Recipe for Treason (23 page)

“Can you carry this to Horse Guards without delay?” She held up a shilling.

“Oiy.” The lad held out a grubby hand.

“Don’t let the guards stop you. There will be a gold guinea for you if you get it into Lord Grentham’s hands without delay.” She saw his eyes widen to the size of tea saucers. “Tell him it’s from the Countess of Saybrook.”

Snatching the paper and coin, he set off at a dead run.

“You had better change into these.” Arianna tossed Sophia the bundle of men’s clothing, then fished a chamois cloth from beneath the seat and began blotting the moisture from her coat.

“Where are we going?” asked Sophia. “Or don’t I want to know?”

“I wouldn’t blame you for deciding that you have had your fill of adventure. If you choose, I can drop you here and continue on my own.”

As she wriggled into her breeches, Sophia responded with a word that made Arianna blink.

“Very well. Seeing as you seem determined to continue, we are headed for the Artillery Grounds.”

“I’m not sure cannons are going to do us much good . . .” The remnants of her gown fell to the floorboards as Sophia twisted around. “Can you cut the cursed strings of this corset? Whalebone stays are
not
conducive to physical exertion.” Once free of the constricting garment, she pulled on the shirt. “So unless there is a secret weapon there—”

“No, it’s not secret,” said Arianna. “But let us hope it’s
highly
effective.” Seeing Sophia’s questioning look, she added, “Balloons.”

“Balloons!”

“And the men who fly them,” she explained. “The military allows a company of experienced aeronauts to keep their equipment there and use the fields for ascents and landings. Their flights along the coast provide valuable mapmaking information.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Sophia’s face. “Are you saying the twins intend to make an
airborne
escape?”

“I overheard them making their plans. They know of Stoughton’s arrest and have decided to make a run—metaphorically speaking—for France with Cayley’s sketches and the formula for the explosives.”

“Y-you think we have a chance of stopping them?”

“I’m willing to follow them to Hell and back to see that we do,” vowed Arianna.

* * *

“This way.” Saybrook dropped down from his vantage point and pointed to a small gap in the crumbling wall surrounding the castle ruins. “There’s a light in the tower’s top window, but the rest of the building appears deserted.”

“My guess is Renard may be running out of people he can trust,” said Henning.

“Stoughton said that he only left two men to guard Cayley, but he wasn’t sure whether reinforcements were being sent down from London.”

“No sign of any new arrivals,” observed the surgeon as they made their way along the perimeter of the grounds to where the stable sat silent and shrouded in shadows by the rutted dirt cart path.

Drawing his pistol, the earl ducked inside. “Naught but two horses in the stalls,” he murmured, reappearing a few moments later.

“So it’s two hired ruffians against the pair of us.” Henning gave a whispered laugh as they circled through the trees to approach the back of the castle. “Poor devils. Do ye care whether we take them alive?”

“I always avoid mindless bloodshed when possible,” answered Saybrook tersely. “That is one of the things that separates us from the evil ones.” He stopped to survey the surroundings from the shelter of the unpruned privet hedge. “God knows, there are far too many things we have in common.”

“Feeling a twinge of conscience, laddie? If ye plan te keep doing Grentham’s nasty work for him, ye had better toughen up yer tender sensibilities. Nobility is all very well in theory, but sometimes, ye must strip off yer fancy principles and drop into the filth, to fight these miscreants on their own turf.”

Saybrook shaded his eyes from the setting sun as he stared at the stone tower. “You know, I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty, Baz. But I don’t like dragging my friends into the muck along with me.”

The surgeon dismissed the oblique apology with a rude sound. “I told ye before, I don’t hold you to blame fer Angus. The lad made his own choices. If anything, I should have seen the trouble and done something to steer him clear of the danger before he got in over his head.”

The earl shifted to sweep his gaze along the rugged sea cliff. “Those who are closest to us are often the hardest people to guard from danger,” he said softly.

“Auch, is that what’s eating at yer insides? That ye can’t wrap yer wife in a sweet little apron and keep her locked in a kitchen?” A grunt. “No wonder she took a carving knife to ye the first time ye met.”

For an instant, a flicker of wry amusement softened the grim set of his mouth. “I am learning to compromise. But what of friends who have less experience with the sordid side of life? To draw them into our affairs is a little like dropping a dab of butter into a red-hot frying pan.”

“Ye are worried about—”

“Ssssshhhhhhh.”
A hiss from the earl warned him to silence. With a groan of the rusty hinges, the back door opened and a big man in a greasy canvas coat came out, holding a chamber pot at arm’s length.

