A Question of Numbers

by Andrea Penrose

  Once they reached the shadowed alcove leading back to the ballroom, Arianna halted and turned to Sophia. “That was a brilliant thought about the books.”

  Her friend made a face. “It may turn out to be a silly idea, but it suddenly occurred to me that ‘Scene Two’ might indicate an actual place rather than an intellectual clue . . . you know, like a treasure map.” Her eyes sparked. “But I swear, I shall strangle you if you repeat that to Grentham. He would chide me unmercifully for thinking like a child.”

  “Ha, let him try!” The dowager waggled her cane. “I’m still capable of birching his bum.” Thump, thump. “And besides, he’ll have to acknowledge our cleverness when he learns of our discovery.”

  “What Sophie has suggested is an excellent surmise, but let us not assume we have discovered anything helpful until we have proof of it in hour hands,” warned Arianna. As Grentham had counseled earlier, focusing too sharply on one spot could throw off one’s perspective.

  “You’re right,” agreed Sophia. “We must wait and see what tomorrow brings. In the meantime . . .” She edged closer to the archway and peered out at the crowded room. “Is there anyone else you wish to approach?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna saw the dowager stifle a yawn. “We’ve accomplished enough for one night,” she replied. “I had very little sleep last night, and am feeling fatigued. So I think I shall summon the carriage. Shall I give you both a ride home? Sandro can come along later with Charles.”

  Constantina didn’t argue. Which spoke loudly of her flagging strength.

  Sophia looked a little disappointed, but nodded in agreement. “You’re right—better not to go off half-cocked.”

  The three of them joined the milling guests, and while Arianna couldn’t see Saybrook, she spotted Mellon near the entrance to the card room. “Ah, there’s Charles. Come, we’ll inform him of what we’ve decided, and then take our leave.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” said Mellon in response to the plan. As the dowager stepped away to chat with from several friends, he added, “Constantina would rather swallow red-hot coals than admit it, but she tires more easily than she used to.”

  “It’s not easy to face one’s own mortality,” said Arianna. The glittering light of the chandelier accentuated how the dowager’s beauty had grown more fragile with the passing of time. “However, it’s not a bad thing to spit in the face of the encroaching years.” A smile. “But then, I’m likely not the best influence on her. My ladylike manners leave much to be desired.”

  Mellon smiled. “Constantina has always thought ladylike manners are much overrated. She’s delighted to have a comrade-in-arms.”

  “I’ll try not to encourage too much mayhem,” quipped Arianna. “Excuse me for a moment while I find a footman to send for our carriage.”

  She was just passing the refreshment table when a gentleman turned to greet her.

  “Ah, Lady Saybrook, I’ve not yet had a chance to pay my respects.”

  Arianna didn’t immediately recognize his face, but the row of gaudy medals festooning his evening coat announced his identity. A Russian prince. Princes seemed to be thick as fleas on a dog in St. Petersburg, she reflected as his name thankfully popped to mind.

  “How lovely to see you, Prince Raznikov,” she replied, surrendering her hand for the requisite kiss. “Are you here as part of the Russian diplomatic delegation?”

  “Yes.” He waggled a fleshy finger. “But Lord Mellon is requiring us to work far too hard! I’ve not yet had a chance to sample the pleasures of London, ha, ha, ha.”

  Judging by his flushed face and half-slurred words, he had certainly been having no difficulty sampling the port and brandy.

  “And a further disappointment is I’ve just heard that you and your husband will be leaving for Brussels. Is it true?”

  “It is,” she confirmed. “There are some scholarly archives in the city which Saybrook wishes to visit.”

  “He does not worry about the threat of hostilities?”

  “Oh, but aren’t you diplomats about to forge a military alliance?” Arianna deliberately fluttered her lashes, keen to hear his response. “Surely Napoleon won’t dare challenge a united Europe.”

  “Er, quite right,” replied Raznikov. He raised a hand to straighten one of his bejeweled medals.

