Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  He thought for a moment. “That he is just a man, like any other. I suppose what sets him apart is that he saw a chance to seize his destiny and took it.”

  Bertrand gave a dismissive sniff, clearly finding the remark impertinent. But Arianna found it an interesting answer. Most young officers would have been awed by meeting the most famous man in the world.

  “A very pragmatic observation, Captain Merriweather.”

  He smiled. “Naval life teaches one to be coolly dispassionate about the realities one faces. Illusion isn’t conducive to survival.”

  Before she could reply, Colonel Campbell, looking a little harried, entered the ballroom and quickly came over to join them.

  “Lord and Lady Saybrook, I’m glad to find you here,” he said. “I must leave the island for a few days to confer with the British Consul in Livorno. I’ll be sailing on Partridge later tonight.”

  “This seems rather sudden,” said Saybrook. “Is something amiss.?”

  Campbell darted a glance at Merriweather. “No, no, it's simply a pressing political matter that requires my attention. Captain Merriweather delivered the dispatch bag from London to me this afternoon. There was a missive from Lord Grentham, who oversees security arrangements here. I must discuss it with the consul, as I have to determine whether it's necessary to send on some observations to Wellington in Vienna.”

  A dispatch from Grentham? Arianna stiffened. Wolff had made no mention of that.

  “I expect to be back in several days. If there’s anything you require in my absence, I’m sure Major Standish would be happy to be of service. Now, if you will excuse me . . .” Shuffling his feet in impatience, he turned to Bertrand. “Sir, let us go find de Chaboulon and the emperor.”

  “Baron de Chaboulon left the island earlier today,” replied the general.

  “He’s gone?” Campbell’s expression darkened. “Bloody hell, you know the rules—why wasn’t I informed?”

  “But you were, sir.” Bertrand regarded him with an unblinking stare. “I penned the note myself.” A pause. “Perhaps your adjutant misplaced it.”

  Campbell dismissed the words with an angry wave. “Never mind that now. Take me to the emperor.”

  “What is your opinion, Lord Saybrook? Is Napoleon really going to try to reclaim his throne?” asked Merriweather once they were alone.

  “I prefer not to speculate,” said Saybrook. He took Arianna’s arm. “My dear, I just recalled a question I wished to ask of Wolff.”

  The captain inclined a polite bow. “Then please don’t let me keep you.”

  * * *

  “No,” answered Wolff flatly. “Of course there was no letter from Grentham in the dispatch bag. The minister would never send any sensitive information through such channels. Unless, of course, it was a ploy.”

  Arianna didn't think he was lying, and yet there was something worrisome about the tiny twitch at the right corner of his mouth. In the past, it had sometimes indicated he wasn't telling all that he knew.

  As Saybrook continued his questioning, she saw Jelena move away from the French officer and slip out to the back gardens. Giving him a discreet nudge to signal her intentions, she cut through the crowd and hurried to join her.

  The baroness was standing with her back to the ballroom, her palms braced on the railing of the low wall.

  “An interlude of peace and quiet is welcome after all the polite platitudes, is it not, Lady Plessy-Moritz?” she murmured as her steps whispered over the tiles.

  Jelena turned from staring out to sea, a glimmer of torchlight momentarily illuminating the look of anguish in her eyes. Her face hardened, and in a blink, it was gone.

  “Indeed it is,” came the cold reply. “Which is why I came out here—to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m afraid I do mind,” answered Arianna. “We need to talk. I saw you this afternoon with a child—”

  “H-How dare you spy on me!” A spasm of fury crossed Jelena’s face, and then one of fear. “Leave me alone. You and your husband have no hold on me.”

  “The mission—” she began.

  “Be damned with the mission and Grentham.” Her voice was shaking. “It was doomed from the start. I’m sick of all the manipulations. I—I intend to look out for myself.”

  Arianna tried again. “It's dangerous to try to do that on your own. Let us help you.”

  The baroness gave a bitter laugh. “Help me? And just how do you intend to do that?”

