Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery)

by Penrose, Andrea

  “If he was, Grentham would have had no need to blackmail us into his services,” she replied darkly. “Will you be going out?”

  “Yes.” Taking a seat at the small dressing table, he donned a fresh shirt and began to knot a cravat around the upturned collar. Their lodging—at a small, spartan hotel catering to visiting scholars and lecturers—had been arranged by the minister. Arianna assumed the proprietor was part of Grentham’s extensive network of spies and informers. Like some great, sinister spider, the minister had probably woven his web into every corner of the globe, she thought. And from there the strands likely dipped down into the deepest pits of Hell.

  “The note invited me to come at the usual time to share a wee dram at the Rock,” went on Saybrook. “As you know, Grentham set up a code name for the rendezvous point and time before we left London.”

  “I trust you will not go unarmed,” she said softly.

  His dark eyes met hers in the wavering reflection of the looking glass. “From here on, I shall always be carrying a turn-off pocket pistol somewhere on my person.” The small Italian weapon was designed to fit into the palm of a hand. While useless at long range, it was highly effective in close quarters. “I suggest you do the same.”

  She nodded and continued unpacking her trunk. “My knife shall keep it company.” The flutter of thick-woven wool stirred a sigh as she shook out the skirts of her gowns and hung them in the painted pine armoire. “Be on guard,” she murmured after another moment. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something feels wrong about all this. Even the shadows here in Scotland seem steeped in malice.”

  Saybrook tweaked the folds of starched linen into perfect alignment before answering. “That’s because they have been colored by centuries of blood and betrayal, my dear. We’ll find no easy answers in this country. As Baz has warned us, getting information will be as hard as chiseling at Scottish stone with a silver spoon.”

  “I’m not convinced we’ll find any answers here in the north. We’ve no real evidence to go on, merely suspicions—which at the moment feel flimsier than the finest Chinese silk.”

  “It may be a wild-goose chase,” agreed Saybrook. “But we can’t afford to leave any stone unturned in the hunt for Renard.”

  Arianna chuffed a low, harried exhale in response.

  “It’s not like you to sound so uncertain,” observed her husband. He turned and fixed her with a searching look. “We’ve faced other complex conundrums, each just as nebulous as this one.”

  “I know, I know.” Her husband’s reasonable words only exacerbated her unsettled mood.

  “And yet . . . ,” he pressed, giving voice to the doubts that she had left unsaid.

  “And yet, I keep feeling that in this case we are letting emotion dictate our actions, rather than logic. That’s dangerous.”

  His mouth tipped up at the corners. “Allow me to remind you that the reason we met was because you were hell-bent on seeking revenge for your father’s murder.”

  She allowed a reluctant smile. “Put that way, I sound like a flighty female, who flits from one extreme to another.”

  “No one in his right mind would ever accuse you of being a featherhead. If you have concerns, I wish to hear them.”

  “I can’t quite explain it . . .” Stirred by a draft of air, the double branch of candles flared, the two flames like malevolent eyes peering out from the devil-dark gloom. “But I simply have a bad feeling about being here.”

  His flicker of amusement disappeared. “My wartime experience has taught me to trust intuition. We must both be extra vigilant. If trouble means to strike, let us try to get in the first blow.”

  His voice, strong and steady despite the softness of its tone, helped calm her nerves. “It’s likely just the unremitting cold and damp that has me on edge,” she replied, chafing at her arms. “And the haggis.”

  The previous evening, Henning’s sister had served them the national dish of boiled oatmeal and minced sheep organs, encased in a length of chewy intestine. It was not a meal she cared to repeat.

  “Many things about Scotland are an acquired taste,” he quipped, a brief smile flitting over his lips. “Look, should you wish to return home while I continue—”

  Arianna silenced him with a rude oath. “What I wish to do is go over what we learned in Vienna, to make sure we aren’t overlooking a vital clue.” She paused to refold a paisley shawl and place it in the chest of drawers next to the armoire. “We started to do that with Basil but were distracted. Perhaps it’s better that we continue on our own—it may allow for a more frank discussion of the situation.”

