Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  He spun the mug in a slow circle between his palms. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because,” answered Arianna, “in the end, I have to live with myself.”

  Her answer seemed to unnerve him. His fingers slid down to the table as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  However, he quickly masked the momentary lapse with a cynical grimace. “Don’t we all?” he said, after uncrossing his legs and rising. A very Wolff-like quip, delivered with his usual theatrical flourish.

  And yet it rang a little hollow.

  “Before you go, I have a few questions of my own,” she said. “Who was the man with Ballencourt and von Regenhilde last night?”

  “You mean Monsieur Piersault? He's a manufacturer of textiles from Avignon and is on his way to Italy to visit some mills that produce silk thread. However, curiosity compelled him to pay a visit to Elba in order to see the Great Man.” Wolff made a face. “Or so he claims. To me, he has the suspicious odor of untruth wafting about his person. But perhaps that's because one reprobate rascal can always scent another.”

  The Frenchman's lies were indeed pungent. She wondered whether Piersault was one of the international merchants who was holding Wolff's cods over the fire.

  When she made no reply, Wolff turned to take his leave, only find Jelena blocking his path. She looked tired and tense, the dark shadows under her eyes accentuating the wariness in her gaze.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” asked Arianna.

  “I—I didn’t sleep well,” replied the baroness.

  “Sit and take some sustenance,” she murmured, edging the basket of fresh-baked rolls toward the vacant chair beside her. “The coffee and bread are quite good.”

  “Yes, eat, drink and be merry,” quipped Wolff, “for this evening His Lordship is determined to rake us over the coals.”

  Jelena paled.

  “Eat,” urged Arianna, darting a warning look at her old friend. “The count’s sense of humor doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

  Releasing a heavy sigh, the baroness slumped into the preferred seat and accepted a roll. “W-What does your husband expect of us?”

  Wolff placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. “Information,” he whispered. “And sooner rather than later, else we’ll suffer the consequences.”

  Jelena flinched.

  “Stop trying to terrify her,” chided Arianna. “We’re all aware that time is of the essence.”

  “I—I am trying, Lady Saybrook,” said the baroness.

  “Apparently we must try harder,” murmured Wolff. “Which is why I had better take myself off to one of the harborside taverns and see what gossip is stirring.”

  Jelena fixed him with a look of loathing as he sauntered away. “He will be the death of us.”

  “Never mind him—his bark is worse than his bite.” Arianna wasn't sure she believed that but wanted to bolster the baroness's resolve. “Just concentrate on your own role.”

  The advice was met with a sullen silence.

  “You appear to have rekindled your friendship with the emperor’s sister. She, of all people, will be privy to his plans.”

  “I know my duty, Lady Saybrook,” replied Jelena, not looking up from picking at a thread on her cuff.

  Yes, but will you do it?

  Arianna wished she knew what hold the enemy had on her. The answer seemed to hinge on Johannes, whoever he might be—

  “I’m invited to spend the afternoon at the palace with Pauline, so God willing, I’ll learn something,” continued the baroness. The prospect of the meeting only seemed to make her more agitated. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go back to my room and lie down.”

  Once alone, Arianna took up a bread roll but found herself too distracted to do more than crumble it between her fingers.

  For all his skill at subterfuge and intrigue, Grentham was not infallible. He did, on occasion, make mistakes—as she knew all too well. Whatever his logic for choosing Wolff and Lady Plessy-Moritz to be part of the mission, it was looking more and more flawed.

  Much as she hated to admit it, she feared they were doomed to failure.

  * * *

  “Lady Saybrook!”

  Arianna looked back over her shoulder at the figure racing up the steps two at a time.

  “Ah—I thought that was you.”

  “Lieutenant Merriweather,” she acknowledged as he caught up with her. “Or rather, Captain Merriweather.”

  “For now” His smile thinned to a grim line. “So, you have heard the ghastly news.”

