The Cocoa Conspiracy

by Andrea Penrose

  “Yes,” replied the earl curtly.

  Returning his attention to her, Grentham speared Arianna with a nasty look. “You discovered these yesterday?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He pounced on her admission. “Then why didn’t you bring them to me right away?”

  Arianna assumed a pious expression. “My husband was shot, sir. He was feverish all night, and in no condition to discuss the matter. It was not my place to make any decision without his consent.”

  The minister’s face went through a series of odd little contortions. If it hadn’t been Grentham, she would have thought he was trying not to laugh.

  “Quite right, my dear.” Saybrook made no attempt to mask an insolent grin. “I’m sure His Lordship can find no fault with such proper wifely deference.”

  As the minister was fully aware of her utter disregard for the rules of Society, he couldn’t help but know the comment was meant as a taunt, a slap in the face.

  She slanted a silent warning at her husband. There was no point in goading Grentham to go for their throats. Not when he was already frothing at the mouth.

  Saybrook paid no heed to her glance. “It appears you still haven’t found your French traitor.”

  “Haven’t I?” retorted Grentham, a malicious gleam flashing to life in his eyes. “A confidential government paper from Mellon’s file, your wife observed in a clandestine meeting with a spy in the book shop—not to speak of her shady past.” His mouth curled up in a cold smile. “Yes, I can easily imagine the newspaper story, can’t you? Like father, like daughter—a lying, scheming cheat. Willing to betray all notions of honor for money.”

  Arianna held her breath.

  “A public trial could send her to the gallows for treason. As for your reputation, Lord Saybrook, and that of your charming young sister . . .” He shrugged, and then added in a lower voice, “Then there’s the case of the murdered man, with a number of witnesses who saw you with a knife. One could reasonably suspect that you were desperately trying to cover up your wife’s betrayal.”

  Saybrook’s response was a bark of laughter, though Arianna had noted a tiny flicker in his eyes at the mention of Antonia. “And what of your reputation, Grentham? A bumbling fool who can’t sniff treason when it’s right under his nose? By all means, make that public. We shall see who suffers most from the revelation that the dead man is one of Napoleon’s elite Grenadier Guards.”

  Grentham stiffened.

  “Ah, hadn’t your lackeys gotten around to discovering that?” said Saybrook. “It appears Henning was far more thorough in his examination of the body.” He too used a pause for dramatic effect. “Your experts will find it hard to deny that a serrated knife, and not my blade, cut the Frenchman’s throat.”

  The minister’s nostrils flared as he drew in soundless breath.

  The tall carved bookcases, lined with heavy leather-bound volumes, seemed to muffle any ambient noise. The silence was deafening.

  A draught finally caught the edge of the papers, stirring a tiny flutter. The whisper broke the tension.

  “I’m willing to be magnanimous,” said Grentham slowly.

  Saybrook made a rude sound.

  “I shall offer you a way to avoid scandal.” He stood and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from his trousers. “Go to the Peace Conference in Vienna and unmask this traitor—assuming he exists—once and for all. If you do, the personal transgressions of your family will remain our little secret.”

  “Vienna?” Surprise shaded the earl’s voice. He considered the suggestion for a moment and then shook his head. “Subject myself and my wife to the rigors of traveling through a war-ravaged continent, only to dance through a gilded maze of intrigue and skullduggery? I think not.”

  “You would rather destroy your family?” demanded Grentham harshly. “It would, you know, no matter whether you are innocent.”

  “You know the truth, and yet would let the real enemy go free in order to persecute me?” retorted Saybrook. “Sod you. Go public and be damned.” His mouth curled in contempt. “I wouldn’t have thought you would sink so low as to allow a purely private, petty grudge to take precedence over the good of the country, Grentham. But be that as it may, we shall see who suffers most.”

  The minister looked torn between the desire for revenge and the commitment to duty.

  Ah, I know how you feel, thought Arianna wryly.

  “You would dare to challenge me?” snarled Grentham.

