“Back from Scotland so soon?” The minister set aside a sheaf of papers on hearing the earl’s name announced. “I trust you have brought me some good news.”
“As a Christmas cadeau?” said Saybrook, matching the other man’s sardonic tone. “Alas, I come bearing no such gift.” A none-too-gentle kick shifted the chair by Grentham’s desk, allowing the earl to take a seat. “But I’ve not come empty-handed. I’m carrying a number of questions.”
“You are the one who is supposed to be discovering answers,” jeered the minister. “We had a bargain—”
“Which is now null and void.”
Grentham’s eyes narrowed, their pewter shade darkening to gunmetal gray.
“Your bargaining chip—Mr. Henning’s nephew, Angus MacPhearson—was shot dead while trying to escape from Inverness prison,” went on Saybrook. “I’m rather mystified at how a callow lad could contrive to slip out from a double-locked cell and through one of the most heavily guarded enclaves of the British military. Perhaps you could explain it to me?”
“Celtic magic? A Highland druid?” drawled Grentham. “The Loch Ness monster?”
“You might not be sounding so amused with a Scottish claymore wedged up your arse,” growled Saybrook.
“You were the one there on the scene,” countered the minister. “How should I, sitting here in London, have any idea what happened?”
“Don’t insult me with such drivel,” replied the earl.
A glint of malice lit in Grentham’s gaze. “Stoughton’s report did not explain how the young man escaped. It merely detailed that he was spotted running along the cliffs and was ordered to stop. When he did not respond, shots were fired.”
“Did the colonel offer anything other than platitudes on why Henning was also shot?”
The minister’s lashes flicked up a fraction, betraying a hint of surprise.
“Oh, did your minion neglect to add that little detail to his report?” said the earl. “How curious.”
The minister remained silent.
“But then, I find much that is puzzling about the trip north. Such as how, just as we were closing in on a possible suspect, all hell suddenly breaks loose, leaving my quarry with his throat cut and my friend with a bullet in his shoulder.” He paused. “One would almost think I was fated to fail.”
“Good God.” Grentham made a pained face. “Are we going to have to go through another round of asinine accusations? I thought we had settled the question of my loyalties.”
Saybrook held the other man’s gaze. “So did I. But as my wife so sagely points out, I can, on occasion, be wrong.”
Sitting back, Grentham tapped his well-manicured fingertips together. “One must, of course, respect the Countess of Saybrook’s pronouncements on intrigue. After all, she has such an intimate acquaintance with the sordid underbelly of life, and all its deceptions and betrayals.”
The earl rose from his chair and braced his palms on the massive pearwood desk. “Indeed, having to survive by outwitting lying cheats, manipulative whoresons and other stinking piles of merde has taught her to be a very good judge of character.”
Nostrils flaring, the minister turned white around the mouth. “Is there a purpose to this visit, other than to hurl insults?”
Saybrook slowly straightened. “Have you a dossier in your files on Sir George Cayley?”
“I don’t have the department archives committed to memory,” snapped Grentham.
“Might you have your clerk check?”
“Come back tomorrow morning,” said the minister.
“I’ll return this afternoon. Time is of the essence . . .” He put on his hat. “Assuming that you are as anxious as I am to capture Renard.”
Steel flashed as Grentham put a new point on his quill with a penknife. “So far, for all your fancy words, Lord Saybrook, you’ve caught nothing but handfuls of air.”
“Actually, thanks to me—and my wife—Lord Cockburn and Lord Reginald are no longer running tame within the highest echelons of the government. It’s you, the head of state security, who have come up empty-handed, despite your fearsome reputation.”
The minister ignored the pointed barb. “Are you of the opinion that the explosive chemical that sent you haring off to Scotland is, in fact, a real threat to England?”
A stride short of the door, Saybrook stopped and turned. “Henning’s injury has severely compromised my ability to assess the danger. I have some expertise in chemistry, but my skills are not nearly as advanced as his are. That said, after perusing the paper we found in the suspect’s laboratory in St. Andrews, I would say, yes, the substance is a very powerful substance, capable of great destruction in the wrong hands. If and how the enemy plans to use it are questions I can’t answer right now.”
Grentham set down his pen. “You must find someone to replace Henning,” he said tightly.
“That—or perhaps I will simply walk away and leave the problem in your well-tailored lap. Snarls ring a little hollow when a dog has no teeth with which to back them up, Lord Grentham.”
“You won’t walk away,” said the minister softly. “You are far too honorable. Your conscience wouldn’t allow it.”
“Ah yes. Honor.” Saybrook drew in a deep breath. “No doubt a foreign notion to you.”
“Let’s not waste time in childish insults,” retorted Grentham. “As I said, you need to find a trustworthy replacement for your friend.”
“I believe that I have.”
After waiting for a long moment for any further information, the minister huffed a harsh exhale. “But you don’t intend to tell me anything more?”
