The Cocoa Conspiracy

1½ cups buttermilk
1 extra-large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, preferably Madagascar
Bourbon or Tahitian
3½ cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
5 tablespoons granulated sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon orange zest, about 2 oranges
½ cup unsalted butter, very cold and cubed
⅓ cup 65% chocolate, coarsely chopped
⅓ cup dried cranberries
¼ cup heavy whipping cream (used for brushing tops of
scones)

4. Sift the flour, baking powder and baking soda into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Add the sugar, salt and orange zest. Beat on low speed until combined.

8. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured work surface, and press it into a flat square about ¾ inch thick. Cut into 2-inch squares and place onto the prepared pans, spacing them about 2 inches apart.

9. Brush the scones with heavy whipping cream. Bake on the middle shelves of the oven until the tops are golden and have a little spring when pressed with a fingertip, about 20 minutes.

“This way, Lord and Lady Saybrook.” The footman escorted them through a set of double doors and down a vaulted corridor. “The minister is waiting for you in the library.”

Arianna hung back a step, allowing Saybrook to enter the room first. She would allow the rituals of protocol and privilege to take precedence for now.

Grentham had positioned himself in front of the soaring bank of diamond-paned windows. The storm had blown through and a watery light limned his elegantly attired figure, the glints of sunshine flashing like liquid silver through his carefully combed hair.

Hip perched on a display table, he watched them approach. It was hard to make out his features at first, but as she came closer, Arianna saw that he was looking supremely smug, as if anticipating that they had come to beg for mercy.

“You seem to have suffered no permanent injury to your shoulder,” sneered Grentham. “Have you come to confess your crime in hope that I will help you save your neck?”

“If ever I was in need of help, I would know better than to seek it from you,” replied Saybrook. “Though I daresay you do owe me a favor. As I recall, it was my wife and I who stepped in to pull your cods out of the fire.”

A faint flush of color crept over the minister’s cheekbones. “I’m assuming you didn’t summon me here to exchange pleasantries, Lord Saybrook.” So far he had studiously avoided acknowledging her presence. “Kindly get to the point of this meeting. I dislike wasting my time.”

“Read this.” The earl handed him the first coded sheet, along with the deciphered message. When Grentham looked up from the page, Saybrook handed him the second coded letter. The document from the Foreign Ministry he saved for last.

“I shall try to keep it short.” Arianna took the volume of engravings from under her arm. “I found this book on chocolate in the back rooms of Harvey & Watkins—”

As quickly as she could, Arianna explained about her second encounter with Davilenko at the house party’s welcoming reception and her accidental discovery of the papers hidden in the book’s binding. “Given my husband’s experience in military intelligence, he spent the night working on deciphering the codes. Which,” she added with a note of triumph, “against all odds, he succeeded in doing with the first one.”

The minister slowly read through the papers again. “This confidential document from the Foreign Ministry bears your uncle’s signature,” he said to Saybrook. “You know that, don’t you?”

Arianna assumed a pious expression. “My husband was shot, sir. He was feverish all night, and in no condition to discuss the matter. It was not my place to make any decision without his consent.”

The minister’s face went through a series of odd little contortions. If it hadn’t been Grentham, she would have thought he was trying not to laugh.

“Quite right, my dear.” Saybrook made no attempt to mask an insolent grin. “I’m sure His Lordship can find no fault with such proper wifely deference.”

As the minister was fully aware of her utter disregard for the rules of Society, he couldn’t help but know the comment was meant as a taunt, a slap in the face.

She slanted a silent warning at her husband. There was no point in goading Grentham to go for their throats. Not when he was already frothing at the mouth.

“Haven’t I?” retorted Grentham, a malicious gleam flashing to life in his eyes. “A confidential government paper from Mellon’s file, your wife observed in a clandestine meeting with a spy in the book shop—not to speak of her shady past.” His mouth curled up in a cold smile. “Yes, I can easily imagine the newspaper story, can’t you? Like father, like daughter—a lying, scheming cheat. Willing to betray all notions of honor for money.”

