Recipe for Treason (24 page)

“Oh, I can see the appeal of this,” she murmured, lifting her face to the wind. The setting sun was painting the clouds in muted hues of orange-gold streaked with pinks and purple. “It is wondrous.”

The sense of silence was otherworldly—

“Kindly take a step back from the rail, Lady Saybrook. You are throwing the balance off,” called Sadler. Moving with an unconscious grace, he circled the centered burner, carefully adjusting the position of the ballast bags within the rigging.

“Please explain what you are doing,” said Arianna, “so I can help you.”

“The basket must be kept at an even trim to fly properly. Allow a tilt and a gust of wind might tip it over and send us plummeting to our death.” He indicated a maze of cording attached to cleats, spaced at various intervals around the basket. “We must constantly adjust the sandbags that serve as ballast. This changes the altitude and lets us catch currents or avoid turbulence. The key is to gauge the winds properly. A downdraft can cause a crash.”

She sucked in a lungful of air. “I will do my best to follow your orders, sir.”

He patted at the series of valves on the burner. “We also adjust the flow of hot air to control our rise and fall.”

Sophia was already on her knees, stoking the flames with chunks of fuel, as she had been shown.

“I may have to be a little brusque,” he warned both of them. “Here in the heavens, one can’t afford to stand on ceremony—not when there’s naught but swirling air beneath your feet, ha, ha, ha.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” echoed Arianna, brushing a wildly dancing hank of hair from her cheek. “You warned us that we were not here as pleasure passengers.” Another gust buffeted her face. “Hmmph, you were right,” she said, plucking an errant curl from her mouth. “It
is
a little chilly up here.”

“And it’s going to get a great deal colder,” replied Sadler. “But don’t worry. You two will keep plenty warm with all the shoveling required to keep us aloft.”

“Speaking of which,” she said dryly, squatting down to exchange places with Sophia. “It’s my turn to feed the fire.”

“Thank you.” Rising slowly, so as not to rock the gondola, Sophia blotted the sweat from her brow. “I, too, have some questions. How do you judge your altitude and direction? I have been looking around for a compass.”

“It’s here,” answered Sadler, tapping at a binnacled instrument fastened to a block beneath the lip of the railing. “One tends to bump into things when the winds get a little rough. As for altitude . . .” He produced a beautifully crafted barometer from a padded leather case strapped to one of the gondola’s struts. “This precision instrument measures atmospheric pressure and thus serves as an altimeter.” His fingers drew a fond caress along the length of glass. “It was a gift from the great Dr. Samuel Johnson, who bequeathed it to me after hearing how I lost all my scientific implements in an early balloon crash.”

“Let us hope it helps us avoid a similar fate,” quipped Sophia, looking a little uneasy. Though at home on the back of a galloping horse, she seemed far less comfortable with the constant rocking motion of the gondola.

“I always fly with it, and consider it a good luck talisman,” said Sadler. He made a quick reading, then put it back in its holder. “Besides, I am very good at what I do.”

“So I have heard,” said Arianna. “I’m told that no one has ever duplicated your feat of relaunching a balloon from the sea.”

“The conditions happened to be just right,” he said modestly.

Sophia cast a scientist’s critical gaze over the rigging and the canopy overhead. “I would imagine there is a limit to the weight we can carry in relation to the size of the balloon.”

“Indeed, there is.” A twinkle lit in Sadler’s eye. “I daresay you are both too young to remember the first ascent of a female in a balloon. It happened in ’eighty-five.”

“I vaguely recall my governess telling me about it,” answered Sophia. “Her name was Mrs. Sage, was it not? She was . . . an actress?”

“Indeed,” said Sadler. “And she put on quite a performance. The great Lunardi had a flair for showmanship and he had decided that a female aeronaut would bring out crowds for the planned ascent. So he and a wealthy young man by the name of George Biggin invited Mrs. Sage to be part of the group.” He paused to look up and check the set of the rigging. “However, the actress had fibbed about her weight and the balloon couldn’t lift off.”