  “Is that a polite way of saying that you are worried about his loyalties?” asked her husband.

  “I’ve no doubt that the bond between the two of you is incredibly strong. But there are a number of conflicting forces pulling at his conscience, and he is, after all, only human. Something may eventually snap.”

  “I shall do my best not to tug too hard on him.” The earl made a careful check of his coat pockets. “Damn Grentham for maneuvering us into this situation. I’m aware that we must tread very carefully around our friend as well as our enemy.”

  “The devious bastard is determined to see that none of us escape from this mission unscathed,” muttered Arianna. “He would be just as happy if we perish along with Renard. There is an old adage about killing two birds with one stone—well, in this case, he hopes to hit four.”

  “Even Grentham doesn’t have such an accurate aim,” replied her husband lightly. “If he hurls a missile at us, I’ll make sure that the ricochet hits him in the arse.”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” Her halfhearted attempt at mirth sounded awfully hollow. “In all seriousness, Sandro. If it were up to you, would we be here in Scotland? Or would we be concentrating our efforts on investigating the Duke of Lampson’s wayward son? After what happened in Vienna, it seems to me that Lord Reginald’s world is where we will find the key to unlocking this conundrum.”

  Looking pensive, her husband squared the set of silver brushes on the dressing table. “Like you, I have a feeling that the trail to Renard will lead us back to London. But we cannot overlook the terrible chemical threat we uncovered in Vienna.”

  A chance discovery. A stroke of luck. She shuddered to recall how close to disaster they had come.

  “I trust Baz’s scientific expertise, if not his emotional state at the moment,” continued her husband. “And as he feels the work was likely done here at the university, we had no choice but to come see for ourselves.”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Arianna. Still, the sensation of a chill finger teasing against the back of her neck wouldn’t go away.

  After a quick look at his pocket watch, the earl swore under his breath. “Sorry, we’ll have to finish discussing this when I get back. My contact will be waiting and I had better not be late.”

  “Are you taking Basil with you?”

  The hesitation was so brief that she might only have imagined it. “Yes. Without him I would likely stumble around all night, trying to find my way through these dark, twisting streets. And as we have been saying, we can’t afford even the smallest misstep.”

  * * *

  A light touch eased the warehouse door open, its well-greased hinges yielding nary a sound. Saybrook quickly slipped inside, followed by Henning, who drew it shut. Darkness enveloped them, the dank air thick with the briny smell of fish and dried seaweed.

  “You made good time from London.” A voice rumbled within the shadows, followed by the metallic scrape of a lanthorn shutter being lifted. But rather than illuminate the speaker’s features, the beam of light was deliberately directed at Saybrook’s face. “Any trouble along the way?”

  The earl blinked, blinded by the sudden glare. “None to speak of,” he replied slowly.

  Behind him, Hen
ning quietly backed up a step and shifted out of the flickering light.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” went on the speaker. “The roads here in the north can be awfully rough, especially if one is unused to the hardships demanded by a clandestine mission.”

  Saybrook ignored the man’s faintly mocking tone. “Lord Grentham appears to think me up to the challenge.”

  The mention of the minister’s name silenced the other man’s sneer.

  “Lower that damn light and let us get down to business,” the earl went on brusquely. “I daresay both of us will be happy to keep this rendezvous as short as possible.”

  “It would help if I knew why you and your companions were sent here,” said the man. It was evident that he was not happy at having strangers trespassing on his turf.

  The earl answered obliquely. “I am hoping you might have some useful information to share with us. We’ve been told that you have been in place here for several years as the proprietor of a bookstore near the university, and as such I would imagine that you hear whispers if there is any unusual intellectual activity taking place.”

