Sweet Revenge Part 31

1 teaspoon baking soda

pound Medjool dates (12 to 14), pitted and coa.r.s.ely

chopped (1 cups)

2 cups spelt flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

teaspoon salt

1 cup packed dark brown sugar

2 large eggs

1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350F. b.u.t.ter 9-inch springform pan, then lightly dust with cocoa powder, knocking out excess.

2. Stir together boiling-hot water, espresso powder, vanilla, and baking soda in a bowl, then add dates, mas.h.i.+ng lightly with a fork. Soak until liquid cools to room temperature, about 10 minutes.

3. Whisk together spelt flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt in another bowl. Beat together b.u.t.ter and brown sugar with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating until just combined. Beat in date mixture (batter will look curdled), then reduce speed to low and add flour mixture, mixing until just combined.

4. Spoon batter into springform pan, smoothing top, and bake until a wooden pick or skewer inserted into center comes out clean, about 50 minutes to 1 hour. Cool cake in pan on a rack 5 minutes, then remove side of pan and cool cake on rack. Serve cake warm or at room temperature.

Having exchanged her fancy silks and satins for threadbare cotton and moleskin, Arianna squeezed through a gap in the splintered planking and made her way down the dank alley. The earl's housekeeper had informed her that Saybrook had gone to Horse Guards for a meeting with Grentham, but was now likely at Mr. Henning's surgery.

Anxious to share what she had discovered in Lady Spencer's papers, she had decided to seek him out there, rather than return home and wait with ladylike restraint.

Despite the maze of byways and alleys, the directions proved easy enough to follow. The brick building housing Henning and his rooms stood out as slightly less shabby than its neighbors. Seeing the front entrance shut tight, Arianna went around to the side, where a primitive portico sheltered a door. The sign showed a scalpel crossed with a bone saw.

Crinkling her nose, she slipped inside, finding it difficult to draw a breath. The smell of blood, sweat, and fear seemed to ooze from the damp plaster walls, adding to the staleness of the air. It, too, felt heavy enough to cut with a knife.

The only light in the corridor came from the room ahead, where the door was ajar. She crept closer, loath to interrupt if Henning was in the midst of amputating a limb or dosing a man for the clap.

"I've not yet made up my mind about Lord Ashmun." It was Saybrook who was speaking. "So far I've uncovered nothing that indicates he is anything but what he says he is. However, his solicitous manner seems just a tad overdone."

Arianna hesitated, and then instead of announcing herself, she took up a position behind the oak planking.

"I hate te say it, but we can't afford te overlook something else, Sandro." Henning expelled an audible sigh. "Maybe yer lady is really the mastermind of the nefarious group we're chasing. And this fellow Ashmun is a cohort, whose sudden appearance is meant to throw you off the scent of the real trail."

"You think I'm being led by the nose?" Saybrook's voice was suddenly harder, colder than a moment before.

"Auch, ye wouldn't be the first man in history te fall for the wiles of a beautiful woman."

"She has the brains and the nerve to be heading a criminal consortium," conceded the earl. "As well as a grudge against Society. So perhaps you are right."

Arianna felt as if she had been kicked in the gut. "You really think me capable of that?" she demanded, stepping out from behind the door.

The earl turned around slowly. "Why shouldn't I?" he answered evenly. "You've told me more than once that you have no morals, no principles."

True. Arianna lifted her chin, willing the sharp, sour taste of disappointment to subside. And I meant every word.

Saybrook was watching her intently. "I've witnessed what a consummate actress you are," he went on. "You've an uncanny ability to be very convincing in whatever role you play."

"No doubt it's due to having trained for years at the knee of a master liar and blackguard cheat," she shot back.

His expression softened just a touch.

"No offense, Lady Arianna," apologized Henning. "We were merely looking at the problem from every possible angle."

"No offense?" She gave a brittle laugh. "Oh, none taken. I'm quite used to being thought of as a scheming s.l.u.t."

The surgeon flushed.

"So why I bothered to care whether the two of you might be interested in another important clue is beyond me." Her work papers were now clutched in her fist and she shook them at Saybrook.

"What clue?" he asked quickly.

"Go to h.e.l.l," snapped Arianna as she thrust them back into her coat pocket.

He folded his arms across his chest. "We apologized."

"No, we did not. Mr. Henning did."

"You wish one from me?"

Arianna looked away.

"If I truly thought you were involved in this, Lady Arianna, you would not still be waltzing through the ballrooms of Mayfair. At my expense, I might add."

She made a mock curtsey. "How rea.s.suring to know I have your full and unqualified support, sir."

"Please sit down, Lady Arianna." Henning hastily pulled out one of the rickety chairs arranged around the small table. "We, too, have some interesting things to share."

"Just as long as you're not planning on using your scalpels or saws on me to extract information."

"Baz is a gentleman," remarked Saybrook. "I make no such claim."

