Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  As they rounded another turn, the slope gave way to level ground. Up ahead loomed the darkened headquarters of the British observation force. It appeared deserted, as did the flagged terrace abutting the back of the building. Arianna hurried to cross the swath of open ground, Jelena right at her heels.

  The click of their half boots on the smooth tiles was a reassuring sound. Halfway there, she thought, as she paused to get her bearings. The baroness stopped as well. There was a momentarily swish of clothing as Jelena shifted the child from one arm to the other.

  Arianna turned to flash an encouraging smile . . .

  And then froze as the sudden clatter of footsteps echoed off the stone, sounding loud as gunfire.

  She slowly pivoted to find Wolff standing directly in front of her. He was holding a pistol.

  And it was aimed at her heart.

  Chapter 26

  To Wolff’s left was Ballencourt. He must be the head of the conspiracy, realized Arianna. Up close, his face had the smoothly sculpted arrogance of a man who thought himself entitled to god-like power by virtue of his superior intellect and cunning.

  It made the bile rise in her throat.

  To Wolff's right was Grim-Face, looking even more menacing than he had in their previous encounter. He, too, was armed.

  “I’ve always known you’re a scoundrel, Wolffy,” she said through her teeth. “But I never thought you a slimy muckworm, devoid of all honor or decency.”

  “Come, come, Anna. You have a finely-honed streak of pragmatism, though at times you let your emotions cloud your judgment. This is merely business. There's no need for unpleasantness. We can work this all out in a civilized manner.”

  “Civilized? You call using an innocent child as a bargaining chip civilized?”

  Jelena added a volley in German that made him wince. “No need to get vile,” he murmured.

  “Enough chin-wagging,” snarled Grim-Face. “Hand me the brat.”

  Arianna quickly moved to shield the baroness. “Over my dead body.”

  A metallic snick rent the momentary silence as Grim-Face cocked the hammer of his weapon.

  Wolff released an exasperated sigh. “Anna, don’t be a bloody fool.”

  She held her ground, mentally calculating her options. Which took precious little time to see were decidedly few. Grim-Face had the look of an experienced killer. Arianna gauged the chances of drawing her pistol and squeezing off a shot before he put a bullet in her brain were virtually nil.

  A trickle of sweat started to slide down her spine. That left . . .

  “Ye God, what’s going on here?” A familiar voice cut through the tension in the air.

  Her eyes darted to the figure slowly rounding the cluster of sharp-edged holly bushes. “Captain Merriweather, how fortuitous that you decided to take an evening stroll.” A mocking wink of moonlight danced along the silvery steel of the raised weapons. “Dare I hope you are willing to rescue two damsels in distress?”

  * * *

  A frown pinching at his mouth, Merriweather turned his gaze on the Frenchman. “Monsieur Ballencourt, it seems you are frightening the ladies.”

  “S’il vous plait, Captain Merriweather,” replied Ballencourt. “This is none of your affair. Nor that of your country.”

  “I regret that I must make it my affair,” countered Merriweather. He gave a pointed look at the cocked pistol, with Grim-Face’s finger curled around the trigger. “Please, let’s avoid having an inadvertent twitch cause a terrible tragedy. Have your man hand over his weapon while we discuss this like gentlemen.”

  The Frenchman scowled, but Wolff quickly seconded the suggestion. “He’s right. It can’t do any harm. After all, we both are armed, Ballencourt.”

  “I give you my word as a British officer that I won’t raise the weapon against you,” added the captain.

  After a brief hesitation, Ballencourt gave a curt gesture for Grim-Face to surrender the weapon.

  He did so, but with a look that made Arianna’s blood run cold.

  “Now what’s the trouble?” asked Merriweather, after tucking the pistol into his sword belt.

  “As I said, it’s a private matter.” Ballencourt flicked a mote of dust from his cuff. “Lady Plessy-Moritz made an agreement with me and my business partners, and as she reneged on her part of the bargain, I must insist that she and the child—on whom she has no legal claim—come with me until the matter can be resolved.”

