Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) (5 page)

“I suggest you reconsider,” said Arianna.

The surgeon looked pensive. “What—”

Saybrook swung around, turning them all back in the direction of town. “Let us get out of the cold, before Arianna turns into a block of ice,” he counseled. “We can discuss strategy at a coffeehouse. But it seems to me that we ought act on this without delay. A late-night visit to his residence for a private audience might be in order.”

“Aye.” Henning’s voice was muffled by the knitted scarf wound around his neck and the lower part of his face. “I’m sure that with the right encouragement we can convince him to be candid about his current activities.”

Arianna quickened her pace. Her feet were going numb despite her sturdy half boots. “I agree. The sooner we move, the better.”

* * *

“I am not sure your new lady friends in the market would approve.” Saybrook arched a brow as he eyed her snug-fitting black breeches and coat. “Scots are rather rigid in their notions of traditional propriety.”

“I’m sure that according to their rules, I’m guilty of a multitude of sins.” She checked the sharpness of her blade before sliding it into her boot. “One more won’t matter.”

The earl opened a small traveling case, revealing several more small pocket pistols. He chose a pretty pearl-handed model and after checking the action of the hammer held it out on his palm. “Manton had this in his shop. It was made by a craftsman in Italy who specializes in discreet weapons for ladies and should fit perfectly in the hidden breast pocket of your coat.”

“I prefer the Tsar’s dueling pistols,” replied Arianna. “As you pointed out, these tiny toys are only effective at very close range.”

“Take it,” he said softly. “You’ll have the other weapons as well, but I prefer that you carry a spare. One can’t be too careful, my dear.”

“You are growing cautious in your old age,” she replied, smiling slightly.

“Call it wiser.”
Click, click.
The well-oiled steel moved with perfect precision as he examined the priming of his own pair of firearms. “Though many people would question my sanity for allowing my wife to be part of these little adventures.”

“On the contrary. You are smart enough to know the futility of forbidding me to be involved in the action. I don’t take orders well.”

Click, click.
“And yet the traditional vows of marriage include a promise to honor and obey.”

“I lied,” said Arianna without a hint of hesitation. “Which should come as no surprise to you, given my background.”
Click, click.
She made her own quick examination of the tiny pocket pistol and tucked it away. “If you wanted a traditional wife, alas, you made the wrong choice.”

Candlelight glinted off the polished metal, catching the spark of amusement that lit in his eyes. “Ah, well, there are benefits to being leg shackled to a lady who refuses to conform to convention. Life is rarely dull.”

She put on her hat and tugged the wide brim down low. “It’s time to go. Henning and his friend will be waiting.”

The surgeon had suggested that he ask his friend Connery to accompany them to Girton’s residence, explaining that the chemistry professor might be more forthcoming if a colleague were there to urge cooperation. Both she and the earl had agreed that it could do no harm, for Henning had sworn that his friend could be trusted to keep their secrets.

Easing the bedchamber window open, Saybrook angled a look up and down the alleyway. Signaling for her to follow, he slipped out to the ledge and slid along to the corner of the inn, where the corniced stone allowed enough of a foothold to climb up to the slated rooftop. Crouching low, he moved stealthily to the adjoining building, using the chimney shadows for cover.

The moon was naught but a thin crescent, noted Arianna as she slid her gloved hands over the rough tiles. Even if Grentham’s lackeys were spying on them, they should have no trouble evading pursuit.

At the end of the block, the earl dropped down to a deserted storage pen, and from there they emerged onto a quiet side street.

“This way,” he whispered, drawing her toward the harbor.

Henning and Connery were waiting in the lee of the cathedral’s east wall. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit,” grumbled the surgeon.

“Auch, London living has made ye soft, Baz,” whispered his friend. “It’s balmy fer this time of year.”

“Let’s hurry,” advised the earl. He did not introduce Arianna to the professor.

Yes, some things were best left unsaid,
she thought, falling in step behind her husband.

Connery led the way, threading a path through a series of narrow, twisting alleyways before pausing in front of the ivy-covered back gate of a walled garden. “It’s locked,” he whispered, “but Baz told me that won’t be an obstacle.”

