A Question of Numbers

by Andrea Penrose

  “With the threat of impending war hanging like a stormcloud over our heads, it’s not the most auspicious time to fall in love,” murmured the dowager, once Sophia had fled the room.

  “Ah, but when does emotion ever listen to reason?” replied Arianna. “Love is never easy. I’m not sure there’s ever a right or a wrong time. There will always be conflict and challenges to resolve. And doubts to conquer.” Her lips twitched in a wry grimace. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “I, of all people, understand the wisdom of your words.” Constantina lifted her glass, the cut crystal sending shards of the dying sunlight skittering across the wall, and took a sip. “Miss Kirtland shall survive. She’s strong.”

  “And determined,” said Arianna, and suddenly found herself smiling. “Grentham might not realize it quite yet, but her grit and steel may be more than a match for his own.”

  A chuckle. “Thank you for making me laugh. The alternative is too grim to contemplate.”

  Arianna, too, didn’t wish to think of the mission-in-progress or the likely clash of armies. So many lives would be lost . . .

  She stood, intent on holding brooding at bay. “I want to work up some mathematics calculations based on the map we took from Vecchio. Given that there is a key to the scale of the drawing, I should be able to determine the precise distance from the Château d’Hougoumont to the tree where Randolph means to hide the talisman.” Despite Grentham’s skepticism, she was sure that her instincts were correct concerning what the secret weapon was. Fate seemed to have connected her with Napoleon and his bejeweled good luck charm. Yet another triangle, she mused. No wonder the overlapping patterns had been so difficult to discern.

  The dowager pursed her lips. “I, too, wish to be useful, so I shall go see about having supper sent up to the children and keep them company.” Thank Heaven, Emma had proved a very kind companion to the younger Nereid. After several lessons on chess from Saybrook, the two girls had been engrossed with the game.

  “Shall I have a supper tray sent in to you?” added Constantina.

  “Thank you but no. I’ll fetch something later.”

  Once alone, Arianna moved to the desk by the bank of windows, where her papers were spread out across the leather blotter. The calculations occupied her attention for a bit. However, they were quickly done, allowing the doleful ticking of the clock to draw her back to her worries.

  Like Sophia, she couldn’t help but let her mind be plagued by what-ifs. The mission was fraught with danger. So many things could go wrong . . .

  “Don’t,” chided Arianna to herself. “Don’t create demons out of thin air.” They were battling enough real ones.

  She reached for a penknife, intent on sharpening the tip of her pencil, when a flutter of movement in the alleyway beyond the garden wall caught her eye. A cloaked figure was along the mews. The summer twilight was fading, and the shadows were too deep to make out more than a blurred shape as it slipped into the stable next to the carriage house.

  The children. The threat to them was still very real. If Randolph knew about Nereid . . .

  Holding her breath, Arianna slid open the desk drawer and eased out her pistol. At the rear of the main corridor there was a door leading out to the back gardens. She hitched up her skirts with her free hand and slipped into the passageway. There was no time to find Sophia or the footmen and she didn’t dare call out.

  Once outside, she moved swiftly and silently to the stone wall and crept along its perimeter to a wrought iron gate that gave access to a footpath connecting the house to the row of stable buildings. Keeping to the grassy verge, she took cover behind one of the holly bushes and cocked an ear.

  Was that the creak of a cart?

  Her heart began to thump. Up ahead was the door to the tack room, and from there she could make her way to where the horses were kept. But just as she reached the alley, a sound behind her made her spin around, her weapon raised.

  Sophia flashed a silent signal, then darted forward to join her in the shadows of the shrubberies. She, too, was armed.

  The creak came again. Then voices, low and urgent—and familiar— punctuated by the muffled thud of hooves.

  Letting her breath out in a rush, Arianna shot up from a crouch and rushed to help Saybrook maneuver the farm cart in through the door he had just thrown open.

  “Help me close the door—and quickly,” he said as Sophia joined them. The heavy portal swung shut.