Sophia stifled a laugh. “Honestly, he should have known better than to ask any female to be truthful about her weight or her age.”

A grin twitched at his mouth. “Ever the gentleman, Lunardi jumped out and allowed Biggin and Mrs. Sage to fly off. However, he omitted to lace up the door. The actress realized the danger and had to scrabble about on the floor to fix the matter”—his grin grew more pronounced—“which set off a great deal of speculation on whether the couple had engaged in, shall we say, amorous activities while in the air.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t drink any more of Señora Delgado’s rich chocolate drinks,” said Arianna, once her chuckling had died down. “Else you might have had to leave me behind.”

“They are quite marvelous,” said Sadler. “As are her confections. I am a baker by trade, and her creations are most unusual. I would never have guessed that chocolate could be eaten in solid form.”

“You and I are going to have some interesting conversations, once we are at leisure to discuss the subject,” said Arianna. “But let us not stray from the topic of balloons.”

“I am curious. Are there any females who possess an expertise in flying?” asked Sophia.

“Very few,” replied Sadler. “I can’t think of any, save for Blanchard’s wife. He is the renowned daredevil aeronaut who made the first crossing of the Channel. She is equally daring, seeing as she specializes in aerial fireworks displays.”

Despite her heavy gloves, Arianna could feel the heat of the fire prickling at her hands. “I would call that dangerous, as well as daring,” she mused.

“Yes, well, like men, some women appear drawn to danger.” The pattern of the rigging, a crisscrossing of dark on dark lines, cut across his face, hiding his expression in the fading light. “Like a moth to a flame.”

“There’s a difference between being willing to face danger and feeling compelled to create it,” said Arianna slowly.

“Sometimes it’s a fine line between the two.”

Sadler was very perceptive, she realized.
Perhaps too much so.

“I suppose, sir, that your eye is attuned to see the smallest nuances. A tiny flutter of wind, a slight drop in temperature, a change in the texture of the clouds—such things can mean the difference between life and death for an aeronaut.”

“Yes,” he replied. “One must be observant.”

“You think we will be able to spot our quarry in this vast expanse of sky?” At the mention of the word “observant,” Sophia looked around doubtfully. “It seems akin to trying to find a needle in a haystack, especially with night coming on.”

“I know where Le Chaze keeps his balloon.” Sadler reached into a leather pouch secured beneath the railing and pulled out a small brass telescope. Snapping it open, he began scanning the heavens. “Trust me, we’ll see him and your pair of
renards
. Darkness will not afford them any cover for escape. The moon is full tonight, and besides, there are prevailing air currents. He doesn’t have a great many choices.”

“Damn, I nearly forgot—the map!” Arianna quickly exchanged places with Sophia. “I found this on the traitor’s desk.” She handed over the copy she had made of the coastlines and the squiggling red line. “It made no sense to me, but I figured it must have some meaning.”

Stadler studied it for a moment, a small smile slowly wreathing his face. “It does indeed. This helps us conserve our fuel, as we need not circle up and down the coast looking to pick up his trail. According to this, he’s going to use the western route.”

Arianna watched the burnt gold glow hovering on the horizon begin to fade. “What if Le Chaze changes his mind?”

“I doubt that he will, given the earlier barometer reading. We’ll continue on this course for another quarter of an hour. If we don’t see anything, we’ll double back and cruise to the east.”

Shifting her stance, she slapped her palms together, trying to contain her impatience. Waiting always set her nerves on edge.

“Halloo, I’ve just spotted the Fox!” Stadler shifted several bags of ballast, the starlight catching the gleam of excitement in his eyes. “Add another twist of straw to the fire. The chase is on.”