“None whatsoever.” Saybrook needed only a moment of probing with a thin metal pick before the mechanism released with a soft
snick
.

Moving quickly in single file, they followed the yew hedge up to the rear of a modest stone house. Save for a faint glimmer of light seeping through the shutters of the far ground-floor window, the place was as dark as a crypt.

“That’s Girton’s workroom,” whispered Connery. “Shall we knock on the back door?”

Henning looked to the earl.

“No,” replied Saybrook. “Let’s enter first. You can alert him to our presence once we’re inside.”

Once again, a lock yielded easily to the earl’s probing, allowing them to cross through the scullery and into an unlit corridor.

The house was silent . . .

Too silent,
thought Arianna, aware of a prickling at the back of her neck. She eased off a glove and slipped her hand inside her coat, feeling for the butt of the pistol tucked into her waistband.

Connery inched around a corner and pointed up ahead at a paneled oak door, outlined by a thin bead of lamplight.

Saybrook signaled him to approach and knock. He, too, had his hand inside his coat.

“Girton? It’s Connery. Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but I’ve something urgent to discuss with you.”

Silence.

He cleared his throat and repeated the words.

Again, no response.

The earl stepped forward and pressed a palm to the door. It swung open with a low groan . . . which was quickly echoed by Saybrook’s oath.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

5

From
Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Chocolate Cherry Brownies

2 cups dried cherries

1 cup port wine

¹
/
₂
cup whole wheat pastry flour

¹
/
₃
cup unsweetened cocoa powder

¹
/
₂
teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

10
¹
/
₂
ounces dark chocolate chips or chunks

5
¹
/
₂
tablespoons unsalted butter

2 cups sifted Muscovado or dark brown sugar

4 large eggs

¹
/
₂
cup crème fraîche or sour cream

1 cup chocolate chips or chunks

Butter for greasing the pan

1. A day or two before you want to bake the brownies, place the cherries in a medium bowl and pour the port over them. Cover and set aside. Stir every twelve hours until ready to use.

2. Preheat the oven to 325°F and place a rack in the top third. Butter and line a 13 x 9 x 2–inch rectangular baking dish with parchment paper (an important step if you want to eventually get these brownies out of the pan).

3. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, salt, and baking powder into a bowl and set aside.

4. Make a double boiler by placing a stainless steel bowl over a small pan of gently simmering water—the bottom of the bowl should not touch the water. Place the dark chocolate chips into this bowl along with the butter and sugar. Stir just until the chocolate has melted and the ingredients come together into a mass. Transfer to the bowl of an electric mixer and allow to cool.

5. Mix on low speed and add the eggs, one at a time, incorporating each before adding the next. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula a couple of times along the way.

6. Add the flour mixture and stir by hand until combined. Add the crème fraîche, the remaining 1 cup chocolate chips, and the cherries with the port. Stir until just combined.

7. Spoon the mixture into the prepared pan and bake for about 1 hour, or until just set. The center of the brownie should be set and not at all wobbly.

8. Allow to cool completely in the pan. You can cover the pan tightly with plastic wrap at this point and the brownies will keep for a couple of days. Chill before slicing if you want small, precise squares.

A
rianna pushed past a confused Connery to join her husband on the workroom’s threshold.

“Damnation.” She let loose her own oath after a quick glance around.

The massive pine desk had clearly been ransacked. An inkwell had been knocked to the carpet, leaving a splattering of black blotches over the scattered quills and penknives. The drawers hung open, and the contents had been strewn helter-pelter on the floor.

“Any sign of Girton?” Henning stepped gingerly around the jumbled pile of papers and peered under the worktable, as if expecting to find a corpse hidden in the shadows.

“I’ll check the bedchamber,” volunteered Arianna.

“No, I’ll do it.” Saybrook drew his weapon. “You stay here with Baz and see what clues you can find.”

“I—I don’t understand,” stammered Connery. “What—”

A look from Henning speared him to silence.

“The worktable appears to have been swept clear of all implements,” observed Arianna as she slowly rounded the desk and ran a hand over the waxed wood. Frowning, she stared up at the ceiling, where a jagged hole, its edges black with soot, marred the whitewashed plaster.

