Recipe for Treason Part 27

"No," answered Sophia. "But I've a copy of Debrett's Peerage in the library."

A quick check of the book revealed the sought-for entry halfway down page ninety-two- PROMETHEUS PERICLES MORTLEY, VISCOUNT CANADAY, OF OXFORDSHIRE . . .

"Eureka," intoned Sophia, staring at the black-and-white image for a long moment. "Now what?"

"This certainly changes everything." Arianna thought for a moment. "Get dressed quickly. We need to hurry to Grosvenor Square. Saybrook may still be at home."

The earl nearly collided with Henning as he darted inside the entrance to the surgery.

"Sandro!" His friend shifted the leather rucksack from hand to hand. "I was just going out for a bit."

"So I see." Saybrook thinned his lips. The b.u.t.t of a pistol was poking out from beneath the buckled flaps. "Baz . . . ," he said tightly. "I speak as a friend, not as a lackey of Whitehall, when I say you are-"

"Indulging in the Scottish penchant for holding a grudge?"

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"Auch, neither would I."

The earl let out a harried sigh. "Look, Baz, I've some important news to tell you."

But before he could go on, Henning countered with a humorless laugh. "As do I, laddie. I was just on my way out to collect one last piece of evidence from a friend who arrived late last night from Inverness. And then I was coming to see you."

"Me?" Saybrook's voice held a note of surprise. "I had the distinct feeling you had been doing your best to avoid me of late."

"I didna want to tell you what I was doing, for fear that you would think my wits addled by grief. I wanted to have proof, and now I've got it. Proof that the high-and-mighty Stoughton has been running a thieving ring for several years. A treasonous one, for stealing supplies from the navy hampers the war effort and is considered a crime against King and country. He's murdered other prisoners, not just Angus, and this will ensure that he pays for those crimes."

Saybrook opened his mouth to speak.

"Nay, hear me out. I've doc.u.ments and sworn statements, and incriminating letters in the colonel's own hand. Ye might have thought I was deaf to yer counsel that justice is the best form of revenge, but I was listening. I dunna have to pull a trigger to put a period to the smarmy weasel's existence. This packet of proof "-he gave the rucksack a little shake-"will have the government do it for me, all right and tight."

"I know, Baz. Grentham arrested Stoughton this morning and convinced him to confess to his misdeeds."

It was Henning's turn to evince surprise. "Well, I'll be a blue-faced Pict. How did he come to suspect the colonel?"

"The minister wouldn't tell me," answered the earl with a wry grimace. "He said he had made a promise."

"To the Devil, no doubt."

"I don't know whether Grentham is on intimate speaking terms with Lucifer, but he certainly had a lengthy discourse with Stoughton. Or rather his inquisitors did. Never fear, justice will be served." Saybrook paused. "In addition we also now know that Cayley has been abducted, by order of Renard, and is being held near Dover while they arrange to have him smuggled over to France."

"Merde," muttered Henning. "Any idea precisely where?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Saybrook c.o.c.ked a nod at the sack. "I'm glad to see you are carrying a firearm, for I was hoping to enlist your help in freeing Cayley. The minister has granted me twenty-four hours to do it. After that, he will send in an armed force to ensure that no one makes the trip across the Channel to France."

"This pistol is part of my proof," said the surgeon, pulling a face. "It bears the crest of the Swedish Royal Armory and was meant as a gift for the Admiral of the North Sea Fleet stationed at Middlesbrough. Stoughton kept it and was foolish enough to have his own initials engraved on the silver cap."

"Let us put it to better use," replied the earl. "a.s.suming you are willing, there is no time to waste."

"Give me several minutes to exchange these papers for my knives, laddie, and then let's be off."

"Gone?" said Sophia. "Gone where?"

"Sandro doesn't say." Arianna reread the hastily scribbled note. "He just writes that Grentham seized Stoughton and discovered that Cayley has been abducted and is in danger of being taken to France. He's rushed off to find Mr. Henning and see if the two of them can rescue the inventor."

Sophia bit at her lower lip. "Surely we must tell someone."

"Tell them what?" she responded. "I've seen how the wheels of bureaucracy turn-with a leaden slowness that often crushes what is in its path." Pacing to the parlor window, she stared out at the scudding gray clouds. "Renard will move quickly once he-or she-knows about Stoughton. But the question is, what will he do?"

A patter of raindrops tapped against the leaded gla.s.s, the watery blur catching the reflection of Sophia's grimace. "Well, we can't very well stroll into Canaday's drawing room and politely ask him and his sister what their little group of conspirators is intending to do."

The cas.e.m.e.nt creaked in the gusty breeze.

Arianna turned slowly, a smile taking shape at the corners of her mouth. "Actually, that's exactly what we are going to do."

