“I, too, share my husband’s interest in botany,” replied Arianna after a lengthy exchange on the rare species of herbs that grew on Elba. “Especially his passion for Theobroma cacao.”
“Chocolate,” said the emperor with a gusty sigh of longing. “I do miss the creations of Marie-Antoine Carême.”
She was well aware of his fondness for sweets, and how the great French chef had indulged Napoleon’s passion for them. “Carême is said to be a genius with confections. Didn’t he create a special chocolate dish to celebrate one of your great military victories, sir?”
“Yes, the Battle of Austerlitz.” A dreamy expression flitted over Napoleon’s face. “Almonds and pralines, enrobed in a velvety cloak of sweetened chocolate.”
The emperor was not the only one who could maneuver with lightning quickness to take advantage of an enemy’s weakness.
“I, too, dabble in creating chocolate confections,” she murmured.
His full lips pinched in surprise. Highborn ladies did not sully their hands in the kitchen. “You cook, Lady Saybrook?”
“An odd hobby,” she agreed. “Most ladies are expected to express their creativity by dabbling in watercolors or playing the pianoforte. However I find great pleasure in the art of cuisine.”
The tiny muscles in his throat constricted in a quick swallow.
“Indeed, I purchased some intriguing spices in the markets of Gibraltar, as well as a selection of criolla cacao beans.” Arianna paused. “I don’t suppose . . . no, no—what a silly thought. I mustn’t bore Your Majesty.”
“Do go on, madame,” he urged. “Be assured that any thought you have regarding chocolate could never be a source of ennui to me.”
“Well, if you are sure . . .” She flashed a coy smile. “I was going to suggest that perhaps I could come pay you a visit one afternoon and prepare some chocolate delicacies for you.”
“I should like that very much. Let us set a time for tomorrow,” said Napoleon.
Arianna deliberately hesitated. “I’m not sure what plans my husband has made . . .”
A spasm of disappointment pulled at his mouth.
“But I daresay the command of an emperor would take precedence over that of an earl,” she added. “N’est pas?”
Napoleon laughed. “Then consider yourself ordered to appear in the kitchens of the Mulini Palace when the church bells strike three chimes in the afternoon.”
“It will be a great pleasure, Your Majesty,” she murmured. In her experience, sweets could be an even more effective way of seducing secrets out of men than sex. “In the meantime, I shall think about how to create some unexpected surprises for you.”
* * *
“You appeared to have Napoleon eating out of your hand,” said Saybrook, once they had found a quiet spot in the gardens behind the palace.
“He’s hungry for fresh faces and news from the outside world,” replied Arianna. “Is it any wonder that he chafes at being confined to this tiny island with the Continent and all possibilities for scheming so tantalizingly close?”
He muttered something in Spanish under his breath.
“So yes, the skills I honed as Chef Alphonse are once again proving useful,” finished Arianna. She had first met Saybrook while disguised as a male chef and working for a London aristocrat who was friends with the men who had murdered her father. And last year, at the Congress of Vienna, she had used her culinary talents to infiltrate Talleyrand’s residence . . .
“Try not to waltz along the edge of a carving knife this time,” muttered the earl, her comments stirring the same memories. Granted, she had cut it close. But chocolate had given her the opportunity to unravel a cunning conspiracy.
Would that it did the same in this situation.
“The risks are not as great, Sandro—”
“Don’t underestimate Napoleon,” he warned. “He possesses a razor-sharp intellect. And like you, he seems to have a sixth sense for trouble.”
“I'll be careful,” she promised. “I'm aware of the fact that if Wolff is to be believed—and in this case, I think he's telling the truth—the men behind the emperor's escape plan are ruthless, and will stop at nothing to see Napoleon back on the French throne.”
“A pox on the rulers gathered in Vienna,” growled the earl. “As I’ve said countless times before, only a bloody Bedlamite would have failed to see that this arrangement was a powderkeg, just waiting for the right spark to set off a hellfire explosion.”