“A public trial could send her to the gallows for treason. As for your reputation, Lord Saybrook, and that of your charming young sister . . .” He shrugged, and then added in a lower voice, “Then there’s the case of the murdered man, with a number of witnesses who saw you with a knife. One could reasonably suspect that you were desperately trying to cover up your wife’s betrayal.”

Saybrook’s response was a bark of laughter, though Arianna had noted a tiny flicker in his eyes at the mention of Antonia. “And what of your reputation, Grentham? A bumbling fool who can’t sniff treason when it’s right under his nose? By all means, make that public. We shall see who suffers most from the revelation that the dead man is one of Napoleon’s elite Grenadier Guards.”

“Ah, hadn’t your lackeys gotten around to discovering that?” said Saybrook. “It appears Henning was far more thorough in his examination of the body.” He too used a pause for dramatic effect. “Your experts will find it hard to deny that a serrated knife, and not my blade, cut the Frenchman’s throat.”

“I shall offer you a way to avoid scandal.” He stood and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from his trousers. “Go to the Peace Conference in Vienna and unmask this traitor—assuming he exists—once and for all. If you do, the personal transgressions of your family will remain our little secret.”

“Vienna?” Surprise shaded the earl’s voice. He considered the suggestion for a moment and then shook his head. “Subject myself and my wife to the rigors of traveling through a war-ravaged continent, only to dance through a gilded maze of intrigue and skullduggery? I think not.”

“You know the truth, and yet would let the real enemy go free in order to persecute me?” retorted Saybrook. “Sod you. Go public and be damned.” His mouth curled in contempt. “I wouldn’t have thought you would sink so low as to allow a purely private, petty grudge to take precedence over the good of the country, Grentham. But be that as it may, we shall see who suffers most.”

“We would both come away from a duel bloodied—but as to who would suffer a mortal wound . . . well, if I were you, I would not be so sure of your muscle. You have made a good many enemies who would be only too happy to see your entrails fed to the Tower ravens.”

“Enough!” she suddenly exclaimed. “The two of you sound like snotty-nosed schoolboys who think they can prove their manhood by scrabbling in the mud.”

“Lord Grentham needs our help, but he is too proud to ask.” Locking eyes with the minister, Arianna moved to the table and set the book down next to the documents, forcing him to turn ever so slightly. “It sticks in his craw to admit that we are the only ones he can really trust to take on such a difficult endeavor. As you pointed out, Sandro, his department is likely harboring a very clever spy. I don’t think Mellon’s aide Kydd is the mastermind. He’s been recruited by someone else. The question is who. And the problem is, the minister cannot give an answer.”

Oh, I’ve been given the evil eye by far more duplicitous bastards than you, milord. Summoning a careless shrug, she went on, “So, much as he hates it, his best chance of catching the culprit is by enlisting us to do his dirty work. Once again, I might add.”

The minister answered obliquely, which in itself was an admission that she had hit on the truth. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if she can scry the future in a crystal ball. Will you go to Vienna?” he demanded curtly.

Vienna. Common sense warned against doing another deal with the Devil. But on impulse, Arianna decided to throw caution to the wind. Not out of any love for Grentham. The truth was, she had always wanted to see the city’s fabled sights. As a little girl, she had spent hours curled in her father’s lap as he had regaled her with tales about Europe’s most romantic cities. Vienna—the crossroads of East and West. A melting pot of cultures, with rich history, exotic splendors . . . and sumptuous cuisine.

“The Emperor of Austria is very interested in science, and is said to have one of the most magnificent collection of botanical books in the world,” she pointed out. “I am sure it would have some unique treasures concerning chocolate, given his country’s historic ties to Spain.”

“And our desire to see the collection would provide a perfect cover for a trip to the city. It’s known throughout the ton that you are working on a book, and my interest in chocolate recipes is no secret either. We are considered odd. Unconventional and uninterested in the usual jockeying for power and privilege. So it will be easy to appear detached from all the political intrigue.” In the reflection of the leaded glass, she saw that both men were watching her intently. “And yet your title and pedigree will assure that we are invited to dance attendance on the parties surrounding the Conference. Which would allow us to pursue our own agenda—that of catching the traitor and stopping whatever murder is planned.”

