Sweet Revenge (23 page)

“And so,” continued Saybrook. “Despite your refusal to see reason, I don’t intend to let you be part of the discussion. It’s too dangerous.”

“How do you intend to stop me? Chain me up in some remote castle dungeon like the dastardly Spanish villain in that silly horrid novel by Mrs. Radcliffe?” Actually, Arianna had found the book quite entertaining, but that was beside the point.

“Ye mean
The Mysteries of Udolpho
?” asked Henning helpfully.

“Yes, that’s the one,” she said.

“Montoni was Italian,” murmured Saybrook.

“Mea culpa,”
retorted Arianna.

“And that is Latin,” he pointed out.

“You,” she said slowly, “are an overeducated, aristocratic ass.”

Henning stifled a snort.

“And you,” countered Saybrook, “are a bloody thorn in my lordly posterior.”

The surgeon decided to intervene. “Come, come, let us not war with each other. We have far more serious battles to fight.” He looked at the earl. “There’s no denying that the lady is already in the thick of things.”

“Oh, bloody hell. I suppose I have little choice but to admit you into our confidences,” said the earl grudgingly.

She watched the sooty shadow of the lamp flame dance across the grained wood. “You won’t regret it.”

His silence was eloquent in its skepticism.

“All right then, no more fiddle-faddle.” The surgeon slapped his palms together. “Sandro, as you were about to say, Kellton’s murder presents a whole new set of questions. Beginning with, what were he and Concord quarreling about?”

“There’s that,” agreed Saybrook. “As well as why Grentham all but asked me to read a file on his recent activities.” His finger traced over the myriad knife scars in the tabletop. “And then there is the conundrum of why an East India Company under-governor was killed with a South American poison. The two concerns are worlds apart.”

“And yet they have come together,” mused Henning. “Of course, it could be coincidence.”

Saybrook made a face. “How many people in London have access to curare?”

“Very few,” conceded the surgeon.

“There has to be a connection. We simply need to see it.”

“One other thing,” added Henning. “The mud on his boots contained particles of hemp, pine tar, and crushed shells, as well as the type of clay that is common to the Thames riverbanks. So I would say it came from one of the dockyards around the Isle of Dogs. Not all that suspicious, given his position with the East India Company—save, of course, for the time of night.”

Saybrook didn’t reply.

Arianna searched her memory for any new observation that she could offer into the conversation. Nothing came to mind, save what she had already mentioned to the earl. “One would have expected this man Kellton to have been stabbed, seeing as he and Concord were arguing over blunt sword blades.” She meant it half in jest, but after a moment’s reflection, she added, “As I said before, do you think it possible they were involved in some shady dealings with military supplies to our army, or the troops of our allies?”

Henning looked at Saybrook and arched a graying brow. “You did say that Whitehall is worried about any disruption of talks with the Russian and Prussian envoys next month.”

“Very worried,” agreed Saybrook. The planes of his face seemed to sharpen in the flickering lamplight. “That is, if we trust Grentham’s explanation for bringing me into this investigation. That he may have other, ulterior motives is something we have to consider.”

Arianna suddenly felt a little dizzy.

“Blunt . . . sword blades, blunt . . . sword blades,” mused Henning aloud. “British India and Spanish America.”

Saybrook sat, head bowed, unmoving. He looked as though he were carved out of obsidian, she thought.
Dark, impenetrable
.

A grunt of laughter from Henning drew her attention away from his profile. “Blunt . . . sword blades—hell, perhaps someone has resurrected the old South Sea Company of a century ago.”

Beneath the rough-spun cotton shirt, Arianna felt a pebbling of gooseflesh shiver down her arms.

“Ye all right, milady?” asked the surgeon. “Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”

I have, in a manner of speaking.
But unwilling to reveal any reaction until she had time to compose her thoughts, Arianna shook her head. “I’m simply feeling a little fatigued, is all,” she mumbled.

Henning made sympathetic sounds, but as the earl raised his gaze to meet hers, she sensed that he saw through the lie.

Looking away, she sought to deflect his scrutiny. “What do you mean, Mr. Henning?” she asked quickly.

He answered with a question of his own. “Are you familiar with the term ‘blunt’ as it is used in common cant, Lady Arianna?”

“It is slang for money, is it not?” she replied slowly.

“Correct. And do you know why?”

Though she knew the reason all too well, Arianna pretended to think for a moment. “I would imagine that it is because money dulls the edge of poverty.”

“An excellent guess,” said the surgeon. “However, the truth is, it’s based on an actual person. Sir John Blunt was an entrepreneur from early in the last century.”

The name caused a clench in her belly. Some men had patron saints, but her father had worshipped at the altar of the Almighty Sir John Blunt.

“For a time his name was synonymous with easy riches,” went on Henning. “For you see, he offered people a simple way of amassing great wealth with little or no effort.”