  “To begin with, you need to trust us with your secret—”

  “Oh, yes, the word ‘trust’ tumbles so easily from the tongue. Just as easily as a knife slides into the heart.”

  She touched Jelena's arm. “You must believe me.”

  The baroness recoiled as if struck by a snake. “I believe no one.” Her gaze then jerked away at the sound of the french doors clicking open.

  “Ah, Monsieur Dalembert!” She fled in a swoosh of silk. “Come, walk with me along the cliffside path. The sea looks so lovely in the moonlight.”

  Uttering an inward oath, Arianna watched them strolled away. Circles spinning within circles. Frustration began coiling in her belly, turning tighter and tighter. Tearing her eyes from the arm-in-arm silhouettes, she made her way around the side terrace, needing a moment to compose her thoughts before re-entering the palace.

  Turning the corner, she found herself shrouded in darkness. There were no torches lit, and the buzz from the ballroom was lost in the leafy rufflings of the potted palms. She lifted her cheeks to the cool breeze, savoring the sense of solitude—

  And froze at the sound of steps moving lightly over the adjoining swath of grass.

  Arianna quickly took shelter within the shadows of the clustered trees. What perverse spell had hold of the island? Every which way she turned, intrigue seemed to on the prowl.

  Through the sword-shaped fronds, she saw Hamilton come to a halt. A moment later, a man materialized from the gloom and came to join him.

  Piersault.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Hamilton without preamble. “We’re going to have to improvise yet again. Have you heard any more from France?”

  “Not yet,” replied Piersault. “I expected word by now. But our operatives have to move carefully so as not to stir suspicion.”

  Hamilton swore again. “I was talking earlier with Standish, and he said—”

  “Shhhh. Not here.” His companion darted a look around. “Let us go back to the ship,” he added. “I’ve managed to get some papers from the British observer’s headquarters.”

  “This skulking around sticks in my craw,” said Hamilton. “When do we spring into action?”

  “Patience, Captain. The time will soon come.”

  To the devil with patience, thought Arianna as she, too, retreated into the gloom. Hugging close to the stucco wall, she hurried to the side portico and let herself inside.

  The mood in the ballroom was growing more jovial. The emperor was apparently feeling generous tonight, for the wine was flowing freely.

  Saybrook was conversing with one of Campbell’s adjutants. Shooting the fellow a smile of apology, she drew the earl aside and quickly explained what she had heard as she led him outside.

  “What are you suggesting?” he asked, once she had finished.

  Arianna fingered the bulge in her reticule. “I trust you came armed.” At his confirming nod, she added, “Then I say we confront them and demand some answers.”

  “And shoot them if they refuse?” he asked dryly.

  “Don’t tempt me,” she retorted, and then expelled a harried sigh. “No, but I think we have cause to hold them hostage and send a cutter to catch Campbell’s ship and have him turn around. Let him take Hamilton and Piersault to Italy for interrogation. The powers in Vienna would raise no objection. He would be within his rights to claim concern that America was meddling in British interests.”

  “Hmmph.” The earl pursed his lips in thought. “A fair point.”

  “We must d
ecide, and quickly,” urged Arianna. “Yes, it’s bold . . . but not impulsive. And the only way we have a hope of scuttling their plans is to make a daring move that they don’t expect.”

  Saybrook hesitated for a heartbeat, then drew his pistol.

  “Fortes fortuna juvat,” he murmured. “There is an old saying—Fortune favors the bold.”

  * * *

  The stairs seemed to go on forever. Biting back her impatience, Arianna made herself concentrate on moving stealthily over the weathered stone. Still, the occasional skittering of a pebble seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. Up ahead, Saybrook slowed for the next turn and suddenly halted.

  She crept up to join him and saw that Hamilton had paused halfway down the tier to light up a cheroot. He was alone . . .

  Which stirred a frisson of unease.

  But the earl had already started to move before she could hold him back. Shrugging off the sensation, she followed.

  “Captain Hamilton,” he called.