“They allowed themselves to be blinded by petty self-interest,” said Arianna. “Leaving it for people like Grentham and us to try to contain the damage as best we can.”
“I didn't think I would ever say this, but at times like the present, I'm tempted to feel a twinge of sympathy for the minister and all the dung he has to bury in a deep, dark hole so the stench of it doesn't poison the country.” Saybrook took a quick look at his pocketwatch. “We need to leave shortly in order to be on time for our rendezvous.”
“Another piece on the chess board, although whether for white or black remains to be seen,” she mused. “Speaking of which, I noticed Hamilton was at the soiree. Did you have a chance to observe with whom he spoke?”
“Campbell took him on the requisite round of social formalities with the other international observers. Though I did note that he had a brief conversation with Standish.”
Arianna repressed a shiver of foreboding. Her intimacy with the American captain had never touched her heart, and yet it had given her the ability to read all the little subtleties of his moods.
He was lying about this being merely a courtesy visit. Saybrook had counseled her not to jump to conclusions about the mysterious French passenger, but she was sure that some dark mischief was afoot. She had seen it tonight in the tautness of his shoulders, the rigid set of his features, the constant darting of his eyes around the room as he performed the routine rituals.
“I can’t help but feel that he’s up to his neck in this intrigue.”
The earl gave a cynical shrug. “The cast of characters in this drama will likely keep growing, but all we can do is play our part and guard against being pushed from the stage.”
The breeze ruffled the bushes, and through the swaying leaves Arianna could see the shimmer of moonlight on the sea. “And pray that we can seize the pen from the Devil’s own playwright and scribble a happy ending.”
A soft click greeted her whisper as Saybrook put away his watch. “Come, it’s time for us to be off. Let us pass back through the ballroom, so we don’t attract any undo attention by simply disappearing.”
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the glittering lights from the chandelier. The colored silks rippled, the faces blurred . . .
“We mustn’t dally,” he murmured, urging her forward. Arianna turned slightly to squeeze through the crowd and caught sight of Wolff in conversation with three other men. Her focus was sharpening . . .
She had met two of them earlier in the evening. Ballencourt, a dandy with elegant manners and eyes like ice, had been introduced as a Parisian purveyor of fine wines, while von Regenhilde, a portly gentleman sporting a chestful of ornate medals, was an Austrian diplomat.
Arianna couldn’t help thinking of the famous bon mot made by Napoleon when he created the Legion d’Honneur—Men are led by Toys.
As for the third man . . . a nudge from Saybrook forced her to quicken her steps. Still, the fleeting glance was enough. She had a good eye for people, and from the shape of his shoulders and angle of his head, she recognized him as the mysterious Frenchman from Hamilton’s ship. Wolff would have to answer a few questions in the morning—
“Move,” whispered the earl and then looked around to take his leave from Campbell. Another few strides and they were through the archway. From there, he led her down one of the side corridors which led to a set of doors that opened onto a terraced garden.
Following the footpath, they made their way around the perimeter of the palace and headed for the stairs
leading down to town. Just as the way cut past several of the outbuildings, the earl caught her arm and drew her deeper into the shadow of the yew hedge.
She heard a rustling up ahead, and saw a ripple of movement—two dark silhouettes creeping stealthily across an open swath of lawn.
Jelena and a man . . . Arianna couldn’t make out his features.
They paused in the lee of a large marble statue and appeared to be exchanging words. Heated ones, by the look of it. The baroness was shaking her head . . . the man grabbed her wrist . . .
Damnation. If only the murmurs of the night weren’t so loud.
A moment later, Jelena pulled free and hurried away toward the palace entrance. The man didn’t follow. He waited a few moments and then took the path that led along the cliffside and up to the fortress.
Saybrook allowed ample time for him to be out of earshot before signaling for them to proceed.
It wasn’t until they were approaching the rendezvous spot that the earl ventured to speak. “Stay behind me and keep alert for any movement to our rear,” he cautioned. “I had a look around during the afternoon. If it’s a trap, there’s a door on the right that gives access to the road leading out of town. I’ve unlocked it.”
