Recipe for Treason Part 4

Gossip. In her experience, if one wanted to learn all the secrets of a place, one had only to find a spot where its females gathered. Cooks, maids, washerwomen-they knew the intimate details of a household's daily life. By keeping her eyes and ears open, mused Arianna, she just might learn more than Saybrook and Henning would within the male bastion of the university.

Men tended to be more tight-lipped unless well lubricated with brandy or other strong spirits.

Reaching the end of the lane, she turned and squeezed in between two covered stalls selling medicinal powders and potions. Half-hidden by a stack of barrels was a display of dried Highland herbs that looked interesting . . .

A rustling behind the sailcloth screen of the near stall interrupted her musings. Then a m.u.f.fled voice, distinctly female, rose above the faint crackling of the canvas.

"By the bones of St. Andrew hisself, the bang frightened me near te death, Mavis."

Bang. Arianna went very still and c.o.c.ked an ear. Had she heard right? The Scottish burr was hard to understand.

"Auch, he claimed it was but a wee bit o' liquid on the burner." The woman dropped her voice a notch. "But it blew the copper pot clear through the ceiling. There must have been flames as well-the woodwork was singed something awful."

"I wuddna want te work fer such an odd employer, Alice," said Mavis. "No matter that he pays a few pence more fer a maid."

"Aye, likely all that fancy study at the university has addled his head," replied Alice. "They say he be a very learned man, but he frightens me. Strange mumblings, locked doors, shadowy visitors late at night-I dunna like it at all. Mayhap he's a warlock, or a . . ."

A bl.u.s.tery breeze ruffled the canvas. Swearing silently, Arianna inched closer to the cloth, straining to catch the whispers.

"Bessie may know of another position," offered Mavis. "Let Professor Girton find someone else willing te put up with him and his quirks. I swear, it be the Devil's work if a man uses his own house fer brewing up mischief."

The Devil? Arianna pursed her lips and slipped back into the shelter of the barrels. Then perhaps they were on the right trail after all.

"I feel as if we're trying to trudge through a vat of boiled oats." Saybrook hung his coat and hat on the clothes pegs. "It just sits there, thick as glue, resisting every effort to make headway."

"I warned ye that the Scots are slow te warm up te strangers," said Henning. "My friend Connery is doing his best to sniff out what's going on in the laboratories. But he must be discreet in his questions. We don't want to spook our quarry." He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a gla.s.s of whisky. "Slainte."

The earl let out a disgruntled sigh. "At this rate, it will be the next century before their reserve thaws."

"Try some oatcakes." Hearing the men return from their meeting, Arianna came into the sitting room from the bedchamber. A gesture indicated the platter on the tea table. "They are fresh from the market."

"I'd rather you feed me some useful information," grumbled the earl as he took a seat in one of the worn leather armchairs. "I'm starved for progress."

"I may have something that will sweeten your mood, but I thought I would let you eat first-you are always snappish when your bread box is empty."

"And we are all aware that you claim to think better on a full stomach, Lady S." The surgeon lifted his gla.s.s in salute. "Actually, it makes perfect medical sense. Just as a stove needs fuel to keep the fire burning, a body needs sustenance to perform at its best."

"Then my wife must be a veritable genius." The earl raked a hand through his damp hair. "Though how someone so slender can consume so much without becoming as fat as the Prince Regent is a scientific conundrum."

"I like food," said Arianna. "A fact for which both of you ought to be profoundly grateful."

The earl sat up a bit straighter.

"You see, I was able to melt some of that flinty Scottish suspicion of strangers with a few of my chocolate recipes."

"Chocolate is fast becoming England's secret weapon," quipped Saybrook. "Though it's really my Spanish ancestors who deserve the credit."

Henning downed his whisky in one quick swallow. "Much as I appreciate your expertise in chocolate, might you continue?"

"Of course." Her expression turned serious. "For the last few days, I've been spending time at the market, for you see, cooking provides a common ground for women."

"Trial by fire," murmured the earl.

Her mouth quirked up at the corners. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose. The point is, the locals here have come to accept me as a kindred soul, despite my strange accent. And as they don't view my presence among them as a threat, they feel comfortable talking among themselves."

Saybrook steepled his fingers and placed the point beneath his chin. "Go on."

"I've made a point of taking my time in wandering through the stalls. I look at the goods for sale, I buy . . . and I listen."

"I take it you have heard something interesting," said Henning.

"Very." Arianna moved to the door and took a quick peek into the corridor. "Perhaps we should take a walk on the strand. Seeing as Grentham arranged our quarters, there is a possibility that the walls have ears."

Her husband nodded. "A prudent suggestion. Baz?"

The surgeon poured himself another measure of whisky and drank it down. "Aye. I don't trust the minister or his lackeys farther than I can spit." He pursed his lips. "No word yet from that gold-braided donkey's a.r.s.e about Angus?"

Arianna bit her lip. The malt had lit a dangerous glint in Henning's eye. For the present it was only a small spark, but it wouldn't take much to fan it into a flame.

"You know military bureaucracy," counseled Saybrook. "These things often move at a snail's pace, despite orders."

"We don't even know what Grentham wrote in those fancy sealed papers," retorted the surgeon.

"It is not in the minister's interest to make enemies of us," pointed out the earl.

"That," said Henning darkly, "depends on what his true interests really are."

"Instead of spinning round and round in circles on this, let us try to move forward." Arianna put on her coat and bonnet. "Put the arrogant Colonel Stoughton and his scarlet regimentals out of your mind. The only shade of red that ought to concern us is the cinnabar flash of a cunning fox."

Bundled up against the biting wind, the three of them cut across the golf course and took the footpath down to the rocky stretch of beach. The tide was ebbing, leaving pools of dark, foam-flecked water among the smooth stones. Storm clouds hovered on the horizon, ominous bands of charcoal smudging the steel gray sea.

As they picked their way along the high-water line, Saybrook linked arms with Arianna and signaled for his friend to do the same. "I think we're now safe enough from being overheard," he said dryly. "Feel free to be succinct. I feel a sudden craving for hot chocolate coming on, fortified with a generous splash of rum."

"I shall," she said through chattering teeth, and quickly recounted what she had overheard.

"Girton," mused Henning. "Just this morning Connery suggested that we add his name to our list of people who merited a closer look. Though I confess, I did not put it at the very top."

"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 m.u.f.fled 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 st.u.r.dy 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 mult.i.tude 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 t.i.t," 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 p.r.i.c.kling at the back of her neck. She eased off a glove and slipped her hand inside her coat, feeling for the b.u.t.t 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, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l."

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 101/2 ounces dark chocolate chips or chunks 51/2 tablespoons unsalted b.u.t.ter 2 cups sifted Muscovado or dark brown sugar 4 large eggs 1/2 cup creme fraiche or sour cream 1 cup chocolate chips or chunks b.u.t.ter 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 325F and place a rack in the top third. b.u.t.ter and line a 13 x 9 x 2inch 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 b.u.t.ter and sugar. Stir just until the chocolate has melted and the ingredients come together into a ma.s.s. 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. Sc.r.a.pe 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 creme fraiche, the remaining 1 cup chocolate chips, and the cherries with the port. Stir until just combined.