It, too, was guarded by a stone fortress, noted Arianna.
The earl’s gaze was still on the battlements of Portoferraio. “The Falcone fortress is a formidable defensive structure and is well known in for having withstood a fierce siege in ’01. It’s no surprise that Napoleon, a master of military strategy, chose Il Mulini as his palace. The place is perfectly positioned—note how it sits in the protective shadow of the massive guns.”
The house and grounds, set high on the cliffside beside the fortress, had originally featured a windmill. However, the emperor had done extensive renovations, clearing away some of the outbuildings to create gardens, and combining the two main structures into one larger residence, complete with a ballroom.
“It’s also well guarded by the natural terrain,” observed Saybrook. The town meandered up a steeply sloped hill, its narrow streets threading like a spider’s web through the terraced tiers. The one direct route to the top was a large central stone stairway that zig-zagged up from the piazza in which they were standing. “A force of soldiers would find it virtually impossible to storm the heights.”
Arianna heard the thump of hammers and the rasp of saws echoing in one of the sidestreets. “The innkeeper said Napoleon's been busy making improvements to the entire island. Roads, fortifications, waterworks, agriculture, education . . . we all know he's a man of restless energy and grandiose vision. Indeed, there are those who call him the most competent ruler in history.” She paused for thought. “After all, he rewrote the entire French legal code, reformed the administrative system, enacted wide-ranging economic reforms, reorganized the educational system and improved the country's infrastructure—as well as encouraged innovations in agricultural production.”
An exasperated sigh. “How could the rulers of Europe have been foolish enough to think he would be satisfied with this small bit of earth and stone, so tantalizingly close to the vast continent he once ruled.”
“They were motivated by self-interest, not common sense,” replied Saybrook. “Factions formed, secret deals were made and remade until the all semblance of sanity gave way to petty greed and lust for power by the leaders of Europe.”
“And if what we fear is true,” she murmured, “they are in danger of paying a terrible price for their stupidity.”
“Yes, unless we can stop whatever madness may be in the works,” Saybrook’s expression turned grim. “And I suspect we haven’t much time.” He offered his arm. “So come, let us not waste another moment. We must try to discover the truth.”
They made their way up through the terraced tiers of well-tended houses and shops. The clatter of carts filled the streets as the townspeople went about their business, and in the main square a platoon of soldiers was marching through a series of parade ground drills.
The earl had learned the location of the military quarters where his cousin had resided from the innkeeper. It was a large building set on a quiet sidestreet just below the fortress. A group of officers was gathered in the front courtyard. Spotting a British uniform among all the gold-braided plumage, he angled their steps to bring them close, and then came to a halt.
“You see, my dear, I told you there was nothing to worry about,” said Saybrook, in a vacuous voice quite unlike his own. He had a knack for playacting, when he chose to use it—a skill acquired, no doubt, during his time fighting with the partisan forces in Spain. “With our country’s officers in command here, the rumor we’ve heard can be naught but silly flights of fancy!”
The officer—a major, noted Arianna—turned. “And what rumors would that be, sir?”
“That Boney is contemplated a return to his former glory,” replied the earl, and added a light laugh. “What nonsense, eh?”
“Nonsense, indeed,” agreed the officer.
Saybrook inclined a bow. “Allow me to offer my thanks for keeping the emperor confined to his current throne, Major . . .”
“Standish,” replied the officer with a click of his boot heels.
“I am Lord Saybrook—”
Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna saw one of the other soldiers—a young, dark-haired man in sky blue regimentals trimmed with azure facings—stiffen and surreptitiously shift his gaze to the earl.
“And this is my wife, the Countess of Saybrook. We have just arrived on the island.”
The major’s manner sharpened at the mention of their titles, and his next bow was a bit more pronounced. “A pleasure, milady,” he murmured. “And what brings you to Elba, milord?”
“Botany,” responded the earl.
“My husband is a man of science,” explained Arianna. “And a noted scholar in the plant life of the Mediterranean.”
“Elba has a number of rare species which are indigenous to the island,” explained Saybrook. “I’m looking forward to gathering a number of specimens for my collection.”
“I see,” said Standish with a tight smile. “We don’t receive many visits from scholars here.”
“Oh, well, as to that, I believe there actually is a fellow botanist among your contingent. I have corresponded with a Spanish fellow by the name of de la Vega . . . Eduardo de la Vega. I am hoping to meet with him and inquire about what areas of the island might yield the most interesting assortment.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, milord,” replied the major. “But Captain de la Vega is no longer stationed here.”
The man in blue, she noted, was still staring intently at the earl.
“No? What a pity.” Saybrook sighed. “Might you have an address for him at his new posting? I should like to contact him and inform him of my research here.”
“He’s been detached from the observational force under my command, sir.” With a twitch of impatience, Standish shifted his stance. “So alas, I can’t help you. I have no idea as to where his Spanish commanders have sent him.”
“We ought not keep the major from his duties,” murmured Arianna, not wishing to stir any suspicions.
“Yes, yes, quite right, my dear.” Saybrook took his leave and led them back to the street.