She nodded and drew a pocket pistol from her reticule.
The heavy wooden gate gave a rusty groan as he pushed it open and slipped into the gloom. They were in an arched passageway cut into the massive city wall. Saybrook took half a dozen paces and came to a halt.
The echo of their steps died against the stone, leaving a heavy silence quivering in the air.
A figure materialized from the darkness ahead. She heard the metallic slide of a lantern shutter and a light came to life, illuminating the Spanish officer. He angled the beam to indicate a deeply recessed alcove cut into the passageway.
“The guards are always playing cards in the gatehouse at this hour,” he whispered, once they had joined him. “Still, I dare not linger long.” After darting a nervous glance over his shoulder, he went on, “Did Eduardo send you a letter, Lord Saybrook?”
“No, I received nothing from him,” answered Saybrook.
The weak light caught the Spaniard’s frown. “Dio Madre, I feared as much.” He reached into his pocket. “He asked me to send you a missive he had written, but was adamant that I mustn’t trust it to the military dispatch bag in our headquarters. I took it to general shipping office by the harbor. But a fortnight ago, when conducting a routine examination of documents with General Bertrand, Napoleon’s top aide, I found this among a sheaf of papers on the desk while he stepped out to fetch some other files.”
He passed over a folded paper with the seal cracked.
“It’s the same one I mailed. I recognized the smudge of ink at right-hand corner.”
The earl opened it.
“There's something sinister going on here,” went on the Spaniard. “The Emperor . . . I—I don't know whom to trust . . .” He blew out a sigh. “But Eduardo often spoke of you, and how much he admired you as a man of deep principle, so—
“Where is he?” demanded Saybrook.
“I don’t know,” replied the Spaniard. “He disappeared shortly after giving me the letter.”
“Do you think he’s involved in the plan to put Napoleon back on the throne?”
The Spaniard hesitated. “I . . . I would find it hard to believe. But I can’t say for sure.”
“What does the letter say?” asked Arianna.
Saybrook looked up. “He’s very careful with his wording. But he used a phrase from our youth—a code we used when adults were present to indicate that there were things that couldn’t be spoken of.”
“Alas, that seems to be a sword that cuts both ways,” she said. “It could mean he’s sorry to disappoint you, or—”
“Or don’t believe that he would betray his word,” finished the earl. “So yes, his actions are still a mystery.”
“I thought perhaps he had found another way to communicate with you, ventured the Spaniard. “But if you didn’t hear from him . . . why are you here?”
“Never mind that now,” muttered Saybrook.
“When?” asked Arianna abruptly. Perhaps that would offer a clue. “When is the emperor planning to bolt?”
“I dare not ask questions,” answered the Spaniard. “I can’t say for sure.”
“What about ships—they’ll need transport to France,” she pressed.
“There’s been no unusual activity,” conceded the Spaniard.
“Do you suspect Campbell is part of the conspiracy?” asked the earl.
“I would say no.” The Spaniard grimaced. “But I’m not sure I trust my own judgment anymore. I was hoping you might know more.”
Saybrook shook his head. “I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
Arianna agreed with the untruth. Until they knew more, it was wise not to trust anyone.
“Perhaps—” continued the earl, but a noise from somewhere near the gatehouse cut off his thought.
“Go! I dare not be spotted conversing with you,” whispered the Spaniard. “Tomorrow is my appointed day to ride out and check the emperor’s country residence at San Martino, to make sure all is in order. I’ll be there an hour or two after noon—if you can arrange for a horse and meet me there, we’ll have an opportunity to talk unobserved.”
“I shall be there,” assured the earl.
“Muy bien.” He edged back a step. “Godspeed, milord.”
“And you . . .”
“Castillo,” said the Spaniard before extinguishing his light and hurrying away.
