The Cocoa Conspiracy (26 page)

“You have a point about Rochemont. He would no longer be needed as a source of information.” Her husband raised his eyes from his papers. “In any case, I was already beginning to think that he was turning into more trouble than he was worth. His attentions are growing more heated, and a man of his hubris is not likely to accept no for an answer.”

“True,” conceded Arianna. “Push might have come to shove if Talleyrand hadn’t demanded the comte’s presence at an evening meeting.” She thought for a moment. “I think the Prince did it deliberately. Those lazy, lidded eyes don’t miss much.”

“Which is why I am reluctant to agree to your plan. Of all the men here in Vienna, Talleyrand is the most dangerous,” said Saybrook. “Never,
ever
underestimate him.”

“I don’t,” said Arianna quickly. “But it’s not as if he spends a great deal of time in the kitchens. He comes to consult with Carême each morning on the day’s menu. Other than that, he keeps to the upper floors of the palace. I shall demand to start work at noon and leave before midnight. Remember, chefs are allowed to be eccentric, and Carême is rather desperate for expert assistance. I believe he will swallow any reservations and hire me on the spot.”

The earl pursed his lips.

Pouncing on his hesitation, she hurried on. “It’s a golden opportunity, Sandro. Imagine—I shall have daily access to our main suspect’s lair, with plenty of chances to poke around.”

“How—” began Saybrook.

“I’ve already thought of a perfect excuse—I shall start making chocolate bonbons to leave in the bedchambers each night. And demand that I deliver them personally because my artistic sensibilities demand that I arrange the plate myself.”

“Damnation,” growled Saybrook. “How do you think I feel, allowing you to take all the risks while I sit here in the cozy comfort of my book-filled room, fiddling with pens, books and this maliciously maddening scrap of paper?”

“In this case, a chance to unmask our unknown enemy has appeared, and only I can seize it. We must be pragmatic, Sandro, and not let it slip away.” Threading her fingers through his tangled hair, she combed the dark strands back from his brow. “Reason must always overrule emotion—isn’t that what you always tell me?”

“Then I am a God-benighted bloody fool,” he insisted.

“I wish you were.” Understanding the flare of frustration, Arianna tried to use humor to defuse the moment. “Then I would have a far easier time leading you by the nose.”

As she had hoped, Saybrook allowed his mouth to quirk upward. In their earlier investigation, they had quarreled—and rather vociferously—about whether she was using her feminine wiles to manipulate him.

“I—”

“Let us not argue over this. I am sure your turn to jump into the fire will come soon enough.” Arianna leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

After several long moments, he broke away with a rough whisper. “
Dio Madre.
I suspect you are trying to lead me not by my nose but a far more primitive appendage.”

Arianna answered with a throaty laugh. “Oh, that would be awfully low of me.”

“Yes, and you’ve just finished telling me that you have no scruples about stooping to
any
ruse.”

“So I did.” Her arms slipped around his shoulders and drew him close. “Aren’t you glad of it?”

“You know what I think?” Rising in one swift, smooth motion, Saybrook lifted her easily into his arms. “I think that my brain is far too tired to wrestle with any more intellectual conundrums.”

After all the cloying colognes and decadent kitchen smells, the faint citrus scent of his shaving soap was like a breath of fresh air.

“So I suggest we defer all further discussion of conduct, codes and cunning criminals until morning.”

 

The papers crackled.
“Hmmph.”
After wiping a smudge of flour from his nose, Carême shuffled to the next page. “The Prince Regent, eh?” His eyes narrowed. “What did you cook for him?”

“A number of dishes, but his favorite was a tower built of sweet chocolate bricks,” answered Arianna without hesitation. “Surrounded by a moat of Chantilly cream and port-soaked cherries.”

“
Edible
chocolate?”

“Yes, like Monsieur Debauve of Paris.”

“Bah, Debauve has no imagination,” grumbled the chef.

“He deserves some credit for the concept,” countered Arianna coolly. A show of backbone was imperative if she was to have the freedom that she needed to poke around the premises. “But I agree, his creativity can’t hold a teaspoon to yours.”

Carême gave a grunt but his frown faded slightly. Turning to the chopping block, he picked up a paring knife and then whirled around with a flourish. “
Alors
, what is the recipe for
crème anglaise
.”

Arianna was just as quick with her reply.

“Hmmph.”
Carême tapped the blade to his palm. “Your accent is odd, Monsieur Richard. I can’t quite place it.”

“I was raised in the West Indies,” replied Arianna truthfully, then quickly added a few embellishments. “My mother was English and my father was French, so I had an unorthodox upbringing. We were very poor, so I learned at an early age how to fend for myself. Cooking is one of the skills I acquired in the islands, and I found it to my taste.”

A tendril of steam curled through the brief silence. “One last question. Why do you want to work for me?”

“A man has to eat,” she quipped. “I find myself in need of funds. And since I must work, it might as well be for a genius of cuisine.”

The chef considered her reply for what felt like an age. Had she misjudged his temperament? She gave an inward sigh.
Ah, well, too late to cry over spilled milk
—

“Eggs and butter are here in this larder. Sugar and flour are kept in the west pantry, along with nuts, cacao paste and the other pastry supplies.” Carême tossed her an apron and a wooden spoon. “Come, there is no time for dallying. The Prussians are coming for supper, so let’s get to work.”

1. Heat half-and-half and sugar together in a heavy saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Add chocolates and butter and whisk until smooth. Set aside to let cool briefly.

