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

by Penrose, Andrea

  3. Place the ganache in the top of a double boiler, add the cocoa powder and water, and whisk until very hot. Remove from the heat and set aside.

  4. Place the egg whites in a large mixing bowl and whip on medium speed until foamy. Increase the mixer speed to medium-high and make a French meringue by adding the granulated sugar 1 tablespoon at a time and whipping the whites to stiff but not dry peaks. Do not overwhip the egg whites! You can tell the egg whites are overwhipped if they start to separate and resemble scrambled eggs. (Been there, done that.)

  5. Use a rubber spatula to gently fold about half the meringue into the warm chocolate mixture. Then fold the chocolate mixture into the remaining meringue, being careful not to deflate the batter. The soufflé mixture should be homogeneous in color, but if you still see streaks of meringue in the batter, that’s okay.

  6. Use a large spoon to gently place the soufflé mixture in the buttered and sugared molds. Fill to about 1/4 inch below the rim of the molds. Run your thumb around the rim to remove the excess butter and sugar.

  7. Bake until the soufflés have risen to about 11/2 inches over the rim and start to brown on top, about 12 minutes. Remove from the oven and dust the tops with confectioners’ sugar. Serve immediately.

  Arianna and Sophia entered the shadowy warehouse. The pungent smells of old smoke and oiled leather permeated the chill air, mingling with the sweeter scents of straw and beeswax.

  “Halloooo!” Arianna’s call echoed through the cavernous space. In answer came a snuffled snort from one of the horses stabled at the rear of the building.

  “Maybe they have all gone home for the day,” said Sophia, craning her neck to look up at the massive iron hooks and pulleys hanging down from the crossbeams. “Good heavens, look at all these implements—they look like something out of the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “I don’t think the doors would have been left unlocked if the men had left,” said Arianna as she walked along a rack holding giant coils of ropes as thick as her wrists. “Perhaps there are storage rooms or an office behind the stable area.”

  “Hear, hear now!” Holding a lantern aloft, James Sadler stepped out of the gloom. “This is no place to be larking about, lads”—the beam moved up from Arianna’s boots and breeches to the curling hair spilling over her shoulders—“er, that is, ladies.”

  His brows rose even higher as Arianna ducked clear of the oversize loops of cordage and into the ring of light. “L-Lady Saybrook?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sadler.” She flashed a smile. “You did invite me for a ride, did you not.”

  “I—I don’t think this is quite the most opportune time, milady. Perhaps if you came back tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t wait.”

  Sadler darted a quizzical look at Sophia. She had cut a square of silk from her ruined gown and tied it in a bandana to hold back her hair. With the flickering light sharpening her features, the look gave her a slightly menacing, piratical air.

  “I realize this appears a trifle odd, but allow me to explain.”

  He cleared his throat with a cough. “By all means, do.”

  “We need your help. Or rather, Britain needs your help. A pair of traitors are seeking to escape to France with vital documents. A man named Le Chaze is to fly them across the Channel in his balloon. They must be stopped . . .” She went on to explain as many of the details as she deemed safe to disclose.

  Though Sadler listened in silence, his expressions ran the gamut of emotions—surprise, disbelief, consternation, concern.

  Perhaps he thinks me mad.

  “I don’t blame you for wondering if my wits have gone wandering,” added Arianna as she watched him mulling it over.

  “Even to my own ears the story sounds more outrageous than Mr. Walpole’s book The Castle of Otranto,” interjected Sophia. “Nonetheless, it’s all true.”

  “I am acquainted with Le Chaze. He occasionally comes to watch our maneuvers,” said Sadler, finally rousing himself to speech. “We all find him a rather irritating, arrogant fellow. Always boasting about how, as opposed to us, his countrymen do things with Gallic flair.”

  “He said English aeronauts are afraid of the dark,” murmured Arianna.

  Sadler let out an indignant huff. “Ha, the impertinent Frog! Le Chaze is showy, but there is little substance beneath his bravado. I would like to see him try to navigate at night—he probably doesn’t know Venus from Mars.”

