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

by Penrose, Andrea

  “Run, Rainnie.”

  A wild blur of movements, a sudden shattering of glass as liquid, hot and stinging, splashed against her cheek. Steeling her focus, Arianna drew a steadying breath and calmly pulled the trigger.

  Canaday let out a bellow of pain as he fell back. Seeing that Sophia had scrambled out of reach, he clasped his bloodied hand to his breast and darted out into the corridor.

  The door slammed shut, the snick of the key turning in the lock punctuating his muffled shout.

  “Froissart! Grimmaud!”

  “That answers my earlier question about whether the servants are in league with their masters.” Tossing aside the spent pistol, Arianna hurried to the massive oak desk. “Quick, help me push this to block the entrance.”

  Between the two of them, they managed to maneuver the weighty piece of furniture into place. “That will hold them, but only for a bit.” Arianna wedged in a few chairs and shoved the cabinet to reinforce the barricade. “Here, cut off your skirts at the knees.” Taking the book knife from the blotter, she tossed it over to Sophia. “We’ll have to climb down from the window—”

  “Wait!” Sophia grabbed for a vase of flowers.

  “For God’s sake, we haven’t time to smell the roses,” shouted Arianna.

  Tossing the blooms on the carpet, Sophia splashed the water over Arianna’s face.

  “Wh-what the Devil—” she sputtered.

  “Acid—sulfuric by the smell,” answered Sophia. “Lean back and let me rinse it off. It’s a diluted mixture, but it can burn your flesh badly. You’re lucky. If it had struck a scant inch higher, you would be blind in one eye.”

  Arianna huffed a grunt as the pounding of boot heels clattered on the stairs. Fending off further ministrations, she said, “Let us try to ensure that our luck holds. The window, without delay.”

  “Wh-what about the papers?” ventured Sophia.

  “A ruse, seeing as she fled without taking anything from the cabinet,” answered Arianna, throwing open the casement. “I suspected as much, but I thought it worth the chance.”

  “Sorry,” muttered Sophia.

  “We all make mistakes. The key is to live and learn,” she replied, inching out onto the ledge. “Give me your hand.”

  “Not necessary,” said Sophia. “I spent my youth climbing in and out of my bedchamber windows so I could accompany my older cousins on their nocturnal escapades.”

  “Excellent.” Heavy thuds were hammering against the door. “I suggest you put such skills into action.”

  Splinters flew up as one of the panels split with an ominous crack.

  “Now!”

  Hands scraping over the chiseled stone, Arianna scrambled down the carved façade. “Follow me,” she called, hitting the ground and setting off at a run. She doubted that Canaday would risk attracting attention by firing a shot. Still, she kept low and wove a path in and out of the holly bushes, ignoring the jagged slap and tear of the sharp leaves at her clothing.

  The tripping steps and ragged gasps told her that Sophia was keeping pace.

  Banging a shoulder into the back gate, she popped it open.

  “This way,” called Arianna as the gate yielded to a hard shove. Cutting through the winding alleyways, she led them to the side street where their carriage stood waiting.

  “To Horse Guards?” wheezed Sophia, fighting to catch her breath as she tumbled into the cab.

  Slamming the door shut, Arianna rapped on the roof for the coachman to spring the horses. A moment of mental calculation led her to discard the idea. “By the time we talk our way into the minister’s inner sanctum and convince Grentham that we shouldn’t be whisked away to Bedlam, it will be too late.”

  “B-but we can’t hope to discover which way they have fled. From the drawing room window I saw Canaday’s curricle waiting right outside the town house. By now, they could be headed anywhere.”

  “No need to give chase.” She patted at her coat to make sure the piece of paper was still safely tucked in her pocket. “I know exactly what route they are taking. And how.”

  As the carriage careened around a corner and raced along the Strand, Arianna thumped another signal—this one to halt. Taking pencil and paper from one of the side compartments, she scribbled a note and then called out the window to one of the street urchins sweeping horse droppings from the crossing.

