A Tangle of Serpents, page 16
“I won’t be among the guests,” said Grentham. “As you well know, it takes a great many unseen lackeys to make a fancy soirée bubble along as smoothly as costly champagne.”
“Between us all, we should be able to winkle out some useful information,” said Constantina.
The minister rose. “If you wish to visit an even better venue in which to gather information, pay an afternoon visit to the montagne-russe. It’s the most popular attraction in Paris. Gossip flies around even faster than the amusing little sleds.”
“The Russian mountain?” The dowager looked bewildered. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Mr. Fitzroy mentioned it to me this afternoon,” interjected Arianna. “It’s apparently quite an engineering feat—an artificial hill of sorts, constructed of iron and wood, with a track of rails that allow little wooden sleds to hurtle down the steep incline.”
“Yes, I heard mention of it, too,” said Sophia. “The gentlemen were remarking on how all the fashionable ladies are in alt over the thrilling experience. It’s become the place to see and be seen.”
“Then I suggest we pay a visit tomorrow,” replied Arianna. A glance at Saybrook elicited a confirming nod.
Grentham snapped his fingers. “Come, Hobbes. It’s time for us to quit this lap of luxury and return to our more humble abode.”
The terrier, who had hopped back up into the nest of Sophia’s skirts, continued his gusty snores.
“Hobbes!”
Sophia ruffled her fingertips through the dog’s fur. “W-what if you’re surprised by your enemies and forced to flee. Won’t Hobbes be in danger? He might become lost . . . or injured.”
Arianna bit back a smile at seeing the odd little flicker that passed over the minister’s face.
“Hobbes is a sturdy and resourceful little fellow. He has a knack for survival,” came the answer. “Besides, he provides a ring of truth to my current disguise.”
“Then change it,” countered her friend. “I’ve heard you say that a good spy never lingers too long in one persona.” A pause. “It’s one less mouth to feed.”
“Not,” snapped Grentham, “if the little mongrel performs his role and catches rats.”
Sophia scowled at him. “I think he should stay here.”
Hobbes opened one eye. And then quickly closed it with a blissful sigh and wiggled deeper into the silken folds.
“Traitor,” muttered the minister. “But then, of late, they seem to be thicker than fleas on a dog’s arse.”
“Language, Percival,” chided Constantina with a wag of her finger. “There are ladies present.”
“Yes, and all of them possess a far worse vocabulary than mine.”
“If you wish to abandon the rat catcher’s garb, I brought an assortment of seedy clothing with me from London, in case I needed to move around incognito,” said Saybrook.
A grunt.
“Follow me,” said the earl.
“Do try to stay out of Trouble’s way,” called the dowager as the two men left the room.
The trouble with Trouble, thought Arianna, is that it didn’t play by the rules of Polite Society. One had to beat it at its own game.
Chapter 16
The pinnacle of the oddly-shaped structure was just visible above the tops of the trees. Shading her eyes, Arianna squinted into the sun. “It’s even taller than I expected. How did it come into being?”
“I imagine we could ask Tsar Alexander, if he, in fact, appears at the soirée this evening,” said Saybrook. He was escorting Constantina down the broad footpath of the park, while Arianna and Sophia strolled beside them. “Given that it’s called a Russian mountain,” he continued, “one would assume it originated there.”
“Indeed, it did,” came a voice from behind their little group.
It was, thought Arianna, rather strange how Fitzroy contrived to cross her path so often. She couldn’t help but wonder whether he had the house under surveillance.
“It’s a very interesting story,” added her self-proclaimed half-brother. “I’d be happy to tell it. Assuming, of course, that I’m not intruding on a family gathering.”
“We’re all always curious to learn new things, so I’m sure we would enjoy hearing it, Mr. Fitzroy,” responded Arianna, and quickly performed the requisite introductions.
Both Constantina and Sophia betrayed a flicker of recognition on hearing the name, but merely smiled and made no mention of his supposed connection to her.