  A dark-as-Hades gloom suddenly enveloped them. She heard the earl unhook a lantern from one of the iron pegs jutting out from the wall. Flint struck steel and an oily flame came to light, illuminating a bundle of blankets lying in the back of the cart.

  Arianna’s blood went cold. “Is he . . .”

  “Hurt, but alive,” said Grentham. As he climbed down from the driver’s box, she heard Sophia release a soft hiss of relief. “One of our French comrades is sending a surgeon here, though he’ll come disguised as a butcher’s apprentice making a delivery to the kitchen.”

  “We’ve been very careful about leaving no trail for the enemy to follow,” explained the earl. “The head of French security is not a man who takes defeat lightly. He’ll be out for blood when he discovers we’ve snatched his prize out from under his nose.”

  “And father and daughter would be just the sort of target he would choose for revenge,” said Grentham, his expression grim. “Until I can make arrangements to get them safely on a ship to England, we must be on our guard here.”

  “Between my retainers and our French comrades, who will return here under the cover of darkness, we should be ready for any attack,” assured Saybrook.

  Arianna had climbed into the cart as they spoke, and gently drew back the blanket from around Pierson’s swollen face. His eyes were closed, his breathing raspy. Bruises darkened his sallow skin, and in the weak light he looked like death warmed over.

  “We’ve given him laudanum to ease the pain of traveling,” said Grentham. “I don’t think he’ll wake for a while longer.”

  But Pierson’s lashes fluttered and his lids raised a fraction. “The b-best-laid p-plans of mice and men, eh?” he uttered in a throaty whisper. “E-Elba . . .the bomb on the ship . . . almost succeeded . . .”

  “Hush,” said Arianna, touched a caress to his cheek as he his words gave way to a grimace. “All that matters is you’re safe now, as is Emma.”

  He managed a ghost of a smile. “I owe you . . . debt of . . .”

  “Friendship requires no ledgers, Mr. Pierson.” She looked up. “We need to get him inside. Sophia and I will keep watch at the ends of the alleyway to make sure you’re not observed.”

  The move was made quickly, and their wounded comrade was soon dozing on soft bed beneath a down coverlet.

  “His pulse feels a little weak, but regular,” said Arianna. “As for his injuries . . .”

  “He’s been beaten, and perhaps a rib or two are cracked. However, I didn’t find any other broken bones,” replied Grentham. His own face was gray with exhaustion, and yet that couldn’t dim the glimmer of hope in his eyes. “We’ll have to wait and see what the surgeon says about other damage. But it seems he’ll survive.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered.

  “As well as all of you, who risked your lives for his,” murmured the minister.

  “That goes without saying,” said Arianna as she smoothed a crease from the coverlet and plumped the pillow behind Pierson’s head.

  “Not in the serpentine world of intrigue where the unwritten credo is every man for himself.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing a few women have joined fray.”

  Grentham’s mouth twitched. “Good manners dictate that a gentleman never contradict a lady.”

  “Oh?” Sophia raised a brow. “I thought it was the other way around.”

  “Not in the presence of you two, it isn’t,” said the minister with a faint smile.

  The arrival of the surgeon cut short any further quips. Leav
ing the man to examine his patient, they all trooped down to the dining room, where Constantina had a fire crackling in the hearth and a selection of hot food in the chafing dishes on the serving table.

  Saybrook uncorked a bottle of claret and passed it around after they had all filled their plates and taken a seat.

  He raised his glass. “Whatever battles lie ahead, it seems our fight here in Brussels is—”

  “Is not quite over,” interrupted Arianna. “There’s still the matter of Lionel Randolph.”

  Chapter 26

  Grentham made a pained face. “Surely you’re not going to raise holy hell about the bloody talisman?”

  “Language, Percival,” chided Constantina.

  “I think the ladies in this room will survive an oath or two without falling into a swoon.” He frowned at Arianna. “As soon as Señora Marone-Cinzano’s operatives locate Randolph, he’ll be seized by our military and face judgment for his actions.”