  “We are certainly doing all we can to assure peace,” said the prince’s companion.

  “Forgive my lapse in manners, Lady Saybrook,” apologized Raznikov. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Randolph, who serves as . . .er . . .”

  Randolph rescued him with a smooth smile. “As a liaison between the Foreign Office and the military central command at Horse Guards.”

  Which meant he likely worked for Grentham, though of course the minister’s name would never be mentioned in public.

  “I take it, you know Lord Mellon,” she replied politely after the formalities were finished.

  “But of course,” answered Randolph. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. He has nothing but the highest praise for you and your husband.”

  She smiled. “Charles has a very keen sense of family loyalty, so I daresay he exaggerates. You must take what he says with a grain of salt.”

  Randolph gave the expected superficial chuckle, but the dagger-like sharpness of his gaze make her suspect that he knew far more than he was letting on. The impression was furthered as he darted a gaze at a group of Austrian diplomats standing nearby before returning his attention to the prince.

  Arianna hoped the fellow was halfway as good as Pierson at gathering information. Grentham needed all the help he could get.

  “You need not worry, Lady Saybrook.” Having recovered from his faux pas, the prince sought to reassert his importance. “Even if Napoleon is foolish enough to march east, he’ll be defeated long before there’s a threat to Brussels.” He puffed out his chest. “Our delegation there will make sure of it.”

  Would they? she wondered. Or did their loyalties lie elsewhere?

  “And what is your opinion, Mr. Randolph?” she asked, curious as to how he would answer.

  “I have the utmost confidence that the senior diplomats gathering in Brussels will find a way to put aside their differences and make the right decision for the good of all concerned.”

  A carefully worded answer, both flattering and yet with a hint of warning.

  “My country is, of course, more than willing to work with our allies . . .” Raznikov’s expression suddenly brightened. “I say, isn’t Prince Orlov a friend of yours from Vienna, Lady Saybrook?”

  Orlov. The name stirred a pebbling of gooseflesh, as if a serpent were slithering down her spine.

  “Yes,” she murmured, though ‘friend’ was a word neither she nor Orlov would use to describe their relationship. Given the chance, he would happily cut out her innards and feed them to the Kremlin’s resident ravens. “We are acquainted.”

  “Ah! Then you will be delighted to know that he, too, will be in Brussels!” He flashed a toothy smile. “The Tsar appointed him deputy chief of our delegation there, and he arrived there several days ago.”

  “I’m sure our paths will cross,” she replied, maintaining a cool smile. And when they did, she would have yet another damnable threat nipping at her heels.

  Randolph cocked his glass of champagne. “Well, let us hope that however all our various paths entwine, they ultimately lead us to the right final destination.”

  Amen to that, thought Arianna as she excused herself from further talk about politics.

  But she was under no illusions about how treacherous the footing would be as they moved forward.

  Chapter 8

  “It appears our quest for answers has taken yet another unexpected twist,” announced Arianna the following morning, once the carriage had collected the dowager and Sophia for the visit to fetch Grunwald’s note from von Bettendorf and examine the books of Shakespeare’s plays.

  She had wished to think through the r
amifications of Orlov’s presence in Brussels before telling the others, and so had made no mention of her unpleasant discovery the previous night. But the morning light had done nothing to illuminate any positive facets of the news, so she decided there was no point in trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

  Constantina edged forward on the seat, her face wreathing in shadows as Arianna gave a terse explanation of what she had learned.

  “Dear Heavens,” exclaimed the dowager. “Orlov is in Brussels? I fear this changes everything.”

  “It changes nothing,” replied Arianna.

  “The prince is a vicious, unprincipled beast, who thinks his position of power and prestige entitles him to do whatever he pleases.” Constantina drew in a troubled breath. “You’ve wounded his vanity—twice, I might add—and for that he’ll never forgive you. Given half the chance, he’ll kill you without batting an eye.”

  “He may try.”