The minister maintained a stony face, but a telltale pulse of flesh, just a hairsbreadth above his starched shirt point, betrayed his inner emotions.

“As you have pointed out, the evidence of the knife wound seems to indicate your innocence,” replied the minister tightly. “The inquest will no doubt return a verdict of assailant unknown.”

“Very well,” announced Saybrook after a long moment. “Seeing as you are in danger of making a royal cock-up of this business, we’ll go and do your department’s work for you, Grentham.” His voice turned slightly mocking. “But let us not make a habit of it.”

Arianna felt a quiver of outrage. Rather than mentally cutting up her vital organs, the ungrateful lout ought to be expressing his gratitude. “You might say thank you,” she muttered.

“Why, copy them and put the originals back in the book,” answered Grentham without hesitation. He was in command of himself, any hint of emotion banished by the intensity of crafting a trap for the enemy. She felt a twinge of unwilling admiration for a man who could so be single-minded in his purpose.

“Excellent. Let us hope your skills with a glue pot are equally sharp.” He gestured at the cabinets built into the far wall. “I would imagine there are some bookbinding supplies here. Find what you need and smuggle the items back to your rooms—I need not remind you that secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

“As you so kindly pointed out, sir, I am no stranger to scheming,” replied Arianna, any feelings of sympathy for the minister quickly dispelled by his insufferable arrogance. “It goes without saying that Davilenko must think he has outwitted us by getting his hands on the book.”

“In this case, truth will serve our purpose well,” said Saybrook. “I shall make a show of displaying the gift that my wife chose to celebrate my birthday. It will be easy enough to leave it lying around in one of the parlors.”

“He has no reason to think that we know anything about the hidden documents,” said Saybrook. “If I were him, I’d seize the opportunity to recover them. There’s a good chance he has not yet admitted his initial failure to his contact—conspirators are very unforgiving of any mistakes—so my guess is that the plot will proceed as planned.”

“And for yours,” countered Saybrook. “If I were you, I would not forget about the murdered stranger. Does not the fact that a former French Grenadier took dead aim at me set off any alarm bells?”

“There are legions of half-starved former soldiers roaming the streets, both here and across the Channel,” added the minister. “And most are willing to commit violence for a handful of coins. Perhaps someone doesn’t like you.”

“I can, of course, think of a few.” They stared at each other, and the space between them seemed to crackle with invisible sparks. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be satisfied with such a glib answer.”

Arianna could no longer keep quiet. Gesturing at one of the study tables, where a sheaf of fresh paper and several sharpened pencils lay on the blotter, she said, “Shall I draw you a diagram, milord? An unknown French operative loose in your department, a Grognard assassin.” She sketched an imaginary line through the air. “Even a lackwit can see that they are likely connected. The question is, was the soldier aiming at my husband, or was he hired to shoot Rochemont. It would help our investigation immensely to know the answer to that question.”

She paused, aware that her heart was drumming angrily against her ribs. All the talk had exacerbated her frustrations. She much preferred action to endless debate. “Surely your minions can manage to track down the truth while we occupy ourselves with the other conundrums. I am assuming that your resources are more extensive than ours—though quantity does not, of course, mean quality.”

“Be advised that you rouse my wife’s ire at your own peril. As you know, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” Saybrook’s mouth twitched. “So, Grentham, are you going to pursue that lead?”

“No,” answered the minister with a sneer. “As I said, I shall see that the coroner’s inquiry rules death by unknown assailant, so you need not fear for your own neck. As to how and why the Frenchman came to have his throat cut, I’m leaving it to you and your motley Scottish sawbones to figure it out.”

“That you tell him nothing,” replied Grentham decisively. “Mellon must not betray any hint that Kydd is under suspicion. Keeping him in ignorance is the best way to assure he does not make a slip.”

