Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) (19 page)

“Actually, they have more in common than you might think, Mrs. Greeley,” replied Lady Urania, a twinkle dancing in her eyes. “Most of the people are not here for the science. They come to see and be seen, to ogle the latest darling of Society, and to appear . . . more intelligent than they really are.”

Arianna bit back a laugh.

“I do hope that I haven’t shocked you by sounding too cynical.”

“Not at all,” she assured her companion. “I appreciate plain speaking, especially when it is bang on the mark.”

Looking a little relieved, Lady Urania replied, “I had a feeling that you might understand.” She smoothed a finger along the ribbon trim of her bodice, “You seem a very pragmatic sort of person.”

“I daresay I . . .” Arianna was distracted by a wink of reddish gold flashing from beneath the curl of pale satin. “Why, what an unusual locket,” she remarked, catching a glimpse of an ornately engraved oval hanging by a delicate filigree chain.

Lady Urania hesitated, her hand pressing over the disc for an instant before slowly lifting it up from the folds of her gown. “Theus designed it for me. It was a present on the birthday when we came of age.”

An intricate pattern of sinuous, swirling lines was cut into the precious metal.
Are they meant to be leaves
,
or merely an abstract arabesque?
wondered Arianna, leaning in for a closer look. The word inscribed in the center was equally puzzling. Set vertically, the letters spelled out . . .

“Is that Greek?” asked Arianna, squinting to see whether she was making out the letters correctly. Her father had enjoyed reading the
Iliad
in the original, but her own knowledge of the ancient language was nonexistent.

“Yes. Its meaning is something of a family jest,” replied Lady Urania, but she did not elaborate.

“No matter its meaning, the design is quite lovely.” A single bloodred ruby, set inside the first letter, “L,” added an extra accent of interest.

“My brother had it made up as a watch fob for himself, and several of our relatives who share his sense of humor.”

“He is a very skilled artist as well as a scholar,” said Arianna.

“Theus has a great many hidden talents,” replied Lady Urania with a small smile.

“Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” Canaday had found a spot in the row behind them and was now cocking an ear to the conversation.

“Your sister was showing me her locket,” said Arianna, half turning to face him. “You’ve a lovely imagination.”

He laughed. “Perhaps too much so.” Catching Urania’s reproving look, he made a moue of contrition. “As I’ve said before, Rainnie thinks I need to be more disciplined in my endeavors. What do you think, Mrs. Greeley?”

“Life requires a balance of the disparate elements of our nature,” she replied.

“How very wise,” intoned the viscount, softening his serious tone with a boyish wink at her.

Arianna ducked her head to hide a smile. It was hard not to respond to his breezy charm, but she quickly stilled the quiver of her lips, reminding herself that she was not here to be amused.

“Speaking of wisdom, I was wondering something.” She made a slow, sweeping survey of the audience. “In your opinion, who are the most gifted of Humphry Davy’s followers?”

“An interesting question,” answered Canaday. “Is there a specific reason you ask?”

“Call it curiosity. I find it is always wise to know the leaders of a group to which I belong.”

“Wise indeed.” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Hmmm.”

“I should say Chittenden,” ventured Lady Urania. “His intellect may not be as sharp as some, but he’s got connections in Society and has established himself as an important host for the institution. Davy does like to rub shoulders with the
haut monde
.”

“An astute observation,” agreed her brother. “I would add Brynn-Smith to the list. Just before he left for his tour of the Continent, Davy had great praise for the fellow’s creativity in chemistry.”

Arianna made no mention of the man’s murder. For now, Grentham had ordered that the death be kept a secret.

The viscount pursed his lips. “And Michael Faraday can’t be ignored, despite his odd quirks of character.”

“Faraday?” Arianna pricked up her ears at the unfamiliar name.

“A strange young man. He’s served as Davy’s assistant for a while and is presently in Italy with him. I daresay there will be tension between him and Willoughby in the future, as our temporary head will be loath to relinquish the stage once Davy returns.”

“Ah.” Arianna wasn’t particularly interested in the internecine squabbles of the group. “What about Mr. Lawrance?”