  “Yes. How very shocking!” Arianna didn’t have to feign a shudder. The image of Holden’s corpse was still fresh in her mind’s eye. “Do you have any idea who did it? Or why?”

  Merriweather shook his head. “The authorities hold out little hope of finding the murderer. Gibraltar is a crossroads of commerce, and the scent of money attracts predators. Holden was in a less savory part of town—God only knows why—and if there were any witnesses to the crime, they aren’t likely to come forward.”

  Arianna wondered how much he suspected about his late captain’s activities. Loyalty could make one blind.

  “One can’t help but wonder if he had become entangled in something havey-cavey,” she murmured.

  Their gazes met and held for a moment before he looked away to the harbor below, where Basilisk was berthed at one of the quays. “There will, I'm sure, be an official Admiralty inquiry into the events around our voyage. I imagine they will have a great many questions for me.”

  His sigh was quickly swallowed in the breeze. “Forgive me if I can say nothing more on the matter than that.”

  “But of course,” replied Arianna. A glance upward at terraced stairs showed she was only halfway to the palace, and she didn’t wish to be late for her rendezvous with Napoleon.

  Merriweather didn’t miss the look. “I don’t wish to keep you, milady. I’m heading back to Colonel Campbell’s headquarters to discuss logistics for my return to London with his dispatches, so if you are headed in the same direction, perhaps you would allow me to accompany you.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He offered his arm. “I must say, I’m relieved to find you safe and well. I was quite concerned to discover on the morning after Captain Holden’s murder that you and the others were nowhere to be found.”

  Assuming a look of innocent surprise, she quickly replied with a lie. “Didn’t you get the note we dispatched to the ship?”

  Merriweather shook his head.

  “My husband and I had encountered Captain Hamilton at one of the harborside taverns that afternoon, and when he heard of the expected delays in sailing, he kindly offered all of us passage on his ship. It was leaving that evening, so we sent a note to Basilisk informing Holden of our plans, and asking that our luggage be brought along to Elba when the repairs were done.” A pause. “Perhaps it went astray.”

  “Ah, that explains the confusion.” A polite smile touched his lips, but at the same instant, Arianna saw a flash of unexpected heat in his eyes. “As I said, I'm very happy to find you unharmed, given all the recent unsettling occurrences . . .”

  They reached one of the terraced landings and crossed to the next set of stairs before he added, “Is it my imagination, or is there an air of tension gripping the island? Colonel Campbell seems on edge, and already I've heard rumors around the docks that the emperor has grown tired of exile.”

  Arianna took a moment to choose her words carefully. “Yes, there seem to be rumors, but I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you on any of the details. My husband and I prefer to stay well away from any political intrigue. He saw enough of the horrors of war in the Peninsula to have a contempt for those who seek to stir mayhem and bloodshed in their lust for power.”

  “Admirable sentiments,” said Merriweather. “But the fact is, the temptation of power has been a primal force in mankind since . . . well, I suppose since Adam and Eve.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “We
seemed doomed always to want more than we have.”

  “That’s a very cynical view of the world, Captain.”

  “I suppose it is,” he agreed. “My livelihood depends on war, Lady Saybrook. Peace means I’ll soon be put ashore on half-pay and reduced in rank back to lieutenant.” He sighed. “With no prospect for action and a chance to shape the future well-being of my country.”

  “You’re a bright and clever man, sir. I’m sure you’ll prosper and be a force for good at whatever endeavor you choose.”

  Merriweather acknowledged the compliment with a graceful nod. “I shall take heart from your kind words, milady. I do have some thoughts on the future . . .”

  He guided her through yet another upward turn of the stairs, which brought them to the courtyard of Colonel Campbell's headquarters. “But at present, I still have my duties to perform, so regretfully I must take my leave here. However, I trust that our paths will cross at the emperor's evening soirees.” A look of amusement flitted over his face. “I've been told his inner circle of friend and followers here in Elba is so small and so desperate for fresh faces that even a lowly junior officer like me will be welcomed.”

