Sweet Revenge

by Andrea Penrose

  “Dashwood called this the Robing Room,” said Gavin. His voice was calm and complacent, as if he were giving a tour of Westminster Cathedral. “He had an Italian artist, Giuseppe Borgnis, help with the design.”

  So, she was at Medmenham, and the ruins aboveground were the old Cistercian abbey. She had guessed as much.

  “The original club members would don their costumes here,” he continued.

  “Do you and your depraved friends follow suit?” asked Arianna, not bothering to disguise the contempt in her voice.

  “Oh, we are not nearly as primitive these days,” replied Gavin. “As you saw, we prefer a more comfortable setting for our debaucheries.”

  “May you all rot in hell,” she whispered.

  “Tut, tut, Lady Arianna,” chided Cockburn. He turned, and a glint of gold shone from his waistcoat. “No need to be nasty. I am hoping we can all behave like civilized individuals.”

  Her impulse was to spit in his face. However, Arianna held herself in check. “Civilized?” she repeated. “Pray, how do you define the word, Lord Cockburn?”

  He smiled. “Ah, so you remember me.”

  “We shall explain everything shortly,” said Gavin curtly, before she could answer. “Come, let us keep moving.”

  They rounded a huge pillar, and after a short way emerged into a soaring circular chamber with several alcoves cut into the rock.

  “This is the Banqueting Hall.” Gavin smoothly resumed his explanations, and for the first time released his grip on her arm to point up at the ceiling. “See that hook? It is said that the Rosicrucian lamp from the first Hellfire Club meeting in the George and Vulture once hung there.”

  As if I give a fig for the sordid history of your satanic brethren.

  A glance showed that Cockburn was watching her intently. “I fear you are boring Lady Arianna,” he murmured.

  “Yes, you are,” she replied bluntly. “The Hellfire Club members seem to think their celebration of sexual perversion and mockery of morality is a mark of superior intellect.” It wasn’t very smart to bait one’s captors, but the truth was, she knew she was going to die, so what did it matter? Concord at least had paid for his sins. “I think it’s nothing more than infantile indulgence.”

  She heard Cockburn suck in his breath. And then let it out in a low laugh. “We think alike, Lady Arianna,” he said softly. “I am not a member.”

  “They indulge in naught but childish games,” agreed Gavin. He must have seen the skepticism on her face, for he went on to add, “It suited our purpose for me to join the Club, in order to keep a close eye on Concord, Kellton, and Lady Spencer. But while they played in the dark, so to speak, we turned their ignorance to our advantage.”

  For a brief moment, Arianna was overcome with confusion. Perhaps it was the residue of the narcotic, but she felt her dizziness return. The chalky walls seemed to press in and then recede.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked haltingly. It was only one of the many questions now whirling like dervishes inside her head.

  “Patience.” The marquess smiled. “You will soon be enlightened.”

  His easy assurance heightened her confusion. She considered herself skilled at judging people and their motivations. But nothing was making any sense.

  Gavin and Cockburn. She squeezed her eyes shut as their faces turned a bit fuzzy. Concord, Kellton, and Lady Spencer. The pieces of the puzzle no longer seemed to fit together as she and Saybrook had thought, yet try as she might, she could not discern a new pattern.

  “You seem a trifle faint, Lady Arianna. Would you care for a sip of brandy?”

  Her lids fluttered open in time for her to see Cockburn take a small silver flask from his pocket. “No,” she exclaimed, then hated herself for the half-hysterical squeak.

  “It’s untainted, I assure you.” He uncorked it and took a swallow.

  Arianna shook her head, unwilling to betray any further sign of weakness. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

  Fear. Yes, she was afraid. Not that she had much to live for. Except for the chocolate recipes, she thought wryly, and perhaps . . .

  Don’t be a fool—the earl would not mourn her passing.

  “This way.” Gavin appeared impatient to continue their journey into the depths of the caverns.

