A Tangle of Serpents, page 5
“But . . .”
She felt a pang of sympathy as she watched the bitter realization wash over her friend’s face.
“B-but . . .” Sophia fought to counter her own fears. “Captain Leete knew. As did Napoleon’s henchman.”
“Leete wouldn’t betray our secret,” said Saybrook. “And the henchman is dead.”
“Yes, but before his death, he might have sent a report back to London to . . . to whoever is now attempting to make Grentham look like a traitor.”
“There is a chance—a mere ghost of a chance—that is true,” responded Saybrook. “Which is why I’m willing to hold off making a final judgment until my friend has a look at the letters.”
Sophia’s shoulders slumped, though whether in relief or misery was impossible to tell. “That is all I can ask of you.”
With emotions so on edge, Arianna decided it was dangerous to continue the conversation. The newly-woven tapestry of friendships was an intricate and fragile thing. Yanking at one thread could unravel it all.
“We ought to go,” she counseled. “If any of the guests see us huddling together in Charles’s private study, it will only give rise to more unwanted speculations.”
Thankfully, Saybrook seemed to understand her unspoken message, and moved without comment to check that the corridor was clear.
They made their way down the back stairs and out to the carriage. It was only a short ride to Sophia’s residence, and the clatter of the iron steps coming down for her descent put a swift end to the awkward silence.
“I’m concerned,” said Saybrook, when the wheels were once again rolling over the cobblestones. “Her usual rational reasoning appears smashed to flinders.” Sophia was an accomplished chemist, and well-respected within the scientific circles of London for her incisive logic. “She’s not thinking with any clarity or logic.”
“Hope and fear can be a very explosive combination,” replied Arianna. “Especially when they are mixed with other emotions.” Her friend had a fraught history with men. She had been badly hurt in her youth, and the trauma had made her determined never to make herself vulnerable again. And yet, against her will, she had come to have feelings for Grentham.
“Love makes you blind,” she mused. “I think she doesn’t dare admit that she’s mistaken about his character. It would shatter her.”
“She would rather be delusional?” asked Saybrook.
“Yes, perhaps. The mind does strange things when it’s seduced by the heart.”
“Head and heart—a volatile combination, which can turn damnably dangerous,” he observed. “Putting us all at risk.”
As the carriage veered around a corner, the clack-clack of the iron-shod hooves striking stone echoed like gunfire within the darkened interior.
“What would you suggest?” asked Arianna. A wry sigh. “Short of locking her in a cellar until the crisis is resolved.”
“Don’t tempt me,” muttered Saybrook. He shifted his shoulders against the squabs. “I mean to begin by seeking an answer regarding the incriminating letters first thing in the morning, though I daresay it will be no easy task.”
Clack-clack.
“In the meantime, I think you need to concentrate on keeping Miss Kirtland out of trouble.” A sound—something between a laugh and groan—rumbled deep in his throat. “Yes, I realize the irony of the request. However, in this case, I’m counting on your innate good sense to prevail.”
“Hope springs eternal,” she quipped. “But I shall try.”
And yet, despite one’s best intentions, Trouble had a fiendishly clever knack for finding a way to rear its ugly head.
Chapter 5
“You’ve come to invite me to take a stroll in the park? At this unfashionable hour?” Sophia huffed a cynical snort. “Did Saybrook also suggest you put me on a leash, as you would an unruly puppy?”
“Actually, I was planning on taking a roundabout way down Bond Street, so I could purchase a length of sturdy ribbon to match your bonnet,” responded Arianna. “The effect would be ever so much more discreet than a strap of well-chewed leather.”
Her friend’s pique gave way to a grudging smile. “Touché. I suppose I deserve that.” She gestured for Arianna to have a seat on the parlor sofa and sat down beside her. “I’m not a complete gudgeon. I’m aware that Grentham has hidden facets—and likely dark secrets—of which I know nothing. But . . .”
Her words trailed off in a shuddering sigh.
“None of us want to think him guilty. And we’ll do everything in our power to prove that he’s not,” said Arianna. “However, no matter how painful, we must also be willing to face the truth.”
“I know, I know.” Sophia pressed a palm to her brow. “I feel so bloody helpless just sitting here stewing in uncertainty. Surely there must be something we can be doing.”
“A walk may help stir up some ideas,” she replied. “Though we must take the threat you received seriously. As I said last night, whoever sent it knows our secrets. And that makes the danger very real.”
“To you and Saybrook as well,” pointed out her friend.
“We’re used to being targets. We know how to take precautions.”
“As to that, I, too, am prepared for trouble.” Sophia rose and fetch her reticule from the sidetable. “I went out first thing this morning to Egg’s workshop.”