“Excellent! I shall endeavor not to bore you.” Fitzroy quickened his steps to catch up with them. “The practice began during the last century with the building of large snow mountains on the grounds of the palaces around St. Petersburg for winter pleasure. Called a katalnaya gorka, or “sliding mountain,” they tended to be about 70 or 80 feet high, and were reinforced with wood. The slope, which was about 50 degrees, was coated with ice, and sleds or small wheeled carriages were used to slide down.”
“Good heavens, that sounds a trifle dangerous,” exclaimed the dowager.
“I imagine that’s part of the allure,” replied Fitzroy. “Human nature seems to find a frisson of risk adds to the excitement of many endeavors.”
“Do you enjoy taking risks, Mr. Fitzroy?” challenged Arianna.
“Certainly not in my work, “ he replied. “Engineering requires precision. If one is careless and makes mistakes, people can get hurt. So on the whole, I actually think of myself as cautious.”
A thoughtful answer, she conceded.
Perhaps too thoughtful. A cynic might question whether it had been well rehearsed.
“I’m glad to hear it,” remarked Sophia. “I certainly wouldn’t want a bridge I was crossing to fall down.”
He smiled. “No, indeed, Miss Kirtland.”
“Do go on about the montagne-russe, sir,” pressed Constantina. “I’m finding it most fascinating.”
“And so did Catherine II,” he replied, sliding smoothly back to his story. “She built a large one in her gardens at the Oranienbaum Palace, complete with a fancy pavilion beside it, where tea from silver samovars was served during the sliding parties.”
“And no doubt copious amounts of vodka to ward off the chill of a Russian winter,” quipped Saybrook.
“No doubt,” agreed the engineer. ‘There is no account of how many accidents happened.”
“I shudder to think of how many limbs were broken,” said Constantina.
“Or skulls cracked,” said Arianna. She looked up again, as they came closer to the sprawling structure towering up from the flat parkland. “I take it the Russian soldiers stationed here in Paris constructed this faux mountain for their amusement.”
“Yes, and they have turned it into a money-making venture—likely to raise funds for the drinking—by charging admission for each ride.” He gestured at the brightly colored pavilions surrounding the montagne-russe. “And the commanding officer of regiment collects a portion of the profits for allowing some enterprising Parisians to serve refreshments to the crowd.”
Despite the early afternoon hour, the grounds were already teeming with the crème de la crème of Parisian society. Arianna studied the structure, curious as to how it all worked. There was an enclosed stairwell to one side of the main tower that led up to the pinnacle. She couldn’t see over the ramparts but—
“There is a very large winch at the top.” Fitzroy had come over to stand by her shoulder. “It’s powered by a small steam engine.”
Arianna was suddenly aware of the faint thump and hiss.
“There are two sets of tracks,” he explained, “so two sleds can race down the slope at the same time. When the descent is finished, the engine hauls them back to the top.”
“What if the sleds pick up so much speed that they jump off the rails? Couldn’t that result in serious injury?” she asked.
“It would,” he agreed. “However, the montagne-russe has been engineered to prevent that from happening. The heavy manila cable attached to each of the sleds controls its descent as well as ascent. There’s a governor—that is, a gearing mechanism—that only allows the cable to spool out at a certain speed. The riders still have a sense of exhilaration, but it’s perfectly safe.”
“Ingenious,” murmured Arianna.
“Yes, I arrived in Paris early, and was invited by a friend to see it under construction. I did offer a few suggestions . . .”
“By the look of the line snaking out from the stairs, it’s proving a very popular pastime.” She angled her gaze to catch his. “Perhaps you should think of constructing one in Hyde Park. It would, I imagine, be a hugely profitable business.”
Fitzroy shrugged. “Pandering to profit holds little interest for me, Lady Saybrook. I wish to create lasting accomplishments, ones that make the lives of everyday people better.”
Arianna nodded. He expressed such admirable sentiments, expressed in such thoughtful words. She really should like him immensely.
And yet . . .
Arianna couldn’t quite put a finger on why, but something about him struck a false note.