  Hamilton looked up through the pale plume of smoke. “Lord Saybrook.”

  His gaze came to rest on the moonlit steel of the pistol’s barrel, then shifted as Arianna stopped on the step behind the earl and raised her own weapon.

  “I take it,” drawled Hamilton, “this isn’t a social call.”

  “No.” Saybrook thumbed back the hammer. “We’ve had enough of poisonous politeness. We have some questions, and expect to get more than bald-faced lies.”

  “Put down your weapons. I’m willing to give you some answers, but I’d prefer not to have a pair of barking irons shoved up my nostrils.”

  “Forgive me if I’m loath to do as you ask,” replied the earl.

  Hamilton dropped his the cheroot and ground out the glowing tip beneath his boot. “Please, milord. Let’s not make this unpleasant.”

  The earl raised his pistol a notch. “Start talking, Captain, or accept the consequences.”

  “Don’t trifle with us, Hamilton,” warned Arianna, coming down to stand shoulder to shoulder with Saybrook. “We’re deadly serious.”

  He blew out a mournful sigh. “Suit yourself.”

  In that instant, she realized her mistake and spun around—a fraction too late.

  Piersault had sneaked up behind them. His shove sent her stumbling into Hamilton’s arms. She lashed a kick to the captain’s shins and twisted free, just in time to see the earl crumple to the ground as the butt of Piersault’s pistol hit against his head.

  “You filthy swine!” she cried, as Hamilton seized her wrist in a vise-like grip. Fury was blazing through her blood as she struggled to break his hold and aim her weapon. But her strength was no match for his.

  Up came her knee, but he managed to dodge the blow aimed at his groin.

  “Anna!” His hold tightened.

  Arianna swung her fist blindly and felt it connect with his jaw.

  “Swine!” she cried again and tried to pull away, only to feel the pistol knocked from her grasp. “Swine!”

  Hamilton's hands were now around her throat. She clawed at his face, but the pressure was increasing.

  “I’m sorry, Anna.” His voice sounded very far away.

  Did he really hate her that much?

  Her limbs were growing heavy . . . the darkness was suffocating.

  She felt herself slipping away.

  Chapter 23

  A blade of lamplight pieced through her skull as she struggled to sit up. Wincing, Arianna squeezed her eyes shut and tried to choke down the taste of bile in her throat.

  “Here, sip this.” She felt a glass placed between her palms. “It will make you feel better.”

  “You should have done away with me when you had the chance,” she rasped, steeling her spine. “Because I swear, I’ll murder you, Patrick Hamilton. With my bare hands if necessary.”

  “It won’t be.”

  Her lids flew open. Saybrook was sitting on the end of the bunk. His coat was off, his cravat loosened, and a tumbler of brandy was cradled in his hands.

  “I would have preferred to avoid that bloody crack on the head, but I concede that the captain’s rationale for his actions holds water.”

  “I tempered my swing, and you have a very hard skull, milord,” came a voice from behind her. It was no longer altered by a French accent. “You should have no lasting damage.”

  Arianna sat up straight and twisted around. “You!” she exclaimed. “I knew your voice was familiar when I heard it on the ship.”

  The man—she knew him only as Grentham’s ‘dogsbody’—moved around to the chart table and poured himself a drink. He had changed the color of his hair and grown a luxuriant mustache, which is why she hadn’t recognized him the other evening. “When did you hear me? I thought I had been exceedingly careful to avoid your presence during the voyage here.”

  “You were. But early one morning, I wanted to be alone and found a secluded spot on the foredeck just before you and the captain chose that part of the ship for a private conversation,” she explained. “Your French accent is flawless. Otherwise, I would have figured it out right away.”

  “A pity—it would have saved a grievous assault on my person,” quipped the earl. “Be that as it may, might I ask how you are acquainted with Mr. Pierson, my dear?”

  “He works with Lord Grentham,” she replied. “A fact I came to know during the matter involving Aunt Constantina.”