  “We need to find him before Napoleon gets his hands on the talisman,” she countered.

  Grentham responded with a few more distinctly ungentlemanly words, then added, “You can’t be serious about taking any more risks for the sake of a mere bauble.”

  “I’m deadly serious.” She drew in a deep breath, thinking back to her private meeting with the emperor and the look in his eyes as they had discussed Destiny and Fate. “It’s very difficult for me to explain this to you, but it matters—it matters deeply. Napoleon is a man who believes in . . . in magic. And as I said, belief can be a very powerful force.”

  Grentham expelled a rude sound but his expression was one of resignation as he looked to Saybrook. “I suppose it’s useless to appeal to you to ask your wife to see reason.”

  “Quite useless,” murmured the earl.

  The minister tried one more appeal. “Lady Saybrook, the die is already cast. We saw signs that the French army is already on the move. Wellington may think he has until the end of the month, but I’m quite sure it will be sooner than that. There isn’t time—”

  “Which means,” she said before he could go on, “that we had better move quickly.”

  “How?” he demanded.

  Arianna thinned her lips. As to that, she hadn’t yet worked a plan. But she would.

  “Señora Marone-Cinzano has spent months setting up a network—a damnably good one, I might add,” he went on. “If she hasn’t yet located Randolph, what makes you think you can do better?”

  “I’ll think of something by morning,” she answered.

  “Then I suppose we had better all get some sleep.” Grentham drank the rest of his wine in one swallow. “For it seems there will no rest for the weary until we find the damnable bauble.”

  Saybrook rose along with the minister. “A wise suggestion. We’ll all think more clearly after a night of rest.”

  An oblique reproach? Arianna understood his skepticism. She knew it sounded crazy, and yet she was sure, right down to the depth of her marrow, that she was right. The ordinary rules of logic didn’t always apply. There were, on rare occasions, extraordinary individuals who through sheer force of will were capable of bending the world to their design.

  One needed to fight fire with fire.

  And there was also a more personal reason . . .

  She remained seated while the men left the room. Constantina and Sophia did as well.

  “I know that look,” said the dowager with a speculative stare. “You have something in mind.”

  A sigh. “Nothing fully formed as of yet. But Randolph must be apprehended and put away where he’ll never do anyone harm again.” Arianna hesitated. Paloma’s story was wrenchingly personal, but she decided the señora wouldn’t object to the others knowing her painful secret.

  “The man is not only a threat to our country but also to a lady who has risked everything to fight against evil.” She went on to explain about Randolph’s relationship to Paloma and Nereid, the interlude of physical abuse and the danger to mother and child while he remained free.

  “The dastard,” whispered Sophia, her face going pale. She, too, had suffered the cruelties of a violent man whose position of prestige and power allowed him to do as he pleased.

  “What can we do to help?” asked Constantina.

  “I’m not certain,” replied Arianna. Surely there must be a more active role they could play, but as of yet, her mind was a blank. “Still, I will ask her how we may be of assistance.”

  She went to the desk and scribbled a quick missive. “I’ll summon one of the Frenchmen standing guard outside and have him deliver the note.”

  “So we must simply wait?”

  “For now, yes.” Arianna didn’t like the prospect any more than her friend did. “But I trust it won’t be for long.”

  Despite her fatigue, Arianna passed a restless night. She rose just as dawn’s glow was touching the horizon, taking care not to wake Saybrook, who was sleeping the sleep of the dead . . .

  A terrible metaphor, she realized, and forced her thoughts to turn more positive as she padded barefoot down to the kitchen to fix a pot of chocolate. Brussels was a small city—Randolph was avoiding the fashionable areas, which made it even smaller. There must be a way to smoke him out.

  Taking a chunk of spiced cacao paste from the storage crock, Arianna set to work dicing it to a fine crumb and riddling the stove to heat the water. Lost in thought, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a soft knock on the outer door jarred her back to the moment.

  Knife in hand, she moved past the pantry to answer the summons.