  The way sloped downward, and the rock beneath her bare toes turned damper. Shadows flickered wildly, and she was sure that she heard the echo of gurgling water somewhere deep in the darkness up ahead.

  It felt as if she were trapped in the belly of the Beast.

  “Watch your step—we are about to cross the Styx,” warned Gavin. Sure enough, the lantern beam swung down to illuminate a small subterranean stream, its eddying waters black as coal. “Do take care. The bridge is narrow.”

  They crossed in silence, the still air growing more oppressive with every passing moment. Arianna felt her breathing turn shallow, half expecting fumes of sulfur and brimstone to flare up and fill her lungs.

  “As you have seen, there are a number of catacombs down here,” remarked Gavin. “Where a number of wicked things have happened in the past. That is, if the rumors can be believed.”

  A blade of light cut through the gloom, showing the entrance to another chamber. “Please, no ghost stories, Philip. Lady Arianna will think we are trying to frighten her.” Cockburn came up beside her and took her hand. His touch was moist and cold, reminding her of a dead fish. “We are here, my dear. Let us sit down and make ourselves comfortable.”

  A wick flared to life, the fire-gold flame showing three straight-back chairs arranged around a small circular table in the center of the space. Several Turkey rugs lay scattered on the stone floor, but they did nothing to dispel the bone-deep chill.

  “Please, have a seat, Lady Arianna,” urged Cockburn with a courtly bow as Gavin circled the chamber, lighting the four oil lamps affixed to iron brackets on the wall.

  The scene had an air of utter unreality to it—like some demented, demonic dream run amuck. For an instant, Arianna was tempted to turn and run. But reason quickly reasserted control. The odds of escaping through the labyrinth of dark tunnels were too high to calculate.

  Might as well wait and see if Chance offered a better deal. Besides, she was curious. About a number of things.

  “Cozy, isn’t it?” said Gavin from within the spill of shadows.

  The marquess shifted the lamp on the table and arranged the sheaf of papers into several neat piles. A plate of arrowroot biscuits and a pitcher filled with a clear liquid and lemon slices sat to one side. “You must be hungry and thirsty after your ordeal. Won’t you refresh yourself before we begin?”

  The absurdity of his pleasantries made her head start to ache again. “I would rather dispense with the charade of civilized behavior, Lord Cockburn. You must have a reason for bringing me here. What is it?”

  He released a heavy sigh as he brushed a speck of chalk from his elegant claret-colored coat. “This does not have to be unpleasant, Lady Arianna.”

  And the Devil does not have to shrivel a man’s soul. It all comes down to choices.

  She clenched her jaw, refusing to reply with aught but a stony stare.

  Gavin fished a rolled length of chamois from his coat pocket and dropped it on the table. The muffled chink of metal sounded as it thudded against the wood. “I told you that she would not—”

  A sharp look from Cockburn warned him to silence. With a shrug, he retreated a step and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Forgive my colleague.” Cockburn sat and carefully pinched the pleats of his trousers into place, the very picture of gentlemanly refinement. “He forgets his manners at times.”

  Arianna quelled the urge to laugh at the absurdity.

  “How to begin . . .,” he said, fingering his smoothly shaven chin. “I knew your father quite well. A delightful man, and quite brilliant.” A rustle of wool. “Though not without his faults.”

  “I’m aware of my fat
her’s personality,” she replied. “Kindly get to the point.”

  “Very well.” A pause. “The point is you, Lady Arianna.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  The marquess folded his hands on the table. “We have a business proposition for you.”

  Business? The absurdity had now twisted into utter madness. “Wait—you still have not explained how you discovered my real identity.”

  Cockburn and Gavin exchanged a quick look.

  It was Gavin who answered, his tone nonchalant. “I met with your father when I was passing through Jamaica shortly before his unfortunate death. He pointed you out to me from afar.” A smile curled on his lips. “He was very proud of you, but very protective. He didn’t wish for you to be exposed to his old friends.”