  Saybrook’s brows notched up, but he merely nodded, rather than ask further questions.

  “Though it seems your talents were not to put full use in that particular role, Mr. Pierson,” added Arianna. “I have a feeling you’re not usually employed as a lowly dogsbody.”

  He acknowledged the words with a faint smile. “Lord Grentham apparently felt unwilling to entrust you to one of his less-experienced operatives.”

  Hamilton let out a low snort. “A wise man.”

  She speared him with a sharp look. “Have a care, Hamilton. I’m not sure I’m as forgiving as my husband. Wherever did you learn that filthy choking hold you used on me?”

  “My government has occasionally required me to undertake clandestine missions, and certain methods, however filthy, are sometimes needed.” He shifted his stance. “I regret having employed one of them on you.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” she replied. “Don’t try it again.”

  He rubbed at the deep scratches on his jaw and made a face. “I devoutly hope it won’t be necessary.”

  “Which begs the question of why the two of you felt compelled to render us unconscious and abduct us,” shot back Arianna.

  It was Pierson who answered. “We needed to talk, and you didn't appear willing to listen to reason. We couldn't afford to have a disturbance draw unwanted attention. The enemy must not know that we have any connection to each other.”

  She conceded the point with a curt nod.

  “Speaking of Grentham,” cut in Saybrook. “I’d like an explanation of what the devil is going on here. This seems a diabolically tangled web of intrigue, even for such a spider as the minister.”

  “He is no more happy about the mess than you are, milord,” answered Pierson. “His hands were tied by all the political maneuvering in Vienna, allowing him extremely limited options on how to deal with the situation here in Elba. Complicating the matter was his suspicions that several traitors were working within the Admiralty and Foreign Office.”

  “He’s right about that,” said Saybrook. He named the guilty party in the Foreign Office. “And I think it almost certain that Major Standish is involved here on the island.”

  Pierson’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all that?”

  The earl explained about Wolff and the dispatch bag.

  “I’ll send word to the minister immediately.”

  Arianna wondered how, but there were more pressing questions to ask. “It can’t be mere coincidence that we’ve crossed paths. But I can’t comprehend how Grentham orchestrated it—or, to be truthful, why.”
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  Pierson took a seat at the chart table and crossed his legs. “His hands may be tied, but his fingers are adept at maneuvering despite such bonds. In this case, he's been acting on the adage that there is more than one way to skin a cat. You and your husband, the baroness and Mr. Wolff—you all were asked to do a different mission, each of which had the same goal.”

  “Which was to learn whether the rumors about Napoleon’s plan was true,” said Saybrook, “and find out the exact timing.”

  “Correct.”

  “And why are you here?” interjected Arianna. “To make sure we all perform our roles as Grentham wishes?”

  The corners of Pierson’s mouth twitched. “Let’s just say that all of you have personal concerns that might cloud your judgment as to the main objective. It was imperative to avoid that, so yes, once things became a trifle clearer, it was deemed wise for me to meet up with Mr. Hamilton and come here.”

  “How?” asked a Saybrook. “There’s been precious little time to put such intricate plans in motion.”

  “I was already in Tenerife to learn more about a consortium of wealthy international merchants who were suspected of funding a plan to restore Napoleon to the throne. Whatever the emperor’s ambitions, he would need money—

  “Wolff has confirmed that such a group is behind this,” interjected Saybrook.

  “That supports my information.”

  “But Captain Hamilton—” began Arianna.

  “My government has also been concerned for some time over the prospect of the Emperor’s return,” explained Hamilton, “and how that might trigger a new war throughout the Continent.”

  “I would have thought America might welcome hostilities,” said Arianna. “You’ve no love for Britain.”

  “In this case, we are allies. War has hurt our trade. Peace will bring greater prosperity to us as well as Europe.”

  She chuffed a sardonic sigh. “I suppose it’s no surprise that all these Machiavellian machinations always come down to money.”

  “It is, as your friend Wolff has pointed out, the root of all evil,” murmured Saybrook