“Cor, we ought te be paid double for having te be bloody maids to a addlepated lunatic as well as his captors.” Stomping down the footpath, the guard tossed its contents perilously close to where Saybrook and Henning were hidden in the shrubbery. “Rattling on about flying and such,” he grumbled. “Let the madman sprout sodding wings and try to make his escape. Ha, ha, ha . . .”

As the guard turned, still snorting nasty chuckles, the earl slipped out and whipped the butt of his weapon against the man’s temple. He dropped like a sackful of stones, the empty basin rolling away into the tangle of tall, winter gray fescue.

“Let’s carry him inside,” whispered Saybrook. “We’ll leave him locked in the pantry, trussed and gagged, for Grentham’s men to deal with.”

After securing the prisoner, they found his tallow candle still burning on the kitchen table, a plume of oily black smoke curling up from the guttering flame.

“Hoy, Jock!” A shout reverberated overhead. “Move yer lazy carcass and bring that jug. I’m thirsty.”

Saybrook pointed wordlessly to a narrow passageway. A set of slitted windows at the far end let in just enough of the fading sunlight to illuminate a rough-cut circular staircase winding up to floors above.

Henning hooked an earthenware jug from the table and signaled for them to proceed.

“Leave it to me to draw the varlet out,” he said under his breath, edging forward to take the lead. They crept up the stone steps, following the earthy scent of a peat fire to the top floor.

On the landing, Henning stopped and let the jug fall to the floor.

“Oiy!” The muddy
thunk
of it shattering into tiny shards drew an outraged bellow from inside the room. “Ye bloody clumsy ox!” Boot steps, hard and heavy, punctuated the curse. “I swear, I’ll drop ye and yer thick skull from the window here—”

“I think not.” Saybrook caught him with a hard right cross to the jaw as he barged through the doorway. Like his cohort, the man dropped like a boneless bag of rocks.

“They must be Stoughton’s choices,” said Henning dismissively. “Renard’s personal network of skilled operatives appears to have disappeared.”

“We have eliminated some of his best men,” said Saybrook grimly. “Now let us hope we are close to catching him by the tail.” He nudged the fallen guard. “Can you handle locking him away with his cohort while I check on Cayley?”

“Aye, leave him to me,” said the surgeon. “I’ll make sure he gets enough bumps and bruises on the way down to keep him quiet until morning.”

The earl edged his way into the tower chamber, alert for any other guard who might be lurking inside. But the only body he saw was wrapped in a thick blanket and huddled in front of a meager fire.

“Sir George?” he said softly.

The man turned, blinking his bleary eyes. “If you’re another one of those ruffians sent to shake information out of me, you can go to the Devil.” His voice, though weak, bristled with defiance.

“I’m not.” The earl lowered his weapon. “Whitehall sent me. I’ve come to take you away from here.”

Cayley squinted in suspicion. “Hmmph. That’s what the others said. How do I know I can trust you?”

“A good question.” Saybrook squatted down by the inventor and gently cut the ropes binding his wrists. “To begin with, my friend and I coshed your two captors over the head, so that should help allay your fears.”

Wincing, Cayley rubbed weakly at the chafed skin. “Point taken.”

“Secondly, I served with Colonel Greville in the Peninsula. He’s a great admirer of the work you and Davy were doing for the army, no matter that the project was put aside,” said the earl. “By the by, I’m Saybrook. My companion is Henning, a military surgeon who also served with the colonel.”

“Dashed good fellow is Grev.” The scientist ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. “I—I suppose if you know about our work, you must have access to Whitehall’s inner sanctum.”

“Unfortunately, so does our enemy. You are right to be cautious.” Spotting a glass of water on the windowsill, he brought it over and offered the scientist a sip.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Cayley, after a grateful slurp. “I wasn’t careful enough. The dastards have stolen all my plans and sketches!”

“Is there enough information for them to build a working model?” asked the earl.

“Alas, I fear so. There are detailed diagrams, exact dimensions, mechanical specifications, rudder designs . . .” He grimaced. “In the hands of a competent man of science and a skilled craftsman, the material will provide very clear step-by-step instructions for building my flying machine.”

“I suppose an even more important question is, does it actually work?” said the earl.

“There are still some things to work out,” replied Cayley. “Right now, the flying machine must be carried aloft by a balloon, and then launched at the right altitude. It’s dangerous work at that point and requires a skilled pilot, but we have proved it can be done on a regular basis.”