  The dowager rapped her cane on the floorboards in exasperation. “Don’t you, too, let hubris get the best of you.” Her grip tightened on the silver knob. “I think you should stay in London.”

  Arianna shifted against the squabs as the wheels rattled over the cobblestones. Orlov’s presence in Brussels was an unwelcome complication. There were enough unknown enemies to face without the added threat of a vengeful Russian out for blood. An arrogant, abusive man, he was often crude in his bullying tactics, but he was also capable of devious cunning.

  Which made him extremely dangerous.

  “What’s sauce for the goose,” she answered carefully, “is sauce for the gander. Allow me to remind you that Orlov hates you—and Sophia—just as much as he does me.”

  Arianna had first encountered Orlov in Vienna, where she had rebuffed his advances, humiliating him in front of several friends. And then, the three of them had played him for a fool by managing to retrieve some sensitive documents that he had stolen from the dowager’s paramour, Dampierre.

  “So, she added, “you’re also a target for revenge.”

  “Hmmph.” Constantina frowned but a twitch pulled her lips upward. “It’s rather gratifying to think I can spark a grand passion at my age.” She expelled a sigh. “What is Sandro’s opinion of the situation?”

  Saybrook had arrived very home late, and had left early to meet with an old friend in military intelligence to learn more about the situation in Brussels.

  “We’ve not yet discussed it.”

  “He won’t like it.”

  “There are a great many things he dislikes about undertaking missions like this one—”

  “But he would never ask you to compromise your sense of honor,” interjected Sophia. “Not when it concerns a friend in trouble.”

  The dowager gave a resigned shrug. “Both of you are too principled for your own good.”

  “That,” shot back Arianna, “is akin to the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Constantina surrendered a small smile.

  “Let me also remind you that Orlov isn’t the only violent enemy on the loose in Brussels,” she went on. “We have to assume Vecchio, the assassin, is also on the hunt. It simply means we shall have to be doubly careful.”

  “Don’t make a jest out of death,” scolded Constantina.

  “I’m not—I’m merely being pragmatic.”

  “Since you’re dead-set on charging into danger,” interjected Sophia. “I insist on a few protective measures.”

  “Which are?” she inquired.

  “Firstly, that I give both of you some shooting lessons before you leave.” Her voice held a note of challenge. “You’re good, but you could be better.” To Constantina, she added, “And you, Lady Sterling, ought to be conversant with handling a pocket pistol. Joseph Manton has just come out with a model designed for ladies. It’s both light and lethally accurate.”

  Though no stranger to firearms, Arianna had recently seen a display of her friend’s skills with a pistol and knew she couldn’t match them. “It’s an excellent suggestion,” she conceded. “Our enemy will have the advantage of brute strength, so it makes sense to hone whatever defensive edge we can.”

  The spark of fire in Sophia’s eyes warned that something more controversial was coming. “What else?” she asked.

  “That you let me come with you to Brussels.”

  The unexpected request jarred her upright. “But—”

  “Before you rattle off all the reasons for saying no, please hear me out,” said Sophia.

  It was a fair request—more than fair.

  “Of course,” she replied softly. “That goes without saying.”

  “I may not be as experienced in clandestine missions as you are, but in this particular case, I believe my skills are well suited to the challenges you face,” began Sophia. “I’m at home in the saddle and can ride astride as well as any man—not to speak of the fact that wearing breeches and boots gives an added advantage of disguise. Given the various military encampments that will be forming around the city, the ability to do some clandestine surveillance may prove useful.”

  Arianna nodded. “Go on.”

  “Saybrook and Lord Grentham will be caught up trying to untangle the serpentine coils of truth and lies within the diplomatic delegations. But as you’ve pointed out, key information is likely held by the ladies of Brussels. Three of us at work will likely yield more results than two.” Sophia’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “You’re the expert in mathematics—surely there’s some theorem that says as much.”

  “Theorems work perfectly on paper,” murmured Arianna. “They don’t always translate well to the chaos of the real world.”

