Recipe for Treason Part 19

"I am looking forward to hearing more about the art of warfare." Sophia slowly clenched and unclenched her hands. "Will you . . . will you help me learn how to strip off my gloves and get my nails dirty?"

"If you will help me learn how to structure a more formal course of education. I should like to put together some reading lists, on subjects like literature and philosophy."

Sophia quirked a rueful smile. "I think you will have the harder of the two teaching tasks."

"Don't be so sure of it. I have a feeling you have a natural apt.i.tude for clandestine intrigue." With a flick of her finger, she knocked the black king from the chessboard. "Shall we return to the ballroom and make the first move in this game?"

"Ye know, it would be nice if we could ever pay a visit to someone at a civilized hour," groused Henning as he blew out a puff of vapor and followed Saybrook's careful circuit of the garden's wrought-iron fence. "Lud, it's colder than a witch's t.i.t out here."

"You are welcome to come back with me and warm your gizzard with hot chocolate when we are done here," said the earl. "But for now, stubble the bellyaching."

"Let us hope that we're not going to find another dead body," said the surgeon mournfully. "Though that is likely wishful thinking."

Saybrook stopped to count the doorways. "It's that one," he said, pointing to a dark portal topped by a cla.s.sical pediment carved out of marble. Moonlight fluttered over the stone, showing that soot had darkened it to a dingy gray. "Look, if you've no stomach for the task, there's no need to come any farther. I simply wish to talk with Brynn-Smith without anyone knowing of the visit." He made a wry face. "And as we know, night covers a mult.i.tude of sins."

A frosty grunt was the only reply.

"Perhaps I should abandon the idea of writing a book about chocolate in favor of one about the locks of London," muttered the earl as he slid a steel probe from his boot.

"I know a number of people who would eat that up," quipped the surgeon. "I trust you would include diagrams for those who can't read."

"Very humorous." Click. "Our quarry's rooms are up one flight and at the back, overlooking the alleyway."

The landing was muddled in shadows, and Saybrook took a moment to strike a lucifer match.

"Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," swore Henning under his breath as a flame sparked to life. The flare showed that the door to Brynn-Smith's rooms was slightly ajar. No light was visible through the crack.

"Hand me your pistol and stand back," whispered Saybrook as the match fizzled out.

"The devil I will." The surgeon slipped both the firearm and the scalpel from his pocket. "You go in first with the bullets, and I'll back you up with my blade."

Taking the weapon without argument, the earl crept forward, with Henning right on his heels. He was only a few steps from the threshold when the door banged open and a dark shape came barreling out.

As a lowered shoulder slammed into his gut, Saybrook twisted and threw out an arm to shove Henning clear. The force of the impact knocked him down, but he scrambled to his knees just as the a.s.sailant regained his own footing and leapt for the stairs.

The earl's lunge caught the man's coattail, spinning him off balance. Snarling, he lashed a kick at Saybrook's head, forcing him to let go of his hold.

Ducking low, the earl made one last desperate grab as the attacker stumbled, but his fingers snagged only a pinch of fabric.

A curse, echoed an instant later by the hiss of a fresh match igniting.

Wrenching free, the man tore off, leaving Saybrook holding a sc.r.a.p of silk.

"Ye all right, laddie?" Pushing up to a sitting position, Henning held the lucifer aloft.

The earl sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Did you get a look at him?"

"Just a wee glimpse. Not quite your height . . . lean . . . fair hair showing beneath his hat." He bit back a grunt as he gingerly got to his feet. "And his coat looked expensive."

"Not much to go on," muttered Saybrook. He looked down at the strip of fabric in his hand, then tucked it into his pocket and bent down to retrieve the dropped pistol.

Grimacing, Henning flexed his injured shoulder. "Sorry. Yer shove knocked me a.r.s.e over teakettle, and I'm not moving as fast as usual these days."

"Let us check the rooms," said the earl after a long moment. "Though I fear we shall find Brynn-Smith in no condition to talk."

"Auch, there's a chance he was out for the evening."

A sudden hiss of phosphorus swallowed the match light, leaving them in the gloom.

Saybrook rubbed his fingers together. "Seeing as our a.s.sailant's coat was wet with blood, I highly doubt it."

A quick inspection of the chemist's rooms confirmed the grim surmise. Brynn-Smith-for now they a.s.sumed it was him-lay faceup on the carpet, a knife protruding from his chest. His sightless eyes still held a look of mild surprise.