  Grentham’s operative took a step closer and lifted the light higher, revealing a long, thin face and pale gray eyes that accentuated the beady gleam of his dark pupils. “What sort of intellectual activity?” he asked, his nose twitching like that of a bird dog seeking to catch a scent in the air.

  “Alas, I am not at liberty to tell you the specifics,” answered Saybrook coolly. “Just tell me of all that you have noticed over the last several months, and leave me to decide if it helps narrow my search.”

  “Who the devil do you think you are, snapping orders like a bloody lord at me?”

  “I imagine Grentham informed you of my identity. I’m Castellano, and during the Peninsular War, I was a liaison from the Spanish army working with Wellington’s staff. My work seems to have satisfied the duke, because he dispatched me from Paris to Lord Grentham for this mission,” said the earl. “In case you haven’t been informed, I am visiting the university because of my interest in Highland botany.”

  The man’s lips pinched to a scowl. “I have been running intelligence operations for the ministry since my arrival here. I don’t need a lecture from some snotty-nosed Spaniard telling me how to do my job.”

  “And yet, London felt compelled to send me here, Mr. Rollins,” answered Saybrook softly.

  “I’ve accomplished quite a lot,” he said defensively. “Thanks to my surveillance, a number of dangerous revolutionaries have been arrested and are now languishing in Inverness prison, awaiting execution.” A low laugh. “That is, assuming they live that long.”

  Henning drew in a sharp breath as if he meant to speak, but then let it seep out in a long exhale.

  “Who’s your companion?” asked Rollins, finally deigning to acknowledge the surgeon’s presence.

  “You haven’t answered my question about scholarly activity,” said Saybrook.

  A shape shifted in the deep shadows, a ripple of black on black. “Indeed, Rollins, our visitor from London is right. It’s our duty to cooperate with the minister’s investigators.” As a figure materialized from the gloom and came to stand next to Rollins, a wink of scarlet and gold flashed from beneath his dark cloak. “I’ve been informed that you have a third member of your party. A female, registered as your wife at the lodging house. An odd arrangement given your mission . . .” A fraction of a pause. “Mr. Castellano.”

  Saybrook regarded the newcomer for a long moment. “On the contrary, I think it reinforces the story that we are here on a purely scholarly trip.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The earl ignored the shrug. “I take it you are Lord Stoughton, colonel in command of this region?”

  The military officer smoothed at the fancy frogging of his cloak, setting off a muffled jingling of metal beneath the thick wool. “At your service.” His smile did not belie the sarcasm shading his reply.

  “Excellent, Colonel.” Saybrook parried with his own edge of steel. “You have a young man by the name of Angus MacPhearson incarcerated in Inverness prison. I want him released without delay.”

  Stoughton’s eyes narrowed. “That would require an order from the highest authorities at Horse Guards.”

  “So it would.” The earl took a packet from his coat pocket, its outer wrapping festooned with ornate wax seals, and held it out. “I trust you will find everything in order here.”

  The colonel reluctantly took it.

  Saybrook returned his attention to Rollins. “You have yet to answer my question about the university.”

  Grentham’s operative flicked a quick look at Stoughton, who gave a barely perceptible nod to proceed.

  Clearing his throat, Rollins grudgingly complied. “It’s been fairly quiet since we rounded up the rabble and locked them away. I’ve caught wind of some conversations that make me think a new print shop for seditious pamphlets is being set up somewhere by a new group of student radicals.”

  “Anything else?” prodded the earl.

  Another sullen silence. “As I said, it would help if I knew what, specifically, you were looking for.”

  “And as I said, that is confidential information.” The earl made to turn. “If you’ve nothing more to add, I suggest we call an end to this meeting. Neither of us will be of any use to the ministry if we are spotted in a clandestine meeting by the locals.”

  “But first we had better set a time for the next rendezvous—” began Rollins.

