Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  “It’s too dangerous to attempt the fire diversion with just one person,” muttered Pierson.

  “I can assist my husband,” volunteered Arianna. “That would leave Hamilton free to man the skiff.”

  “If I were you,” murmured the earl, seeing Pierson was about to respond, “I would swallow any sarcastic retort about women being the weaker sex. Whatever unflattering things Grentham has said to you about my wife, I’m sure he’s also told you that she’s frighteningly capable when sparks erupt into flames.”

  “The logistics will work,” mused Hamilton. “My first mate is a very trustworthy fellow, so I can have him row a skiff to the cove tonight and leave it hidden there—without asking for any explanations as to why. After we’ve extracted the boy from his captors, I’ll have time to ride to the cliff while you are creating the diversion and take my place with the skiff.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to involve your crew,” pointed out Pierson.

  “Not in the main action,” replied Hamilton. “But for this . . .” He shrugged. “As Lady Saybrook says, given that Life’s beach is one amorphous mass of shifting grains, we all must decide for ourselves where to draw our moral line in the sand.”

  Arianna gave him a grateful smile.

  “Bloody hell, it appears I’m outnumbered by idealists,” muttered Pierson. “The trouble with idealism is it often gets you killed.”

  “Oh, come sir. So does pragmatism and cowardice,” she retorted. “I’d rather die for a good cause than for a bad one.”

  “Now that we’ve settled our philosophical differences,” said Saybrook dryly, “let us get down to strategizing exactly how we’re going to make all this work—for I know my wife intends for us to save the boy before we go off to stop Napoleon.” He moved to the chart table and took several sheets of blank paper and a pencil from the wooden writing case. “I’m assuming you have a plan in mind, my dear?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. If you’ll all gather around, I’ll explain . . .”

  Chapter 25

  The calm before the storm . . . Everything appeared peaceful the following afternoon, observed Arianna as she looked out over the harbor from her bedchamber window. Campbell's ship had left for Livorno to fetch him back to Elba, and yet for the moment, there was no sign of Napoleon's repainted ship.

  She turned and moved to the sitting room, where the view was of the fortress and the Mulini Palace on the crest of the hill. The emperor’s soldiers had been put to work landscaping a new swatch of gardens for the palace, so all was quiet in the town.

  So quiet, she mused, that one could almost hear the hissing fuse burning ever closer to the powderkeg.

  Saybrook had already left. She made herself return to the desk and resume copying out several recipes from her notebook of chocolate lore. An idea for a small addition to their plan had come to her during the night—her own roll of the dice, which offered the chance for a great reward with little risk.

  Scratch-scratch. “Let us see who Fortune favors,” murmured Arianna as her pen flew across the paper.

  Her writing done, she folded the sheets and tucked them into her reticule, then added her small pistol to the pocket of her cloak. After a slight hesitation, she tucked the second weapon that Saybrook had primed for her—this one barely bigger than the palm of her hand—into the sash of her gown. Once out in the corridor, she paused as she came to Wolff’s door, listening for any sounds from within.

  The silence was no surprise. She imagined he had already packed his belongings and was now hobnobbing with his friends, ready to embark on the journey to France.

  Au revoir. She stared at the age-dark wood for a heartbeat longer, then pushed both the man and the myriad old memories from her mind. The past was the past.

  As she came down the stairs of the inn, she found Wolff loitering at the entrance to the taproom.

  “I take it you’re in good spirits,” she murmured a little waspishly as she made to pass him. “Paris is said to be quite lovely in springtime.”

  He didn’t answer, but the fact that he didn’t smile told her more than he might have wished. “Everyone seems busy as little bees around here,” he observed. “It’s quite exhausting to watch. I find myself in need of some sustenance. Come sit with me while I partake of a chop and some ale.”

  “I can’t.” Let Wolff wrestle with his own demons. Arianna wasn’t feeling much in charity with him. “I’ve found some exotic chocolate recipes that I think the emperor might enjoy. The cook here has agreed to let me work in her kitchen during the lull before suppertime so I may prepare them.”