“We shall have to come up with an excuse for leaving here early,” mused Arianna. “One that won’t rouse his suspicion that anything is wrong.”

“On the contrary, Lady Saybrook. You must not rush off in a pelter,” replied the minister. “It’s imperative that Davilenko have no reason to be alarmed either. And don’t forget, your husband will have to appear at the inquest to give testimony on the circumstances of finding the body.” The flash of teeth was not meant as an encouraging smile. “You can accomplish nothing in Austria until Kydd and the English delegation arrive, so use your time here to be sociable—spread word that all the talk of Vienna has sparked an interest to see the Emperor’s library.”

“Once in Vienna, you will, of course, need to draw on your full arsenal of sordid skills,” Grentham went on. “I suggest that you, Lord Saybrook, handle the mundane surveillance and the searching for evidence.” The scudding sunlight lit hot and cold flickers of silver in his gray eyes. “While you, Lady Saybrook would be best used . . .”

Tapping a finger to chin, he pursed his lips. “Let me think . . . Ah, of course. You would be best in putting your God-given talents to work in seducing every last little intimate secret from Kydd. As I recall, you have no trouble making yourself comfortable among Chlorella vulgaris.”

“Yes, I studied a bit of botany too—enough to know the Latin name for pond scum,” said Grentham nastily. Returning his attention to her, he continued. “Or perhaps your husband is afraid that your loyalties might not be as strong as they should be. After all, yours was a marriage of mere convenience—convenience for you, that is. As I see it, the earl has not profited by much, other than a warm body in his bed.” A pause. “Or do you not sleep together?”

“Why not ask your spies?” said Arianna coolly, willing her blood to keep from coming to a boil. “I am sure they have been crawling like rats along the roof slates and window ledges of our town house.”

Grentham began gathering up the papers and carefully folding them along their original creases. “My informants need not go to great lengths to gather quite a bit of interesting information about your habits. Take, for example, the rather attractive woman that the earl meets with every Thursday afternoon for several hours.”

“Oh, come, Grentham. If you are looking to dig up dirt on me, you had better tell your lackeys to use a shovel and not a teaspoon,” drawled Saybrook. “Do you really think you have shocked my wife?”

In an instant, the minister’s spiteful sneer turned a little tenuous. But he covered it by taking up his dove-gray gloves from the table and slipping them over his well-tended hands. “I’ll leave you to put the bait back together. And be advised that I shall expect a full report once you’ve coaxed Davilenko to bite.”

Arianna was tempted to cram the leather-bound volume down Grentham’s spiteful throat. With any luck, half of his perfect pearly teeth would be knocked to flinders.

“Pompous prick,” growled Arianna through clenched teeth. Stalking to the storage cabinet, she began rummaging around for a glue pot and brushes.

The earl remained silent for a long, awkward moment. “About what Grentham just said,” he began haltingly. “The lady in question is a botanist, a spinster who belongs to—”

“It is of no concern,” said Arianna sharply. The sudden clench in her belly was not jealousy, she assured herself, but merely anger at Grentham for his malicious games. “Come, we have work to do.”

The book lay on the side table by the rosewood cigar case, a spill of candlelight catching on the gilt lettering stamped on the spine. A faint skirl of smoke wafted across the ceiling rosette as the lone figure in the smoking room rose from the corner armchair.

A puff of breath blew out the tiny flame, leaving the room shrouded in slanting shadows cast by the flickering moonlight. Footsteps crossed noiselessly over the carpet—the only sounds were a brief whisper of leather sliding over smooth wood, followed by a soft hiss of triumph.

Dark on dark, the shadows shifted as the clock began to strike the midnight hour. And then the door closed quietly, leaving the empty space enveloped in blackness.

The next morning dawned cloudless, the last vestiges of the squalling storms having blown through during the night. Saybrook rose early to join the Spanish diplomats for breakfast, while Arianna avoided the public rooms downstairs, choosing instead to invite Henning to share a repast in the sitting room of her suite.

