Her friend gave an appreciative laugh. “An understatement, if ever there was one.”
“I take you and Grentham discussed the . . .” Arianna hesitated, searching for right the word. “the chemistry that seemed to be simmering between the two of you earlier today?”
A slight flush rose to Sophia’s cheeks. “In a rather oblique and convoluted way.”
“I would expect no less from the minister,” said Arianna dryly.
That drew a ghost of a smile. “Neither of us is very good at unbuckling our armor. But I think, perhaps, we took the first tentative steps of . . .” Her words trailed off.
“The way ahead won’t straighten to a smooth and level line. There will be bumps and chasms. But just follow your heart—it’s a good one and won’t lead you astray.”
In reply, Sophia moved to the table and took Arianna’s hand in hers. Their fingers twined together.
No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said.
The companionable silence was suddenly broken by a loud thunk from upstairs, followed by a peal of girlish laughter.
“Emma Pierson seems to have suffered no lasting trauma from the events of last night,” observed Sophia.
“Children are resilient,” replied Arianna. “And my sense is she’s no stranger to adventure. Her father . . .”
Mention of Pierson made her look down at the map. “Her father should be very proud of how steady she was under fire. Let us make sure that we have a chance to tell him about her courage.”
Sophia sat down and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “How can I help?”
A good question. Arianna frowned in thought, certain she had studied the creased paper from every possible angle. “I don’t think there’s anything more to be learned from the scribbles here. It tells us the place, but not the messenger or the exact time of the rendezvous. Without knowing who—or what he’s bringing—it’s rather like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“Then let us think,” came the resolute reply. “There must be a way to narrow down the search.”
Closing her eyes, Arianna forced herself to concentrate. And still her mind remained blank.
“Logic, logic,” muttered Sophia.
The chorus of birdsong and buzzing seemed to mock the exhortation.
“I think I shall go make us a pot of coffee,” mumbled Arianna. Perhaps the act of grinding the roasted beans would stimulate some flash of inspiration.
Once in the kitchen, she put a kettle of water on the hob and began to hum a tuneless song as gathered the other necessities.
“Something has just occurred to me . . .”
Arianna turned to see Sophia standing in the doorway. “Vecchio must have received the map from someone—and it would seem that person possessed the mathematical skills to not only understand Napoleon’s Theorem, but also to put it into practice, for I’m assuming the notation at the bottom of the map indicates it’s drawn to scale.”
“Yes, it is,” she answered.
“It would also stand to reason that Vecchio was only given it recently, as it’s clearly important, and would have been passed on quickly.”
Arianna’s hands stilled on the mortar and pestle.
“That would narrow down the possible suspects considerably—we’re looking for someone well-educated and clever.” Sophia made a face. “I realize it’s still a very daunting challenge. But if we decide it’s reasonable to concentrate on Brussels, we might begin by considering who among the diplomats and military men might be in league with France.”
“It’s a very good idea,” she said. “Of course, the messenger may be someone completely unknown to us, and in hiding, just waiting for the right moment to make his move. But we, too, can play cat and mouse.”
The kettle began to whistle. Arianna pushed it off the hob. “Fetch some fresh paper. I’ll finish grinding the beans and then we’ll set to work compiling a list.”
“Señora Marone-Cinzano will likely have some thoughts. She seems to have an extensive network of informants throughout the city,” offered Sophia. “It’s fortunate we made her acquaintance and that . . .” A tiny hesitation. “ . . . and that the earl had a past connection with her.”
Her friend had been too tactful to raise the subject of Saybrook’s history with Paloma before. But given the just-finished exchange about the complexities of personal relationships, Arianna knew the question wasn’t made out of prurient curiosity and wanted to answer it honestly.
“The connection was a short one, and made during the height of wartime turmoil in Portugal. Sandro wasn’t aware that Señora Marone-Cinzano was involved in espionage, though he quickly came to assume she was.”
She thought carefully about how to simplify a subject that defied easy explanations. “In our mission to Elba, we encountered a ghost from my previous life, and the truth is, it can be difficult to reconcile our former selves with who we are now. However, I learned that honesty is always best. Trying to avoid the past only leads to misunderstandings. A current bond is only made stronger by knowing all the things—whether you like them or not—that have shaped the person you love.”
Arianna drew a measured breath. “I’m not sure I’ve answered you question, or whether it makes any sense . . .”
“It makes perfect sense,” assured Sophia. “And I thank you again for being so gracious with your sage advice.”
“I didn’t think I was giving advice.”
A smile. “Yes, you did. And it’s much appreciated.”
The coffee was ready, and Arianna hurriedly finished preparing a pot of the steaming brew. “Well, let us leave further girlish confidences for another time. We have work to do.”
Sophia rushed off to find paper and joined her back in the breakfast room. “I think Prince Orlov ought to be at the top of our list,” she said, squaring the sheaf of blank sheets on the table. “As the señora pointed out, his recent show of heroics could have a more sinister explanation.”
“I agree,” said Arianna. “We ought to look more carefully at the other members of the Russian delegation as well. And perhaps the Prussians. We know Count Grunwald believed that there was a traitor within their delegation in London.”