  He eyed her warily. “Why are you trying to sweeten him up?” His voice dropped a notch. “There’s no stopping what’s been set in motion.”

  “Perhaps I’m simply bored and am looking to keep myself amused.” However mean-spirited, she took a soupçon of pleasure in seeing a look of uncertainty pinch at the corners of his mouth.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I mustn’t be late.” Arianna could feel his gaze following her as she turned away and headed for the stairs leading down to the cook’s bailiwick. Repressing a twinge of guilt, she didn’t give him a backward look.

  Friend or enemy. In war, one couldn’t be both.

  An hour later, the fugue of stale smoke and roasting meat clinging to her sweat-sheened face, she had a package of well-wrapped chocolate confections tucked under her arm.

  To her irritation, Wolff was sitting by the taproom entrance, nursing a mug of ale. He rose on spotting her and without preamble drew a piece of paper from his pocket. “Haven’t you and your husband seen this?”

  “Yes,” she answered. Napoleon had just issued an edict prohibiting all boats in Elba from leaving the island. And since no word would be able to reach the outside world, he had also printed up an official announcement that he was leaving his little empire to return to France. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because,” he answered softly, “I think it would be wise for you and Saybrook—along with the baroness—to arrange to leave the island as soon as possible. The Italian port of Piombino is barely six miles away, and I’m sure your husband’s purse is weighty enough to convince one of the fishermen here to slip away despite the emperor’s order.”

  “Are you suggesting we’re in danger?”

  Wolff picked at a loose thread on his cuff. “I'm simply saying you've been a thorn in the arse for people who aren't very forgiving.”

  “How kind of you to be so concerned about our welfare.” Arianna quelled the urge to bloody her old friend’s beak. She knew his shortcomings and yet she couldn’t help feeling furious at his amoral slithering. “Forgive us if we don’t offer you a toast to all the bloodshed and mayhem about to be unleashed on the Continent.”

  Wolff’s gaze turned shuttered. “You’ve changed, Anna.”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I now understand the difference between good and evil.”

  “You can’t always see the world in black and white,” he murmured.

  “Nor can you always view it as naught but an amorphous haze of greys,” she retorted.

  Wolff shrugged. “I suppose that depends on which prism you choose to look through.” Lifting his mug in mock salute, he turned on his heel and retreated into the taproom.

  She took a moment to let her blood cool. Flight or fight. Did he really expect her to choose expediency? The chiming of nearby church bells cut short her brooding. After placing the square pasteboard box into one pocket of her cloak, she gave a last check to the pistol in the other. Jelena was waiting—it was time to put their part of the plan into action.

  * * *

  The afternoon was giving way to the first pink-tinged hints of twilight as Arianna made her way up to the stone terrace just below the palace. As the baroness turned, the slanting sunlight caught the telltale fine lines etched in her porcelain beauty.

  Life hadn’t been easy for her, imagined Arianna. It never was for women who dared to define their own destiny.

  We
must be hard—and often hard-hearted—in order to survive.

  And the journey was often a very lonely one.

  “I know we’re asking for you to make a leap of faith,” she murmured as she came close. “But we are your friends and we won’t let you down.”

  “Friendship.” A smile slowly softened Jelena’s face. “I’ve bought and sold many things in the course of my adventures, but true friendship has been one of those rare and precious gems that always seemed to carry too high a price.”

  “The cost is not so much as you think,” replied Arianna. “And its worth transcends all that glitters.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.” Jelena sighed. “Assuming we manage to navigate through all the hidden shoals that lie ahead, and make it to a safe harbor.”

  “We will,” assured Arianna. The purpose of their visit to the palace was simply to pay their respects to the emperor and appear unruffled by the announcement of his departure. The element of surprise was a key factor in freeing Johannes.