  “I hope not. The quicker we can catch him, the better,” responded Arianna. “Speaking of which, there’s not a moment more to lose. We need to inflate your balloon and launch now.”

  Sadler shook his head. “I am just as afire to go after them as you are, Lady Saybrook. But the sad fact is that we can’t.”

  “Why not?” demanded Arianna.

  “The other aeronauts have all left for the day, and Windham has gone to the neighboring village to pick up a fresh batch of pine tar. It’s impossible for me to get the balloon ready by myself, so we are grounded until he returns. And even if I could manage it, I need to have an assistant to stoke the fire for a trip of this length.”

  Arianna and Sophia exchanged a look. “We can serve as your assistants,” they both chorused.

  “Good heavens, I don’t think . . . Surely you can’t mean . . .” He shook his head. “Not to be indelicate, ladies, but the job requires, er, muscle.”

  “Mr. Sadler, I am tougher than I might look,” replied Arianna. “And I’ve a great deal of experience in handling ropes, having crewed on smuggling ships in the West Indies.”

  “And I’ve driven an open phaeton from London to Gretna Green, which requires both muscle and stamina,” added Sophia. “We’re not afraid of soiling our lily-white hands.” She held up her scraped palms and smiled sweetly. “See?”

  He blinked several times in rapid-fire succession, and the air seemed to leak out of his protests. “Make no mistake, it will be hard work,” he cautioned.

  They nodded.

  “And very dangerous.”

  “That goes without saying,” replied Arianna.

  He pursed his lips. “One last thing. Once we catch up to them, how do you intend to stop them?”

  “I’ll shout a warning, and order them to descend.”

  His brows winged up in skepticism.

  From her coat pockets, she carefully drew out the expensive dueling pistols she had brought along from the carriage. “These are deadly accurate, and I know how to use them.”

  “In that case, we may also want this.” Sadler marched over to a nearby cabinet and took out a short-barreled rifle. “And this.” He added a large pair of iron tongs to the sack containing bullets and gunpowder.

  “What’s that for?” asked Sophia.

  “Heating the lead to a red-hot glow over the fire before we load our weapons,” he answered grimly. “Le Chaze flies a Charlier balloon, which is filled with hydrogen—an extremely flammable gas.”

  Arianna had once witnessed a dockyard explosion. She forced herself not to recall the smells of singed canvas and charred flesh. “An excellent suggestion,” she answered coolly. “The traitors cannot be allowed to reach France.”

  “Then we had better start putting your nautical experience to the test, Lady Saybrook.” Sadler gestured at Sophia. “Your companion—”

  “Miss Kirtland,” supplied Arianna.

  “Miss Kirtland had better gather up some additional clothing for the flight.” His hand flicked to a line of pegs on the wall, from which hung an array of heavy leather garments. “Windham is not too much larger than you are. Help yourself to some of his flight gear—and be sure to take gauntlets and fur-lined helmets. It’s going to be bloody cold up there.”

  Without further ado, he maneuvered the cart holding the balloon’s gondola basket under the huge pulley. “We need to attach t
he top of the balloon to this heavy line,” he explained, lowering the hook with a few slow turns of a winch. “I’ll need you to spread the guidelines out while I ratchet the fabric up a few notches. That will allow the balloon to inflate when I stoke up the fire.”

  Arianna eyed the dimensions of the warehouse double doors as she hurried to perform her duties. “But surely it won’t fit through the opening?”

  “I’ll fill it just enough to keep the fabric and lines from getting into a hopeless tangle before taking it out to the launching field. Normally we do this whole procedure outdoors, but it takes a full crew of fliers, so I thought I had better improvise.”

  That the aeronaut was quick-thinking and flexible was a stroke of luck—Arianna imagined that they would be called upon to react with lightning speed in the coming hours.

  “Miss Kirtland, please fetch one of the horses from the stalls. We’ll need to move the cart in a matter of minutes.”

