Recipe for Treason (16 page)

“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 assailant’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 assumed 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 scrapes or flesh embedded under the nails. “I would guess that he knew his assailant.”

“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 assume 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,” assured 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 assigned 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 glass 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 passing through the portals. “Good God, 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

F
rom 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 coarse 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 300°F. 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, spacing 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 1
¹
/
₂
hours.

“I
s 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 title 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 tittle-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 assured herself that it actually might result in some useful information.

“I suggest we form our own little club, dedicated not to drinking and telling bawdy jokes but to needling the minister.”

“You mean you wish to persecute ‘Persecute’?” asked Constantina. The play on Grentham’s Christian name, Percival, was often used in London Society, though nobody ever dared say it to his face.

“Exactly,” replied Arianna.

The dowager chortled. “Sounds like fun. He needs a few pokes to his self-importance.”

Sophia’s reaction was much more uncertain. “Isn’t that asking for trouble?”

“Trouble needs no invitation to find me,” quipped Arianna. “Grentham takes special pleasure in trying to make my life miserable. I am simply returning the favor.”

Her expression remained doubtful, but Sophia refrained from further protest.

As they came abreast of the archway, it was Constantina who fired the first salvo. “Is that you, Percy?” An intimate friend of the minister’s mother, she had known him since he was in leading strings. “Why are you skulking in the corner?”

Grentham turned his head slightly and looked down his well-shaped nose at them. “I prefer to call it ‘observing,’ Lady Sterling.”

“Yes, the minister likes to peep, Aunt Constantina,” murmured Arianna. “He watches a great deal of what goes on here in London. I daresay he recognizes our companion, despite having never formally met her.”

Grentham’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?” asked Sophia, her voice sharp with surprise.

“Oh, it was Lord Grentham who so kindly informed me of your private meetings with Saybrook,” Arianna explained. “He seemed to know all the details, including those concerning your looks.”

Sophia’s face tightened in outrage. “You
spied
on me, sir?”

“I doubt that he did the dirty deed himself,” answered Arianna. “He has minions who do that.”

Flames flared in Grentham’s gaze. She could almost hear the hiss of smoke and crackle of brimstone.

“Percy, allow me to formally introduce you to Miss Kirtland.” Constantina intervened before the sparks could set off a conflagration.

Dangerous.
Arianna reminded herself that it was dangerous to play with fire. As an experienced chef she should know that.

The minister inclined a nod to Sophia. “I was acquainted with your father. He drank and gambled to excess.”

“Those were the least of his flaws,” shot back Sophia.

He blinked.

It was almost comical, thought Arianna wryly. The minister—a man much feared throughout England for his cold-blooded cleverness and ruthless tactics—appeared outgunned by a trio of females.
Steel versus silk.
And for a moment, the delicate flutter of their words seemed to have him on the defensive.

“You probably have the rest of them written down in one of your dossiers,” Sophia went on. “Though why my father’s personal failings should be of any interest to the government is beyond me.”

“Hmmph.” Like all men, Grentham seemed to feel a masculine grunt somehow disguised the fact that he had no other answer to make.

Again, Constantina intervened. “You have come to a ball, Percy. So why don’t you ask my niece to dance?” The dowager punctuated the suggestion with a rap of her walking stick.

He looked as if he had just been asked to press an asp to his chest.

“Normally I wouldn’t be any more eager than Lord Grentham to take a twirl together across the parquet,” said Arianna softly. “But in fact, I have a few questions to ask him, and a waltz affords a bit of privacy.”

His jaw tightened, but Grentham offered an arm, perfectly angled, as proscribed by the gentlemanly rules of deportment. To give the Devil his due, he had faultless manners to go along with his exquisitely tailored evening clothes.

Spin, slide, sidestep
—Arianna was concentrating so hard on not squashing the minister’s toes that the first figures of the dance passed in grim silence. Dancing was a newly acquired skill and she somehow felt that making a misstep would cede the advantage to her partner.

“Is this merely an exercise in futility?” Grentham finally asked. “Or is there really a reason you wished to speak with me?”

She raised her eyes from his well-shod feet. “Actually there is. I see that Stoughton is in London and I wish to know why.”

For an instant, he looked tempted to tell her to dance her way straight to Hell. But then he relented—a fact that must mean he had his own reasons for sharing information, thought Arianna. The minister was not motivated by altruism.

“The colonel came here to complain about the investigator sent to St. Andrews by my office. He claims that Mr. Castellano was actually in league with the radicals and quite likely murdered a scientist for—as he put it—reasons as yet unknown.”

“His reaction earlier this evening to Saybrook’s name was suspicious. It shouldn’t have meant a thing to him, but I was watching his face carefully and it did,” she mused. “I wonder . . .” A frown tugged at her lips. “My husband said you used only a pseudonym for him in arranging the mission. So no one within your circle of advisers knew his true identity, correct?”

