual plane,” replied Arianna. “But when one is caught up in the complexities of a mission, that’s not always the case. Human nature, with all its infinite facets, defies reason and logic. The permutations are impossible to parse through.”

  Am I making any sense?

  “You think me experienced in beating the Devil at his own game—and that each time it becomes easier,” she went on, searching for words to express the thoughts whirling in her head. “But it’s not like one of your scientific experiments—” Sophia was a brilliant chemist, “—where knowledge builds in an orderly way. Each mission has completely different variables, governed by completely different rules.”

  Sophia’s expression turned from wary to pensive.

  In for a halfpenny, in for a pound. Expelling a breath, Arianna plunged ahead. “In the past, it was far easier for me. If I made a mistake, I was the only one to suffer the consequences. “But now . . .”

  Love had changed her life, in ways that were achingly joyful, and yet terrifying.

  “But now, everything is different.”

  A flash of understanding lit in her friend’s eyes. “You’re afraid for your family and your friends.”

  “I’m terrified,” she admitted. “And this mission feels particularly daunting. So many people for whom I care will be at risk if I make a muck of things.”

  Sophia carefully put down her pastry and butter knife. “You know, that sounds awfully condescending. Do you think the rest of us are incapable of understanding the dangers and making a decision of whether or not we are willing to face them?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” But a smile softened the retort. “Of course you worry about us. Just as we all worry about you and each other. If we didn’t care so intensely, well . . .” Sophia scrunched her face in thought. “Well, I think we would be missing the most important part of our humanity. Caring about others is what makes us fight for good over evil.”

  There were so many things to say in response, but Arianna couldn’t seem to find her tongue. Instead, she simply reached over and took hold of her friend’s hand.

  Their fingers twined together.

  “Do you think I don’t lie awake at night, worrying that inexperience will lead me to make some blunder that will put one of you in danger?” said Sophia in a low, tight voice. “I would imagine Saybrook does the same . . . and perhaps Grentham, too.” She shuddered. “I can’t begin to fathom how he bears the weight that must sit on his shoulders.”

  “By doing what we must do as well—focus on achieving an objective, and allow no doubts to creep in as to whether we will be successful.”

  “Right.” Sophia steeled her spine. “Which is why we will beat the scheming men at their own game.”

  Arianna fixed her with an unblinking stare. “Don’t assume that we won’t be facing a female enemy.” A pause. “We must do our best to let facts, not assumptions, shape our conclusions.”

  The sound of steps in the corridor forestalled further discussion.

  “Here comes Constantina,” observed Sophia. “I suggest you tell her what you told me. Sharing fears makes them less daunting, and together we may see ways around them that are hidden from a single perspective.” She cradled her now-cold cup of coffee. “And it will prevent any misunderstandings regarding trust.”

  Arianna felt the chill in her innards begin to melt. Much as she wished to shield her family and friends from danger, she accepted the wisdom of Sophia’s urging.

  “Croissants. How lovely.” Constantina inhaled deeply and let out an appreciative sigh. “However, I shall also need shirred eggs and gammon to fortify me for the day ahead.” She took a seat and tapped her cane on the carpet to summon a servant. “Now, listen closely, gels—here’s what I have in mind for our opening gambit . . .”

  Chapter 10

  Saybrook turned away from observing the troops performing their morning drills and urged his horse into a brisk trot. The day was turning warm, and as the path threaded into a copse of trees bordering the swath of meadowland, the leafy shadows provided a welcome respite from the sun’s rays.

  His saddlebags were already stuffed with various plant specimens. His reputation as a noted scholar in botany provided the perfect cover for tramping through the outdoors, and allowed him to pass through the different regimental bivouacs around the outskirts of Brussels without drawing undo attention.

  Men were as fond of gossip as women . . .

  “I trust you are gathering more than weeds.” A lone rider slipped out from behind a screen of pine trees.

  The earl eyed the slouched figure dressed in a nondescript coat and battered felt hat. “I didn’t realize your many skills included the art of disguise.” Grentham had also grown a rather scruffy moustache and darkened his chestnut-colored hair to a shade of dark walnut. “My wife would be impressed.”

  “I doubt it.” The minister gave a humorless smile. “It would take far more than a splash of dye and worse-for-wear garments to draw any accolades from such a practiced expert in changing one’s skin.”

  Saybrook ignored the subtle barb about Arianna’s past clashes with Grentham. “Nonetheless, she’ll find it . . . interesting.”

  “I devoutly hope not—we should all have more important things occupying our thoughts.” He reined in a little closer and lowered his voice. “You served with military intelligence on the Peninsula. What’s your sense of the soldiers and their moral
e in the encampments you’ve seen so far?”

  “Uncertain,” answered Saybrook. “Most of them are raw recruits, untested in battle. Whether the veterans will provide enough backbone to steady them in a fight is a worrisome question. As for the Dutch forces, there’s clearly a reluctance to take arms against Napoleon, for whom many of them fought. Where their true loyalty lies remains unclear.”

  “So I feared.” The minister rode on for a moment in silence. “Wellington has a hard task ahead of him.”

  “Especially as I’ve heard his first impression of this army is that they’re the scum of the earth.”

  “Even more reason we can’t afford to lose the Prussians,” muttered Grentham.

  “I’ve arranged to meet tonight with an old acquaintance,” responded the earl. “A Polish friend who is currently serving on General Blücher’s staff. I may be able to learn some useful information.”

  The minister gave a gruff nod. “A bit of good news has arrived from London. The delegation of allies there has finally come to an agreement to work together.” A pause. “On paper, at least.”

  “I take it you have a competent person keeping an eye on the various factions?” asked Saybrook. He knew a critical task like this would normally have been entrusted to Pierson.

  “Lionel Randolph, the Earl of Dunster’s younger son, has shown himself to be intelligent—and unencumbered by a tender conscience,” replied Grentham. “But I don’t expect trouble in London. The grave danger to the alliance now lies here, where the military agreement with the Prussians can unravel in a heartbeat.”

  The earl nodded.

  “I’ve someone among the Russian delegates keeping an ear open for who may be fomenting the discord,” continued the minister. His eyes narrowed. “By the by, are you aware that Prince Orlov is in Brussels?”