Henning returned from downstairs, bringing with him a plate of cheese and cold gammon, along with a loaf of bread and a fresh jug of brandy. “Anyone else hungry?”

“Sir George looks likes he’s been kept on thin rations.”

The inventor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cheddar and meat. “Food would be most welcome. I’ve had nothing but gruel for days.”

“Our friend here was just explaining his invention,” Saybrook said to Henning as Cayley wolfed down a bite. “It must be launched from a balloon, and then . . .”

“And then once my machine is airborne,” went on Cayley after a quick swallow, “the long wings allow it to glide like a hawk through the skies, and a series of movable flaps can control the direction. With a good man at the rudders, the flying machine can ride the air currents and home in on a specific target quite easily.”

Henning blew out a low whistle.

“So the answer is yes, by Jove, it
does
work,” finished Cayley with some pride. A sigh then deflated his smile. “Save now that it’s fallen into the wrong hands, I wish I had never invented it.”

“Science is a two-edged sword,” murmured Saybrook. “Good and evil—it’s a choice that has faced man since Adam and Eve.”

Cayley nodded. “Now I have a question for you, sir. Who the Devil took my drawings? And what does he intend to do with them?”

“An English traitor, working for the French, is responsible for kidnapping you and your plans, Sir George,” answered Saybrook. “As for the reason . . . right now it is mostly conjecture.”

“But why would King Louis want to steal my work? As far as I know, he has no interest in science—only fine wine and rich food.”

“You are correct. The present monarch, like his Bourbon predecessors, has little interest in chemistry or technological advancements. But Napoleon Bonaparte does.”

“Aye, the former Emperor has a keen interest in science; I’ll give him that.” Cayley looked even more quizzical. “But Napoleon has been exiled to the isle of Elba, a tiny speck of rock off the coast of Tuscany.”

Saybrook expelled a long breath. “Yes, but I fear he’s not planning to stay there for very much longer.”

22

From Lady Aria
nna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Chocolate Soufflflé

Butter for greasing the molds

Granulated sugar for coating the molds

¹
/
₃
cup half-and-half

3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped

¹
/
₂
cup unsweetened cocoa powder

¹
/
₃
cup water

8 large egg whites

¹
/
₂
cup granulated sugar

Confectioners’ sugar for dusting

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Use a pastry brush (or your fingers) to coat the inside of four 1
¹
/
₂
-cup soufflé molds with softened butter. Fill the molds with granulated sugar. Pour out the excess.

2. Pour the half-and-half into a saucepan and heat over medium-high heat until bubbles begin to form around the edge of the pan. Remove from the heat and make a ganache by adding the chopped chocolate. Stir well until combined and all of the chocolate has melted.

3. Place the ganache in the top of a double boiler, add the cocoa powder and water, and whisk until very hot. Remove from the heat and set aside.

4. Place the egg whites in a large mixing bowl and whip on medium speed until foamy. Increase the mixer speed to medium-high and make a French meringue by adding the granulated sugar 1 tablespoon at a time and whipping the whites to stiff but not dry peaks. Do not overwhip the egg whites! You can tell the egg whites are overwhipped if they start to separate and resemble scrambled eggs. (Been there, done that.)

5. Use a rubber spatula to gently fold about half the meringue into the warm chocolate mixture. Then fold the chocolate mixture into the remaining meringue, being careful not to deflate the batter. The soufflé mixture should be homogeneous in color, but if you still see streaks of meringue in the batter, that’s okay.

6. Use a large spoon to gently place the soufflé mixture in the buttered and sugared molds. Fill to about
¹
/
₄
inch below the rim of the molds. Run your thumb around the rim to remove the excess butter and sugar.

7. Bake until the soufflés have risen to about 1
¹
/
₂
inches over the rim and start to brown on top, about 12 minutes. Remove from the oven and dust the tops with confectioners’ sugar. Serve immediately.

A
rianna and Sophia entered the shadowy warehouse. The pungent smells of old smoke and oiled leather permeated the chill air, mingling with the sweeter scents of straw and beeswax.

“Halloooo!” Arianna’s call echoed through the cavernous space. In answer came a snuffled snort from one of the horses stabled at the rear of the building.

“Maybe they have all gone home for the day,” said Sophia, craning her neck to look up at the massive iron hooks and pulleys hanging down from the crossbeams. “Good heavens, look at all these implements—they look like something out of the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I don’t think the doors would have been left unlocked if the men had left,” said Arianna as she walked along a rack holding giant coils of ropes as thick as her wrists. “Perhaps there are storage rooms or an office behind the stable area.”