Canaday’s expression didn’t alter, but to Arianna it appeared that the planes of his face hardened ever so slightly. “Lawrance?” he repeated. “No, I wouldn’t say he holds any influence with the institution.” His voice dropped a notch. “In truth, I think he’s a bit of a shallow, superficial fribble, more inclined to pay attention to the social interaction of the members, rather than the scientific work.” A smile lightened the assessment. “But then, I imagine a lot of people think the same about me.”

“How can you say such a thing!” scolded Lady Urania. “You have written several highly praised papers. While Mr. Lawrance has contributed little to our gatherings, save for a steady stream of flirtations.”

“That is perhaps a trifle harsh,” said Canaday. “Be that as it may, I would join with my sister in advising you to avoid a more intimate acquaintance with the fellow. He does not hesitate to toy with people.”

“Thank you,” said Arianna. “I appreciate the warning.” But before she could add anything more, a bell called the audience to order and Professor Willoughby strode out onto the stage.

18

From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Orange-Scented Brownies with Dried Cranberries, Pistachios and Ginger

¹
/
₂
cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, diced

3
¹
/
₂
cups bittersweet chocolate chips

2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped

2 large eggs

¹
/
₂
cup granulated sugar

¹
/
₂
cup packed dark brown sugar

¹
/
₄
teaspoon coarse kosher salt

1 tablespoon finely grated orange peel

³
/
₄
cup all-purpose flour

¹
/
₂
cup dried cranberries

¹
/
₃
cup shelled unsalted natural pistachios

¹
/
₄
cup chopped crystallized ginger

2 ounces high-quality white chocolate, chopped

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a 13 x 9 x 2–inch metal baking pan with foil, leaving overhang. Butter the foil.

2. Place the butter, 1 cup of the chocolate chips, and the unsweetened chocolate in a medium metal bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. Stir until the mixture is smooth. Remove from over the water and cool to room temperature.

3. Using an electric mixer, beat the eggs, sugars, and coarse salt in large bowl until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes. On low speed, gradually beat in the chocolate mixture, then the orange peel. Add the flour and beat just until blended. Fold in 1
¹
/
₂
cups of the chocolate chips. Spread the batter in the pan.

4. Bake the brownies until a tester inserted into the center comes out with moist crumbs attached, about 20 minutes. Remove from the oven. Sprinkle evenly with the remaining 1 cup chocolate chips. Let stand for 2 minutes to allow the chips to soften. Spread the chips evenly over the brownies. Sprinkle on the cranberries, pistachios, and ginger.

5. Melt the white chocolate in a double boiler and stir until smooth. Drizzle the chocolate over the brownies. Chill until the topping sets. Using the foil overhang as an aid, lift the brownie sheet from the pan and cut into squares.

“W
ould you care for a cup of chocolate, my dear?” asked Saybrook.

Arianna made a face as she entered the kitchen and peeled off her floppy urchin’s hat, along with the canvas jacket. “Thank you, but no, I’ve already drunk an ocean of it today—and quite likely gained several pounds in the bargain. I swear, these breeches are beginning to feel uncomfortably snug.” Several hairpins pattered against the chopping block as she loosened the tight twist of her hair and let the coiled curls spill over her shoulders. “I think I shall brew a pot of chamomile tea instead.”

“Any extra curves would only make ye look even more fetching, Lady S.”

She turned abruptly as Henning’s voice floated out from the shadows. “I didn’t realize we had company, Sandro.”

“Aye, we’ve a right cozy little party in progress,” quipped the surgeon, nodding at the worktable near the stove.

Damnation.
It was only now that she noticed the two additional figures standing at the far end of the knife-scarred slab of maple.

Saybrook gave an apologetic shrug. “There have been some new developments in the investigation, and we needed to meet in a place where the walls don’t have ears.”

There may be no unwelcome ears lurking within the well-scrubbed wood and plaster,
she thought wryly,
but two sets of eyes appeared glued on her tight breeches and light linen shirt.

“Really, sirs. You need not gawk like virgin schoolboys,” she muttered as she walked past Grentham and Lawrance to fetch a glass from the cupboard. “I assume you’ve both seen a female’s bum and legs before.”