Henning crouched down and thumbed through several of the books that had been pulled from the shelves. “It would seem the intruder came for something specific.”

He and Arianna locked eyes for a long moment before she looked away.

“Damn,” she repeated under her breath, stepping to the hearth. A flicker of orange showed that the embers still had a bit of life. She was just about to take up the poker and stir up a flame when a curl of singed leather within the ashes caught her eyes.

Shoving aside the fireguard, she dropped to her knees and fished a small notebook out from the coals.

“What’s that?” asked Henning, hurrying to her side.

Arianna swatted out the sparks, wincing as the heat burned her fingers. “I’m not sure yet.” A cursory peek beneath the cover revealed pages filled with a scrawled script. “Time enough later to examine it more closely.” She rose and carefully tucked it away in her pocket. “Come, let’s see what else we can find.”

They moved to the storage cabinets. “Why don’t you check through these, while I see if I can find a letter case. If there are any suspicious chemicals, I wouldn’t recognize them.”

“Hand me one of the glass-globed lamps. An open flame would be too dangerous—”

The clatter of Saybrook’s steps on the stairs cut off Henning’s reply.

“Half the clothing in the armoire is gone, and a valise seems to be missing from its peg,” announced the earl. “It looks as if our professor has made a hasty departure.” He turned to Connery. “Does he own any sort of conveyance—a cart, a carriage?”

“I . . . I don’t think so.”

Saybrook thought for an instant. “The laboratory! Where does he do his experiments at the university?”

“St. Salvatore’s College, in the wing closest to Butts Wynd.”

“Don’t just stand there, Connery. Lead the way!” He gave the professor a small shove. “And quickly!”

Shaking off his lingering shock, Henning’s friend finally roused himself to action. Boots skittering on the waxed wood, he bolted off down the corridor, the earl right on his heels.

“Hurry,” called Saybrook over his shoulder. “There may be a chance we can catch up with Girton.”

Giving thanks for her breeches, rather than the cursed encumbrance of flapping skirts, Arianna raced after them. She heard Henning swear and slam the cabinet doors shut. Then his footsteps were echoing somewhere in the gloom behind her.

She didn’t dare look back. The fog-swirled streets were as dark as Hades, and with precious few of the buildings showing even a flicker of light, she knew that falling behind would leave her hopelessly lost. Spurred on by the thought, she quickened her pace, even though the cold air was painfully sharp against her lungs and a stitch was stabbing at her side.

For a brief stretch Henning caught up, but she heard his breath turn wheezy and his steps begin to fade.

The surgeon knew the town, she reminded herself. He could find his own way, if need be.

After what felt like an eternity, Connery cut away from the slick cobblestones and darted through a gap in the buildings, where finally he slowed to a walk as he reached a swath of grass.

“There,” he gasped, pointing to a looming building of square angles, crenellated towers and pointed spires silhouetted against the cloudy night sky. “St. Salvatore’s—the laboratories are on the first floor. Girton’s is at the very end, and in the back, overlooking the sea.”

“Thank you.” The earl looked around and spotted Henning limping down from shadows of North Street. “Go home now, Connery.”

“What is going on here, Mr. Castellano? Who the devil are you?”

“It’s best you don’t know,” answered the earl grimly.

The surgeon’s friend hesitated, but only for an instant. The Scots, reflected Arianna, had a strong streak of pragmatism to go along with their flinty courage and stubborn pride.

With a brusque nod, Connery backed off and disappeared into the mists.

Still breathing hard, Henning hurried to rejoin them.

“Are you all right?” asked Saybrook.

“I’ll live,” replied his friend curtly. “What’s the plan of attack?”

The earl didn’t answer right away. He stood, silent and still, observing the building. Though she couldn’t see his expression, she sensed the coiled tension of his muscles. If not for the rhythmic wash of the surf, she was sure that the thrum would have been audible.

“I don’t like the situation—there are too many unknown variables. But we’ve no choice.” He seemed to make up his mind. “Baz, I need you to wait here, both to watch our backs and to prevent Girton from escaping if he slips through my grasp. Arianna will come with me.”

A scudding of moonlight caught Henning’s grimace, but he didn’t argue.