“If you were lacking ingredients for breakfast, you should have sent—”
“Ha, ha.” She rummaged in her bag a moment longer, then triumphantly extracted a pocket pistol. “I was referring to Durs Egg—the gunmaker who crafted the murder weapon. As Saybrook said, the weapons made at his workshop are among the finest in Britain.”
Arianna was an excellent shot, but her skills couldn’t match those of Sophia, who was an expert at handling all types of firearms.
“This one was made by Egg’s nephew, Joseph, who specializes in side-lock pocket pistols.” Her friend handed it over. “See how he’s designed a special single trigger mechanism? Squeeze it twice and it fires both barrels in succession.”
A clever innovation that could save one’s life, reflected Arianna she turned the weapon over in her hands. Pistols weren’t her passion, but she could see that the workmanship was superb. “It’s exquisite.”
“And lethally accurate,” said Sophia as she took the pistol back. “It’s perfectly balanced, as both Durs and Joseph add a number of tiny details in order to ensure . . .”
Her eyes suddenly widened. “Ye gods.”
“What?” asked Arianna.
“Lud, why didn’t I think of it earlier!” A note of excitement resonated in her friend’s voice. “The silver screwcap!” Sophia knew of the grisly discovery Henning had made when examining the murder victim frim Hyde Park. “As you see, each weapon has an intricately engraved one, to hold the lead weight in place within the butt of the weapon. And as they are all made by hand, there are unique variations.”
Arianna sat up straighter. “You think if we show the one Henning found to Mr. Egg and his nephew they may be able to tell us for whom the Prince Regent purchased the pistol?”
“I think it’s quite possible,” replied Sophia. “They’re artists, and have an eye for such things. And most owners of an Egg pistol will come to the workshop in order to have the sights and trigger adjusted to suit their personal requirements.”
Saybrook had left to meet with his friend in military intelligence, but after a moment’s hesitation, Arianna made her decision. “Then let us go fetch the screw cap and pay a visit to the Eggs.”
Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission. Time was of the essence. The confusion and questions regarding Grentham put the country at grave risk, all the more so as most people assumed the battle for peace and security had been won.
The carriage was soon clattering down the Strand and dropped them at No. 132. The door, a dark varnished walnut that echoed the close-grained wood of a gunstock, was flanked by two bowfront windows filled with a variety of firearms. Sunlight glinted off the gleaming metal, sparks of brass and gold darting through the pale flickers of silver and steel.
There was a certain seductive beauty to the implements of Death, reflected Arianna. Good and Evil—perhaps they were a mirror of mankind’s own essential dual nature.
Sophia cast a longing look at one of the ornate dueling pistols on display before opening the door and stepping inside.
The jingle of a brass bell stirred a shuffling in one of the interior workrooms. A short, whip-cord thin man, his silvery hair pulled back in an old-fashioned queue, appeared from the shadows, and stepped forward to greet them.
He was wiping his hands with an oily rag and Arianna immediately noted the graceful movement of his long, tapered fingers.
“Ah!” His face brightened. “Back again so soon, Miss Kirtland? I trust there is nothing wrong with your pistol?”
“Not at all, sir,” replied Sophia. “I couldn’t be more pleased with my purchase. It’s a true work of genius.”
A twinkle lit in his eye. “Have you brought a friend to purchase one as well?”
Sophia smiled. “She’s a good enough shot to appreciate your craftmanship, Mr. Egg. Allow me to introduce Lady Saybrook.”
“A pleasure, milady. I am Ursus Christian Egg—though everyone calls me Durs.” He inclined a small bow. “Your husband is reputed to be a superb marksman.” A pause. “If he’s as skilled as Miss Kirtland, the praise is not unfounded.”
Egg radiated a puckish sense of humor. Arianna liked him immediately. “I daresay the earl can match her prowess.” She lifted a brow. “Just barely.”
That made him laugh. “A pity he’s so loyal to Joseph Manton’s weapons. Though I can’t begrudge that. Joe makes very fine firearms.”
“Variety is the spice of life,” she murmured. “I know he’s heard very good things about your work, sir. Miss Kirtland and I will bring him here to see for himself.”
“I would be honored, milady.” He tucked the rag into one of the many pockets of his leather apron, which was bristling with files and chisels. “In the meantime, how may I be of service today?”
“As to that . . .” Sophia drew a small enamel pill case from her reticule. “Might we go somewhere private? We have a very delicate question to ask of you.”
Egg’s expression betrayed a flicker of surprise, but he nodded politely and led the way through a side corridor to a tiny office next to one of the storage rooms. Like the rest of the building, the air was scented with the smells of wood shavings and beeswax.
“Please forgive the spartan furnishing,” he apologized, gesturing to a pair of straight-back chairs set facing his work desk. “We aren’t often called upon to entertain ladies.”