  “I am my nephew’s rightful guardian, no matter who you have bribed to say otherwise,” exclaimed Jelena. “You had my brother murdered, and stole his wealth and property. I’ll not let you lay a finger on his son.”

  “You hear a hysterical female babbling naught but delusions,” countered Ballencourt.

  “The baroness is telling the truth, Captain Merriweather,” said Arianna. “I know that for a fact.”

  “Bah,” snorted the Frenchman. “Two flightly females, one supporting the other’s fanciful tales.”

  Merriweather took a long moment to think. “Alas, I have no way of knowing which of you I should believe,” he announced. “So I'm, sorry, but for now, I can't in good conscience allow you take Lady Plessy-Moritz and her nephew against her will.”

  Luck was with them, thought Arianna, darting him a grateful look.

  “But mon capitaine—” protested Ballencourt.

  “I must insist, Monsieur. I will see to it that the ladies return to the inn and I will post a guard to ensure they don’t steal away. In the morning, we can discuss the matter with the proper authorities.”

  Ballencourt glowered. “Alors. Very well.”

  Arianna felt the smile freeze on her face. Something didn’t seem right. That a man of his reputed ruthlessness had given in so easily . . . Her heart skipped a beat. Why, surely the Frenchman would be leaving tonight, along with Napoleon and his entourage.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Merriweather. As he lifted his arms in a gentlemanly salute to the Frenchman a flicker of moonlight caught on the bottom cuff of his uniform coat. In that instant she saw a patch of fabric had been sewn into the navy blue facing, replacing a missing piece of the heavy gold braid.

  In a flash, all the disparate pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

  “Here, let me take the boy,” said Merriweather, turning to Jelena with his arms still extended.

  “Don’t!” cried Arianna as she grabbed the baroness and shoved her out of reach. “He’s part of the conspiracy.”

  “Lady Saybrook, I fear Ballencourt is right and your emotions have become a trifle overset,” soothed the captain. To the baroness, he added, “Let us all go back to the inn. I'm sure you both would welcome a calming glass of sherry after this nasty shock.”

  “Be damned with your sherry.” As she spun back to face him, Arianna yanked the pistol from her pocket. “Stay back,” she warned, seeing Grim-Face about to make a lunge.

  “A brave move, Lady Saybrook,” said Merriweather. “Brave, but foolhardy, which seems a pattern for you.”

  “Anna, you’re outnumbered and outgunned,” counseled Wolff in a low voice. “Don’t make this ugly. No one will come to any harm if you do as we say.”

  “Was that the same promise given to Captain Holden?” retorted Arianna. Fixing Merriweather with a look of loathing, she added, “The torn piece of your cuff was in his hand when we found his body. So now I know it was you who murdered him. Why?”

  “Because he had lost his nerve and was refusing to rid us of you and your husband in Gibraltar, before continuing on to Elba. He said delaying you was all he was paid to do,” came the calm reply. “The original plan was to disable Basilisk and have it be easy prey for pirates. The Dey of Algiers had been bribed to release us quickly, while you and your husband would have moldered away in a prison. But Hamilton’s unfortunate timing meant that we had to improvise.” A pause. “As you know, Holden wasn’t very flexible.”

  His tone was casually conversational, as if he were speaking of reefing the sails in bad w
eather or squashing some pesky bug beneath his boot.

  “Why?” she repeated. “But why betray your country and your family? Even if the war’s end meant the opportunity for advancement in the Navy was stalled, a man of your abilities has other choices.”

  He chuffed a scornful laugh. “On the contrary, my country is fast betraying my family and the ancient aristocracy who have a natural right to rule the rabble. Weakened by madness and debauchery, our monarchy has grown cowardly, ceding its power to parliament. Napoleon has recognized that the masses can’t be trusted to govern themselves. I’m doing Britain a favor by siding with a man of strength and vision, one who will bring order, not chaos to the future.

  Arianna sucked in a sharp breath. “What you speak of is tyranny, the right to govern bathed in blood, not won with reason.”

  “Cut wind, Captain,” growled Ballencourt. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

  Merriweather nodded. “Come, Lady Saybrook. Hand me your weapon and no blood will be spilled. Otherwise, I’ll draw my pistol and put a bullet in your brain—and this time I won’t miss.”

