The Cocoa Conspiracy (32 page)

1. In a medium mixing bowl, sift the flour, cocoa, chili powder, cinnamon, cayenne pepper, cloves, and salt together. Reserve.

2. Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar together thoroughly, about 3 minutes.

3. Add the egg yolks and continue beating until creamy.

4. Add the orange zest, dissolved espresso, vanilla, and orange oil, and incorporate.

5. Add the flour mixture and mix very briefly, only until incorporated.

6. Divide the dough into 3 equal portions and flatten each portion to a ½-inch thick disk on a sheet of plastic wrap. Seal the plastic wrap around each portion of the dough and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or preferably overnight. (The sealed dough can be refrigerated for 2–3 days if necessary.)

7. Remove one portion of dough at a time from the refrigerator so that the dough stays cold while you are working with it. With a floured, cloth-covered rolling pin, roll the
well-chilled
dough out thinly (¼-inch or less) on a generously floured pastry cloth. Cut out shapes with cookie cutters.

8. Arrange on a parchment-lined baking sheet, decorate with clear sanding sugar if desired, and bake at 375º for 6–8 minutes. Watch closely to prevent cookies from overbrowning. It is difficult to tell when these cookies are done because color is not a cue.

9. Remove from the oven and cool on wire racks.

10. When completely cool, store in airtight cookie tins in a cool, dry location
.

“S
làinte mhath.
” The brandy in Henning’s glass cast a swirl of fire-gold patterns over his rugged face. “I was beginning to get a bit worried about you two,” he said as Saybrook and Arianna entered the parlor. “Pour yourselves a drink and let us toast to dodging disaster.”

“Amen to that,” said the earl. He chose port.

To Arianna’s eye, its dark ruby richness was uncomfortably close to the color of blood, but the sweetness was soothing on her tongue.

“Slàinte mhath,
” she repeated, moving to the hearth and warming her hands over the dancing flames. A wrapper of finespun merino wool had replaced her purloined finery, and between the soft fabric and the flickering fire, the lingering chill was finally dispelled from her bones.

Saybrook sunk into the armchair facing the surgeon. “Much as I appreciate your peculiar sense of humor, Baz, I would appreciate it if you would stubble the clever remarks.” A grunt rumbled in his throat as he shifted his long legs. “And cut to the bloody chase, now that Arianna is here.”

“I’ve missed you too, laddie,” drawled Henning, lifting his glass in ironic salute.

The earl responded with a rude suggestion.

“And you, Lady S.” His tone turned a touch more serious. “You are a feast for sore eyes. Indeed, it warms me from my cockles to my toes to see you standing in one piece.”

She returned his smile. “It’s good to see you too, Mr. Henning. Ignore Sandro’s snarls. You know he’s always in a foul temper when he’s hungry. I’ll fetch a plate of chocolates from the kitchen to sweeten his mood.”

“I don’t want chocolate,” growled the earl. “I want information.”

“And you shall have it, just as soon as I return with some sustenance,” said Arianna. She had come to understand that his barbed exchanges with Henning were part of some arcane masculine ritual of friendship. By the time she came back with the confections, the needling would be done and they could get down to business. “Besides, I am famished, and you know that I think better on a full stomach.”

“Given your ideas of late, perhaps I should be quaking in my boots,” retorted her husband.

“Ha! You may have to eat those words.”

A short while later, the sultana-and-almond-filled chocolates consumed, the glasses refilled, Henning sat back and cleared his throat. “Well, now, it seems we are to have another one of our councils of war. Shall I start it off? Sandro has been pestering me for hours to explain why I am here.”

The earl gave an impatient little wave.

“Don’t rush me,” retorted the surgeon. “It’s a long and complicated story. But I shall try to keep it short.”

“Do,” growled the earl.

“As you know, I headed north to Scotland on the same day you left for Vienna. When I arrived in Edinburgh, my nephew was still missing, so . . .” He shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t spoken much to you about this, but I’ve kept up ties with a group of old friends who espouse the idea of independence from England. The Crown brands their ideas sedition, while I . . . I support many of their aims, even if I don’t agree with some of their more radical efforts to achieve them.”

“
Dio Madre
, you need not explain yourself to us,” said Saybrook. “I guessed as much, and respect your choices.”

“Auch, I know that, laddie, and am grateful. But this is about more than me and my personal feelings.” He blew out his cheeks. “Suffice it to say, I’m trusted enough in the underworld of Scottish patriots that people are willing to talk.” The air leaked out slowly. “And what I heard made my hair stand on end.”

Saybrook was staring down at his glass, a habit that hid his dark eyes.

“We know that Whitehall has long suspected that the French have had agents in both Scotland and Ireland, looking to encourage unrest—and perhaps even rebellion,” continued Henning. “And of course they are right. Money has been funneling in from the Continent for years. Most of it has been spent to buy loyalty from the locals, who in turn use it to support their families.” He looked up, the harsh shadows accentuating the lines that furrowed his face. “Poverty is rampant, for many of the English lords treat their Scottish tenants as a lower form of life than their hounds or horses. That’s why I’ve turned a blind eye on what was going on.”

“But with the war over and Napoleon exiled on Elba, it seems that the threat should be over,” said Arianna.

“You’re right, lassie. The threat
should
be over,” replied Henning. “But the more I delved beneath the surface, the more it became apparent that friends and foes were not what they seemed—which is why we have been chasing the wrong scent in our hunt for Renard.”

“Let me guess,” said Saybrook slowly. “You’re about to tell us that conceited coxcomb, Comte Rochemont is, in truth, a cunning conspirator who has spent years betraying both the Royalist cause and Britain, correct?”