  Sadler started a fire in the metal stove and continued to bark out a series of orders, directing his new crew members on how to guide the balloon through the doors and peg out the ropes so the huge sack could begin to inflate to its full dimensions.

  Slowly, slowly, the undulating fabric began to take its proper shape.

  “Get the horse and cart inside, then hurry back,” called Stadler over the din of the flapping ropes and rattling metal. “The wind is rising! We need to cast off quickly!”

  Arianna helped Sophia into the wickerwork gondola basket, then made a rather inelegant entry as a sudden lurch sent her sprawling headfirst into the interior. Righting herself, she tugged at the lines, giving Stadler a hand in releasing the knots.

  With a last little shudder, the balloon shimmied sideways before steadying its sway and rising up, up, up toward the heavens.

  * * *

  “Someone is coming,” said Henning in a low whisper. He set down his cup and cocked an ear.

  A brush of wool, barely audible, on stone.

  The earl heard it too and pinched out the candles, leaving the room lit by only the banked coals in the hearth. Pressing a finger to lips, he signaled Cayley to take shelter in the small alcove behind the fireplace.

  Another sound, this one the faint scuff of leather. The intruder was at the top of the stairs.

  Henning had taken up a position beside the doorway, his back pressed against the rough wall. The earl was just creeping up to the other side of the half-open portal when a flash of fire and deafening blast erupted from the landing.

  A deadly hail of buckshot splintered the table and shattered the window glass. With the echo still reverberating against the stones, the intruder flung the door wide and let loose with a second volley that peltered the hearth with a rain of lead.

  Henning lashed a hard kick that knocked the double-barreled coach gun from the intruder’s hand. Snarling, the man spun away and whipped a pistol from his waistband.

  Sparks flashed; a plume of pale smoke shivered in the aftershock of the bang.

  The man dropped his arm and then fell face-first to the floor.

  “At this rate, my surgery will be filled with enough cadavers for dissection to last into the next decade,” Henning quipped, watching a dark stain spread between the corpse’s shoulder blades.

  “Be grateful one of them isn’t yours,” said the earl. Brushing grits of gunpowder from his fingers, he turned. “Sir George?”

  “All in one piece, Lord Saybrook.” The inventor peered around the corner. “This Renard fellow seems to have changed his mind about carrying me off to France.”

  The earl began to reload his pistol. “So it would seem.” He looked up at Henning. “Stoughton’s arrest must have spooked him into flight.”

  “Aye.” The surgeon made a face. “Taking with him the detailed plans of the flying machine.”

  “Can’t we stop him?” asked Cayley.

  “Not unless you can conjure up a flying carpet,” growled Saybrook. “There are countless coves along this coast, and countless smugglers willing to make a trip across the Channel, no questions asked. I would be willing to wager a fortune that the Fox is already sailing toward France.”

  * * *

  Steadying herself on the rail of the basket, Arianna felt her pulse quicken as she gazed out at the scene unfurling beneath her feet. The views were absolutely breathtaking. Off in the distance London rose in spiky splendor, glimmers of gaslight winking amid the pale stone spires and towers. She could just make out Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral and the silvery, snaking water of the river Thames.

  “Oh, I can see the appeal of this,” she murmured, lifting her face to the wind. The setting sun was painting the clouds in muted hues of orange-gold streaked with pinks and purple. “It is wondrous.”

  The sense of silence was otherworldly—

  “Kindly take a step back from the rail, Lady Saybrook. You are throwing the balance off,” called Sadler. Moving with an unconscious grace, he circled the centered burner, carefully adjusting the position of the ballast bags within the rigging.

  “Please explain what you are doing,” said Arianna, “so I can help you.”

  “The basket must be kept at an even trim to fly properly. Allow a tilt and a gust of wind might tip it over and send us plummeting to our death.” He indicated a maze of cording attached to cleats, spaced at various intervals around the basket. “We must constantly adjust the sandbags that serve as ballast. This changes the altitude and lets us catch currents or avoid turbulence. The key is to gauge the winds properly. A downdraft can cause a crash.”