“Hear, hear now!” Holding a lantern aloft, James Sadler stepped out of the gloom. “This is no place to be larking about, lads”—the beam moved up from Arianna’s boots and breeches to the curling hair spilling over her shoulders—“er, that is, ladies.”

His brows rose even higher as Arianna ducked clear of the oversize loops of cordage and into the ring of light. “L-Lady Saybrook?”

“Yes, Mr. Sadler.” She flashed a smile. “You did invite me for a ride, did you not.”

“I—I don’t think this is quite the most opportune time, milady. Perhaps if you came back tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid we can’t wait.”

Sadler darted a quizzical look at Sophia. She had cut a square of silk from her ruined gown and tied it in a bandana to hold back her hair. With the flickering light sharpening her features, the look gave her a slightly menacing, piratical air.

“I realize this appears a trifle odd, but allow me to explain.”

He cleared his throat with a cough. “By all means, do.”

“We need your help. Or rather, Britain needs your help. A pair of traitors are seeking to escape to France with vital documents. A man named Le Chaze is to fly them across the Channel in his balloon. They must be stopped . . .” She went on to explain as many of the details as she deemed safe to disclose.

Though Sadler listened in silence, his expressions ran the gamut of emotions—surprise, disbelief, consternation, concern.

Perhaps he thinks me mad.

“I don’t blame you for wondering if my wits have gone wandering,” added Arianna as she watched him mulling it over.

“Even to my own ears the story sounds more outrageous than Mr. Walpole’s book
The Castle of Otranto
,” interjected Sophia. “Nonetheless, it’s all true.”

“I am acquainted with Le Chaze. He occasionally comes to watch our maneuvers,” said Sadler, finally rousing himself to speech. “We all find him a rather irritating, arrogant fellow. Always boasting about how, as opposed to us, his countrymen do things with Gallic flair.”

“He said English aeronauts are afraid of the dark,” murmured Arianna.

Sadler let out an indignant huff. “Ha, the impertinent Frog! Le Chaze is showy, but there is little substance beneath his bravado. I would like to see
him
try to navigate at night—he probably doesn’t know Venus from Mars.”

“I hope not. The quicker we can catch him, the better,” responded Arianna. “Speaking of which, there’s not a moment more to lose. We need to inflate your balloon and launch now.”

Sadler shook his head. “I am just as afire to go after them as you are, Lady Saybrook. But the sad fact is that we can’t.”

“Why not?” demanded Arianna.

“The other aeronauts have all left for the day, and Windham has gone to the neighboring village to pick up a fresh batch of pine tar. It’s impossible for me to get the balloon ready by myself, so we are grounded until he returns. And even if I could manage it, I need to have an assistant to stoke the fire for a trip of this length.”

Arianna and Sophia exchanged a look. “
We
can serve as your assistants,” they both chorused.

“Good heavens, I don’t think . . . Surely you can’t mean . . .” He shook his head. “Not to be indelicate, ladies, but the job requires, er, muscle.”

“Mr. Sadler, I am tougher than I might look,” replied Arianna. “And I’ve a great deal of experience in handling ropes, having crewed on smuggling ships in the West Indies.”

“And I’ve driven an open phaeton from London to Gretna Green, which requires both muscle and stamina,” added Sophia. “We’re not afraid of soiling our lily-white hands.” She held up her scraped palms and smiled sweetly. “See?”

He blinked several times in rapid-fire succession, and the air seemed to leak out of his protests. “Make no mistake, it will be hard work,” he cautioned.

They nodded.

“And very dangerous.”

“That goes without saying,” replied Arianna.

He pursed his lips. “One last thing. Once we catch up to them, how do you intend to stop them?”

“I’ll shout a warning, and order them to descend.”

His brows winged up in skepticism.

From her coat pockets, she carefully drew out the expensive dueling pistols she had brought along from the carriage. “These are deadly accurate, and I know how to use them.”

“In that case, we may also want this.” Sadler marched over to a nearby cabinet and took out a short-barreled rifle. “And this.” He added a large pair of iron tongs to the sack containing bullets and gunpowder.

“What’s that for?” asked Sophia.

“Heating the lead to a red-hot glow over the fire before we load our weapons,” he answered grimly. “Le Chaze flies a Charlier balloon, which is filled with hydrogen—an extremely flammable gas.”

Arianna had once witnessed a dockyard explosion. She forced herself not to recall the smells of singed canvas and charred flesh. “An excellent suggestion,” she answered coolly. “The traitors cannot be allowed to reach France.”