"Then it's a good thing I don't consider myself a lady." Arianna took a seat and unfolded her notes. "You have to admit, at least I am not boring, like most of the demure young demoiselles of the ton."

"You are not boring," agreed Saybrook. His tone, however, gave no hint of whether he considered that a good or bad thing. His gaze flicked to her notes. "Now that we've settled personal concerns, might we get down to business?"

But of course-this was naught but a cerebral challenge for him.

Well, I, too, am capable of using my mind for more than lies and deception.

She hitched her chair a little closer. "I think I have figured out what's worth all the recent murder and mayhem." Paper crackled beneath her fingertips. "I believe that Lady Spencer is somehow involved in a conspiracy to establish a trading company based on the model of the South Sea Company."

The surgeon let out a low whistle but the earl appeared less impressed. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because along with taking the medallion and Kellton's letter from her desk, I also took this." She pulled the pasteboard folder from inside her jacket. "It's a set of mathematical equations-two sets, in fact, one old and one new."

Saybrook swore. Several times over. "I thought we went through the dangers of withholding information," he said through gritted teeth.

"We did. And I chose to ignore you." Arianna narrowed her eyes. "So, now you can either cut off my fingers with that disgusting-looking scalpel or you can hear me out."

"Listen to reason, laddie," murmured Henning.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l." The earl leaned back. "Go on."

"Your great-aunt's revelation that Lady Spencer's grandfather was involved in the South Sea Bubble got me to thinking." Arianna spread out the papers. "As I said, one set of doc.u.ments looks quite old, so I started with them. First I gathered a number of books and read up on the history of the South Sea Company. Then I began to work through the mathematics. . . ."

Saybrook made a sound-more precisely a growl-but she ignored it.

"As you know, the Bubble revolved around the government partnering with a private company to divest itself of a ballooning national debt."

"Aye," muttered Henning.

"And on paper, the formulas work very well," she went on.

"a.s.suming, of course, that the company has real value, and is not just some empty sh.e.l.l made of polished lies and pretty promises," murmured the earl.

"Right." She traced over the first string of equations on the age-yellowed paper. "Once I worked through the numbers here, I started to see similar patterns to the things I had been reading about regarding the South Sea Bubble. I guessed that they were the confidential financial papers of Lady Spencer's grandfather, who, as you recall, was a director of the Sword Blade Bank."

"Which was the financial arm of the South Sea Company," added Saybrook, for Henning was beginning to look a bit bewildered.

"Correct, sir. So I decided to compare them to the set of newer doc.u.ments that Lady Spencer had in the same folder. I ran a few projections, based on today's debt, factoring in inflation and a percentage of-"

"What?" interrupted Henning.

"Never mind. What we're really concerned with is the ratio of debt-equity swaps."

"What?" repeated the surgeon.

Arianna drummed her fingers against the table, trying to quell her impatience. To her, the concepts were simple, but she understood that many people did not find mathematics quite so easy to follow.

"Debt-equity swaps are designed to benefit both parties. In this case, the government paid a lower rate of interest on its debt, and the South Sea Company profited as its stock price rose-you see, a high profit-to-expense ratio makes the company worth more on paper." She looked up. "It can therefore issue more stock, which in turn generates more blunt for its partners."

The earl nodded for her to go on.

She paged through the modern papers and quickly explained what the complex mathematics meant. "So you see, the numbers mirror the same formulas used in the last century. And that can only mean one thing."

"What?" The surgeon appeared hopelessly confused.

Arianna glanced at Saybrook, wondering whether he grasped the significance of her calculations.

"What you mean is," said the earl slowly, "the scale and volume indicates that the deal can only be a very large one."

"That's right, sir. A very large one, and a very profitable one." She paused to pull out the sheet of numbers that the earl had found in Lady Spencer's desk on the night of their encounter with Lord Ashmun. "Bear with me while I go over one last thing. Based on what I discovered in the old and new doc.u.ments-and something that Mr. Henning had said about dockyard mud-I had an idea of what these sequences might mean. So I visited your great-aunt this morning and asked her if, through her many connections in Society, she could get me copies of certain s.h.i.+pping records."

"And?" asked Saybrook.

"And sure enough, the sequences on this paper correspond to the dates when certain merchant s.h.i.+ps arrived in London from the old Spanish Empire trading ports. Perhaps it's coincidence. But I doubt it. I think what we've uncovered is a new business venture-a New World trading company modeled on the financial scandal of the last century."

Arianna learned forward and propped her elbows on the table.

"Only bigger."

21.

From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano I know that it is not at all fas.h.i.+onable these days to speak well of the French, but there is no denying that despite all their faults, they have contributed greatly to the refinement of fine cuisine. So we must give credit to a Frenchman named Dubuisson, who invented a hand mill for grinding cacao in 1732. Having toiled for untold hours in the kitchen with mortar and pestle, I raise my cup in salute, and I am sure that Sandro will join me. Unlike many men of wealth and privilege, he has a very open mind. . . .