23

From Lady A
rianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Chocolate Almond Bark

¹
/
₂
cup sugar

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1
¹
/
₂
cups roasted Marcona almonds (not in oil)

1 pound good-quality dark chocolate (62% to 70% cocoa), finely chopped

Coarse sea salt (for sprinkling)

1. Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or foil. Combine the sugar with 2 tablespoons water in a small saucepan. Stir over medium-low heat until the sugar dissolves. Bring to a boil and cook, occasionally swirling the pan and brushing down the sides with a wet pastry brush, until the caramel is dark amber, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat.

2. Immediately add the butter and whisk until melted. Add the almonds and stir until well coated.

3. Transfer to the baking sheet, spreading out to separate the nuts. Let cool. Break up any large clumps of nuts. Set aside one-quarter of the nuts.

4. Stir the chocolate in a medium bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water until melted. Remove from the heat, add the nuts from the baking sheet, and stir quickly to combine. Spread the chocolate-nut mixture on the same baking sheet, keeping the nuts in a single layer. Top with the reserved nuts; sprinkle with the salt. Chill until the chocolate is set, about 3 hours.

“L
et’s be off. Grentham’s men must be in position by now and we can signal them to come take charge of the prisoners.” Saybrook struck a flint to the candles and glanced around the room. “Have you any belongings to gather up, Sir George?”

The inventor shook his head. “No,” he answered mournfully. “They stripped me of all my books and sketches, right down to the last stump of pencil and scrap of paper.”

“Come along, then,” said the earl. “I’m anxious to return to London.”

Henning finished a cursory search of the room. “Nothing of interest here,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll find that the guards are simply ruffians from the London stews.” To Cayley he added, “Grab one of the cloaks hanging by the door, Sir George. It’s quite chilly outside, now that the sun has nearly set.”

Trooping out to the castle’s perimeter walls, they made their way around to the wall facing the wooded hillside. The earl lit a small shuttered lantern and flashed out the prearranged signal. It wasn’t long before they were joined by several hard-looking men carrying the latest-model Baker rifles.

“No need to storm the place, Mr. Brewster,” said Saybrook. “The captive has been rescued unharmed. There are two prisoners locked in the pantry and a body to dispose of.”

Looking a bit disappointed, the leader of Grentham’s force cocked a nod at his companions. “Go bring the rest of the men down,” he ordered. “It appears we have naught but charwomen’s duties to perform.”

“I would suggest that . . .” The earl’s words trailed off as a ghostly shape moving overhead caught his eye.

Brewster let out a grunt of surprise. “What the Devil!”

“Lucifer be buggered,” intoned Henning, watching the big balloon pass high overhead. “You don’t think . . . Nay, I’m letting my imagination get carried away.”

Saybrook said nothing. For a moment he stood still, squinting up at the sky, then expelled a low oath.

“Have you a spyglass?” he barked at Brewster.

The man reached inside his coat and handed over a small brass cylinder.

“Damnation,” muttered the earl, after a sweeping survey of the heavens.

“What do you see?” demanded Henning.

“A second balloon,” answered Saybrook tersely. “They are both too far away to make out any details.”

“May I have a look, milord?” asked Brewster. Snapping the lens into focus, he studied the sailing spheres. “The closer one is Sadler’s balloon. I recognize it from the Artillery Grounds.”

“You are sure?” snapped the earl.

“Yes. Balloons are bloody big things, sir, and each one has its own unique design.” Brewster handed the spyglass back to Saybrook. “Why in the name of Hades are he and his fellow aeronauts out flying at this hour?”

“A good question,” murmured Henning. “Isn’t Sadler the fellow Señora S met yesterday?”

In answer, Saybrook swore again. “Brewster, I’m leaving you and your men to escort Sir George back to London. He’s to be taken straight to Horse Guards and held in seclusion until Grentham gives you further orders.” His gaze darted back to the sky for an instant. “I’ll need to borrow your rifle as well.”

The weapon and ammunition pouch quickly changed hands, the burnt orange light limning the blackened steel barrel. “Baz, come with me.”

* * *

“Can’t we go any faster?” Sophia peered through the rigging. “They seem to be getting away.”