  “Saybrook and I will be happy to have a friend and ally join us,” replied Arianna.

  His brows rose. “Just a moment ago you mentioned your intention of staying far from the political battlefields. And yet here you are speaking in terms of war.”

  “My husband and I prefer to be idealistic. But if a spark should ignite an explosion of gunpowder, one must be prepared to be pragmatic.”

  “A wise philosophy.” Merriweather tipped his cocked hat. “Until later, milady.”

  * * *

  “You’ve come.” Napoleon rose from his gilded rosewood chair—or was it meant to be a throne—and smoothed a hand over his receding hair.

  Arianna dropped a curtsey. “But of course, Your Majesty.”

  “I feared you might have forgotten your promise.” His lashes lowered. “It seems so many do these days.”

  A note of resignation softened the edge of his pique. She could almost feel sorry for him—the most powerful man in Europe reduced to a mere shadow of his former self . . . if not for the countless lives lost in the relentless quest to rise to such grandeur.

  Let his humbling be a lesson to others with such hubris.

  “Be assured, sir, I take my word to heart.” Arianna held up her reticule. “I’ve brought my Theobroma cacao and spices. If you will show me to your kitchen, it would be my honor to make some confections for you.”

  Napoleon gestured for her to follow, and led the way through the dimly-lit central corridor to the back of the palace. They passed through a set of doors and descended several stairs. Another turn brought them to a large room dominated by a massive stove and center worktable.

  “Leave us,” he intoned, giving an imperious wave at the cook and servants. “At once.”

  They quickly put aside their utensils and fled.

  Arianna moved to the stove and moved the kettle onto the heat. “Please have a seat, sir. I’ll make you a pot of chocolate before starting on the confections.”

  The emperor perched himself on one of the stools at the worktable and propped his elbows on the scarred wood.

  As the water heated, she gathered several knives, along with a stone pestle and fine-toothed grater, and carried them to the table. Sugar, butter, cream . . . She picked up one of the lanterns.

  “I need to fetch a few items the pantries. I shall be back in a moment, Your Majesty.”

  Arianna quickly found what she needed, but lingered to have a look around. It was always useful to know of all the ways to gain access into a building. There would likely be a tradesmen entrance built into the kitchen area, or access from the scullery to where laundry would be hung up to dry . . .

  Sure enough, she found a chamber filled with wash tubs next to the root pantry. The flickering candlelight showed an iron-banded door set into the far wall. The small barred window beside it showed that it opened onto one of the lower terraces.

  Satisfied, she returned to the kitchen and set to work.

  Napoleon watched with interest as Arianna began to grind the spices and chop the nuts she had brought with her.

  “How is it a highborn lady has an expertise in the kitchen?”

  She sensed that answering with a degree of honesty would work to her advantage. “After my mother passed away, my father and I spent some time in the West Indies. It was a difficult period in his life—he had made some mistakes in England and was paying the price for them. And so, in order to survive, I learned to improvise.”

  “You remained loyal to him, despite the troubles?”

  The kettle began to whistle. Taking up the oilskin wrapping containing her cacao paste, she took down the chocolate pot and molinillo from the shelf by the stove and set to work.

  “When you love someone, loyalty is not a matter of choice. It comes from the heart, Your Majesty,” she answered. “At least it does for me.”

  His eyes clouded, the shimmering blue hue tuning to a dull grey. “My wife and son were supposed to join me here.” He made a face. “She claims that political complications delay her departure.”

  The Empress Marie-Louise—now merely Duchess of Parma since Napoleon’s abdication—was the daughter of Emperor Francis II of Austria. The match had been a canny political move. Napoleon, in need of an heir, had divorced his first wife, Empress Josephine, and allied himself with the powerful Hapsburgs, one of the leading royal families of Europe, a decision which was also designed to give legitimacy to a Corsican upstart having seizing the French throne.

