“This is, you know, an oft-told tale,” murmured Arianna.
“Yes, I know. And my story follows the usual plot of a horrid novel—I surrendered my virtue to my true love, and we made plans to elope to Scotland. Indeed, we were nearly at the border when my father caught up with us.” Her voice tightened. “He had bribed the local militia commander to accompany him—and to keep the affair silent.”
“Stoughton?” asked Arianna, though she was certain of the answer.
“Stoughton,” confirmed Sophia. “Who proceeded to knock Edward from the perch of our rented gig and slowly, methodically, gleefully thrash him to a bloody pulp.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “It was horrible. Neddy was barely more than a boy. He was slight and slender—a gentle-natured poet who planned on going into the Church. While Stoughton was a big-muscled brute who clearly took pleasure in inflicting pain.” The dregs in the glass swirled slowly, silently. “My father dragged me back home, cursing all the way about damaged goods. I learned that Neddy died within hours of the beating.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“To add insult to injury, Stoughton had the nerve to suggest to my father that he take me off my father’s hands.” Sophia shuddered. “Though God knows why. I had only a modest dowry, and the fact that my grandmother was leaving me a generous bequest was not yet known.”
Arianna found it interesting that Sophia seemed unaware of her striking looks and their effect on men. But she didn’t know her well enough to broach such a personal subject. Instead, she merely pointed out a more mundane fact of life. “A duke’s influence could be important for an ambitious military officer.”
“His motive didn’t matter. Needless to say, I refused—and informed my father that I had no intention of marrying anyone. Ever.”
Ah, youthful pride.
Sophia lifted her gaze. “So now you know my sordid little secret.”
“There is nothing sordid about being young and desperately in love,” replied Arianna gently. “Now is not the time, but at some point I shall share some stories that will assure you I know what ‘sordid’ truly means.”
“Oh.” Setting the glass down on the chess table, Sophia plucked at the folds of her skirts, as if smoothing the silk could put her emotions back into order. “I hope that I have not stirred unhappy memories for you.”
Arianna shook her head. “I am slowly learning to live with my mistakes—not to say that it is easy. It isn’t. But it helps to keep moving forward, rather than to allow your feet to remain mired in the past.”
“Wise words,” said Sophia thoughtfully. After a moment of meditation, she pressed her palms together. “How is it that you know Stoughton?”
“Because he is the murderous bastard responsible for the death of Basil Henning’s nephew. Sandro had several confrontations with him.” Arianna clarified the details of the Scottish trip.
“Why is he here in London?” mused Sophia.
“A good question. I mean to find out, for along with trapping Renard, I intend to learn the truth of why Basil’s nephew was shot. It seems too great a coincidence to be merely a random act of fate.” She looked over at the black-and-white chess figures ready to square off in combat on the checkered field of battle. Pawns and knights, rooks and queens . . .
Ah, the most powerful figure is a female.
“I’ve an idea.” Arianna rose and began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. “First, let me help you down to the carriage so José can drive you home—”
“Bollocks,” exclaimed Sophia, her chin taking on a mulish jut. “I’m not going anywhere. I may not be as experienced as you are in intrigue, but I can learn.”
“Miss Kirtland, you’ve suffered a severe shock.” A shade of amusement crept into Arianna’s tone. “Not to mention the fact that you’re a trifle foxed.”
“I’m not foxed. I’m just pleasantly tipsy.” A pause. “Just because you know all manner of clever tricks to deal with men doesn’t mean I should be trundled off to bed like a helpless child.”
The momentary truce seemed over as Sophia’s prickliness reasserted itself.
Like me, she does not like letting anyone get too close.
Heaving an inward sigh, Arianna said, “I wasn’t implying any such thing. The choice is, of course, yours.”
Her companion’s scowl softened.
“If you stay, it will mean facing up to your Devil. Are you sure you are ready for that?”
“Yes,” answered Sophia stoutly. “It’s time for me to finally take a stand and fight back.”
“You need not throw any punches this evening,” replied Arianna. “We are simply going to reconnoiter, so to speak. All I need for you to do is introduce me to Stoughton. He caught only a glimpse of me dressed as a male, so I doubt he’ll recognize me in my present persona.” She took another turn in front of the fire. “I should be able to learn what has brought him to London.”
“But once he sees Saybrook, he can’t help but realize that it was the two of you who were overseeing Lord Grentham’s investigation in St. Andrews.”
“You’re right. However, for the moment we hold the advantage of surprise, so I mean to use it. If we have to change tactics later on, so be it. Sandro has stressed to me that a good field general always remains flexible.”
“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 aptitude 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 tit 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 classical 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 multitude 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, bloody hell,” 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 assailant 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 scrap 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 arse 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 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 ra
dicals 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.”
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 19