“Then we had better start putting your nautical experience to the test, Lady Saybrook.” Sadler gestured at Sophia. “Your companion—”

“Miss Kirtland,” supplied Arianna.

“Miss Kirtland had better gather up some additional clothing for the flight.” His hand flicked to a line of pegs on the wall, from which hung an array of heavy leather garments. “Windham is not too much larger than you are. Help yourself to some of his flight gear—and be sure to take gauntlets and fur-lined helmets. It’s going to be bloody cold up there.”

Without further ado, he maneuvered the cart holding the balloon’s gondola basket under the huge pulley. “We need to attach the top of the balloon to this heavy line,” he explained, lowering the hook with a few slow turns of a winch. “I’ll need you to spread the guidelines out while I ratchet the fabric up a few notches. That will allow the balloon to inflate when I stoke up the fire.”

Arianna eyed the dimensions of the warehouse double doors as she hurried to perform her duties. “But surely it won’t fit through the opening?”

“I’ll fill it just enough to keep the fabric and lines from getting into a hopeless tangle before taking it out to the launching field. Normally we do this whole procedure outdoors, but it takes a full crew of fliers, so I thought I had better improvise.”

That the aeronaut was quick-thinking and flexible was a stroke of luck—Arianna imagined that they would be called upon to react with lightning speed in the coming hours.

“Miss Kirtland, please fetch one of the horses from the stalls. We’ll need to move the cart in a matter of minutes.”

Sadler started a fire in the metal stove and continued to bark out a series of orders, directing his new crew members on how to guide the balloon through the doors and peg out the ropes so the huge sack could begin to inflate to its full dimensions.

Slowly, slowly, the undulating fabric began to take its proper shape.

“Get the horse and cart inside, then hurry back,” called Stadler over the din of the flapping ropes and rattling metal. “The wind is rising! We need to cast off quickly!”

Arianna helped Sophia into the wickerwork gondola basket, then made a rather inelegant entry as a sudden lurch sent her sprawling headfirst into the interior. Righting herself, she tugged at the lines, giving Stadler a hand in releasing the knots.

With a last little shudder, the balloon shimmied sideways before steadying its sway and rising up, up, up toward the heavens.

* * *

“Someone is coming,” said Henning in a low whisper. He set down his cup and cocked an ear.

A brush of wool, barely audible, on stone.

The earl heard it too and pinched out the candles, leaving the room lit by only the banked coals in the hearth. Pressing a finger to lips, he signaled Cayley to take shelter in the small alcove behind the fireplace.

Another sound, this one the faint scuff of leather. The intruder was at the top of the stairs.

Henning had taken up a position beside the doorway, his back pressed against the rough wall. The earl was just creeping up to the other side of the half-open portal when a flash of fire and deafening blast erupted from the landing.

A deadly hail of buckshot splintered the table and shattered the window glass. With the echo still reverberating against the stones, the intruder flung the door wide and let loose with a second volley that peltered the hearth with a rain of lead.

Henning lashed a hard kick that knocked the double-barreled coach gun from the intruder’s hand. Snarling, the man spun away and whipped a pistol from his waistband.

Sparks flashed; a plume of pale smoke shivered in the aftershock of the bang.

The man dropped his arm and then fell face-first to the floor.

“At this rate, my surgery will be filled with enough cadavers for dissection to last into the next decade,” Henning quipped, watching a dark stain spread between the corpse’s shoulder blades.

“Be grateful one of them isn’t yours,” said the earl. Brushing grits of gunpowder from his fingers, he turned. “Sir George?”

“All in one piece, Lord Saybrook.” The inventor peered around the corner. “This Renard fellow seems to have changed his mind about carrying me off to France.”

The earl began to reload his pistol. “So it would seem.” He looked up at Henning. “Stoughton’s arrest must have spooked him into flight.”

“Aye.” The surgeon made a face. “Taking with him the detailed plans of the flying machine.”

“Can’t we stop him?” asked Cayley.

“Not unless you can conjure up a flying carpet,” growled Saybrook. “There are countless coves along this coast, and countless smugglers willing to make a trip across the Channel, no questions asked. I would be willing to wager a fortune that the Fox is already sailing toward France.”

* * *

Steadying herself on the rail of the basket, Arianna felt her pulse quicken as she gazed out at the scene unfurling beneath her feet. The views were absolutely breathtaking. Off in the distance London rose in spiky splendor, glimmers of gaslight winking amid the pale stone spires and towers. She could just make out Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral and the silvery, snaking water of the river Thames.