“Let’s just say that after what happened to us on the way north, I’m not inclined to entrust sensitive information to you and your inner circle,” said Saybrook. “Secrets seem to leak out of your department faster than water flows from a sieve.”
“What—” began Grentham, before catching himself and falling silent.
“What happened?” finished Saybrook. “Why not ask one of your spiders? You have them crawling around in every deep, dark crevasse of the kingdom, don’t you?”
The minister’s scowl pinched tighter.
“Our coach was attacked just south of the Scottish border,” went on Saybrook. “The three men are now lying dead in some godforsaken ditch for their efforts.
“Be assured, Lord Saybrook. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t make a muck of it.”
“Strangely enough, I am inclined to agree with you. The attack on us was badly planned and badly executed. Whatever else your faults are, you are smarter than that.”
“High praise coming from you.”
“It’s not praise—it’s merely a fact. Investigating a crime calls for one to set aside all emotion. Personal feelings tend to cloud one’s judgment and make it harder to see the truth.”
“Thank you for the primer on human nature,” sneered Grentham. “Now kindly get out of my office and begin applying your own counsel to the task at hand.”
8
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Double Chocolate Walnut Biscotti
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup walnuts, chopped
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon confectioners’ sugar
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a large baking sheet.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt. In another bowl beat together the butter and granulated sugar with an electric mi
xer until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and beat until combined well. Stir in the flour mixture to form a stiff dough. Stir in the walnuts and chocolate chips.
3. Flour your hands. On the prepared baking sheet form the dough into two slightly flattened logs, each 12 inches long and 2 inches wide, and sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar. Bake the logs for 35 minutes, or until slightly firm to the touch. Cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes.
4. On a cutting board, cut the biscotti diagonally into 3/4-inch slices. Arrange the biscotti, cut sides down, on the baking sheet and bake until crisp, about 10 minutes. Cool on a rack.
“Where are we going?” Curious, Arianna peered out the carriage window as the horses turned down South Audley Street. It appeared they were headed for the entrance to the park. “I hope it isn’t far. My bum is still bruised from the Scottish roads.”
“No, it’s not far,” replied Saybrook, once again evading the main question.
Repressing a sigh, she kept her attention on the bustle outside the glass panes. The fragrant scents of roasting chestnuts and fresh-cut evergreens wafted up from the barrows of the street vendors as they called out merry greetings to one another. Maids from the neighboring mansions of Mayfair hurried to fill their baskets with last-minute purchases for the holidays, while governesses sought to keep their young charges from gobbling down every morsel of warm gingerbread.
At the last minute, the wheels veered away from the park. Two quick turns brought them to a quiet side street. The carriage drew to a halt in the middle of the block.
“We’re here,” murmured the earl, unlatching the door.
Arianna descended in silence. No point in asking questions—the answers would be clear soon enough.
Saybrook offered his arm and led her up the marble steps of an elegant town house faced in pale Portland stone.
“Good afternoon, Lord Saybrook.” An elderly butler answered the rap of the brass knocker and ushered them into an airy entrance hall painted in a soft shade of sage green. Gesturing toward the curved staircase, he intoned, “Tea is waiting in the West Parlor.”
“Thank you, Miller.” Her husband did not appear to be a stranger here. “You need not make the climb. I shall announce us.”
“Very good, milord.” The butler withdrew into the shadows, leaving the earl to lead the way.
In place of heavy, gold-framed paintings of ancestors, watercolor sketches of landscapes decorated the walls. They were unusual choices—bold, imaginative, assertive. And yet there was something feminine about the effect . . .
Arianna felt a strange prickling at the back of her neck as they started to climb the stairs.
“Do come in, Saybrook.” The voice floating out from the half-opened door was low and a little liquid—like cool water flowing over smooth stones. “Have a care that you don’t trip over the stack of books by the threshold.”
The earl pushed the portal all the way open and stepped aside for Arianna to enter first.
“I hope your husband has warned you to check the chairs for cat hairs before sitting down. Sethos considers this his throne room.”
Saybrook maintained a Sphinx-like expression.
“He neglected to mention it,” replied Arianna. Along with a number of other salient facts. “But never fear; I am not one of those females who falls into a fit of megrims over finding a speck on my silks.”
Their hostess rose from a work desk piled high with papers and open books. “I am glad to hear your sensibilities are not easily shocked, for precious little about my household conforms to convention.” The tiny twitch of her mouth might have been a smile. “However, I shall defer to propriety enough to allow the earl to introduce us.”
Saybrook cleared his throat with a low cough. “Arianna, this is Miss Sophia Kirtland. Miss Kirtland, my wife, Lady Saybrook.”
Moving out from behind the stacked leather bindings and reams of paper and leather bindings, Sophia waved an ink-stained hand at the sofa. “Please make yourself comfortable. Do you prefer cream or lemon in your tea?”