  “Politics rarely allow for personal emotions, Your Majesty.” Arianna handed him a cup of the hot frothed chocolate.

  Napoleon took a meditative sip. “Josephine was from the West Indies. She loved chocolate.”

  And roses, thought Arianna. The gardens at Malmaison were famous for their magnificent flowers.

  “She told me the ancient Aztecs believed it was a powerful aphrodisiac—and a powerful love potion.” His expression turned pensive. “There are times I regret . . .” The words trailed off in a soft sigh.

  Arianna found a mixing bowl and began creating a chocolate confection spiced with cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg. “The Aztec also believed that chocolate enhanced the strength and endurance of his warriors. Wafers of cacao were issued to them as sustenance for long marches.”

  “A substance good for love and war? Ha, no wonder I’m very fond of it.” The emperor made a wry face. “Would that my army had had those wafers on the retreat from Russia.”

  She put all the ingredients into a saucepan and set it on the stove, constantly stirring as the mixture began to heat. The scent of melted sugar and cacao rose up to perfume the air.

  The emperor inhaled a deep breath.

  Arianna quickly removed the chocolate concoction from the heat. After letting it cool for several moments, she carried it back to the worktable and began to shape it into pastilles on a flat metal pastry sheet. “There are a great many fascinating facts about chocolate. My husband's grandmother also compiled a fascinating compendium on its lore and legends . . .”

  They fell into a lengthy conversion ranging from history to Saybrook’s scientific studies, which in particular seemed to greatly intrigue Napoleon.

  “Have you an interest in botany, Your Majesty?” asked Arianna, once she had explained the earl’s interest in Theobroma cacao.

  “I find a great many subjects fascinating,” replied Napoleon. He paused for a moment, seemingly distracted by the sweet chocolate aroma of wafting out from the oven. “I’ve not studied botany in great detail, but certain ideas intrigue me. For example, experts in the field, such as your husband, are constantly crossing flowers to see if desirable traits will arise in future generations. It makes me wonder if there are scientific principles that govern how plants—or perhaps even men and women—inherit certain characteristics from their forbearers.”

  Ar
ianna was taken by surprise by the thought. Although botanists and farmers had long observed the passing of characteristics from generation to generation among plants and animals, the suggestion that there might be actual scientific rules governing how traits were passed along among humans was revolutionary thinking. But before she could comment, he was already on to another subject.

  “As I said, I am no expert in botany,” continued Napoleon. “However I’m accorded to have some skill in mathematics.”

  “I, too, find mathematics interesting.” She repressed a smile, as here she was on far more familiar ground. Indeed, the subject was one in which she had yet to meet her match.

  Knowing he had started his military career as an artillery officer, Arianna was curious to see how well the emperor could keep up with her computational skills. She thought for a moment, then quickly recited a complex equation for calculating the trajectory for different weights of cannonballs. “And so to finish, we simply need to square the number 47—”

  “Yes, yes,” replied Napoleon. “Which is approximately 2,200.” A fraction of a pause. “Actually, it's 2,209.”

  Arianna sought to race through the multiplication.

  “Fifty times 50 equals 2,500,” he murmured, a tiny twitch pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Minus 100 times the difference between 50 and 47, or minus 300, which gave me the approximation of 2200. I then squared the difference of 3—”

  “That’s absolutely correct, Your Majesty,” she said. “I would note, however—”

  “That your calculation would be more accurate if we squared the number 47.5 instead of 47,” interjected Napoleon. “Which would be 2256.” His eyes twinkled with sly amusement, as if he knew he had just been put to the test. “Or more precisely, 2256.25.” Another pause. “N’est pas?”

  His response left her a little shaken. Arianna knew she possessed a rare gift for numbers, and yet she had found herself struggling to keep up with his logic.

  “Y-You are not merely skilled, Your Majesty. It appears you are, in fact, a brilliant mathematician.”