She waited until they had turned the corner and started up the stone stairs leading to the fortress before giving voice to what she had observed.
“One of the officers recognized your name—I’m sure of it. The slender, dark-haired fellow, wearing the sky blue tunic.”
“The Walloon Guards, a Spanish regiment,” mused the earl. “I suppose Eduardo might have mentioned me to a friend. He has, in fact, written several scientific papers on Mediterranean plant life, and I imagine he did some foraging for specimens here during his leisure time.”
“It was more than mere casual interest,” insisted Arianna. “Your presence seemed to unsettle him.”
“If he appears at the soiree tonight, perhaps you can try to learn why.”
“And if he doesn’t, I’ll think of an excuse to return to the headquarters and engage him in conversation.”
They had reached the top of the stairs, which opened onto a large stone terrace that overlooked the sea. A low parapet on the far side guarded against the steep drop from the cliff’s edge to the jagged rocks below.
The wind was gusting and the swirling currents tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, tangling them into knots. As Saybrook, brow furrowed in thought, shifted to take in the vista, Arianna turned her back to the white-capped sea.
Speak of the devil.
Head down, a dark cloak thrown over his regimentals, the Spanish officer suddenly cut through the opening in a hedge from one of the many footpaths crisscrossing the hill. He was making his way along the perimeter of the terrace toward the entrance of the fortress.
“Sandro,” she murmured. Moving with a loping soldier’s stride, the Spaniard was fast coming closer.
The earl looked around just as the officer brushed past them, his cape flapping in the wind. Along with the soft slap-slap of wool, Arianna felt a bump against her hand—and then the sudden press of paper on her gloved palm.
She fisted her f
ingers, careful not to react as the Spaniard hurried on his way without a backward glance. After taking several moments to smooth at her unruly skirts, she stepped over to the parapet and took a seat.
“A lovely view, is it not,” said Arianna, looking up at him with a smile as she made a quick check of the surroundings. They appeared to be unobserved, but it was best to err on caution. “Let us keep talking. Point out some sights, as if we are merely admiring the view.”
The earl understood and gestured at the fort across the harbor. “I take it he passed you something.”
“Yes. A note, which I’ve tucked into my glove.”
He was now pointing out the position of the batteries guarding the bay. “We should remain here a little longer, and then, just to be sure, we’ll take the more roundabout stairway back down to the inn.”
Patience, patience, she told herself, even though the paper felt as if it was burning a hole in her glove. Could it be that their luck was turning?
They passed a few more minutes acting out their charade before Saybrook allowed them to move on.
When finally they arrived back at the inn, Arianna took care to bolt the door—Wolff was lodged at the far end of the corridor, but she wasn’t taking any chances, knowing his lack of scruples—and silently signaled for the earl to join her in the bedchamber.
A whispery crackle sounded as she peeled the kidskin away from her palm. Without looking at it, she passed the paper to him.
“Hmmph.” Saybrook needed only a moment to read the contents.
“Which means?”
“See for yourself.”
There was only a single sentence scrawled in pencil . . . Meet me at midnight in the passageway next to the Water Gate.
Arianna expelled a harried sigh. “Ye God, yet another skein of skulduggery tangles in this cursed mystery.”
“So it would seem,” said Saybrook.
“What do you think it means?” Even as she said it, she realized what a foolish question it was. It felt as if they were sparring with specters.
As if echoing her thoughts, the earl replied, “Speculation seems pointless. We’ll simply have to wait and see.” Plucking the note from her fingers, he lit a candle and held it to the flame. Sparks flared and with a feathery hiss, the paper turned to ashes. “In the meantime, however, we have another encounter for which to prepare.”
Ah, yes. At last they were about to meet the little man who had watered his grandiose ambitions with the blood of four continents.
“L’Empereur,” she murmured.
“Yes, but . . .” A humorless smile twitch on his lips “Has the tiny throne of Elba begun to chafe against his imperial arse, making him itch to return to his former well-padded seat?”
Chapter 20
Twilight gilded the faded yellow stucco with a golden glow. Arianna regarded the Mulini Palace for a moment longer before lowering her gaze to the entrance. Two Grenadiers of the Grand Armee’s elite Old Guards—les Grognards—flanked the simple doorway, attired in their former glory. The tall bearskin shakos and gold-festooned uniforms had once struck fear into the hearts of all of Europe. But now . . .
The impression was one of grandeur, sadly diminished. And, she noted as she passed between them, a little frayed around the edges. The Treaty of Fountainbleu had permitted Napoleon to bring 700 soldiers with him to Elba. Colonel Campbell had turned a blind eye on the fact that he brought 1,200 of his most loyal followers.
Barely over a thousand, when once he had moved tens of thousands of troops around the chessboard of Europe.
Music from a string quartet was drifting out from the back of the so-called palace. A servant approached to take her cloak. Another beckoned for her and the earl to follow him into a dimly-lit corridor.
Strangely enough, Arianna experienced a sudden fluttering of butterflies inside her stomach. Since first arriving back in England, it felt as if her fate had been inextricably intertwined with that of Napoleon. Because of him, she had crossed paths with Saybrook . . . had battled intrigue aimed mortally wounding Britain . . . had witnessed the death of both friends and enemies . . .