  “There will be no set meetings,” interrupted Saybrook. “If I have need of anything from you, I shall contrive to pass you a message in your bookstore without attracting undue attention. And if you have any urgent information to convey to me, send a book to my lodgings, along with a note inviting me to share a wee dram at a certain hour. We are, after all, going to pretend to form a scholarly friendship over your inventory of books.”

  He paused, drawing out the sliver of silence. “By the by, I’ve read several of the dispatches you have sent to London. You really ought to use a less primitive code than a simple Caesar shift.”

  Rollins spit on the earthen floor. “It’s not as if the local Scots would have a clue as to how to puzzle out the meaning. They are naught but hairy savages . . .” He grunted some low, feral animal sounds. “A primitive people, little better than animals. It’s a pity that the Duke of Cumberland didn’t slaughter them all after the Battle of Culloden.”

  Stoughton laughed, leaving Saybrook and Henning standing in stony silence as he and Rollins traded a few more disparaging quips.

  “Shutter your light. We are leaving,” snapped the earl at Rollins, as soon as the last chortle died away. To Stoughton, he said, “I shall expect to have MacPhearson delivered to me without delay.”

  The colonel wordlessly tucked the packet from London into his cloak pocket.

  Saybrook waited until darkness shrouded the warehouse before moving to the door, with Henning right on his heels.

  A blade of light appeared for an instant and then disappeared, followed by a soft snick as the latch fell back into place.

  Outside, fog swirled over the narrow walkway in silvery waves, muddling the scudding moonlight with the yawing shadows of the buildings. The sound of the sea breaking against the rocky shore drowned the sound of their steps on the cobblestones as Saybrook and Henning hurried across the deserted street. Hats pulled low, heads bent to the gusty wind, they passed through several winding alleys before pausing to survey the surroundings.

  Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed, they slipped out onto Pends Road, keeping close to the looming cathedral walls.

  It was only after they turned yet another corner onto South Street that the surgeon expelled a low hiss through his clenched teeth. The vapor rose like steam from a kettle on hot coals.

  “God rot their damnabl
e Sassenach bones.”

  “I understand your outrage—”

  “Nay, you don’t,” said Henning bitterly. “Not by half.”

  “Baz, I’ve been called a degenerate mongrel more times than I can count,” replied Saybrook. “That the heir to one of the oldest earldoms is half-Spanish sends shudders of disgust through the mansions of Mayfair. Trust me, the high sticklers of Society think their blue blood is far too precious to be tainted by dark-skinned Mediterranean scum. So yes, I do understand your feelings concerning such pompous prejudices.”

  His friend blew out his cheeks. “My apologies, laddie.”

  “None are necessary.”

  “It’s just that such insufferable arrogance makes my blood boil,” growled the surgeon.

  “Don’t let them ignite your emotions, Baz,” counseled the earl. “Keep a cool head and we shall beat them at their own game.”

  “Those two bastards put Angus in prison.”

  “And we are going to get him out.”

  His friend looked away into the night, masking his craggy face in the shadows.

  “Rest assured that I intend to stay well away from Rollins and Stoughton from now on,” added Saybrook. “I had no choice but to make contact with them on our arrival, but like you, I don’t trust them.”

  The pungent scents of tobacco smoke and spilled ale drifted out from a tavern as two men bumped through the door and stumbled off into the night. The surgeon stopped abruptly. “Bloody hell, I need to wash the sour taste from my mouth.”

  Saybrook hesitated, his gaze shifting from his friend’s grim profile to the iron-studded door. A light mizzle had begun to fall, and in the spill of lamplight from the windows, the fine mist looked like a shower of sparks. “As you wish,” he said softly.

  “Not here,” said Henning, shaking the beads of water from his shoulders. “There’s a place on High Street that caters more to the university lecturers. I may as well begin renewing my acquaintances with old friends. The sooner we can make contact with the chemistry professor I have in mind, the better.” He turned up his collar. “Before this whole bloody trip blows up in our faces.”