“Vienna,” muttered the surgeon, in between bites of kippered herring. “Do ye really think it’s wise to get tangled in Grentham’s web of intrigue again?”

“The strands are already twined around Charles,” Arianna pointed out. “You know Sandro—he wasn’t about to leave his uncle at the mercy of that spider.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But the document would have been damaging, and Sandro is very protective of family.” A bit of toast crumbled between her fingers as she recalled his reaction to Grentham’s mention of Antonia.

So, the minister knew about Saybrook’s sister. It wasn’t overly surprising, given that Grentham’s job was to know all the sordid secrets of the ton. Clearly the subject had been discussed between the two of them before, but the earl had not seen fit to tell her of it. Too personal? Arianna tried not to think of the other female mentioned by the minister. Given her own conflicted musings on independence, she could hardly complain.

“Not hungry?” asked Henning, eyeing the pile of crumbs on her plate with wry amusement. “If ye have lost yer appetite, then things must be even more serious than I thought. Are there any new discoveries ye haven’t told me about?”

“N-no. I’m merely trying to digest all that has happened. Like you, I have no illusions as to the dangers of being drawn into Grentham’s world. But Sandro is, as you know, not intimidated by a challenge. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“Indeed, it appears that he swallowed the bait in one gulp.” Saybrook handed the book to Arianna. “But perhaps you should check more carefully, just to be sure.”

She quickly carried it to the escritoire, and opened the back cover. “Yes,” she said, running a magnifying glass along the inside edge of the binding. “It’s been reglued, and the bulge is definitely gone.”

“The inquest is to take place at noon,” Saybrook informed them. “There’s no need for you to attend, Baz. I think we can trust Grentham to keep his word about arranging the verdict. The announcement of death by unknown assailant will keep my neck intact for a bit longer.”

“Oh, our laddie will have it all sorted in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Henning allowed a last twitch of cynical mirth before turning serious. “Have you given any more thought to the letter you deciphered?”

Saybrook poured himself a cup of tea. “I’ve been mulling over the part that says, ‘I’ve been appointed to the English delegation and our contact in Sx is also in place.’ At flush blush, the letters ‘SX’ would seem to mean the Kingdom of Saxony, whose ruler is currently being held a virtual prisoner by the Russian Tsar,” he replied. “But I have a feeling that nothing is going to be as it seems in this affair.”

“Russia wants to remake the Baltic region,” explained her husband. “The Tsar wishes to create new borders for Poland, and the tiny Kingdom of Saxony is standing in his way. So its king is enjoying the Tsar’s hospitality for the moment. It’s all very polite, of course, but let’s just say that any decision to leave would prove awkward.”

“Ye have another week to gain firsthand knowledge of all the petty quarrels and hatreds simmering on the Continent,” said Henning with a cynical snort. “But of course, there will be plenty more to learn of, once you reach Vienna.”

“I suppose that I might as well start with Rochemont,” she mused. “The Aggrieved Adonis will likely want a good deal of sympathy for the injury to his perfect looks.”

Henning tossed back another dram of whisky—his fourth—and rose. “Seeing as you’ve no further need of me at present, I’ll be heading back to London. I have patients with real ills to treat.” His hands flexed, setting off a sharp cracking of his knuckles. “And arrangements to make for doing some digging up north.”

“To feel that someone is starting work on his grave?” suggested Henning. “Yer pipes keep whistling the same tune, laddie. I understand the need for secrecy.”

“I’ll send word for our carriage to be made ready,” she said. “Along with a basket of food for the journey.” She eyed the empty glass. “And another bottle of the marquess’s best malt.”

“You’ll knock off all my rough edges with such luxuries, Lady S,” said the surgeon with a sour grin. “I fear I’ll turn quishy as boiled oats.”

“None of us can afford to lose our edge,” said Saybrook, his eyes turning opaque. “Or let down our guard for an instant. I suspect the coming months are going to test our mettle in ways we can’t yet imagine.”