  “Can you carry this to Horse Guards without delay?” She held up a shilling.

  “Oiy.” The lad held out a grubby hand.

  “Don’t let the guards stop you. There will be a gold guinea for you if you get it into Lord Grentham’s hands without delay.” She saw his eyes widen to the size of tea saucers. “Tell him it’s from the Countess of Saybrook.”

  Snatching the paper and coin, he set off at a dead run.

  “You had better change into these.” Arianna tossed Sophia the bundle of men’s clothing, then fished a chamois cloth from beneath the seat and began blotting the moisture from her coat.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sophia. “Or don’t I want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t blame you for deciding that you have had your fill of adventure. If you choose, I can drop you here and continue on my own.”

  As she wriggled into her breeches, Sophia responded with a word that made Arianna blink.

  “Very well. Seeing as you seem determined to continue, we are headed for the Artillery Grounds.”

  “I’m not sure cannons are going to do us much good . . .” The remnants of her gown fell to the floorboards as Sophia twisted around. “Can you cut the cursed strings of this corset? Whalebone stays are not conducive to physical exertion.” Once free of the constricting garment, she pulled on the shirt. “So unless there is a secret weapon there—”

  “No, it’s not secret,” said Arianna. “But let us hope it’s highly effective.” Seeing Sophia’s questioning look, she added, “Balloons.”

  “Balloons!”

  “And the men who fly them,” she explained. “The military allows a company of experienced aeronauts to keep their equipment there and use the fields for ascents and landings. Their flights along the coast provide valuable mapmaking information.”

  Realization suddenly dawned on Sophia’s face. “Are you saying the twins intend to make an airborne escape?”

  “I overheard them making their plans. They know of Stoughton’s arrest and have decided to make a run—metaphorically speaking—for France with Cayley’s sketches and the formula for the explosives.”

  “Y-you think we have a chance of stopping them?”

  “I’m willing to follow them to Hell and back to see that we do,” vowed Arianna.

  * * *

  “This way.” Saybrook dropped down from his vantage point and pointed to a small gap in the crumbling wall surrounding the castle ruins. “There’s a light in the tower’s top window, but the rest of the building appears deserted.”

  “My guess is Renard may be running out of people he can trust,” said Henning.

  “Stoughton said that he only left two men to guard Cayley, but he wasn’t sure whether reinforcements were being sent down from London.”

  “No sign of any new arrivals,” observed the surgeon as they made their way along the perimeter of the grounds to where the stable sat silent and shrouded in shadows by the rutted dirt cart path.

  Drawing his pistol, the earl ducked inside. “Naught but two horses in the stalls,” he murmured, reappearing a few moments later.

  “So it’s two hired ruffians against the pair of us.” Henning gave a whispered laugh as they circled through the trees to approach the back of the castle. “Poor devils. Do ye care whether we take them alive?”

  “I always avoid mindless bloodshed when possible,” answered Saybrook tersely. “That is one of the things that sepa
rates us from the evil ones.” He stopped to survey the surroundings from the shelter of the unpruned privet hedge. “God knows, there are far too many things we have in common.”

  “Feeling a twinge of conscience, laddie? If ye plan te keep doing Grentham’s nasty work for him, ye had better toughen up yer tender sensibilities. Nobility is all very well in theory, but sometimes, ye must strip off yer fancy principles and drop into the filth, to fight these miscreants on their own turf.”

  Saybrook shaded his eyes from the setting sun as he stared at the stone tower. “You know, I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty, Baz. But I don’t like dragging my friends into the muck along with me.”

  The surgeon dismissed the oblique apology with a rude sound. “I told ye before, I don’t hold you to blame fer Angus. The lad made his own choices. If anything, I should have seen the trouble and done something to steer him clear of the danger before he got in over his head.”

  The earl shifted to sweep his gaze along the rugged sea cliff. “Those who are closest to us are often the hardest people to guard from danger,” he said softly.