2. Stir in egg yolks and cook over low heat for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Set aside to let cool slightly.

G
old, glitter and glamour
.

Everything in Vienna was done to sumptuous excess, thought Arianna as she and Saybrook approached the entrance of Metternich’s palatial villa on the Rennweg the next evening. Elegant carriages filled the surrounding streets, the plumed horses prancing in place on the stone cobbles as the richly dressed crowd squeezed its way through the ornate iron gates. The Austrian minister’s Peace Ball was one of the most anticipated entertainments of the Conference, and it was clear that he had spared no expense on the extravaganza.

“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you join the unwashed masses who serve these gluttons of pleasure,” murmured Saybrook, his caustic wit sharpened by the fact that he still had misgivings about her masquerade.

A week ago, they had hammered out the details of the plan over a long, leisurely breakfast. And so while Monsieur Richard toiled in the subterranean kitchens of the Kaunitz Palace, the Countess of Saybrook had become increasingly prone to headaches, causing her to cry off from several prominent parties.
Two birds with one stone
. Her absence had allowed her not only a chance to spy on Talleyrand but had also garnered further sympathy from Kydd.

The young Scotsman already envisioned himself as a heroic knight fighting for noble ideals. A damsel in distress seemed to appeal to his notions of honor.

“Then get me some champagne,” she replied, seeing a footman passing by with libations.

Saybrook plucked two glasses from the tray and handed one to her.

“A su salud,”
he murmured in Spanish, raising the cut crystal in ironic salute. The pale liquid glowed like molten gold in the torchlight, its sparkling effervescence mirroring the countless diamond-bright stars overhead. “May we spin through this whirling dervish dance of deception without a stumble.”

The tiny bubbles of the wine prickled like dagger points against her tongue.

Deception?
She had played so many different roles in her life that at times, she wasn’t sure who she really was. Luckily, Monsieur Richard was a persona who was as comfortable as a second skin.

“Don’t worry. I’m on firm footing in the kitchen,” answered Arianna. “All is going smoothly.”

His gaze remained riveted on the heavens, as if he were having a silent conversation with Ursa Major and Orion.
Or perhaps he was offering up some sort of a prayer to the pagan constellations
. “How fortunate that Carême was so impressed with Monsieur Richard’s impeccable credentials as a skilled pastry chef.”

Her lips twitched. “The letter of recommendation from the Prince Regent of England was most impressive.”

Her husband possessed a number of interesting talents, as she was slowly discovering. One of which was an expertise in the forgery of letters and seals, learned as part of his military intelligence skills.

Saybrook chuckled and then drew her aside as a line of heralds, resplendent in gold-threaded livery, trumpeted the arrival of yet another royal. “The King of Wurttemberg,” he muttered as an enormously fat man toddled by. “It’s said that a special half moon has been cut in one of the Emperor’s dining tables to accommodate his girth.”

“Good God,” said Arianna through her teeth after slanting another look around. “In some ways I sympathize with the radicals of the French Revolution. The amount of money that is squandered by the aristocracy on personal vanity is . . . obscene.” The torchieres danced in the swirling breeze, the towering tongues of flames gilding the crowd with a golden glow. “Let us hope that this Peace Conference can right some of the more egregious inequities of the old social order. Merit should matter more than birth.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” murmured Saybrook. “But much as I sympathize with democratic ideals in principle, I can’t condone murder as a means of achieving those goals.”

Arianna nodded, their bantering mood disappearing along with the last swallow of champagne.
No mere mortal has the right to play God.

“So we must set aside our personal dismay at the extravagant excesses and concentrate on stopping Kydd and his cohorts from carrying out their plan.”

“In other words, keep my focus on the mission,” she said.

“Much as I hate to say it, the real goal is to keep Kydd’s focus on
you
for tonight,” responded Saybrook. “Despite the new plans, you must continue to try to win his trust.”

“Yes, I know.” She watched the shifting patterns of colors, the hues blurring and blending as the guests moved in and out of the light and shadows.

“I’ve been thinking about the code you showed me this morning. You said that it’s not necessarily more complex than the one you solved at the marquess’s estate, just different, correct?”

Saybrook confirmed her statement with a gruff nod. “I made a lucky guess concerning the key word. Intuition tells me that we’re still looking at Vigenère Square, but a new key word has been used to make it even more secure.” He made a face. “It could be anything.”

“The individual who wrote it might well use a word that has some personal significance. Something like a battle cry, a motto, a hero.”

The earl’s gaze sharpened. “Possibly.”

“Do you think Kydd wrote it?”

He thought for a long moment before answering. “Hard to say. Again, it’s possible. I’m assuming that the codes I cracked were meant for whoever is in charge of the assassination plot. The unsolved one may well be for the head of the whole conspiracy.” His hand tightened around his empty glass. “But the damnable truth is, it’s all mere conjecture. So far, my guesses have all come up empty.”

“You need more information to work with,” said Arianna resolutely. She didn’t like to see his face pinched in such a brooding uncertainty. “Time to go flutter around Kydd and see if I can get him to share some of his innermost secrets.”

“I don’t see how he can keep from acting the hungry cat with a canary,” said Saybrook, darting a sidelong look at her plunging neckline.

“Actually, I feel a little like a drab English sparrow flitting among a flock of regal Birds of Paradise.” She smoothed the heavy silk of her gown over her hips as she made another survey of the crowd. “My London plumage pales in comparison to the Continental styles.”