  “We would both come away from a duel bloodied—but as to who would suffer a mortal wound . . . well, if I were you, I would not be so sure of your muscle. You have made a good many enemies who would be only too happy to see your entrails fed to the Tower ravens.”

  It was not just the glitter of malice that caught her eye. The flash of molten anger could not quite hide a glimmer of something else.

  “Enough!” she suddenly exclaimed. “The two of you sound like snotty-nosed schoolboys who think they can prove their manhood by scrabbling in the mud.”

  Saybrook and Grentham fell mute.

  “Go ahead and bloody each other’s noses if it will make you feel happy. But it’s clear to me what is going on.”

  Her husband drew his dark brows together.

  “Lord Grentham needs our help, but he is too proud to ask.” Locking eyes with the minister, Arianna moved to the table and set the book down next to the documents, forcing him to turn ever so slightly. “It sticks in his craw to admit that we are the only ones he can really trust to take on such a difficult endeavor. As you pointed out, Sandro, his department is likely harboring a very clever spy. I don’t think Mellon’s aide Kydd is the mastermind. He’s been recruited by someone else. The question is who. And the problem is, the minister cannot give an answer.”

  Grentham had gone white around the mouth during her speech. Now he looked at her with pure loathing.

  Oh, I’ve been given the evil eye by far more duplicitous bastards than you, milord. Summoning a careless shrug, she went on, “So, much as he hates it, his best chance of catching the culprit is by enlisting us to do his dirty work. Once again, I might add.”

  Saybrook nodded slowly. “As you see, Grentham, my wife is an uncanny judge of human nature. She sees things that others miss.”

  The minister answered obliquely, which in itself was an admission that she had hit on the truth. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if she can scry the future in a crystal ball. Will you go to Vienna?” he demanded curtly.

  Saybrook didn’t reply right away.

  Vienna. Common sense warned against doing another deal with the Devil. But on impulse, Arianna decided to throw caution to the wind. Not out of any love for Grentham. The truth was, she had always wanted to see the city’s fabled sights. As a little girl, she had spent hours curled in her father’s lap as he had regaled her with tales about Europe’s most romantic cities. Vienna—the crossroads of East and West. A melting pot of cultures, with rich history, exotic splendors . . . and sumptuous cuisine.

  “The Emperor of Austria is very interested in science, and is said to have one of the most magnificent collection of botanical books in the world,” she pointed out. “I am sure it would have some unique treasures concerning chocolate, given his country’s historic ties to Spain.”

  The earl’s scowl lessened a fraction.

  “And our desire to see the collection would provide a perfect cover for a trip to the city. It’s known throughout the ton that you are working on a book, and my interest in chocolate recipes is no secret either. We are considered odd. Unconventional and uninterested in the usual jockeying for power and privilege. So it will be easy to appear detached from all the political intrigue.” In the reflection of the leaded glass, she saw that both men were watching her intently. “And yet your title and pedigree will assure that we are invited to dance attendance on the parties surrounding the Conference. Which would allow us to pursue our own agenda—that of catching the traitor and stopping whatever murder is planned.�
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  Saybrook looked thoughtful. “An interesting suggestion.”

  The minister maintained a stony face, but a telltale pulse of flesh, just a hairsbreadth above his starched shirt point, betrayed his inner emotions.

  Yes or no. The final decision was up to Saybrook.

  “There is, of course, the question of the murder here.” The earl met Grentham’s gaze. “For which I am under suspicion.”

  “As you have pointed out, the evidence of the knife wound seems to indicate your innocence,” replied the minister tightly. “The inquest will no doubt return a verdict of assailant unknown.”

  “Very well,” announced Saybrook after a long moment. “Seeing as you are in danger of making a royal cock-up of this business, we’ll go and do your department’s work for you, Grentham.” His voice turned slightly mocking. “But let us not make a habit of it.”

  As the minister took a moment to square the documents, he speared Arianna with yet another daggered look.