  Another mystery solved—so, it was he who had fired the bullet at her in London. Only by mere luck . . .

  “I’m a better shot than you are,” she countered. “You’ll be dead before it’s halfway out of your belt.”

  “And you will follow him to the grave an instant later,” said Ballencourt. “Then we’ll take the baroness and the boy, just as we planned. You have until the count of three to decide.”

  They had a point. Sacrificing her life would achieve nothing, while surrender would buy some time.

  “Very well.” She tossed her weapon into the bushes.

  Grim-Face took a step, but Merriweather stopped him with a curt order. “Don’t bother.” He drew his pistol and approached her. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you not to have another weapon concealed.”

  He made a quick search of her right-hand pocket. And then the left.

  “What’s this?” he murmured, extracting the pasteboard box.

  “Chocolate,” replied Arianna, giving thanks she had thought to prepare it to hide the talisman. “Have a look for yourself.”

  Merriweather lifted the lid, then handed it back to her with a mocking grin. “Keep it. The emperor will enjoy having some sweets on the voyage to France.”

  The humor died from his face as he turned to the baroness and demanded, “Now, enough posturing—give me the child.”

  Jelena had kept still and silent throughout the sudden turn of events. But now, moving with cat-like quickness, she set down Johannes and shielded him with her own body. “You’ll have to shoot me.”

  “Jelena—” began Arianna.

  “As you wish,” snapped Ballencourt. “The boy will be a valuable bargaining chip with his mother’s family, depending on how our plan plays out. As will Lady Saybrook. But you are of no use to us any longer.”

  He gave a wave to Wolff. “Shoot her.”

  “Wolffy!” Arianna watched in shock as Wolff slowly raised his weapon.

  A mournful sigh slipped from his lips. “As you’ve always said, Anna, there comes a time when one must choose where one’s loyalties lie. My apologies.”

  Jelena lifted her chin.

  He took dead aim . . . and with a spinning pivot turned to Ballencourt and squeezed the trigger.

  As the Frenchman fell to the ground, another shot rang out.

  Jelena screamed as Wolff staggered and fell. In the same instant, Arianna lashed out a kick, knocking Merriweather off balance. Falling back, she pulled the hidden pistol from her sash just as Grim-Face snatched up Ballencourt’s weapon and whirled around.

  The boy. Arianna saw him pull free from the baroness—and then all hell seemed to erupt around her.

  Shouts rose from nearby. More shots. Skeins of smoke slithering like serpents through the dying sparks. A murderous smile from Grim-Face as he took dead aim.

  To her horror, she saw Johannes crumple

  Merriweather, his weapon spent from the shot at Wolff, was already darting into the cover of the bushes. “Run for it,” he called to Grim-Face, just as Saybrook, followed closely by Pierson and Hamilton, broke free of the gloom. “The other objective is more important!”

  Seeing Jelena was crouched over Johannes, Arianna rushed to Wolff. A hiss escaped her lips as she gently folded back his jacket, revealing the bright bloom of red spreading across his snowy shirtfront.

  “Oh, you infuriating idiot,” she muttered. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

  “I fear . . .” The baroness looked up in anguish from tending to the boy. “Mein Gott, the bullet has hit awfully close to Herr Wolff’s heart.”

  Wolff’s lashes fluttered ever so slightly. “N-No need to fret, ladies. As you know, I-I don’t have a heart.”

  “Hush!” said Arianna, tearing a strip of cloth from her skirts to staunch the bleeding. Where was Saybrook? He and the others seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  “Me stay quiet? Ha! Impossible.” A raspy cough. “I’ve actually thought of an excellent epigraph for my gravestone—”

  She pressed a finger to Wolff’s lips. “You aren’t going to die. The Devil couldn’t bear to have you in Hell—you would drive him mad.”

  His chuckle ended in an ominous gurgle. “Anna, Ballencourt’s gold is aboard Basilisk. Without it, Napoleon will be strapped for f-funds . . .” Another cough cut off the rest of his words.