“Now that you know the montagne-russe’s secrets, would you care to take a ride?”
The panorama of Paris was breath-taking. Arianna turned slowly, enjoying the bird’s eye view of the stately pale stone buildings. Here and there, sunlight rippled off the water of the Seine, and in the distance, she thought she could make out the cathedral of Notre Dame.
“It’s worth the climb just for this,” murmured Sophia, who along with Saybrook, had joined in the trek up the stairs. Constantina had cried off, preferring to sit in the shade of one of the refreshment pavilions and have a glass of lemonade.
“Shall we draw straws to see who has the pleasure of being the first to hurtle down the mountain?” suggested Fitzroy.
“The honor is all yours,” ceded the earl. “It was you who suggested it.”
“Lady Saybrook, will you join me? Or would you rather just watch? The height and the steepness of the track can be intimidating.”
A hint of amusement curled at the corners of Saybrook’s mouth. “If you know my wife better, you wouldn’t ask that.”
“Oh?” Fitzroy fixed her in a searching look. “Why is that?”
Arianna took his arm and drew him toward the loading area. “Pay His Lordship no heed. He has a peculiar sense of humor.”
As Saybrook and Sofia turned back to admire the view of the city, she and Fitzroy moved around the clanking machinery to the platform at the top of the tracks. Several people were ahead of them, and to her dismay, Arianna realized Orlov was one of them.
Damnation. But there was no way of avoiding him.
The prince spotted her an instant later, his smile tightening to an ugly grimace. He was standing with another man in military uniform—a British one that she had reason to recognize.
Colonel Newton.
“Ah.” Orlov’s eyes sparked with malice. “I heard you were in Paris.” To his companion, he added, “Are you acquainted with the countess, Newton?”
She felt Fitzroy stiffen at the hint of insolence in the prince’s manner.
“I have not yet had the pleasure,” came the colonel’s polite response.
“Trust me, there is no pleasure to be had from the lady,” murmured Orlov, just loud enough to be heard.
“Please watch your tongue, sir,” said Fitzroy softly. “I’m sure you don’t wish to unwittingly give offense to Lady Saybrook by making such a . . . jest.”
“Quite right,” said Newton, who clearly wished to avoid any unpleasantness. “Do introduce me, Prince Orlov.”
The prince bared his teeth. “Lady Saybrook is an old acquaintance—she understands my sense of humor.”
With that, the requisite ritual of introductions was quickly performed.
“And what brings you to Paris, Mr. Fitzroy?” inquired the colonel.
“I’m here to attend a scientific symposium sponsored by the Royal Society, in order to share ideas and innovations with our French brethren,” he replied.
“As is my husband,” interjected Arianna. “He and Mr. Fitzroy are colleagues.” An exaggeration, but if Orlov suspected any closer connection than a purely professional one, it might put Fitzroy in danger.
The prince was malicious enough to strike out at a stranger simply to cause her hurt.
As Newton engaged her companion in casual conversation regarding the symposium, she took the opportunity to observe him closely. Tall, sandy-haired, and broad-shouldered, though his muscles look to be going a little soft. As for his face, he has a pleasant countenance, with no hint of guile lurking in the depths of his grey eyes.
But the mere fact that he was friends with Orlov said otherwise.
“And you, colonel,” she interjected as Fitzroy finished his explanation of the symposium’s goals. “Are you enjoying Paris?”
“There is much to appreciate here,” he replied. “Especially after the hardships of war.”
A reasonable answer. And a careful one.
“Indeed,” she answered.
“Sumptuous food, fine wine, beautiful women,” murmured Orlov.
Ignoring the prince, Arianna kept her attention on the colonel. “My friend, Miss Kirtland, and Captain Leete joined your party to watch the shooting competition, and she mentioned you have an uncle serving as a senior member in government. As does my husband. Perhaps you’re acquainted with Lord Charles Mellon, of the Foreign Office?”