  How very like Papa, to think of shutting the barn door when the horses had long ago galloped away.

  “So when I saw you in Lady Battell’s ballroom, I recognized you immediately,” continued Gavin. “And immediately thought that as a stroke of luck had brought us together, why not profit from it?”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” she replied.

  “Oh, come, there is no reason to play coy with us,” interjected Cockburn. “We worked with your father on a few deals in the past. Why not take his place, so to speak? We are putting together a business enterprise—a highly profitable one—that could make use of your talents.” He settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Mathematical geniuses are, as you undoubtedly know, scarce as hen’s teeth. We had a perfect man for the job. He did an impressive job on the preliminary papers. But alas, we recently learned that the ship bringing him from Denmark for the next round of work foundered in a Baltic storm.

  “It was distressing news, for you see, timing is critical. Our foreign partner is demanding a further sample of how the numbers can be made to yield fabulous profits before making a final commitment, and it so happens that we promised him a special formula for how to shave an extra profit from the sale of every share of stock,” continued Gavin. “The deal was in danger of falling through. Until I thought of you.”

  Her head began to swim. “You thought of me? From all that my father said, I—I always assumed that Concord, and his friend Hamilton, were behind all the business schemes.”

  “Concord and Hamilton?” Gavin gave a nasty laugh. “Neither had the brains nor the vision to be a real leader. Yes, they and your father did some deals together. But they were only small-scale swindles.”

  Arianna found herself longing for Saybrook’s calming presence. Her hands were beginning to tremble with uncontrolled emotion. Steady, steady.

  “So you see, my dear,” said Cockburn, “we’re offering you an extraordinary opportunity.”

  Clasping her fingers together in her lap, she squeezed out a terse reply. “I’m not interested.”

  “No?” Cockburn’s genial smile faded. “Pray, why not?”

  “Because I know what sort of deals my father was involved in, and I have no desire to repeat his mistakes in life.” I make enough of my own, she added silently.

  “We could make you a very rich lady,” said Gavin.

  “You are forgetting that I am already a rich widow.”

  “Are you?” he countered. “I don’t think so. But whatever game you are playing with the ton, be assured that ours will make you far more blunt.”

  She watched the patterns of shadow and light dance over the rough-hewn rock. “What makes you think that I have inherited my father’s knack for numbers?”

  “Because even before he left England, Richard used to wax poetic about how his little daughter was more of a genius than he was,” answered Cockburn.

  Her throat tightened, as if an unseen hand was gripping her flesh.

  “A wizard,” went on the marquess. “With a magical ability to make mathematics do her bidding.”

  Somehow she managed to keep her voice level. “If you knew my father as well as you claim, then you are aware that he often distorted the truth. He was, in a word, a liar. A charming one, to be sure, but a liar nonetheless.”

  Her words stirred a flicker of uncertainty in Cockburn’s eyes.

  Gavin, however, responded with a snarl. “It is you who are lying, Lady Arianna. Your family cook in Jamaica has regaled me with stories of you cleverness—”

  “Philip,” cautioned Cockburn.

  She was suddenly tired of all the deceptions, weary of all the lies. What did it matter? For once, she would simply be herself. “Regardless of whether I possess my father’s talents for mathematics, I will not use them to help you.”

  “Why, you haven’t even heard our offer,” said Cockburn.

  “It’s not the money, it’s the principle,” she said slowly, the statement surprising her as much as it did them. “What you are asking is . . . evil.”

  “Who do these financial manipulations really hurt?” asked Cockburn quickly.

  Good God, he sounded as if he actually believed his own drivel.

  “Yes, we will profit handsomely,” said the marquess. “But so will a lot of other people.”

  Her mouth curled in contempt. “Ask that question of Concord.”