“No need to be alarmed.” Sadler made a series of adjustments with the heating valves. “Le Chaze is riding a gust that will die at the rise of that hill. As the heat from the sun dissipates from the ground, the breezes will calm down. And for all of his braggadocio, his Charlier balloon is much slower than my Montgolfier. That’s because he’s never bothered to tune his rigging to its optimum performance.”

Their gondola made a sharp drop in altitude, and to Arianna the dark-fingered tops of the trees looked uncomfortably close. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to take another look at your barometer, sir?”

A chuckle rumbled in the shadows. “Nay, nay, I know every bump and jog along this coastline, so I’m flying on instinct right now. Just watch; in another moment we’ll rise swiftly.”

Sure enough, with wind chattering through the wickerwork of the gondola, the balloon shot up, gaining speed as it hurtled along the snaking line of the sea cliff.

“Mmmph.” Sophia was thrown back by a rocking jolt.

“Here, now.” Sadler gave her a hand up. “We’ll be riding the currents, so you can take a rest from fueling the fire.”

“How is your shoulder?” asked Arianna, experiencing a rush of guilt on realizing she had forgotten all about her companion’s injury.

“Fine,” said Sophia. “It looked a lot more gruesome than it feels.” Seeing Sadler’s brows shoot up, she explained with a casual shrug, “I was stabbed this morning.”

It was said as if a slashing blade was served every day, along with her breakfast tea and toast.

“You two ladies are, er, rather more intrepid than the usual female,” said Sadler.

“A fact that we must ask you to keep a secret,” replied Arianna. “Indeed, I am sure that Lord Grentham will ask you to swear an oath of silence concerning this entire affair. The government won’t want a word leaking out.”

“Y-you deal with Grentham?” Sadler blanched at the mention of the minister’s name. “I assure you that my lips will be sealed tighter than the seams of my balloon. I’ve no desire to stir his wrath.”

A wise fellow, thought Arianna.
Wiser than me.

“You are right,” she suddenly said, catching sight of their quarry as they emerged from a skirl of drifting mist. “We appear to be gaining on them.”

Up ahead, the balloon carrying Canaday and Lady Urania did seem to be losing speed.

“Look! Several cords have snapped!” cried Sophia.

A scudding of moonlight showed Le Chaze scrambling furiously to repair the damage.

“Serves the lazy bugger right,” said Sadler with a savage smile. “We have him now. He’ll be forced to turn back and land. Only a reckless fool would attempt to fly over water in that state.”

Sadler’s surmise, however, proved wrong. Le Chaze dropped down from the ropes and suddenly the big Charlier balloon veered out over the Channel.

“Well, I’ll be a flightless dodo—he’s going to make a run for Calais after all!”

“We have to stop him,” said Arianna. “Can you get us any closer?”

More fiddling with the valves and shrouds gave their balloon an extra burst of speed.

As they came closer to the Frenchman’s balloon, Arianna could see Canaday and his sister huddled in one corner of their gondola, while the French aeronaut worked the lines in the opposite one. She grabbed up the speaking trumpet and shouted a warning. “Turn back and land. Else we’ll have no choice but to shoot you down!”

In answer, a flash of light winked out of the gloom. An instant later she heard a bullet whistle through the air and pierce their balloon with a sharp
thwock
.

“Why, the scurvy varlet is shooting at my Monty!” Sadler climbed up in the rigging and shook his fist. “Hoy! I’ll—”

“Get
down
, Mr. Sadler!” Arianna grabbed his coat and pulled him back into the shelter of the gondola as another bullet pinged against the burner. “Is there anything you can do to force him back over land? If not”—she checked the priming on her pistols—“I shall have to fight fire with fire.”

“I can try cutting off his angle and giving him a good thump,” said Sadler. “Our balloon is bigger and heavier than theirs, so I might be able to knock out enough of his hydrogen gas to force a descent. But to get that close will bring you ladies into danger.”

“Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep Canaday’s head down with a steady stream of shots. Sophia can help me reload,” replied Arianna. “What about the damage to our balloon?”

“We would have to take a lot more hits before it becomes serious.” Sadler’s expression turned grim. “There is also the option of using red-hot shot on him.”

“We’ll give them one last chance to land before resorting to that.”

“Very well.” He thrust several handfuls of fuel into the burner. “Off we go.”

Crouching low, he made a quick round of the cleated lines, fine-tuning the tension. A valve snapped open, giving them a lift in altitude.
Snap, snick, snap
—another flurry of metallic sounds and the big Montgolfier balloon altered course.

“Canaday is taking aim,” warned Sophia.

“Yes, yes, I see him.” Arianna carefully squeezed off a shot, giving thanks for the lethally lovely precision of the beautiful dueling weapons.

A few seconds later, a muffled cry rose above the thrum of the wind.

“Bang on the mark!” exclaimed Sadler. “You knocked the pistol from his hand.”

“Ha, and it fell overboard!” added Sophia.

“A lucky shot,” she replied, watching a small spinning shape plummet into the darkness below. “Be careful, Mr. Sadler. He may have a second one.”

Sadler lifted a cautious hand to adjust a rope, but no bullet came whizzing at him. Emboldened, he stood up to tweak a few more lines.

Still no fire.

“Give me another few minutes, and I should be close enough to pluck a few of his feathers.”

* * *

“That sounds like gunfire,” gasped Henning, pausing at the top of a rocky rise to catch his breath. Intent on following the flight of the balloons, he and the earl had left the carriage to make their way on foot along the sea cliffs.

“Aye,” growled Saybrook. “Though between your God-benighted wheezing and the crash of the surf, it’s hard to be sure.” Snapping open the spyglass, he drew a bead on the fast-closing orbs. “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered after a long moment. “The light is too muzzy to make out what’s happening. All I can tell is that there are three people in each balloon.”

“Male or female?” ventured the surgeon.

Another oath. “With my wife, outward appearances can be cast to the wind.” Shoving the glass back in his pocket, he watched the two ghostly shapes float together through a slow, silent spin, as if performing an elegant aerial ballet, then head out to sea.

“Let us hope that for once, she has been sensible enough not to go where angels should fear to tread,” he added under his breath.

“Lady S wouldn’t hesitate to march into the deepest hole in Hell if she was hot on the heels of the Devil. And ye know it, laddie. It’s one of the things ye love about her.”

“At the moment,” said Saybrook, “love is
not
the emotion boiling in my breast.” He pointed to an outcropping up ahead. “Hurry, let’s keep them in sight as long as possible.”

* * *

Through a mare’s tail of mist, Arianna saw Lady Urania tending to her brother’s injured hand. A pale strip of cloth and a wink of silver fluttered in her fingers as she sought to cleanse the viscount’s wound with brandy and bandage the mangled flesh. They seemed to be arguing, for the sound of their shrill voices rose above the thrum of the taut ropes and the keening whistle of the wind.

Deciding the twins were beyond reason, Arianna directed her shout to the French aeronaut. “This is your last warning, Le Chaze! Head back to land and set your balloon down, else my next shot will be aimed at your heart.”

They were now close to the other balloon—close enough to see Le Chaze abandon his efforts in the rigging, close enough to see Canaday wrest free of his sister’s grip.

“Steady yourselves,” warned Sadler. “We’re hitting a pocket of turbulent air.”

“You dare to challenge Prometheus?” The viscount’s enraged roar was edged with a note of hysteria. “Ha! No man or woman alive can match my fire.” As he spoke, he whipped up a knife and wrapped the bloody handkerchief around its hilt. “Rainnie, give me a light! Together we’ll triumph, as always.”

“Good God, he’s pouring the liquid from his flask onto the cloth,” exclaimed Sophia. “I think he means to make a torch and spear our balloon.”