The minister quickly submerged his stare in the goblet of Spanish brandy cradled between his palms. Lawrance, on the other hand, began to chuckle.

“Kindly stubble your hilarity,” snapped Grentham. “This is serious business.”

“We were just discussing possible suspects for the Bright Lights mentioned in Girton’s letter,” explained her husband. “I will explain the details later, but it turns out that Lawrance is an agent of the Foreign Office, and he, too, has been working to track down Renard. We have agreed to join forces.”

Lawrance inclined a small bow. “At your service, milady. I hope your visit to Señora Delgado’s establishment proved fruitful. I understand from His Lordship that you possess an expertise in chocolate.”

“Among other things,” replied Arianna coolly. She was feeling tired, testy and in no mood for bantering with him. The basic information on balloon aeronautics had been interesting, but as yet, she was still digesting it all and had not decided whether it had any relevance to the case.

“On second thought, I think I’ll have port instead of tea.” Reaching for one of the bottles by the stove, she poured herself a small measure of spirits. “What names have been mentioned?”

“Mr. Lawrance was just about to share his thoughts with us,” said Saybrook. “I’ve made little headway in the matter, but seeing as he’s spent a goodly amount of time mingling with the institution members, I hope he may have some useful information to share with us.”

“I believe I do, sir,” said Lawrance. “There is one person in particular who has drawn my attention . . .”

Grentham set down his glass and crossed his arms.

“A Mrs. Greeley, who claims to be a widow recently arrived from America.”

Henning drowned his snort of mirth in a mouthful of whisky, while Saybrook confined his skepticism to a mere arching of his brows.

“I beg you not to dismiss the suggestion simply because she is a woman,” said Lawrance defensively. “Look at history—the female brain is capable of great cunning and ruthlessness.” He slanted a look at Arianna. “No offense, Lady Saybrook.

“None taken,” she murmured. “However, I can assure you unequivocally that Mrs. Greeley can be crossed off the list of suspects.”

“H-how can you be so certain?” he demanded.

“Because
she
is
me
,” answered Arianna. Switching to her nasal American accent, she added, “I apologize for being prickly at the recent soiree, Mr. Lawrance, but you were a damnable nuisance, clinging like a cocklebur to my skirts.”

His jaw dropped slightly.

“Don’t feel badly. I’ve a knack for disguises and have fooled a great many men over the years, some of them far more conversant with ruses and subterfuge than you are.”

“True,” confirmed her husband.

“Before these theatrics descend into farce, is there any
useful
name to be mentioned?” snarled Grentham.

The lamplight caught the flush of color creeping across Lawrance’s cheekbones. “I had hoped to learn more from Brynn-Smith, but our adversary was a step ahead of me.”

“What about Chittenden?” asked Arianna.

Lawrance considered the question for a long moment and then shook his head. “No, I’m quite sure he’s innocent of any plot, save to curry favor with Davy and his social set. He was one of the first people I scrutinized, so I spent time shadowing his daily movements, as well as contriving to have a look at his private papers.”

“I’m not sure that I should have a great deal of confidence in your judgment, given how easily Lady Saybrook pulled the wool over your eyes,” growled the minister.

“Actually, I have to agree with Mr. Lawrance’s assessment,” said Arianna, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him. “My intuition tells me Chittenden is not devious enough to be part of this plot.”

“Ah well, I bow to
your
expertise in that matter,” said the minister with mocking politeness.

“Naturally,” she replied. “For you are clever enough to recognize a kindred soul.”

Henning gurgled another malty chuckle. “On that note, I will have to excuse myself from this discussion. It doesn’t appear that we’ll be making any further headway tonight, and I have a previous engagement.” Gathering up his hat and coat, he waved at the earl to remain seated. “Don’t bother seeing me out, laddie. I’ll slip out through the mews.”

Grentham ignored the interruption. “Any other suggestions, Mr. Lawrance?”

“Has anyone looked into Willoughby’s background?” asked Arianna before he could answer. “We know he’s brilliant, and when you add hubris and ambition to the mix, it’s a recipe for possible trouble. He’s just the sort of man who could be seduced into betraying his country.”