“Correct,” confirmed Henning. “For nearly a decade, the duplicitous bastard has been running a network of
agents provocateurs
for Napoleon in Scotland. I was away on the Peninsula for some of those years, and then living in London. So I’ve kept at arm’s length from the activities, and never knew the identities of the men in charge. Had I paid greater attention to what was going on in the North, I would have also learned that Rochemont wielded an iron hand within his fancy French velvet glove.”

“That would explain Rochemont’s many so-called hunting trips across the border,” mused Saybrook. “Under the guise of a frivolous sportsman, he was overseeing his network.”

Henning made a face. “Aye. And it seems he ran a clever operation. Recruits were flattered and stroked. Those who showed intelligence and idealism were brought up through the ranks and assigned ways to weaken England. All very comradely, right?” The sardonic laugh couldn’t quite cover the pain in his voice.

Arianna felt her throat constrict.

“Except those who disagreed with the methods or tried to resign were beaten into line by Rochemont’s henchmen,” Henning went on. “Or they simply disappeared.”

“I am sorry about your nephew, but you cannot blame yourself, Baz,” said Saybrook softly. “You have read history—from the very first, rulers and demagogues have always found it easy to seduce young men with fire in their bellies.”

“I should have had my eyes and ears open. Then I would have been able to counsel Angus,” said Henning bleakly.

“Yes, and he would have ignored you,” countered Arianna. “When you were his age, would you have listened to your elders?”

The surgeon frowned, and then crooked a grudging smile. “No, I would have told them to go to hell.”

“There, you see.” She set down her glass. “But before we go on about Rochemont’s past, I think you had better hear what I have to say about tonight.”

Her husband looked at Henning and then gave a gruff nod.

Arianna quickly detailed what she had seen in the kitchen.

“His hands were burned?” said Saybrook.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “Which has to mean he killed Kydd. Any other explanation seems absurd.”

“But why?” mused Saybrook.

“He must have suspected that Kydd was having second thoughts. And perhaps he feared that things were getting too cozy with me,” she said.

Her husband took his time in answering. “Perhaps. And yet, an assassin, be it Rochemont or one of his cohorts, could not have known that you and Kydd would be walking that way.”

“A good point,” said Henning.

Arianna thought back over her encounter with the young Scotsman. “Kydd was quick to suggest we walk that way,” she said carefully. “He hinted that he had an important meeting. He was nervous and on edge, so I would guess that he had a rendezvous planned with his killer for later in the evening.”

“Pure speculation,” the earl pointed out.

“As is your guess that someone lobbed a bomb at us with the intention of murdering both of us.”

“The evidence of a lethal metallic sphere—what we in the military called a grenade—is inarguable,” said Saybrook. “How it came to explode by Kydd’s head is, I grant you, not something we know for sure.”

“There are too damn many unknowns in this bloody case,” muttered Henning. “One would almost think Grentham manipulated you into taking this assignment because he was sure you would fail.”

Arianna swallowed hard, the lingering sweetness of the wine turning sour on her tongue.

“Another speculation,” said Saybrook curtly. “We could sit here and spin conjectures all night. What facts are we missing?”

Her head jerked up. “I—I was just getting to that. After Rochemont went out, I decided to have a look around his quarters. Hidden inside his jewel case was a coded letter.”

A sound—a snarl?—vibrated deep in Saybrook’s throat.

“For God’s sake, give me a little credit for clandestine conniving,” she snapped, feeling a little defensive. “I was exceedingly careful about leaving no trace that it had been tampered with. I made a copy and put the original back exactly as I found it.”

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Then how did you come to be chased within an inch of your life by the comte and his hellhounds?”

“As it happens, I heard him returning and knew I didn’t have time to put his desk back in order and escape. So I threw some things around, including the jewel case, and pocketed the baubles to make it look like a robbery.”

Without further comment, Saybrook extracted the paper from his pocket. Slowly, precisely, he unfolded the creases and began studying the contents.

“Bravo, lassie,” said Henning. “Perhaps your clue will help us figure out what Rochemont and that bastard Talleyrand are up to. I don’t know what new mayhem the two of them are planning together. But mark my words, I think we’ll find that Talleyrand is at the heart of all this. He just
has
to be.”

The earl kept on reading.

Arianna bit her lip, uncertain whether to feel angry or guilty. Had she been stubbornly reckless simply to prove her independence?

Tearing her gaze from his profile, she forced a careless shrug. “One other thing. It may mean nothing, but one of the kitchen maids mentioned that Talleyrand is expecting a special guest for next week’s gala Carrousel, and apparently it’s a matter of great secrecy. According to her, the person is a general, however she didn’t remember his name . . .” Her brows pinched together. “Save for the fact that it has something to do with water.”

“A general,” repeated Henning. “That’s hardly a notable personage these days. After a decade of constant wars, they are as common as cow dung.”

“Water,” she mused, then repeated the word in several different languages. “Anything strike a bell?”

Henning shook his head.

Preoccupied with the coded letter, Saybrook didn’t answer.

“Sea . . . Spring . . . Creek.” Each elicited a negative response from the surgeon, so she abandoned the effort. “Perhaps something will come to us later. In any case, it’s likely not important.”

At that, Saybrook grunted, showing that he had been listening, if only with half an ear. “We’ve enough word games to occupy our attention.” He rose and went to the desk to fetch his notebooks, which contained the other coded document. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t the two of you get some rest.”

“What about you?” asked Arianna.

Saybrook picked up a pencil. “I want to work for a while longer. Now that I have two samples, I might see something new.”