  “Auch, is that what’s eating at yer insides? That ye can’t wrap yer wife in a sweet little apron and keep her locked in a kitchen?” A grunt. “No wonder she took a carving knife to ye the first time ye met.”

  For an instant, a flicker of wry amusement softened the grim set of his mouth. “I am learning to compromise. But what of friends who have less experience with the sordid side of life? To draw them into our affairs is a little like dropping a dab of butter into a red-hot frying pan.”

  “Ye are worried about—”

  “Ssssshhhhhhh.” A hiss from the earl warned him to silence. With a groan of the rusty hinges, the back door opened and a big man in a greasy canvas coat came out, holding a chamber pot at arm’s length.

  “Cor, we ought te be paid double for having te be bloody maids to a addlepated lunatic as well as his captors.” Stomping down the footpath, the guard tossed its contents perilously close to where Saybrook and Henning were hidden in the shrubbery. “Rattling on about flying and such,” he grumbled. “Let the madman sprout sodding wings and try to make his escape. Ha, ha, ha . . .”

  As the guard turned, still snorting nasty chuckles, the earl slipped out and whipped the butt of his weapon against the man’s temple. He dropped like a sackful of stones, the empty basin rolling away into the tangle of tall, winter gray fescue.

  “Let’s carry him inside,” whispered Saybrook. “We’ll leave him locked in the pantry, trussed and gagged, for Grentham’s men to deal with.”

  After securing the prisoner, they found his tallow candle still burning on the kitchen table, a plume of oily black smoke curling up from the guttering flame.

  “Hoy, Jock!” A shout reverberated overhead. “Move yer lazy carcass and bring that jug. I’m thirsty.”

  Saybrook pointed wordlessly to a narrow passageway. A set of slitted windows at the far end let in just enough of the fading sunlight to illuminate a rough-cut circular staircase winding up to floors above.

  Henning hooked an earthenware jug from the table and signaled for them to proceed.

  “Leave it to me to draw the varlet out,” he said under his breath, edging forward to take the lead. They crept up the stone steps, following the earthy scent of a peat fire to the top floor.

  On the landing, Henning stopped and let the jug fall to the floor.

  “Oiy!” The muddy thunk of it shattering into tiny shards drew an outraged bellow from inside the room. “Ye bloody clumsy ox!” Boot steps, hard and heavy, punctuated the curse. “I swear, I’ll drop ye and yer thick skull from the window here—”

  “I think not.” Saybrook caught him with a hard right cross to the jaw as he barged through the doorway. Like his cohort, the man dropped like a boneless bag of rocks.

  “They must be Stoughton’s choices,” said Henning dismissively. “Renard’s personal network of skilled operatives appears to have disappeared.”

  “We have eliminated some of his best men,” said Saybrook grimly. “Now let us hope we are close to catching him by the tail.” He nudged the fallen guard. “Can you handle locking him away with his cohort while I check on Cayley?”

  “Aye, leave him to me,” said the surgeon. “I’ll make sure he gets enough bumps and bruises on the way down to keep him quiet until morning.”

  The earl edged his way into the tower chamber, alert for any other guard who might be lurking inside. But the only body he saw was wrapped in a thick blanket and huddled in front of a meager fire.

  “Sir George?” he said softly.

  The man turned, blinking his bleary eyes. “If you’re another one of those ruffians sent to shake information out of me, you can go to the Devil.” His voice, though weak, bristled with defiance.

  “I’m not.” The earl lowered his weapon. “Whitehall sent me. I’ve come to take you away from here.”

  Cayley squinted in suspicion. “Hmmph. That’s what the others said. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “A good question.” Saybrook squatted down by the inventor and gently cut the ropes binding his wrists. “To begin with, my friend and I coshed your two captors over the head, so that should help allay your fears.”

  Wincing, Cayley rubbed weakly at the chafed skin. “Point taken.”