  Arianna felt a quiver of outrage. Rather than mentally cutting up her vital organs, the ungrateful lout ought to be expressing his gratitude. “You might say thank you,” she muttered.

  Grentham ignored the sarcasm. “We have no time to waste in formulating a plan.”

  “Starting with the documents.” Saybrook folded his arms across his chest. “What do you suggest we do with them?”

  “Why, copy them and put the originals back in the book,” answered Grentham without hesitation. He was in command of himself, any hint of emotion banished by the intensity of crafting a trap for the enemy. She felt a twinge of unwilling admiration for a man who could so be single-minded in his purpose.

  Life as a hunter. But surely the chase must grow tiring at times.

  “Dare I hope that your wife managed to extract them without doing too much damage to the marbled papers?”

  Thrusting aside her musings, Arianna smiled sweetly. “I am very good with a knife.”

  “Excellent. Let us hope your skills with a glue pot are equally sharp.” He gestured at the cabinets built into the far wall. “I would imagine there are some bookbinding supplies here. Find what you need and smuggle the items back to your rooms—I need not remind you that secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

  “As you so kindly pointed out, sir, I am no stranger to scheming,” replied Arianna, any feelings of sympathy for the minister quickly dispelled by his insufferable arrogance. “It goes without saying that Davilenko must think he has outwitted us by getting his hands on the book.”

  “In this case, truth will serve our purpose well,” said Saybrook. “I shall make a show of displaying the gift that my wife chose to celebrate my birthday. It will be easy enough to leave it lying around in one of the parlors.”

  “You think he’ll take the bait?” asked Arianna.

  “He has no reason to think that we know anything about the hidden documents,” said Saybrook. “If I were him, I’d seize the opportunity to recover them. There’s a good chance he has not yet admitted his initial failure to his contact—conspirators are very unforgiving of any mistakes—so my guess is that the plot will proceed as planned.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Grentham brusquely. “For your sake.”

  “And for yours,” countered Saybrook. “If I were you, I would not forget about the murdered stranger. Does not the fact that a former French Grenadier took dead aim at me set off any alarm bells?”

  Grentham laughed softly. “Indeed, it’s quite alarming to learn that Imperial Guards are such terrible shots.”

  Arianna muttered something in Creole that wiped the smile off his face.

  “There are legions of half-starved former soldiers roaming the streets, both here and across the Channel,” added the minister. “And most are willing to commit violence for a handful of coins. Perhaps someone doesn’t like you.”

  “I can, of course, think of a few.” They stared at each other, and the space between them seemed to crackle with invisible sparks. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be satisfied with such a glib answer.”

  Arianna could no longer keep quiet. Gesturing at one of the study tables, where a sheaf of fresh paper and several sharpened pencils lay on the blotter, she said, “Shall I draw you a diagram, milord? An unknown French operative loose in your department, a Grognard assassin.” She sketched an imaginary line through the air. “Even a lackwit can see that they are likely connected. The question is, was the soldier aiming at my husband, or was he hired to shoot Rochemont. It would help our investigation immensely to know the answer to that question.”

  She paused, aware that her heart was drumming angrily against her ribs. All the talk had exacerbated her frustrations. She much preferred action to endless debate. “Surely your minions can manage to track down the truth while we occupy ourselves with the other conundrums. I am assuming that your resources are more extensive than ours—though quantity does not, of course, mean quality.”

  “Be advised that you rouse my wife’s ire at your own peril. As you know, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” Saybrook’s mouth twitched. “So, Grentham, are you going to pursue that lead?”

  “No,” answered the minister with a sneer. “As I said, I shall see that the coroner’s inquiry rules death by unknown assailant, so you need not fear for your own neck. As to how and why the Frenchman came to have his throat cut, I’m leaving it to you and your motley Scottish sawbones to figure it out.”

  “Your confidence in our abilities quite takes my breath away,” said the earl.

  The minister dismissed the comment with an impatient flick of his hand. “Your uncle must also be dealt with.”