As she thought of Henning’s nephew lying in a watery grave and Saybrook’s cousin caught in a web of conspiracy, her hands fisted in her skirts.
And all for this?
The earl touched her arm, and his reassuring warmth helped her muscles to unclench.
“Are you all right?” he said softly.
“Yes.” She drew a steadying breath. “I was just thinking of the awful absurdities of war.”
“However much we wish to think otherwise, mankind is not ruled by reason,” he answered. “At times, we are worse than the so-called savage beasts, who kill for survival, not for greed or glory.”
As the corridor ended, their guide stepped aside to allow them entrance to a large room lit by a crystal chandelier. Arianna paused for a moment to take in the crowd.
Highborn lords and ladies, lowborn local officials, soldiers, diplomats, sycophants, spies—no doubt each of them had an ulterior motive for being here.
She doubted love or loyalty was among them.
“Ah, welcome to the palace.” Wolff, who along with the baroness had come to the soiree earlier in the evening, detached himself from a group of gentlemen gathered around the refreshment table and came over to join them. Dropping his voice to a sardonic drawl, he added, “As you see, the aura of power, however chimerical, draws a flock of moths to its flame.”
Arianna spotted Jelena among a circle of fluttering jeweltone silks, in earnest conversation with several ladies.
“The infamous Pauline, Princess of Guastalla, is the one in burgundy,” said Wolff, following Arianna's gaze. Napoleon's sister, who was nominally married to the Italian nobleman, Camillo Borghese, was notorious for her many torrid love affairs.
His gaze then flicked to the string quartet. “The musical entertainment would be greatly improved if her lover, the violin sensation Niccolo Paganini, would pay a visit to the island.”
“To her credit,” pointed out Saybrook, “she’s been the most loyal of Napoleon’s siblings. She sold off most of her property and jewels to support her brother here. Without her generosity, he would be living like a pauper.”
Arianna frowned. “I thought the abdication agreement including a handsome stipend from the French king.”
“So it did,” agreed the earl. “But payment has been sporadic at best. That could be part of the reason he’s thinking of bolting. He’s facing financial ruin.”
The approach of Colonel Campbell caught short their private exchange. After a polite greeting to Arianna and Wolff, he added, “Lord Saybrook, if you’ll come with me, I’d like to introduce you to some of the other men who make up our international group of observers. Our Austrian member is acquainted with your uncle, Lord Mellon.”
As they moved away, Arianna turned her attention to the other guests, trying to spot . . .
“He’s at the far end of the room, by the doors leading out to the back gardens,” said Wolff. He took her arm. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”
There was, she saw, a knot of people gathered in the spot he had indicated. Light and shadows danced over the group as the flames of the overhead candles flickered in a breeze from the entrance hall. Several officers—maddeningly tall—had their backs to her, their gold braid and tasseled epaulets throwing off flashes of fire.
As they came closer, the air suddenly felt charged with a current of electricity. Unseen sparks seemed to be silently crackling against her bare arms, raising a prickling of gooseflesh.
“Excusé moi, excusé moi,” murmured Wolff as he edged his way up to the soldiers. They shifted, allowing an opening . . .
And there he was.
Napoleon was wearing the green uniform of the chasseurs of the Imperial Guards, with a Legion d’Honneur medal fastened to the top buttonhole. At Wolff’s greeting, he turned from conversing with a lady in red.
For an instant, Arianna found herself mesmerized by
his eyes. Large and deep-set beneath dark arched brows, they were an intriguing hue that hovered somewhere between smoky blue and gunmetal grey.
Changeable, quixotic.
“Your Majesty, allow me to present the Countess of Saybrook,” intoned Wolff, “who has come from England to pay her respects.”
The emperor held her gaze for another heartbeat. “Enchanté, madame,” he murmured, extending his hand. It was small, the fingers surprising delicate for a man renowned for war. His build was fine-boned as well, though a paunch was beginning to thicken his middle. As for his height, he was, as she had heard, rather short.
“I am a great admirer of the English people,” added Napoleon.
Despite all of our countless soldiers who lie moldering in the grave because of you?
Arianna forced a smile and allowed him to incline a bow over her gloved hand. “And England has a great respect for you, Your Majesty.” She couldn’t bring herself to utter a lie about the country having an affection for its greatest enemy.
“Kindred souls, les anglaise and moi,” he murmured. “I sense we have much in common.”
“Lady Saybrook’s husband is a man of science,” said Wolff. “He is looking forward to exploring the unique natural wonders of your kingdom.”
“Ah!” Napoleon’s eyes lit with interest. “I, too, have a great interest in science. Pray, what is his field of interest?”
The polite platitudes gave way to a long conversation on botany and geology. The emperor had been much engaged in making improvements to the agriculture and mining on the island, and his manner grew more animated as he warmed to the subject. She sensed the impatience of those around her, who were hoping for their own opportunity to curry favor with the great man. But now that she had his attention, she saw the chance to seize a tactical advantage.
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