Oh, if only she had a penny for every time she had heard plans for such a scheme.
“That sounds too good to be true,” she said warily.

“It was,” said the earl. “Have you read anything about the South Sea Bubble?”

She took care to answer obliquely. “Remember, I didn’t attend your fancy schools, Lord Saybrook. I’ve not spent my life with my nose buried in some musty book.”

“Perhaps your father made mention of it,” he suggested. “Given his interest in gambling and numbers, it would seem likely.”

Arianna shook her head, “If he did, I don’t recall it.”

His gaze lingered on her face for a long moment, leaving her skin feeling slightly scorched.

“It was a stock scheme,” offered Henning. “Initially, the South Sea Company was created in 1711 by the Lord Treasurer Robert Harley as a way of funding the national debt, which was ballooning because of England’s wars. It then put together a very sophisticated proposal for raising money, based on the government granting it exclusive trading rights in Spain’s New World colonies. Now, dunna ask me to explain the fine points of finance, for such intricacies are far too complicated fer my simple brain. But basically, it involved a swap of private stock for government debt. . . .”

Arianna listened in mute dismay as he went on to explain the initial investment phases. She had heard it all before. And yet it still sounded reasonable. But then, the clever plans always did.

“A New World trading company should have proved enormously profitable on its own,” said Arianna. Something was niggling at the edges of her consciousness, but she couldn’t as yet put a finger on it.

“The actual trading became a minor concern,” said Saybrook. He was watching her closely. “Once the majority of the public agreed to accept the initial offering of company stock in exchange for their government holdings, the main thrust of the South Sea governors was to drum up enthusiasm for the venture, in order to drive up the stock price.”

“That’s why the South Sea Company asked Sir John Blunt to join forces with them,” explained the surgeon. “Blunt had made a name for himself promoting highly profitable lotteries for the government. He brought in the Sword Blade Bank as a new partner.”

“An odd name for a bank,” she mused. Her surprise was genuine. She couldn’t recall her father ever mentioning such an entity.

“It began as a manufacturing company of—yes—sword blades crafted with smithing techniques brought to England by Huguenot refugees. The company failed, but Blunt, who was a mere scrivener at the time, put together a group of investors and turned it into a land bank, which granted mortgages, accepted deposits, and issued notes. In 1711, it won a lottery to raise two million pounds. Based on Blunt’s success in selling the subscription, the bank then went on to become the financial arm of the South Sea Company.”

“H-how do you know so much about all this, Mr. Henning?” asked Arianna, once the lengthy explanation was done.

The surgeon made a face. “Because my grandfather lost all of his blunt when the South Sea Bubble burst. Left him penniless. He had to sell his house, a lovely stone cottage with orchards and grazing lands, and find work in Edinburgh. My father was forced to take up a trade, rather than study at the university, as was always intended.”

So hers was not the only life ruined by a desire for instant riches.
Oh, Papa.
How was it that he never really learned a thing from his beloved John Blunt?

Her face must have betrayed a hint of what she was thinking, because Henning gave a gruff grunt. “Those caught up in a dream never think it can turn into a nightmare, eh?”

Arianna tucked her hands into her lap, trying to evade the memory of the shrieking wind and trembling fingers sticky with blood. “What has a century-old scandal to do with these current crimes?” she asked in a small voice.

“A good question,” answered the surgeon. He slanted Saybrook a questioning look. “Ye were rather good at solving conundrums for Wellington and his staff. Have ye got no ideas?”

Saybrook’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “I don’t have quite the freedom in London as I did in the Peninsula,” he pointed out. “There I had resources to call on, and an idea of what mission I was trying to accomplish. While here I feel as if I am spinning in circles. It’s unclear to me why, but I suspect that I’ve been put in motion for reasons that have little to do with uncovering the truth.”

Arianna tried to squelch the tiny stirring of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Truth, she told herself, was all relative. Its definition depended on what one was seeking. And the Earl of Saybrook was looking for something far different than she was.

“Tell me again exactly what you overhead, Lady Arianna,” said Saybrook. “Every word, precisely as you remember them.”

She did as he asked.

Henning scratched at his chin. “Gurney. That’s a litter fer carrying wounded men,” he said helpfully. “So maybe this is about some sort of business with military supplies.”

The earl nodded abstractly. “Given Kellton’s position with the East India Company, it raises a number of questions. Nitrates, which are essential for gunpowder, come to us from the east—”

“Sir.” She wasn’t even aware that she had spoken until Saybrook turned around.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but . . .”

He waited, dark and silent as a storm cloud hovering on the horizon.

“But before you go on, there is something that you ought to know. It may have no bearing on your investigation, but along with the medallion, I . . . I also took a letter from Lady Spencer’s desk.” She met his eyes. “And it so happens that it was from Kellton.”

“H
ow kind of you to share that information with us,” replied Saybrook with undisguised sarcasm.

“Sandro,” chided Henning.