Shadows and subterfuge. Twists and turns. Arianna fought to keep her skirts from tangling in her legs as she struggled to pace with Saybrook, who seemed intent on leaving the area as quickly as possible. Her lungs felt on fire, and yet she dared not stop. They were now in a race against the clock.
And time seemed to be siding with their enemies.
Chapter 21
“Have you heard the news?” Wolff hurried over to the table where they were having breakfast and signaled to serving girl to bring him a pot of coffee. “Basilisk arrived here just before dawn. It's berthed at the quay in the inner harbor and . . .” He drew a quick breath. “Holden was murdered in Gibraltar, apparently on the night we left. Merriweather has been appointed acting captain and is on his way to meet with Colonel Campbell.”
“You seem exceedingly well-informed for this hour in the morning,” murmured Saybrook after buttering a piece of bread.
“I’ve paid several of the scrawny little street urchins to bring me word of what’s happening in town,” replied Wolff. “It’s so much easier than exerting myself.” He took a seat. “Why is it you don’t seem surprised?”
“I have my own sources,” said the earl.
Wolff looked about to reply, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he turned to Arianna and raised a brow. “Where did you two go after leaving the Emperor’s soiree?”
“We took a stroll in the moonlight,” she replied.
“How romantic. The stars, the sound of the sea . . .”
In no mood to play cat-and-mouse games, Arianna cut him off. “You say Merriweather has assumed command of Basilisk?”
“So it would seem,” he replied. “I caught sight of him haring up the stairs with the dispatch bags, and he’s wasted no time in sewing the epaulet of a master and commander to his uniform coat.”
“I’m surprised he was able to convince the authorities in Gibraltar to repair the ship so quickly and allow him to depart,” mused Saybrook.
“I imagine his aristocratic connections had some influence. And that fact that the dispatches to Elba are considered a very high priority,” answered Wolff. “But no need to speculate, as I'm sure he'll be stopping here when he's done with Campbell. This place serves the best food in Portoferraio, and naval men never miss an opportunity to eat well.”
“Unfortunately, I shall miss him.” The earl pushed back his plate. “I’ve arranged to
begin my scientific survey.”
Wolff raised a brow. “Where?”
“Along the stretch of cliff between Capo Bianco and Acquaviva,” replied Saybrook without hesitation.
Which was a lie, knew Arianna. He was headed in the opposite direction.
“Running off to peruse plants?” drawled Wolff. “I thought you were all afire to learn the truth of what’s brought us all into this nest of vipers.”
“I am. That’s why I expect you and the baroness to spend the day pressing your contacts for the specifics of travel plans. Do plan on being here tonight with a full report.”
The earl’s request drew a sarcastic laugh. “Why should we bother? There’s no time to send word back to London.”
“There are,” said Saybrook, “other alternatives.”
“And just what might those be?” Wolff curled a humorless smile. “Send word to the lazy, corrupt King of France? Or dispatch an appeal to the pompous prigs in Vienna?”
The earl continued to regard him with an unblinking stare.
“Ye God.” Wolff’s expression slowly pinched to a look of disbelief. “You’re bloody mad. Surely you don’t think you can stop—”
A warning hiss from Arianna silenced him.
“I must be going.” Saybrook rose as several local merchants settled themselves at a table by the hearth. “Enjoy your day, my dear.” To Wolff, he added, “I'll see you this evening for supper, Count. Be so good as to ask the baroness to join us.” He allowed a tiny pause. “And be assured I expect to hear more than clever quips.”
Arianna kept an eye on Wolff as the earl left the room. “My husband is a dangerous man to cross.”
His gaze slid away to the shadows.
“As am I.”
“You may be dangerous, Anna, but you and your husband have a moral compass,” he murmured. “While the same can’t be said for certain other players sailing in these sordid waters.”
“Nonetheless, at some point you’ll have to choose whose side you’re on.”
Wolff took a long swallow of his coffee and then set the mug down on the table. “That’s the difference between us—you’ve always seen the world in terms of clear-cut decisions. Good and evil. Right and wrong . . .”
Smoke & Lies Page 18