"I-I was jesting!"

"But I was not." She hurried to one of the breakfront cabinets and pulled open the bottom drawer. "We are indeed going to pay the twins a visit, but it won't be a purely social call. However, for my plan to work, you are going to have to be willing to play a dangerous game."

"Just tell me what I have to do."

"Simply be yourself," answered Arianna. "I want you to pay a morning call on the Mortleys and keep them occupied while I sneak in through the rear of the house and have a look around their private quarters."

"But-"

"Follow me to my dressing room. I'll explain as I change into more comfortable clothing."

Sophia watched the rapid transformation from elegant lady to tattered street urchin in wordless wonder. "How do you do that?" she finally asked as Arianna tucked her coiled hair under a floppy wool cap.

"Through years of practice." She flexed her knees. "Breeches and boots are much more practical for movement than yards of flapping fabrics."

Peering into one of the open bandboxes, Sophia let out a wistful sigh. "I used to borrow breeches from our youngest groom so I could ride astride. It was very . . . liberating."

"Yes, isn't it?" Arianna slid a slim-bladed knife and several picklocks into the hidden sheath of her boot. "I think men are desperate to keep it a secret from our s.e.x. Allowing such physical freedom might encourage us to shed our mental corsets as well. And that has them quaking in their Hessians!"

Sophia smiled as she fingered the napped wool.

Eyeing her companion's figure, Arianna quickly picked out a full set of men's clothing and rolled the garments into a tight bundle. "Better take these with us, just in case things take an unexpected turn."

As they hurried out to the mews, where a carriage was being readied, she explained what she had in mind.

"Once we're close to Canaday's town house, we'll leave the carriage on a side street and proceed on foot. You will march right up to the front steps and knock on the door, as befits a perfectly ordinary social call, while I will get into the back garden from the alleyway and find a window or door to force open."

She gestured for Sophia to climb into the small, shabby cabriolet. "As you see, we keep several nondescript vehicles for moving around Town unnoticed."

"Wh-what if you're caught?" asked Sophia.

"I won't be," a.s.sured Arianna. "I'm very good at moving around quickly and quietly. And if worse comes to worst, I daresay I can outrun any servant."

Sophia gave a nervous little tug at her sleeve. "I wish I felt as confident as you do."

"All you have to do is stay calm. Don't worry about me-just be yourself. After all, there's nothing unnatural about stopping by the residence of a fellow scientist to borrow a book."

"I . . . Oh Lud, what book?" A blank look came over her face. "I-I can't think of a one that Canaday might have that isn't in my library."

Arianna held back a huff of impatience. "Any book will do. In fact, it's better to pick a common one. Then you improvise. Say you spilled a chemical on your copy and are in need of a quick replacement to finish your experiment."

"What ex . . . Oh, right. Improvise." Sophia blinked. "You are frightfully good at thinking on your feet."

"As I said before, I've had years of practice." Arianna peeked through the window draperies, then let them fall back into place. Shadows wreathed her companion's face, but she could sense the tension coiling through her body.

"Have you been to visit Lady Urania before?" she asked, seeking to keep Sophia's nerves from growing too tight.

"Yes. Several times."

"It would be helpful if you remember anything about the layout of the rooms."

There was a whispering of wool as Sophia stirred against the squabs. "Let me think . . . They share a study. It's the center room at the rear of the house, and each has a small separate workroom on either side."

"Excellent," murmured Arianna. "It's likely that only one or two trusted servants are permitted to clean there, so at this time of day, I should be safe enough." She checked that the small pocket pistol was snug in her waistband. "Relax. You've shown a great apt.i.tude for clandestine activities. Just do your best to prolong the visit. Cough. Complain of the chemicals making your throat scratchy, and perhaps Lady Urania will offer you tea."

"Improvise, improvise," repeated Sophia, as if she were reciting a prayer.

"Trust your instincts," murmured Arianna. The curtain twitched as the wheels clattered to a halt. "Ready?"

The wintry shadows, a chill gunmetal gray that reminded her of Grentham's eyes, hid her movements through the garden. Hugging close to the overgrown ivy vines, Arianna crept along the perimeter wall, surveying the back of the town house for the best point of entry. The ground-floor windows were guarded by heavy iron grilles-Canaday looked to be taking security seriously-and for a moment, she feared that her plan was all for naught.

But a closer study revealed that the decorative facing of pale Portland stone provided perfect footholds for someone used to climbing through the rigging of a West Indies schooner.

Her gaze followed the carving up to the second floor, where the diamond-paned gla.s.s stared out, unprotected, at the leafless trees.

Ha, she thought grimly. It appeared that Prometheus Mortley, the self-styled G.o.d of fire from the Greek myths, had an Achilles' heel.