  “Secondly, I served with Colonel Greville in the Peninsula. He’s a great admirer of the work you and Davy were doing for the army, no matter that the project was put aside,” said the earl. “By the by, I’m Saybrook. My companion is Henning, a military surgeon who also served with the colonel.”

  “Dashed good fellow is Grev.” The scientist ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. “I—I suppose if you know about our work, you must have access to Whitehall’s inner sanctum.”

  “Unfortunately, so does our enemy. You are right to be cautious.” Spotting a glass of water on the windowsill, he brought it over and offered the scientist a sip.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Cayley, after a grateful slurp. “I wasn’t careful enough. The dastards have stolen all my plans and sketches!”

  “Is there enough information for them to build a working model?” asked the earl.

  “Alas, I fear so. There are detailed diagrams, exact dimensions, mechanical specifications, rudder designs . . .” He grimaced. “In the hands of a competent man of science and a skilled craftsman, the material will provide very clear step-by-step instructions for building my flying machine.”

  “I suppose an even more important question is, does it actually work?” said the earl.

  “There are still some things to work out,” replied Cayley. “Right now, the flying machine must be carried aloft by a balloon, and then launched at the right altitude. It’s dangerous work at that point and requires a skilled pilot, but we have proved it can be done on a regular basis.”

  Henning returned from downstairs, bringing with him a plate of cheese and cold gammon, along with a loaf of bread and a fresh jug of brandy. “Anyone else hungry?”

  “Sir George looks likes he’s been kept on thin rations.”

  The inventor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cheddar and meat. “Food would be most welcome. I’ve had nothing but gruel for days.”

  “Our friend here was just explaining his invention,” Saybrook said to Henning as Cayley wolfed down a bite. “It must be launched from a balloon, and then . . .”

  “And then once my machine is airborne,” went on Cayley after a quick swallow, “the long wings allow it to glide like a hawk through the skies, and a series of movable flaps can control the direction. With a good man at the rudders, the flying machine can ride the air currents and home in on a specific target quite easily.”

  Henning blew out a low whistle.

  “So the answer is yes, by Jove, it does work,” finished Cayley with some pride.
A sigh then deflated his smile. “Save now that it’s fallen into the wrong hands, I wish I had never invented it.”

  “Science is a two-edged sword,” murmured Saybrook. “Good and evil—it’s a choice that has faced man since Adam and Eve.”

  Cayley nodded. “Now I have a question for you, sir. Who the Devil took my drawings? And what does he intend to do with them?”

  “An English traitor, working for the French, is responsible for kidnapping you and your plans, Sir George,” answered Saybrook. “As for the reason . . . right now it is mostly conjecture.”

  “But why would King Louis want to steal my work? As far as I know, he has no interest in science—only fine wine and rich food.”

  “You are correct. The present monarch, like his Bourbon predecessors, has little interest in chemistry or technological advancements. But Napoleon Bonaparte does.”

  “Aye, the former Emperor has a keen interest in science; I’ll give him that.” Cayley looked even more quizzical. “But Napoleon has been exiled to the isle of Elba, a tiny speck of rock off the coast of Tuscany.”

  Saybrook expelled a long breath. “Yes, but I fear he’s not planning to stay there for very much longer.”

  22

  From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chocolate Soufflflé

  Butter for greasing the molds

  Granulated sugar for coating the molds

  1/3 cup half-and-half

  3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped

  1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

  1/3 cup water

  8 large egg whites

  1/2 cup granulated sugar

  Confectioners’ sugar for dusting

  1. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Use a pastry brush (or your fingers) to coat the inside of four 11/2-cup soufflé molds with softened butter. Fill the molds with granulated sugar. Pour out the excess.

  2. Pour the half-and-half into a saucepan and heat over medium-high heat until bubbles begin to form around the edge of the pan. Remove from the heat and make a ganache by adding the chopped chocolate. Stir well until combined and all of the chocolate has melted.