So much for the usual exchange of polite flatteries.
Which was probably just as well, thought Arianna wryly. For at that moment, she was busy trying to keep her jaw from dropping down to her chest.
Hell’s bells.
Sophia Kirtland was not at all what she had expected. Based on Grentham’s snide comments, Arianna had envisioned a plain, unfashionable, middle-aged spinster with a tart tongue and bookish squint.
The tart tongue appeared to be accurate, but other than that . . .
“Cream,” she managed to answer, hoping that her wide-eyed stare wasn’t too obvious.
Tall and willowy, Sophia was dressed in a stylish gown of deep, dusky blue silk that set off her aquamarine eyes and honey-colored hair to perfection. Her face, while not conventionally pretty, was striking in its angular beauty. Wide cheekbones, full mouth, long Roman nose—together they created an oddly exotic beauty. As for age, Arianna guessed that her hostess was not much more than thirty.
“Would you care to try some of these walnut biscotti? I brought back the recipe from Italy, though I did not make them myself. Alas, I have no culinary skills.” Her brows rose in a cynical arch. “The concoctions I create are not for human consumption.”
“Thank you.” Arianna accepted the plate of pastries.
The clink of china and silver punctuated the ensuing silence. Looking ill at ease, Saybrook took a seat in the facing chair and waited for a cup to be passed his way.
The ritual of serving tea finally over, Sophia leaned back and regarded Arianna through a scrim of steam.
“So we finally meet.” The words seemed to hold a note of challenge. “I confess, you are not quite what I expected.”
“Oh?” Lifting a brow, Arianna countered with matching coolness. “If it’s any consolation, I was thinking just the same thing.” After Grentham’s nasty comment about her husband’s involvement with another woman, Saybrook had explained about his regular meetings with Miss Kirtland. He had assured her that the long-standing acquaintance was based solely on shared scholarly interests—though he had confessed that his female friend had not approved of his sudden nuptials. Arianna hadn’t pressed to know more at the time, feeling he owed her no explanation for his former life.
“I dare not ask what you imagined,” went on Arianna after a small pause. “Sandro has indicated that you thought his precipitous marriage a big mistake.”
“I am very outspoken and opinionated,” said Sophia, her tone not overly apologetic. “Most people find that offensive.”
“It sounds as if we might actually get along,” answered Arianna after a fraction of a pause.
A low snort of laughter sounded, and though it was gone in an instant, it seemed to dispel a bit of the tension in the room.
The earl exhaled, the rigid set of his spine relaxing ever so slightly. “If we are finished with the introductions, perhaps we might get down to business.”
“By all means.” Taking up a small notebook and pencil from the tea table, Sophia glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I have a half hour, and then, as I told you earlier today, I must return to my laboratory. I have an experiment in progress and timing is crucial.”
Ah, the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fit together.
Arianna gave herself a mental kick for being so slow in figuring it out. “Of course . . . a chemistry expert to take Basil’s place.”
Saybrook turned and met her gaze. “Forgive me for keeping you in the dark. I thought it best not to go into details until I had asked Miss Kirtland whether she was willing to consider joining forces with us in a rather dangerous endeavor.” He paused. “She is, but it is imperative that you agree to the arrangement before she is told the particulars.”
“I take it you trust both her scholarly skills and her discreti
on,” answered Arianna slowly. “Or you wouldn’t be asking me.”
“Correct,” replied her husband.
“Then it goes without saying that I am in favor of the addition to our ranks.”
“Excellent. Then let us move on.” With that, Saybrook drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket and turned to Sophia. “Miss Kirtland, we have reason to believe that a French agent is working within the highest circles of the government . . .” He went on to summarize what had happened in Vienna, Henning’s suspicions as to the dangerous substance’s origins, and their subsequent travels to St. Andrews.
Sophia listened intently without interrupting, though Arianna saw her jot down some notes.
“So,” finished the earl. “Here we are back in London, our scientific expert gravely injured, a cunning traitor still on the loose.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of silk as Sophia leaned forward to pour herself a fresh cup of tea. “Perhaps anyone who scoffs that scholars live in ivory towers, far removed from the chaos of the real world, needs to revise their thinking,” she quipped after adding a splash of cream. “I’m not very good with knives, but I’m an excellent shot with a pistol and a fowling gun. My father believed that a female should not be a helpless widget.”
“I don’t expect you to wage war against our enemy with anything other than your intellect,” replied Saybrook. He shuffled through his papers. “We have a number of documents taken from Girton’s laboratory. Henning has had a quick read through them, but I would like to have your opinion on their contents, and to know whether you see any clues that might help us uncover the identity of the enemy.” He raised his gaze. “It goes without saying that these are highly confidential—and possibly dangerous to possess. They must be carefully guarded.”
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 10