Moving lightly over the last few yards of half-frozen turf, Arianna made her way up to the window ledge. A stealthy peek showed the room was empty, and her blade made quick work of releasing the lock. Leaving it open just a crack for a quick escape, she took shelter behind an ornate pearwood desk and considered how to proceed. From the corridor came the sounds of conversation drifting out from the drawing room. So far, so good. But Sophia could only be expected to occupy Lady Urania for at most a half hour. Twenty minutes was more likely.

"Not much time to gather proof of a perfidious traitor," she whispered wryly. But with the hounds snapping at his tail, Renard may have gotten a little careless.

Keeping one ear c.o.c.ked for the fall of footsteps, Arianna began a search through the desk drawers and the papers piled on the leather blotter. Nothing . . . until small map of the southern coast caught her eye. Hidden beneath a copy of a sporting journal, it was marked with a snaking red line leading from Dover to Calais. Strange. The route was not the shortest distance, but rather a helter-pelter twisting that made no sense to her. A route through the perilous currents and tides, perhaps? The Channel waters were notoriously dangerous for any sailor unfamiliar with them.

She made a quick tracing of the map and put it back in place, then moved on to the book cabinet by the arched door connecting the study to one of the side workrooms. It held only a variety of chemistry books and gla.s.s beakers filled with liquids and powders that gave off a faintly noxious smell.

"d.a.m.nation." She mouthed a soundless mutter. "What did I expect? A beribboned diary detailing the recipes of their many betrayals?"

Closing the cabinet, Arianna circled the room, checking all the obvious hiding places-a wooden humidor, a bust of Socrates, a cla.s.sical red and black krater.

Perhaps this visit had been an impetuous decision.

A wiser move might have been to wait until night offered the chance for a more thorough search of the premises. But too late now for misgivings, Arianna told herself, hesitating in front of the connecting door and listening for any whisper of movement. Nothing but silence; however, Lady Urania's brother might very well be reading . . .

The hurried click of steps and then a s.n.a.t.c.h of conversation drifting down from the drawing room forced a decision.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Miss Kirtland." It was Canaday's voice, unruffled as always. "But may I draw my sister away for a brief moment?"

Easing the latch open, Arianna ducked into the workroom.

"Could it not wait?" hissed Urania as the pair entered the study.

"No." The viscount's silky voice was now turning a little rough around the edges. "Stoughton has been hauled off to Horse Guards, and I fear he will crack like an egg."

Silence.

"Cayley-" he began.

"Forget Cayley," said his sister decisively. "As we've discussed before, there are times when we must cut our losses. We have the papers-the plans and the formulas. Those are the ultimate prizes."

But where are they? Holding her breath, Arianna pressed closer to the door.

"If we get away with them to France," went on Lady Urania, "then all of our efforts will have been worthwhile."

"Having Cayley in our control would be an even greater achievement," protested Canaday. "There is time, if we move quickly."

Lady Urania seemed to hesitate. "No. I know you wish to leave England in a blaze of glory, my dear. But we must be smart."

Another tiny silence. "We'll dispatch Grimmaud to do away with Cayley. Even if there are other drawings of his invention tucked away somewhere, they will be of little use to Britain without the formula for the explosive. And we've ensured that the chemists involved have taken its secret to the grave. So let us not risk ruining our ultimate achievements. Le Chaze is waiting to take us across to Calais. We must go now."

"Now?" echoed her brother. "But that will mean a nighttime crossing."

"I fear that Lord Saybrook and his she-b.i.t.c.h have been sniffing around a little too closely at our activities," said Lady Urania. "Their presence in Vienna had a plausible explanation, but Stoughton did not mention their visit to Scotland until yesterday. Otherwise I would have acted sooner."

There was a rattle of wood and metal that Arianna couldn't identify.

"It's the one mistake I regret-but let us not dwell on that. We have to a.s.sume that the colonel's planned attack on the countess never materialized, as Miss Kirtland is here."

"A coincidence that is rather hard to swallow," muttered her brother.

"Indeed," said his sister. "So we can't afford to tarry, and with the British navy in control of the Channel waters, we run too great a risk trying to go by boat." A rustling of paper. "Le Chaze knows the air currents and has the nerve to fly in the dark. Even if the English somehow get wind of our flight, their aeronauts will not dare follow."

Balloons! thought Arianna. Of course-they had meant for Cayley to disappear into thin air!

A soft laugh. "As always, my dear sister, you think so clearly, and boldly. I shall regret giving up our game of twisting the inner circle of Whitehall around our fingers. But with this final secret in our grasp, we can soon make a triumphant return to London."

"Let us not gloat just yet. We still have much work to do," cautioned Lady Urania. "Gather the papers while I get rid of our guest."