The minister speared Lawrance with a steely stare. “Well?’

“As a matter of fact, I
have
taken a close look at him, and so far have uncovered nothing that sparks concern. But there are records I’ve not yet been able to access.” He countered Grentham’s gaze. “Perhaps you could use your influence to obtain information on his financial transactions.”

“That won’t be a problem. Do you know who serves as his bankers and man of business?”

A sip of brandy seemed to have settled Lawrance’s nerves, noted Arianna. He rattled off several names without hesitation.

“What is your impression of Lord Canaday and his sister?” she asked, watching a skirl of smoke waft around a brace of candles.

“An interesting pair,” he replied slowly. “A study in contrasts—he has a free and easy charm while she is shy and reserved. They are twins, as you well know”—he gave a wry grimace—“having pumped me like a leaky frigate for information.”

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be. I learned a valuable lesson about looking more closely at a beautiful woman.”

“In the netherworld of intrigue and espionage, one must view everyone with a healthy skepticism,” put in Saybrook. “Assuming one wishes to live to a ripe old age. Witness Brynn-Smith.”

“Yes, that was a graphic reminder.” Lawrance tipped the glass to his lips and drew in a mouthful of the amber-dark brandy. “There are a good many distasteful things about conducting an investigation like this. The need to turn over every stone along the way and examine the dirt clinging to its bottom means you uncover secrets that might cause ruin for those innocent of any involvement of the case.”

Arianna stopped picking at a thread on her cuff. “I take it you’ve found something unpleasant about the brother and sister.”

“Perhaps,” said Lawrance. “One of the old family retainers hinted that the twins are not the actual children of the late viscount, but rather the by-blows of his younger brother. He and his wife were childless for nearly twenty years before returning from a Grand Tour with two lusty infants and a dying brother.” Another swallow. “It’s said that the fellow died of syphilis, and was a mad, raving lunatic at the end.”

“The story, if true, would mean that Canaday has no claim to the title or the lands he’s been brought up to think of as his own,” mused Arianna. “Nor would his sister have any standing in Polite Society.”

“Correct,” said Lawrance tightly. “He’s a pleasant fellow, and her genteel life revolves around the institution and its members. So it seems somehow sordid to pursue the matter.”

Saybrook shrugged. “Their personal history doesn’t appear to have any relevance to our interests.”

Arianna glanced at Grentham, whose gimlet gaze didn’t betray any reaction.

But no doubt he is filing away the information in that dark, dank place he calls a brain.

As for her own feelings on the twins . . .

“The Bright Lights are not the only people we need to focus on,” said Saybrook, interrupting her musings. “I’m even more concerned about Sir George Cayley. The more I learn, the more I’m convinced he’s the lynchpin—however unwitting—of the current conspiracy.”

Lawrance nodded, and yet his expression pinched to a frown. “I agree, but I’m not sure why that is so. What the devil is he working on?”

“We have reason to know that Renard has access to a powerful new explosive,” went on the earl, after a tiny nod from the minister signaled permission to explain. “And I fear that Cayley may be perfecting a flying machine that will allow an aeronaut to target specific locations with an aerial bombardment. If that’s true, then God help us all if the French get hold of him and his plans.”

In spite of the heat from the stove and the simmering kettle, Arianna felt a chill skate down her spin.

“But I’ve spent weeks around the big balloons and their aeronauts. I would be willing to wager my life on the fact that they can’t be steered with such precision.”

“It isn’t a balloon,” said Saybrook curtly. He turned to confront the minister. “Lord Grentham, now that you’ve raked Lawrance over the coals, what about your own investigative efforts? You’ve supposedly been using your resources to try to locate Cayley. Any joy in that quarter?”

“It has, as usual, been maddeningly slow to rattle any information out of the military’s chain of command,” said the minister. “However, I’ve just learned that Cayley has been sequestered in a remote enclave near our naval base in Middlesbrough for the past few months. Apparently the wind patterns are suitable for the experiments he is conducting for a newly established secret unit of the Home Fleet.”