"Merde," muttered the surgeon after checking for a pulse. "He's not been dead for long. The flesh is still warm."

"There doesn't appear to be any sign of struggle," said Saybrook after checking the dead man's hands for sc.r.a.pes or flesh embedded under the nails. "I would guess that he knew his a.s.sailant."

"Who wanted to be very sure that certain information remained a secret," said Henning slowly. They had lit an oil lamp, and the yellowish light showed that the parlor and bedchamber had been ransacked.

"So it would seem." The earl sat back on his haunches. "A theft could be done while Brynn-Smith was out, so we must also a.s.sume that the chemist needed to be silenced. I wonder whether he had made a discovery, or whether he was just privy to someone's research."

"Well, it's too late to ask him," said Henning sourly. "Now what?"

The earl rose and took a quick look through the other two rooms. On returning, he answered, "There's little more we can do tonight. I was going to ask Brynn-Smith if he knew Cayley's present whereabouts . . ." He absently wiped his hands on his trousers. "It seems even more imperative that we locate the inventor."

"Aye," grunted Henning. "Before someone else gets to him first."

"Take several deep breaths. It helps calm the nerves," counseled Arianna as they paused several steps away from the entrance to the ballroom.

"I won't fall into a fit of megrims," a.s.sured Sophia. They had decided on a strategy to confront Stoughton, but it demanded that she keep her composure. "Indeed, I am looking forward to playing my part."

"Don't overdo it," replied Arianna. "Let us position ourselves to attract his attention. Given his hubris, I am sure he will say something to you. You will have to improvise in order to pique his pride, and that will allow me a chance to intervene."

"I understand."

"Excellent. Then let us proceed."

A last fluffing of skirts, and they rejoined the crowd. The atmosphere had grown even thicker-cloying scents, sweaty heat, a cacophony of music and laughter. Arianna slanted a sidelong look at Sophia to see whether her resolve was in danger of wilting.

As if sensing the scrutiny, Sophia lifted her chin a fraction and calmly surveyed the room. Spotting the colonel's scarlet coat, she veered off in his direction and deliberately chose a position to watch the dancers just steps away from him.

"Well, well, what a surprise to see you here, Miss Kirtland." It was only a matter of several capering piano chords before Stoughton turned slowly and smiled, his arrogant mouth curling into the shape of a scimitar. "I had heard that you had retired from Society."

"Apparently your information is inaccurate, Colonel Stoughton," replied Sophia coolly. "Mine must be too, for I was under the impression that you were a.s.signed to guard duty in some spot in the far north. The Hebrides, was it? Or the Orkneys?"

Arianna was impressed by her companion's outward sangfroid. Sophia was a good actress. And with my tutelage she will get even better.

Flushing slightly at the barb, Stoughton stiffened and drew himself into a more martial bearing. Chin up, chest out-the subtle change set the medals to whispering against the scarlet wool, observed Arianna.

"Actually, I am in command of the greater part of Scotland," announced the colonel, exaggerating an officious sneer.

Arianna saw her chance and seized it. "How impressive. That sounds like a position of great responsibility," she interjected.

"Indeed, madam." He shifted his attention to her, his chest swelling like a Montgolfier balloon filling with hot air. "It requires constant vigilance to keep the Scots under control."

Really, men like Stoughton were so laughably predictable-it took only a bit of overt flattery to inflate their hubris to monstrous dimensions.

"We are fortunate to have military officers who are so dedicated to keeping England safe from its enemies," said Arianna. She looked at Sophia and added a not-so-subtle chiding. "All of Society ought to appreciate their efforts, Miss Kirtland."

Her mouth pinching to a sulky pout, Sophia gave an ungracious nod.

Emboldened, Stoughton responded to the flattery with a wolfish grin. "Does that include you, madam?"

"But of course, sir." Allowing a flutter of a pause, she added, "I do hope that your arrival in London is not reason for any of us to be alarmed?"

"Not at all, not at all." He laughed softly and continued to fix her with a speculative stare. "Do introduce me to your charming companion, Miss Kirtland."

Sophia hesitated before acceding to the request. "Colonel Stoughton, allow me to present the Countess of Saybrook."

At the mention of her name, Stoughton's smile flickered into a more wary expression.

So he wasn't such a fool after all, observed Arianna.

"So what does bring you to London, Colonel?"

"Routine talks with Whitehall," he replied slowly, aware that several other onlookers were following the exchange. "On what new measures are needed to suppress the rabble-rousing radicals who are looking to foment dissent."