  “You simply need to be gay and charming,” she added. “As for my part, I have a slight alteration in mind.” She hadn't told Saybrook about the slight change in plans. Her idea would likely have drawn a sarcastic laugh. “And here's what I need you to do . . .”

  Granted, it was a fanciful notion—but then, it was often said that madness was only a hairsbreadth from genius.

  To her mind, it was worth a try.

  A short while later, she and the baroness were crossing the front terrace of the palace.

  “Five minutes,” said Arianna, her voice soft as the swish of their silken skirts. “Remember, I need five minutes alone in Napoleon’s private quarters, so you must find a way to keep him and his coterie occupied. Do whatever you must.”

  A martial spark lit in Jelena’s eyes. “Be assured that I’ll unlace my corset and dance naked atop Canova’s statue of Pauline if that’s what it takes. You won’t be interrupted.”

  Two burly Grenadier Guards were guarding the door, but a brazen smile from the baroness, punctuated by an imperious wave, caused them to quickly step aside.

  The hum of excited voices grew louder as they hurried down the dimly lit corridor. The emperor’s mother was holding court in the ballroom, speaking excitedly about Destiny and Fate to a gathering of family and loyal retainers.

  Napoleon was not among them.

  Arianna paused to take a peek through the doors leading to the private rooms of the palace.

  “I hear Pauline,” whispered Jelena. “It sounds like she’s in her brother’s study.”

  A moment later the emperor’s distinctive voice rose in answer.

  The baroness signaled for Arianna to take cover behind the half-open paneled door. “I’ll go draw them out. You’ll have your five minutes, but I can’t promise any longer.”

  Holding the breath in her lungs, Arianna waited. What she had asked was no easy task. Napoleon would be preoccupied and on edge. Jelena would have to be very persuasive—

  The sudden patter of footsteps indicated that whatever the baroness had said, it had worked. As the unseen trio passed by her hiding place, Arianna caught a snatch of Jelena’s voice.

  “I trust you won’t be disappointed, Your Majesty. I have something very special to share with you . . .”

  Pulling a steel hairpin from her topknot, Arianna let the words trail away before darting out of the shadows and slipping into Napoleon’s study. She didn’t really believe in the concept of Fate or Luck, but strangely enough, she found hoping she might be wrong.

  One, two, three . . . Aware of the precious seconds ticking away, she set to work, her movements quick but careful. There was no room for error.

  A last twist—and voilà. It was done.

  Feeling a rush of relief, she hurried back to the main corridor and after tucking an errant curl behind her ear made her entrance into the ballroom.

  Polite pleasantries. Somehow Arianna kept a smile on her lips and a patter of innocuous comments flowing from her tongue. Napoleon responded in kind, but there was a ripple of knowing amusement in his extraordinary eyes.

  “Has your husband gathered all the information he came to obtain in Elba, Lady Saybrook?” he asked.

  “Yes, I believe he’s done with his research, Your Majesty,” replied Arianna.

  “I admire his dedication to . . . science.”

  Had she merely imagined the fraction of a pause? “Passions can be compelling,” she answered.

  “Indeed.” Napoleon looked around as another group of well-wishers entered the room. “If you’ll excuse me, I must greet my guests. But perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  “Perhaps.”

  A sapphirine twinkle. “One never knows what Fate has in store for us.”

  Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded and watched him walk away. A small, balding man with a growing softness around his middle—hardly the picture of a brilliant visionary who had turned the world upside down.

  As he blended in with the crowd, overshadowed by the glitter around him, Arianna turned to find Jelena.

  A touch to her arm signaled it was time to leave.

  The guards didn’t give them a second glance as they exited into the rear gardens and, keeping to a sedate walk, cut away from the palace to a crumbling marble stairway hidden behind a high hedge. It led down to the rendezvous spot—a secluded garden terrace tucked off a footpath that crossed through the sloping copse of trees beneath the fortress.

  It was only then, as she leaned up against a stone urn to catch her breath, that Arianna realized her heart was thumping hard enough to crack a rib.