  “Hush!” Her fingers trembled as their tips turned warm with a sticky wetness. “How is Johannes?” she asked, turning awkwardly and trying to snatch a peek through the muddled shadows.

  “I-It doesn’t h-h-hurt very much, Tante Jelena,” The boy’s voice was fluttery and sounded very far away.

  The baroness bit back a sob as Saybrook skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees. “Let me look,” he said, gently shifting her hands from the boy’s belly and making his own swift examination.

  Arianna saw the muscles of his jaw tighten.

  “We need a surgeon, and quickly.”

  Pierson joined them in time to catch the earl’s words. “The shots will have roused the guards—help will be here soon,” he barked, flinging a wave at the darkened headquarters. “Come, the four of us must be off. Now!”

  “We can’t leave them!” protested Arianna. “We need to bind their wounds, else they’ll bleed to death.”

  “And if we fail to walk away from these two wounded, how many men, women and children will perish if war once again breaks out in Europe? Thousands? Or even hundreds of thousands?” demanded Pierson. “It’s always easier not to take a difficult action.”

  Arianna stared down at Wolff’s ashen face. His eyes were closed, the curl of his lashes unnaturally still. “We can’t predict the future—who is to say what will happen tomorrow or the next day?”

  She placed a red-streaked palm to his cheek. He felt cold to the touch. “You may damn me for making the wrong decision, but at this moment I have the chance to save the lives of my friends. So that, sir, is what I intend to do.” She began ripping another piece of cloth from her skirts. “My loyalty lies with them in their time of need.”

  Pierson uttered an oath and swung his gaze to Saybrook and Hamilton. “I trust you two will allow reason to overcome emotion. We can still perform our plan without Lady Saybrook.”

  “You are asking us to play God,” replied the earl. “I don’t claim to comprehend what the right answer is. But I do know I gave my promise to Lady Plessy-Moritz to help her, and I honor my promises.” A pause. “I also agree wholeheartedly with my wife. Loyalty to friends and family is not a philosophical abstraction.”

  Hamilton nodded. “My sister has a young son. I would hope that people in a position to help her if he were gravely injured would not walk away.”

  “I see.” Pierson looked away, his expression unreadable. “You must act on your principles, and I must act on mine.”

  “You can’t attempt—” began Arianna. But Pierson had already broken into
a run and was heading for the trees.

  “Let him go,” barked the earl. He had fashioned a pad for the boy’s wound from his handkerchief and was now wrapping him in his coat. “I’ll carry Johannes inside. Hamilton, run ahead and dispatch a soldier to fetch a surgeon, then find something with which to fashion a stretcher for Wolff.”

  Arianna was about to shift her gaze when suddenly she spotted a spear of lanternlight probing the darkness. Friend or foe? Had Standish’s treason corrupted the men under his command?

  “Look,” she warned.

  More crisscrossing beams, followed by the clatter of boots on the flagstones.

  Saybrook rose. She saw it, too—a flicker of red. A British officer in the lead. “You, there—send for a surgeon! Napoleon’s henchmen have attacked innocent civilians.” His note of calm command cut through the night. “And bloody hell, be quick about it.”

  The search party broke into a run.

  Hamilton drew a second weapon from inside his coat and quietly cocked the hammer.

  “Lord Saybrook!” The British officer sucked in a sharp breath as he looked down at the bodies. “Ye God, a child.” He waved a hurry-up signal to the men behind him. “Phelps is a medical man,” he said to the earl. “Lieutenant! You’re needed here!”

  “You others, fashion a stretcher with your muskets and coats. Captain Hamilton, help them get Count von Wolfram inside,” ordered Saybrook, taking charge of the group as the lieutenant rushed to aid Johannes. Turning to Arianna, he added. “Please, you and the baroness must move back and give them room.” With that, he joined the lieutenant in tending to the boy.

  Arianna drew Jelena back from the pool of light. The baroness was shaking like a leaf caught in a cruel north wind, but her composure held fast. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Johannes is the child of my heart, and all I have left of my family.”

  In answer, Arianna gave Jelena’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “He’s in good hands now. He will survive.” And added a silent prayer that was true.