"Oh, is there trouble at the moment in the North?" asked Arianna innocently. "Now that peace reigns on the Continent, I would have thought that the radicals in Scotland were no longer such a threat."

"Politics is not quite so simple as it may seem, Lady Saybrook," he said a little brusquely.

"Oh, well, naturally I defer to your greater experience in these matters."

"That would be wise," replied the colonel. "Now, if you will excuse me, I see an old family acquaintance who I must greet."

"For all our clever planning, we didn't learn much from him," commented Sophia, once they had strolled to a more secluded spot.

"On the contrary, the colonel revealed a great deal," replied Arianna. "The mention of the Saybrook name put him on guard."

"Ah." Sophia looked thoughtful.

"It's important to pay attention to little details like gestures and expressions," Arianna went on. "They often say far more than words."

"I see that I have much to learn."

"You did very well."

"D-did I?" Sophia seemed surprised by the praise. "To be honest, my insides were quaking like blancmange."

Seeing her companion's shoulders start to slump, Arianna quickly sought a distraction to keep shock from setting in. Time enough later for brooding-Sophia had suffered a nasty surprise, and while it was only natural to experience a delayed reaction once the blood had cooled, she would rather it didn't happen here in the ballroom.

"We need to find Constantina and see if she has gleaned any interesting gossip from the Dragons."

Seeing them approach, the dowager rose from the circle of turbaned matrons and regripped her walking stick. "All this talking has worked up quite a thirst," she announced. "Come along, gels, and let us find a gla.s.s of Lord Brodhead's excellent champagne."

"This way," said Arianna, offering an arm to her great-aunt.

"By the by, seeing as you asked about . . ." Constantina's words trailed off as she stopped to squint at the main entranceway, where a late arrival to the festivities was just pa.s.sing through the portals. "Good G.o.d, I wonder what brings Grentham here. He rarely appears at such frivolous entertainments."

Arianna stared as well, allowing her lips to curl up at the corners. "Perhaps we should go and find out."

15.

From Lady Arianna's Chocolate Notebooks Pecan-Mocha Meringues 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar 1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder 1/3 cup egg whites (from about 3 large eggs) 1/4 teaspoon coa.r.s.e kosher salt 1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar 1/3 cup granulated sugar 2 teaspoons instant espresso powder 1 cup finely chopped toasted pecans 1/2 cup semisweet or bittersweet chocolate chips (optional) 18 untoasted pecan halves 1. Preheat the oven to 300F. Line a large, heavy baking sheet with parchment paper. Press the brown sugar and cocoa powder through a sieve into a small bowl to remove any lumps; whisk to blend.

2. Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites, salt, and cream of tartar in a medium bowl until very soft peaks begin to form. With the mixer running, gradually add the granulated sugar, then the espresso powder; beat until medium peaks form. Beat in the brown sugar mixture by the tablespoonful. Continue beating until the meringue is very stiff and glossy, 2 to 3 minutes.

3. Fold in the chopped pecans and chocolate chips, if desired. Drop the mixture by rounded tablespoonfuls onto the prepared sheet, s.p.a.cing the meringues about 1 inch apart. Place 1 pecan half atop each meringue, pressing very lightly to adhere.

4. Bake the meringues until dry but still slightly soft when pressed with a finger, about 25 minutes. Turn off the oven. Cool the meringues in the oven with the door closed until crisp, about 11/2 hours.

"Is that Lord Percival Grentham?" asked Sophia. The figure had shifted into the deepest recess of the shadows.

"Yes," replied Arianna. "You know him?"

"Not really. He was acquainted with my late father." A pause. "I don't believe they were bosom bows."

"That's not a surprise. Grentham doesn't get along with anyone," Arianna replied dryly. "He prefers poking out eyes and pulling out fingernails to dancing and flirting." Seeing Sophia's puzzled expression, she added, "He is Minister of State Security. A fancy t.i.tle for having carte blanche to terrorize people in the name of keeping England safe from its enemies."

"I hadn't heard that," mused Sophia. "But then, I don't pay much attention to Society t.i.ttle-tattle."

"I would wager that he's one of the most feared men in all of England-and knows it. His department at Whitehall wields a great deal of power and influence."

"It's like one of those silly men's clubs on St. James's Street," remarked Constantina.

A thought suddenly popped into Arianna's head-a childish one, perhaps. But she a.s.sured herself that it actually might result in some useful information.