  “What would you suggest?” asked Saybrook warily.

  “That you tell him nothing,” replied Grentham decisively. “Mellon must not betray any hint that Kydd is under suspicion. Keeping him in ignorance is the best way to assure he does not make a slip.”

  Saybrook gave a grudging a nod. “On that, at least, we are in agreement. He has no experience in subterfuge.”

  “As opposed to the two of you.” Grentham was clearly savoring the chance to reseize the offensive.

  “We shall have to come up with an excuse for leaving here early,” mused Arianna. “One that won’t rouse his suspicion that anything is wrong.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Saybrook. You must not rush off in a pelter,” replied the minister. “It’s imperative that Davilenko have no reason to be alarmed either. And don’t forget, your husband will have to appear at the inquest to give testimony on the circumstances of finding the body.” The flash of teeth was not meant as an encouraging smile. “You can accomplish nothing in Austria until Kydd and the English delegation arrive, so use your time here to be sociable—spread word that all the talk of Vienna has sparked an interest to see the Emperor’s library.”

  An astute suggestion, conceded Arianna.

  “Once in Vienna, you will, of course, need to draw on your full arsenal of sordid skills,” Grentham went on. “I suggest that you, Lord Saybrook, handle the mundane surveillance and the searching for evidence.” The scudding sunlight lit hot and cold flickers of silver in his gray eyes. “While you, Lady Saybrook would be best used . . .”

  Tapping a finger to chin, he pursed his lips. “Let me think . . . Ah, of course. You would be best in putting your God-given talents to work in seducing every last little intimate secret from Kydd. As I recall, you have no trouble making yourself comfortable among Chlorella vulgaris.”

  A warning growl rumbled deep in Saybrook’s throat.

  “Yes, I studied a bit of botany too—enough to know the Latin name for pond scum,” said Grentham nastily. Returning his attention to her, he continued. “Or perhaps your husband is afraid that your loyalties might not be as strong as they should be. After all, yours was a marriage of mere convenience—convenience for you, that is. As I see it, the earl has not profited by much, other than a warm body in his bed.” A pause. “Or do you not sleep together?”

  “Why not ask
your spies?” said Arianna coolly, willing her blood to keep from coming to a boil. “I am sure they have been crawling like rats along the roof slates and window ledges of our town house.”

  Grentham began gathering up the papers and carefully folding them along their original creases. “My informants need not go to great lengths to gather quite a bit of interesting information about your habits. Take, for example, the rather attractive woman that the earl meets with every Thursday afternoon for several hours.”

  Arianna blinked.

  “Oh, come, Grentham. If you are looking to dig up dirt on me, you had better tell your lackeys to use a shovel and not a teaspoon,” drawled Saybrook. “Do you really think you have shocked my wife?”

  No, it’s not a shock, thought Arianna. Merely a . . . surprise.

  In an instant, the minister’s spiteful sneer turned a little tenuous. But he covered it by taking up his dove-gray gloves from the table and slipping them over his well-tended hands. “I’ll leave you to put the bait back together. And be advised that I shall expect a full report once you’ve coaxed Davilenko to bite.”

  Arianna was tempted to cram the leather-bound volume down Grentham’s spiteful throat. With any luck, half of his perfect pearly teeth would be knocked to flinders.

  As the door fell shut on the minister’s parting words, Saybrook expelled a harried sigh.

  “Pompous prick,” growled Arianna through clenched teeth. Stalking to the storage cabinet, she began rummaging around for a glue pot and brushes.

  The earl remained silent for a long, awkward moment. “About what Grentham just said,” he began haltingly. “The lady in question is a botanist, a spinster who belongs to—”

  “For God’s sake, Sandro, you owe me no explanation of your life. Pray, do not make further mention of it.”

  “I . . .” He looked at her uncertainly.

  “It is of no concern,” said Arianna sharply. The sudden clench in her belly was not jealousy, she assured herself, but merely anger at Grentham for his malicious games. “Come, we have work to do.”