Crystalline shards of light dipped and darted over his features as they passed under one of the massive chandeliers, blurring with the swirling shadows cast by the other couples. “Not precisely.”

“It’s a simple question, sir,” she countered. “And so is the answer—yes or no.”

“Oh, come, Lady Saybrook, don’t pretend to be so naïve. You, of all people, know that things are never so neatly black-and-white. The edges fuzz; the shades muddle into an infinite range of grays.” A small smile. “Granted, some are darker than others.”

“If I want a lecture on art, I shall visit the studio of Thomas Lawrence.”

“And what
do
you want? Information?” With a firm hand and agile step, he guided her to a less crowded section of the floor. “Very well, I was going to inform your husband of the fact tomorrow, but you might as well save me the trouble of a meeting. The fact is, I did drop his name to one person within the group.”

“In other words, you used us as bait to draw out Renard.”

He shrugged. “I had every confidence that you and the earl could defend yourself if it came to that.”

“Who?”
she asked.

“Lord Mather.”

Arianna thought for a moment. She had met the viscount at one of the diplomatic parties given by Saybrook’s uncle. Her only recollection was that of a portly man with thinning gray hair and a passion for collecting violins.

“You think him Renard?”

“No,” answered Grentham decisively. “But I recently uncovered information that made me suspect he was involved in some sort of illicit activity in Scotland. The attack on you seems to confirm it.”

“Yet my husband seemed to think you were surprised that our coach had been waylaid.”

A low, humorless laugh sounded close to her ear. “I was. It seemed such a crude, ill-conceived plan, which doesn’t fit with Renard’s usual sophistication. Which is why I’ve ruled out Mather as our fox.”

“I agree,” she mused. “So how does all of this fit together?”

“That, my dear Lady Saybrook, is what you and your husband are supposed to be finding out.”

The music was fast rising to its final crescendo. “I’ll pass all this on to Sandro. But I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”

The minister let out a martyred sigh. “Unfortunately, you are probably right. However, tell him I prefer not to do it at Horse Guards.”

She nodded.

As the violins trilled their last notes, he drew his gloved palm away from the small of her back. “Now that we’ve had our charming
tête-à-tête
, allow me to return you to your friends.”

“You need not keep looking daggers at Miss Kirtland,” murmured Arianna. She had noticed Grentham’s interest throughout the dance. “She’s proving a great help in analyzing the chemical data we discovered, so you really shouldn’t be trying to bully or frighten her just because she stood up to you.”

His mouth compressed to a hard line as they approached the archway. “I, too, have some advice to offer,” he said very softly. “Be careful about making presumptions. This case—”

A rap of Constantina’s cane cut him off.

“Come, Percy. It is only polite that you now partner Miss Kirtland for the coming set.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Lady Sterling, but I did not come here simply to dance attendance on the ladies. I have some business to deal with, so must beg off from further frivolities.” The minister inclined a sardonic bow to Sophia. “I am sure that the lady will suffer no disappointment.”

Thump.
The stick hit the floor with surprising force, and its rebound came perilously close to whacking him across the bum. “Good God, Percy, try to unbend and have a little fun sometime. It would do you a world of good.”

His lips twitched, and in the shiver of shadows, it appeared . . .

No, impossible,
decided Arianna. Grentham was not really holding back a chuckle.

“Enjoy the rest of the evening, Lady Sterling. And do try not to kill anyone with that lethal weapon.”

“Ha.” A touch of bemusement played over Constantina’s face as she watched him walk away. “That was rather interesting.”

Arianna agreed, but given all the discoveries of the last few hours, there wasn’t time to dwell on the minister’s revelations. Time enough later to go over everything with Saybrook.

“Indeed, but let’s forget about Grentham for now”—she noted that Sophia’s scowl was still firmly in place—“and concentrate on the reason we came here in the first place.”

“Who else are you looking to meet, my dear?” asked Constantina.

“Your introductions to the gossips of the
ton
were a great help, but I was wondering, do you perchance see any relatives or close friends of the Sommers family?”

“The Duke of Lampson, eh?” The dowager’s gaze took on a speculative edge, but to her credit she didn’t ask any more questions. After a quick scan of the room, she shook her head. “You’ve already made the acquaintance of Colonel Stoughton—”

“Stoughton.”
Arianna felt her insides give an unpleasant little lurch.

“Why, yes, his father and the duke were cousins, so the colonel is second cousin—or is it third?—to the duke’s sons. I seem to recall that he is the same age as the youngest . . . you know, the unfortunate Lord Reginald, who was recently murdered in a robbery attempt somewhere on the Continent.”