She, too, remained silent, despite wanting to point out that in a chase, she was more likely to succeed. Intuition told her this was not the moment to question his command.

“You’re armed?” added Saybrook.

“Aye, laddie. I haven’t forgotten all our training from the Peninsular War.”

“Good. I suggest you take cover there . . .” The earl pointed to a thicket of gorse by the edge of the grass. “Three sharp whistles will be the signal for you to join us inside.”

Henning nodded his assent. “Godspeed.”

Saybrook turned to her. “Stay behind me, and do exactly as I tell you.” Without waiting for an answer, he started forward.

The porter’s entrance to the end tower was unlocked, allowing them access to a set of circular stone stairs. Narrow glass-paned windows, mimicking ancient archery slits, were the only source of illumination. With the clouds hazing the heavens, the gloom was thick enough to cut with a knife . . .

Arianna touched the top of her boot as she edged along the wall, loosening the slim blade in its sheath.

Saybrook thumbed back the hammer of his weapon to full cock, taking care that it made no noise.

She did the same.

“Stay close,” he whispered, the heat of his breath against her ear amplified by the cold air. “And stay alert.”

“I’m used to facing danger,” she reminded him.

“I’m not,” he said. His dark eyes seemed to spark for an instant, and then his chill lips brushed hers. Without another word, he started up the first turn, shoulder pressed to the center stones, his steps as light as those of a stalking cat.

At the first landing, he eased forward and darted a look through the half-open door. She waited for his signal to follow him into the corridor. The wall sconces were unlit—a glow of lamplight from the doorway up was the only man-made illumination.

The other rooms lining the way were shut tight, the blackened oak portals and forged iron latches standing silent guard.

Drawing a steadying breath to calm the flutter of unease in her chest, Arianna glanced behind her.

Nothing.

Saybrook paused and cocked an ear, straining to hear any sound from Girton’s laboratory.

Was it only her imagination, or was that a faint moan?

Double, double toil and trouble . . .
The words of Shakespeare’s Scottish trio of witches cackled in her head. Macbeth had been a great favorite with her father. Perhaps because the themes of crime and guilt and punishment struck a chord—

A touch to her arm jerked her out of her momentary reveries.
Stay focused,
she chided herself, giving a quick nod to her husband’s signal to advance and cover the right side of the doorway.

The sound came again, a little louder.

Saybrook darted into the laboratory and took cover behind a tall storage cabinet.

Pistol raised, Arianna watched for any flicker of movement within the shadows. All was still, save for the slight wavering of the lamp flame within its glass globe. The light was sitting atop a long, thin worktable set in the center of the large space. Counters crammed with bottles and scientific instruments lined the side walls, their shadows casting menacing patterns across the stained plaster. Above them were shelves crammed with books and ledgers. The sharp scent of chemicals hung heavy in the air.

Her husband took a small coin from his pocket and rolled it toward the table.

The tiny sound drew no reaction. He waited a moment longer and then moved to a new position by a wrought-iron rack of metal canisters.

The pistol butt began to feel a little slippery against her palm, despite the chillness of the room. Her blood was pounding in her ears, setting off a strange, spooky echo. Swallowing hard, she tightened her grip and made a quick check of the corridor behind her.

Sssssssssss.
A ghostly sound seemed to flit through the shadows.

Her eyes flew back to the laboratory as a groan—one that sounded distinctly human—rent the air. It seemed to be coming from an alcove at the rear of the room.

“H-h-help me.”

Saybrook flicked his pistol, indicating he meant to investigate.

Following his silent orders, Arianna slipped inside and took up a position to cover his advance. A veteran of the guerrilla conflicts in Spain, he needed no reminder from her that it could be a trap. Still, she felt as if her heart had leapt into her throat as he started forward.

No bullet, no blade flashed out of the gloom.

Inch by inch, the earl crept toward the sound. Without thinking, she eased up to a spot by the table, giving her a better angle into the alcove. Within the muddled shades of black, she thought she could make out a solid shape sprawled on the floor beneath a desk.

Saybrook suddenly stood and rushed over the remaining distance. He reached down, and his hand was swallowed by the shadows. “Bring the lamp here,” he called after a moment.

Arianna grabbed it and hurried to his side.