  Gavin shifted his stance. “Concord made the fatal mistake of prying too deeply into our affairs. We had cut him into the business of distributing Devil’s Delight because of his connections with the gaming hells in London, but he was greedy. He suspected we had bigger plans, and issued an ultimatum earlier today.” He flicked his wrist, as if swatting at a fly. “In doing so, he became a liability and forced us to move more quickly than we would have liked.”

  “So we improvised,” interjected Cockburn. “An ability that is the key to any successful endeavor.”

  “Concord was stupid,” went on Gavin. “I had hoped that you would be smarter.”

  “What are you going to do? Stick a knife in my heart, too?”

  His expression might well have been carved out of the surrounding stone for all the emotion that it showed. “It would be foolish on your part to let it come to that.”

  “Two bodies in one night?” she said. “Even you might have difficulty explaining that away.”

  “Not at all,” he shot back. “Everyone saw you go off with Concord. I will simply claim that I saw you kill him and followed in pursuit as you fled the scene. That you put up a fight, forcing me to defend myself, won’t be questioned.”

  True.

  Her mouth went a little dry, but she managed to keep her voice level. “I won’t help you. And there is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise.”

  “Nothing?” With a low laugh, Gavin slowly unrolled the chamois, revealing a set of slim steel scalpels.

  In spite of her resolve, her heart kicked up and thudded against her ribs.

  “We shall see about that.”

  24

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  What a pity that between the dangers of war and the achings of my old bones, travel is such a daunting endeavor for me to contemplate these days. I should very much like to visit Paris, where I hear that a physician by the name of Sulpice Debauve, who served as pharmacist to King Louis XVI, has just opened a shop at 4 Faubourg Saint-Germain that sells edible chocolate! I must write to Sandro right away and tell him about this marvelous idea. . . .

  Mexican Turtle Chocolate Mink

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces, plus

  additional for greasing ramekins

  3 ounces bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped

  1 large egg, separated

  pinch of salt

  ⅛ teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1 tablespoon sugar

  4 tablespoons cajeta (Mexican caramel)

  4 tablespoons pecans, toasted and chopped

  1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Butter 2 oven-safe bowls or ramekins.

  2. Melt butter and chocolate in heavy saucepan over very low heat, stirring until smooth. Remove from h
eat and cool, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes. Whisk in egg yolk, salt, and ground cinnamon until combined. Beat egg white in a bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until it holds soft peaks. Gradually add sugar, and continue to beat until white just holds stiff, glossy peaks. Whisk one-fourth of white into chocolate mixture to lighten, then fold remaining white gently but thoroughly.

  3. Divide batter between bowls or ramekins. Cover each bowl with small squares of foil and crimp foil tightly around rim. Place a baking dish in oven and pour hot water (easiest with a teakettle) into dish. Carefully place ramekins into baking dish. Make sure foil is above water. Bake until puddings are set, about 30 minutes. The desserts will be slightly gooey to the touch.

  4. Transfer bowls to a rack and cool puddings, uncovered, about 1 hour. Just before serving, unmold puddings into serving bowls or onto a plate. First, unmold desserts by taking a knife and running it along the edge of the ramekin. Second, place ramekins into a bowl with hot water for about 15 seconds. Turn ramekin upside down and tap bottom. Top each pudding with 2 tablespoons of cajeta and 2 tablespoons of the pecans.

  Edging around the abandoned curricle, Saybrook peered through the wisps of fog. There was no sign of light, no stir of movement on the footpath up ahead. And beyond the dark archway, the hillside stood deathly still, the vague shapes of stone and foliage cloaked in a silvery shroud of vapor.

  “Davy?” he whispered.

  Leaves rustled as a figure emerged from the nearby bushes. “Here, sor.”

  “Good work with the lantern,” murmured the earl. “The beacon proved easy to spot from afar.”

  The sailor bobbed his head. “The gent took the lady up through them gardens. Another cove was waiting at the entrance te some sort of tunnel. I thought it best te come back here and wait te tell you, rather than follow them inside.”