But after Sophia made the notations, they both sat in silence, which soon grew uncomfortable.
“I’m afraid our own social forays haven’t given us much contact with anyone save the Lennox and the Capel families—and I don’t think either of them is nursing a viper at their breast,” mused her friend.
Arianna had to admit she was right. “We’ll need to wait until the others return,” she replied. “Both Grentham and Señora Cinzano-Marone should have some ideas.”
“Is there nothing else we can do to be useful?”
“Not that I can think of at this moment.” The map lay on the table, the triangle a dark, taunting image upon the creased page. “I’ll take another look at our one clue, and see if I can wrest any more secrets from it.”
“Then I’ll take myself off to clean and oil our weapons from last night, murmured Sophia. “When the time comes for action, we may have to move quickly.”
She gave an absent nod, her thoughts already immersed in the map’s conundrums—Who. When. Picking up a pencil, Arianna pulled a blank sheet from Sophia’s neat stack and began to sketch an assortment of triangles. There were an infinite combination of angles, which seemed to mock all attempts to identify a single individual.
“Yes, but all I have to do is find three lines and put them together,” she murmured to herself. And she already knew the three most important facts. The person they sought was skilled in mathematics, had access to a secret weapon, and was in the area.
Tap-tap. Arianna began drumming the pencil upon the tabletop. “Grentham—Grentham will likely know who among the beau monde circle has an aptitude for mathematics.”
She began reviewing the names of the diplomats who had a connection to the minister . . . and all at once, the tapping grew more rapid.
A name had come to mind, along with a sudden improbable idea. It was likely just a crazy flight of fancy. However, if it was true . . .
Then the last piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place.
Chapter 25
Saybrook and Grentham returned an hour later, and despite her rising sense of urgency, Arianna waited patiently for them to remove their coats and summon Sophia and Constantina to the parlor in order to give an account of their interview with the prisoners.
Thankfully, the news was good. A combination of stick and carrot—a warning that death by hanging would be the punishment for kidnapping a senior government official coupled with a promise of amnesty if they provided the exact location of the French hideaway—had proved effective. Armed with the information, they had negotiated a deal with Paloma’s experienced partisan operatives for Pierson’s rescue.
Saybrook and Grentham were to be part of the group. Arianna had reservations on account of fatigue and the minister’s injuries, a sentiment she saw mirrored in Sophia’s grim expression. But she knew voicing them would be pointless. Pragmatism had no power over friendship.
“Since you are determined to take action,” she said when they had finished explaining the plan, “I suggest some food and then some sleep before you depart.”
In that, at least, they made no argument.
“I’m sure you’re going to try to ply us with chocolate,” muttered Grentham, “claiming it has some god-given ability to bestow supernatural strength.”
“Well, since your unholy powers of intrigue don’t extend to the kitchen, I suggest you swallow your sarcasm and take whatever sustenance she suggests,” quipped Sofia.
“Hmmph.” The minister scowled but Arianna didn’t miss the momentary glimmer in his eyes. Strange as it seemed, perhaps Sophia had a chance at happiness.
However, she quickly thrust the thought aside. “Cook will be out in a moment with a hearty meal, milord. While you eat, might I ask a few questions? I’ve an idea about the messenger mentioned on the map.”
A grunt signaled his agreement as Grentham settled deeper into the cushions of the armchair. “But do try to keep it short,” he added. “You’re searching for—”
“Yes, yes, I know—I’m searching for a needle in a field of haystacks,” interrupted Arianna. “But do bear with me. If I’m correct, this won’t take long at all.”
Saybrook stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles, an expectant look sharpening his features.
“Like a triangle, our mysterious messenger possesses three elemental attributes that will mark him as our man. He’s a mathematician. He’s a traitor,” she explained. “And he’s someone who had access to the secret weapon, whatever that may be.”
“From all that description tells me, he could be the Man in the Moon,” grumbled the minister.
“Think again, sir.”
Saybrook, she noted, sat up a little straighter.
“Is Lionel Randolph skilled at mathematics?” she asked.
Grentham looked as if he would like to deny it, but he gave a grudging nod. “As a matter of fact, he is.”
“And the jeweled talisman I stole from Napoleon in Elba—where did you put it?” pressed Arianna.
The minister’s eyes narrowed. “You’re referring to the emperor’s good luck charm?”
“Bloody Hell,” murmured the earl.
“It’s locked in my private safe,” finished Grentham.
“Yes, but given that Lionel Randolph is here in Brussels without your knowledge or consent, I can’t help but wonder whether it’s still there,” she replied.
“If that is the secret weapon,” he scoffed, “then there’s one less worry to plague my sleep.”
“I understand your skepticism,” began Arianna.
“Don’t tell me you believe in the habble-gabble nonsense spouted by charlatan mystics,” said Grentham through clenched teeth.
“No, I don’t. But ask the Duke of Wellington whether confidence plays a role on the battlefield. If a general feels extraordinarily lucky, right down to the very core of his marrow, perhaps it does give him a small edge. And in the chaos of conflict, that can make the difference between victory and defeat.”