  “Now you are sounding like some pompous bureaucrat,” retorted her friend. “Of course they don’t. But they hold some measure of truth.”

  Constantina cleared her throat with a cough.

  “I think I’ve proved my steadiness when trouble strikes,” went on Sophia. “I was a help, not a hindrance, during the balloon chase, wasn’t I?”

  Arianna couldn’t deny it—nor did she wish to. Sophia’s aid during an investigation had been crucial bringing a traitor to justice. “Your courage and your cleverness aren’t the issue.” She closed her eyes for an instant. “It’s just that I don’t wish to draw my friends into danger.”

  “Give me credit for being able to weigh the risks and decide for myself whether I’m willing to take them.” A pause. “It’s no more than you ask for yourself.”

  Arianna had no answer rejoinder, save to murmur “Touché.”

  “Then it’s settled,” announced Constantina, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Indeed, I believe this will work to our advantage.”

  Her skirts rustled softly as she leaned back. “In conversing with Lady Winchester last night, I learned that the Duchess of Richmond and her inner circle of English expatriates have established themselves as the leaders of Society in Brussels. All the important people flock to their parties and soirées. That there are three of us reinforces the appearance that we are visiting the city merely to experience the pleasures of Continental travel, now that the interminable wars are over.”

  “I assume you’re acquainted with the duchess,” replied Arianna. The dowager knew everyone in the beau monde—along with most of the skeletons rattling in their closets.

  “She’s a vain, ill-tempered and manipulative harridan. Just like her mother.” A pause. “But we’ll have no trouble currying favor with her. I happen to know the family is residing in Brussels because they’re dreadfully short of money and it’s far cheaper to live abroad. I shall bring some small but expensive gifts, and every door will be open to us.”

  “Aren’t the Honorable John and Lady Caroline Capel part of the duchess’s inner circle?” asked Sophia.

  The question surprised Arianna. If anything, her friend was even less interested in the intricate hierarchy of Polite Society than she was.

  “There are many who consider Lady Caroline, whose brother is the dashing Earl of Uxbridge, mo
re influential than the duchess,” confirmed the dowager. “She is certainly better liked.”

  “Then I, too, may have an entrée into the drawing rooms,” murmured Sophia.

  Constantina arched a silvery brow.

  “Their eldest daughter Harriet spent summers with her cousins, whose lands abutted my family’s estate. We often rode together.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell us that sooner?” The dowager’s brows rose a notch higher. “You must learn to be more ruthless, my dear. You had a powerful weapon to wield in getting what you wanted, and you failed to use it.”

  “I was simply keeping it sheathed until I needed it,” answered Sophia. “I preferred to win the battle on my own merits.”

  “That’s honorable,” observed Arianna. “But we must all be on guard that honor doesn’t become a weakness in Brussels. Our enemies won’t be playing by the rules, and neither should we.”

  Sophia fixed her with an expectant look. “So, how do you suggest we deal with Orlov?”

  “That depends,” said Arianna over the clatter of the wheels rolling to a halt, “on what Shakespeare has to say to us.”

  “Do come in, ladies,” said von Bettendorf, opening his door in response to the porter’s knock and inclining a low bow. “Please forgive the Spartan furnishings of a gentlemen’s hotel, but if you will have a seat, I shall be happy to order tea to be brought up.”

  “Hmmph, don’t bother,” replied Constantina with a tap-tap of her cane. “I doubt the Albany knows how to brew a proper tea for ladies. We shall go on to Gunter’s from here for our refreshments—they make a divine strawberry ice cream.”

  She settled herself in the nearest armchair and gave an imperious wave. “You may give Lady Saybrook the note.” Another wave. “Then you gels go and have your sentimental look at Count Grunwald’s rooms while Herr von Bettendorf keeps me company.”

  “Of course, of course.” The Prussian fumbled in his pocket for the sealed piece of paper and handed it Arianna. Metal rattled as he reached in again and withdrew a large brass key to Grunwald’s rooms, which he quickly passed over to the porter.