  Steady, steady. She looked around, straining to catch any sign of movement through swaying branches. Saybrook and the others ought to be arriving shortly with the boy.

  Assuming all had gone well. And Arianna refused to believe otherwise.

  Jelena's breathing was also a bit ragged, too. “Were you successful?”

  “Yes,” answered Arianna. She shifted her stance to keep an eye on the opening in the boxwood hedge.

  The baroness braced her hands on the weathered stone and waited in watchful silence. Time seemed to be standing still.

  Unable to contain herself any longer, the baroness finally whispered, “They’re late.”

  “They’ll be here,” assured Arianna, trying not to think of all the things that could have gone wrong. To keep Jelena distracted, she asked, “Tell me, how did you manage to hold the emperor’s attention?”

  “With the help of your great English Bard,” came the reply. “Once I cajoled them to come to the reception room, I told Napoleon and Pauline that I had composed a poem in honor of his greatness. They were forced to listen to a very long—and very badly rewritten—Shakespearean sonnet.” A wry grimace. “My variation will not go down as a high point in literary history.”

  “The performance might prove more memorable than you think,” murmured Arianna. She shifted again and fell silent, suddenly aware of a rustling beyond the hedge.

  Jelena had heard it too and turned still as a statue.

  Crunch-crunch—steps crackling over dead leaves. Arianna gripped the pistol in her cloak pocket as a dark silhouette appeared in the opening.

  “Sandro!” The low hail was still on her tongue but already the baroness had broken into a run. Pierson was behind the earl and bringing up the rear was Hamilton. In his arms was—

  “Johannes!” Jelena’s gasp was muffled in a flutter of wool as she flung her arms around the captain and the rescued child.

  Arianna let out her breath and turned to touch Saybrook’s arm. The mizzled twilight caught his smile and a tiny nod. A signal that all was well.

  “You’re unhurt?” she asked, moving her hand inside his coat and pressing her palm to his chest.

  “There was no need of any violence. We took the guard by surprise. He was naught but a minion and put up no fight. He’s trussed up and locked in the cellar,” replied the earl. “Apparently your grim-faced fellow was called to t
he palace earlier in the day.”

  “But he will likely return at any moment.”

  “Yes, we all need to move quickly.”

  The captain came to join them, bringing a thankful Jelena and the boy with him.

  “Save your tears of joy for later,” said Pierson gruffly, though the words had no edge. “Come, there’s not a moment to waste.” He looked to Hamilton. “Your horse is waiting—Saybrook and I will lead you to the stable. And once there, milord, I’ll need your expertise in formulating the explosive mixture for the bomb I’ll take aboard Etoile.”

  His gaze shifted to Arianna. “We count on you to escort Lady Plessy-Moritz back to the inn where—”

  “Where I am to lock myself and Johannes in my room, then wait for the earl and Lady Saybrook to rejoin me when their task is done,” interrupted Jelena impatiently. “Yes, yes, we all know our roles by heart, sir. There’s no need to repeat them.”

  “One can’t repeat them enough,” he shot back. “Success hinges on every tiny detail going as planned. Too much is out of our hands, so we must be extra vigilant about controlling the things we can.”

  Hamilton ruffled the boy’s hair and handed him to Jelena. “You’re a brave lad,” he said. “Now, don’t forget our promise—you take care of the ladies, and I’ll let you help me steer the ship when we set sail from here.”

  Johannes gave a solemn nod.

  Like wraith-dark skirls of vapor, the men moved silently over the misted grass.

  “Ready?” asked Arianna, after watching their shifting silhouettes fade in the deepening gloom.

  Jelena tightened her hold on the boy.

  She waited another few moments, then headed off in the opposite direction. The way curled through a stand of cork oaks, the tangle of shadow a welcome shield from any unfriendly eyes. Breaking free of the trees, it steepened for a short length. She heard the baroness slipping and sliding but a backward glance showed her expression was fierce—a tigress with her cub—as Jelena resolutely kept pace.