Saybrook looked thoughtful. “Come, Grentham, we’ve all seen examples of what she means,” he said. “Take the fellow who just feels it’s his lucky day, and when he sits down at the gaming table, he makes all the right moves to have the cards fall in his favor.”
“Napoleon has had an obsession with the occult since his youth,” pressed Arianna. “He told me during our talks on Elba that he had commissioned the talisman as a special good luck charm, and it features all sorts of symbolism in the choice and numbers of the jewels. He believes in its magic, and that makes it a powerful weapon.”
The minister’s nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath.
“It can’t hurt to press Señora Marone-Cinzano to have her operatives find Randolph as soon as possible and keep him under surveillance so you can have him apprehended,” suggested Sophia. “I imagine you were already planning to take him into custody, so it’s two birds with one stone, if you will.”
The footman gave a discreet knock and then entered with a tray bearing fresh, crusty bread and two bowls of wine-scented stew.
“Very well, I’ll speak to the señora and convey the urgency of finding Randolph,” said Grentham, once the servant had withdrawn. “Now may I eat what I hope is not my last meal in peace?”
“But of course, milord.” Arianna darted a look at Sophia and Constantina, then gave a tiny nod at the door. As they passed through the portal, she pretended not to hear the minister mutter, “Women.”
“It seems we have everything under control,” said Sophia with a sigh of relief. “By tomorrow—”
“Let us not tempt Fate,” interrupted Arianna.
“But all our plans look to be spinning along with the orderly precision of a well-made clock,” pointed out her friend.
“Yes, but in my experience,” murmured Arianna, “that’s usually when all the screws and gears start to fall off.”
By late afternoon of the following day, Sophia’s optimism had plummeted to pessimistic brooding. “What if the señora’s Frenchmen are, in fact, loyal to Napoleon, not the monarchy?” she muttered, as she paused in her pacing to eye the mantel clock. “Or what if the prisoners lied about the location? Or . . .”
Whatifwhatifwhatif.
“It won’t help to wear a hole in the floorboards,” counseled Arianna from her armchair by the hearth. “Waiting is akin to walking over red hot coals toward the deepest pit in Hell. However, it’s best to conserve your strength. You may need it.”
Chuffing a frustrated breath, Sophia dropped into the facing chair and hugged her arms to her chest.. “How do you cope with . . .”
“The fear?” she suggested. “By steeling your courage and not allowing doubt to eat away at your resolve.”
“It’s that easy?”
A wry smile touched Arianna’s lips. “It’s impossibly hard, but you must try.” She, too, couldn’t help stealing a glance at the clock, whose hands seemed frozen in place. “Practice helps. And if you continue to be involved in Grentham’s life, you will likely get a great deal of it.”
“I . . .” Sophia bit her lip, uncertainty quivering at the corners of her mouth. “I have no idea what the future may hold.”
“None of us do, my dear.” Constantina entered the parlor in a swirl of ruffled silk and paused by the side table as she unknotted the strings of her bonnet. She and Dampierre had gone for a walk in the park in order to listen to what latest gossip and rumors were swirling through the city. The mood was tense. Although there was no news on whether the French army had crossed the border, some people were packing their possessions and fleeing to Antwerp.
“The present seems just as uncertain,” continued the dowager. “We heard naught but wild speculations during our stroll—everything from assurances that Napoleon has abdica
ted the throne to claims that His Grand Armée will be marching through the city gates by nightfall.”
“What about our British officers?” queried Arianna. “Surely they must have accurate information.”
“They seem as much in the dark as the rest of us as to exactly where the enemy is. However, they’re insisting there’s no need for panic. Apparently Wellington has encouraged the Duchess of Richmond to hold her ball tomorrow evening, and has promised to attend.”
“Ye gods, how can anyone think of waltzing at a time like this?” muttered Sophia.
“Heaven forfend that the prospect of death and destruction interfere with the beau monde’s pleasures.” Expelling a sigh, Constantina took a seat next to Arianna and propped up her cane. “Might you pour me a glass of sherry, my dear? The prospect of all these lovely young men riding out to battle has left me feeling quite low.”
“Perhaps it won’t come to that,” said Arianna. But even to her own ears, the suggestion rang hollow. The diplomats had dithered too long, allowing Napoleon to sniff a weakness in their ranks. And the scent of victory was too great a temptation for a man whose hubris knew no boundaries.
The question wasn’t whether he would come, it was whether the Allied forces could stand up to his veteran troops.
Constantina had the grace not to retort.
“If Wellington is looking forward to an evening of festivities, then we must assume there’s no need for immediate worry,” she added.
Looking pensive, the dowager waited as Arianna fetched her the requested glass of spirits and then returned to the sideboard to pour two more.
“I take it there’s been no word on the rescue mission?” asked Constantina, once they each had a drink in hand.
Sophia shook her head.
“There’s no reason to worry,” said Constantina. But a tiny flicker of doubt in her eyes belied her stout-hearted smile. “It’s far too early to expect any word.”
“If you’ll excuse me . . .” Sophia rose abruptly and set aside her sherry. “I—I’m not really thirsty, so I think I’ll check that all is in order with our weaponry.”
A Question of Numbers Page 24