  She sucked in a lungful of air. “I will do my best to follow your orders, sir.”

  He patted at the series of valves on the burner. “We also adjust the flow of hot air to control our rise and fall.”

  Sophia was already on her knees, stoking the flames with chunks of fuel, as she had been shown.

  “I may have to be a little brusque,” he warned both of them. “Here in the heavens, one can’t afford to stand on ceremony—not when there’s naught but swirling air beneath your feet, ha, ha, ha.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” echoed Arianna, brushing a wildly dancing hank of hair from her cheek. “You warned us that we were not here as pleasure passengers.” Another gust buffeted her face. “Hmmph, you were right,” she said, plucking an errant curl from her mouth. “It is a little chilly up here.”

  “And it’s going to get a great deal colder,” replied Sadler. “But don’t worry. You two will keep plenty warm with all the shoveling required to keep us aloft.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said dryly, squatting down to exchange places with Sophia. “It’s my turn to feed the fire.”

  “Thank you.” Rising slowly, so as not to rock the gondola, Sophia blotted the sweat from her brow. “I, too, have some questions. How do you judge your altitude and direction? I have been looking around for a compass.”

  “It’s here,” answered Sadler, tapping at a binnacled instrument fastened to a block beneath the lip of the railing. “One tends to bump into things when the winds get a little rough. As for altitude . . .” He produced a beautifully crafted barometer from a padded leather case strapped to one of the gondola’s struts. “This precision instrument measures atmospheric pressure and thus serves as an altimeter.” His fingers drew a fond caress along the length of glass. “It was a gift from the great Dr. Samuel Johnson, who bequeathed it to me after hearing how I lost all my scientific implements in an early balloon crash.”

  “Let us hope it helps us avoid a similar fate,” quipped Sophia, looking a little uneasy. Though at home on the back of a galloping horse, she seemed far less comfortable with the constant rocking motion of the gondola.

  “I always fly with it, and consider it a good luck talisman,” said Sadler. He made a quick reading, then put it back in its holder. “Besides, I am very
good at what I do.”

  “So I have heard,” said Arianna. “I’m told that no one has ever duplicated your feat of relaunching a balloon from the sea.”

  “The conditions happened to be just right,” he said modestly.

  Sophia cast a scientist’s critical gaze over the rigging and the canopy overhead. “I would imagine there is a limit to the weight we can carry in relation to the size of the balloon.”

  “Indeed, there is.” A twinkle lit in Sadler’s eye. “I daresay you are both too young to remember the first ascent of a female in a balloon. It happened in ’eighty-five.”

  “I vaguely recall my governess telling me about it,” answered Sophia. “Her name was Mrs. Sage, was it not? She was . . . an actress?”

  “Indeed,” said Sadler. “And she put on quite a performance. The great Lunardi had a flair for showmanship and he had decided that a female aeronaut would bring out crowds for the planned ascent. So he and a wealthy young man by the name of George Biggin invited Mrs. Sage to be part of the group.” He paused to look up and check the set of the rigging. “However, the actress had fibbed about her weight and the balloon couldn’t lift off.”

  Sophia stifled a laugh. “Honestly, he should have known better than to ask any female to be truthful about her weight or her age.”

  A grin twitched at his mouth. “Ever the gentleman, Lunardi jumped out and allowed Biggin and Mrs. Sage to fly off. However, he omitted to lace up the door. The actress realized the danger and had to scrabble about on the floor to fix the matter”—his grin grew more pronounced—“which set off a great deal of speculation on whether the couple had engaged in, shall we say, amorous activities while in the air.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t drink any more of Señora Delgado’s rich chocolate drinks,” said Arianna, once her chuckling had died down. “Else you might have had to leave me behind.”

  “They are quite marvelous,” said Sadler. “As are her confections. I am a baker by trade, and her creations are most unusual. I would never have guessed that chocolate could be eaten in solid form.”