  One of the Frenchmen patrolling the grounds replied with the agreed-on password and added that the señora wished to speak with her.

  “Forgive me for coming at this hour,” said Paloma as Arianna threw back the bolts and allowed her to enter. Her face was edged with exhaustion, the flesh drawn so tight over her cheekbones that they appeared as sharp as knife blades.

  “Sit,” ordered Arianna, drawing the señora into the kitchen and forcing her onto one of the stools at the worktable.

  Paloma’s shoulders sagged—another sign of her weariness.

  The kettle began to whistle and Arianna hurriedly whisked up a pot of chocolate and poured two cups.

  “That’s divine,” came Paloma’s grateful murmur, after she swallowed a long draught. “Let us pray the Aztec legends have some truth to them, and that chocolate does indeed confer special strength.”

  “When was the last time you ate?” queried Arianna, as she assembled a plate of chocolate wafers and then fetched a bowl of fresh eggs and a slab of ham from the larder.

  “Dio Madre.” Paloma closed her eyes for an instant. “I can’t remember.”

  Arianna set a cast iron pan on the hob and set to preparing a hearty breakfast.

  The hot chocolate, along with the warmth of the kitchen and the scent of frying food, seemed to revive the señora’s spirits. Paloma steeled her spine, and after drawing a deep, appreciative inhale, spoke again. “I thought it best to come give you a report in person, though I regret that I haven’t any good news to pass on. My informants have searched everywhere, but their inquiries have turned up nothing. No one has seen Randolph since yesterday morning.”

  She pinched at the bridge of her nose. “I, too, have been out looking. It’s as if he has disappeared into thin air.”

  The frying meat hissed as Arianna turned it over in the pan. “You ought not take such a risk,” she said. “It’s too dangerous. Let us do the hunting—”

  Paloma cut her off with an impatient wave. “Be damned with danger. I would journey to Hell if necessary in order to see him caught. Once he’s apprehended, he will no longer be a threat to my daughter.”

  A sigh. “We’ve not yet explored the outskirts of the city, where the bargemen gather near the canal. He may have moved there to avoid the chances of being recognized because of all the military activity in the center of the city. The rush of refugees from the area seeking transport to Antwerp would allow for him
to lose himself in the crowd.”

  That made sense, for surely Randolph hadn’t yet left to deliver the talisman, mused Arianna. The French army weren’t anywhere near the Château d’Hougoumont.

  Were they?

  “Grentham stressed that it was urgent to locate him. Is he part of yet another threat to the Allies?”

  “Yes,” answered Arianna, deciding Paloma deserved to know the truth. She quickly explained about Napoleon’s talisman and the reason she felt it was imperative to keep it from falling back in his hands. “But please—promise me you won’t go after him yourself. Let your informants locate him, and then you may be sure that Saybrook and Grentham will see that he’s caught.”

  The eggs and ham were ready and she quickly dished them onto a plate and passed them to Paloma.

  “Ummmff.” The señora’s reply, muffled by a mouthful of food, was unintelligible. But before Arianna could press her further, Paloma swallowed and looked up, fork hovering uncertainly in the air. “Might I see Nereid and give her a hug before I go?”

  “But of course.” Arianna felt a clench of remorse for not thinking of it herself. “I will go wake her now. She and Emma Pierson have formed a friendship and are sharing a bedchamber.”

  “I’m so glad that all has worked out well for the girl and her father.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Paloma’s expression turned shuttered. “Time enough for thanks to be passed around when our mission is accomplished.” She speared a morsel of ham. “And there is still much to be done.”

  Chapter 27

  Night had finally come, after an interminably long day of waiting, made even more tense by the comings and goings of grim-faced military couriers. Rumors that war was about to explode at any moment gripped the city.

  And yet, observed Arianna as she and Saybrook approached the Duke of Richmond’s rented residence, the beau monde appeared swathed in blissful oblivion, thinking of naught but decadent pleasures of eating and drinking and dancing until dawn.