“I fear Miss Kirtland may have misunderstood my uncle’s importance. He does have a position at Horse Guards, but it is an administrative post,” said Newton. “My life as a soldier has rarely allowed me to be in London, so I confess I have naught but a passing acquaintance with my uncle—and none at all with the politicians of the Foreign Office.”
Before Arianna could ask him any further questions, the empty sleds returned to the top of the tracks, and it was his turn to pair with the prince for the next slide down the montagne-russe.
“Alas, I must excuse myself, Lady Saybrook.” Newton gingerly folded his big body onto the small seat. “But I look forward to a further acquaintance.”
Orlov waited for the colonel to settle himself, then climbed into the other sled. “As do I.” Lowering his voice, he added, “You enjoy a challenge—perhaps next time you would care to race against me down the mountain?”
“I doubt you would find it satisfying, sir.” She gave a wave at the cables. “The speed is carefully regulated, so there are no winners or losers.”
“No matter what the game,” replied the prince, “there is always a winner and a loser.”
“Ready?” called the attendant, checking that each man was seated firmly within the box-like passenger seat. “Please remain seated and don’t extend your arms on the way down. The track is quite safe, but losing your balance could result in a dangerous fall.”
“Let us fly!” demanded Orlov, smacking a fist on the side of his sled.
The attendant pulled the massive lever, releasing the brake on the geared machine controlling the cables.
In a bone-rattling lurch of metal and wood, the sleds jumped forward and went hurtling down the slope.
Ye gods. Arianna’s eyes widened. From her vantagepoint, the incline looked much steeper than it did from the ground.
“If you are getting cold feet, please don’t hesitate to say so,” murmured Fitzroy. “Heights can be very intimidating.”
“Having bounced through the sky in the gondola of a hot air balloon,” she replied dryly, “I can assure you that heights hold no fear for me.”
“You’ve been aloft in a balloon?”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes on the two sleds, which had already reached the bottom. “Lud, that was quick.”
Fitzroy refused to be distracted by the observation. “You have had a very interesting life. I should like to hear more about it.”
“For the most part, you would find yourself bored to perdition. Most men don’t find kitchens and cooking nearly as alluring as I do.”
The winches emitted a metallic groan as they reversed direction and began to haul the sleds back to the top of the tower.
“You might be surprised as to what interests me,” he said.
Arianna didn’t rise to the bait. “Being an engineer, I imagine you’re very good with mathematics, and the formulas for distance and speed. How long would you say it takes for the trip down?”
He pursed his lips in thought. “Hmmm, assuming the sleds aren’t fettered by the cables . . . the height of the tower . . . the length and slope angle of the ramp . . .”
She was extraordinarily skilled with numbers herself—her calculations for a secret mission on the eve of Waterloo had helped ensure a British victory—and she could have easily worked it out for herself. However, that wasn’t a secret she wished to reveal right now.
Besides, she was curious.
Fitzroy announced a number.
The correct one, she noted. “That’s barely enough time in which to draw a deep breath.”
Her father had also possessed an ungodly knack for numbers. Perhaps Fitzroy really was her half-brother. Though that in turn stirred unsettling thoughts of whether he had also been passed Richard Hadley’s attraction to evil machinations.
The sleds scraped over a small hump in the rails and rolled to a halt on the loading platform.
“Please be sure your skirts are tucked in tightly, Lady Saybrook,” advised Fitzroy as he helped her into seat box. “If they catch in the wheels, they could cause the sled to careen off the rails.”
“For an activity that you deem quite without risk, there appear to be a great many warnings,” she quipped.
“It’s always better to be safe than sorry.” He finished settling her into place, then took up his own seat.
“Nice to see you here again, monsieur,” called the winchmaster from his station after wiping his hands on an oily rag. “Have you any more suggestions for making the ride run smoother?”
“Well, since you asked . . . I noticed something just now.” Fitzroy flashed a grin. “Adjusting the steam engine’s condensers in order to increase power just a bit might eliminate the wobble in the sleds as they ascend. The movement, though slight, puts undue wear on the wheels and may cause a malfunction.”