“Lady Saybrook and I are not delicate blooms—we don’t wilt easily,” replied Sophia.
“No, I don’t imagine you do,” he murmured. “You’ve certainly proved your mettle to me, Miss Kirtland.” Glancing at Arianna, he added, “Miss Kirtland tested several of our weapons in our shooting gallery this morning. It was a very impressive performance.”
“You should see her on a horse,” replied Arianna. “The Duke of Wellington regretted that he couldn’t offer her a commission in one of the Royal Horse Guards regiments.”
“Very impressive,” repeated Egg. He cleared his throat. “So, er, how may I help you?”
During the carriage ride to the workshop, she and Sophia had debated the question of how to ask about the screwcap. They didn’t wish to lie outright, but nor could they reveal the real reason for their query. The answer, they had decided, was to imply it involved a lady’s honor, and hope that Egg’s gentlemanly scruples would compel him to answer without demanding to know more.
Sophia opened the pill case and set the small piece of silver atop the leather blotter. “This is from one of your weapons, is it not?”
Egg took a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and subjected the screwcap to a thorough scrutiny before answering.
“Yes. It’s the work of our top apprentice. We have standard designs for each type of weapon we make, but like any artist, each of us has our own distinctive way of crafting the lines and shapes,” he explained. “Ned always adds a tiny upturn to the lion’s mouth, to make it appear that the beast is smiling.”
“Would you, perchance, have a way of identifying which specific weapon this came from?”
Egg blinked several times, a tiny frown pinching between his brows. “I already know that it was made for a royal pistol—we only use this design for ones ordered by the Prince Regent.” He touched a fingertip to the engraving. “As to which weapon it came from . . .” A cough. “My clients count on me for discretion.”
“As do we,” said Arianna quickly. “Miss Kirtland and I wish to handle a very delicate matter with complete discretion. You see, the screwcap was found in a place that might reflect badly on a gentleman’s honor if it became known. We have an idea on how to make sure that information isn’t misused, but need to know the identity of the gentleman in question.”
She waited, hoping he would assume that matter involved a romantic liaison.
“Ah, I see the problem.” He blew out his cheeks. “Gossip is indeed pernicious. And you ladies strike me as very sensible and trustworthy.” He took another look at the engraving. “I will consult our sales ledgers, and work with my apprentice to determine who received the pistol from the Prince Regent. I shall send word to you as soon as I have an answer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Egg,” replied Arianna. “I can’t say more on the matter, but be assured you have done a great service for the good of the country.”
She took up a pencil and a sheet of paper from his desk and wrote down her address.
His cheeks turned a bit pink. “I am always happy to do my duty in a good cause.”
Sophia rose, and Arianna quickly followed her lead. “Let us not keep you any longer, sir.”
Egg led the way back to the reception area and was just turning to open the door for them when Arianna paused by one of the display cases. “Why, this looks to be the same sort of pocket pistol that Miss Kirtland purchased from you this morning.”
“It is, milady. My nephew specializes in crafting them. However, they are complex mechanisms, and time-consuming to make, so we don’t have many.”
“I’ll take it,” she said. Given the current tangle of dangers, the ability to fire two shots in quick succession seemed a wise investment.
Sophia smiled. “Actually, I was about to suggest just that.” To Egg, she added, “A lady ought to be able to defend herself.”
A half hour later, after a flurry of test shots and minor adjustments, Arianna left Egg’s workshop armed not only with the promise of crucial information but also with a perfectly tuned firearm.
“A very productive visit,” murmured Sophia after they had settled into the carriage for the ride back to Mayfair. “Mr. Egg and his nephew are excellent fellows—and their pistols are lethally accurate.”
Arianna hesitated in replying, for the words triggered a niggling sense of unease. What if Egg’s answer proved the enemy to be . . .
“Let us hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”
Sophia didn’t miss the note of worry shading the words, for her expression tightened.
The horses quickened their pace, their iron-shod hooves kicking up a rough-edged ring against the cobbles.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m trying not to make assumptions—” began Arianna.
“Bollocks!” A fiery red rose up to ridge her friend’s cheekbones. “It seems fairly clear that you and Saybrook have decided the evidence is damning.” A shaky breath. “I concede that it’s a reasonable conclusion, based on what we know so far. And yet I just know in my heart that it can’t be true.”
“Hearts,” responded Arianna, “aren’t known for being overly rational.”
That provoked a ghost of a smile. “That’s why I’m trying to use my head in seeking proof to show that in this case, its instincts are correct.”
The street noise filled the momentary silence between them.
“Do you really believe Grentham is capable of betraying his country?” pressed Sophia.
“I won’t pretend for an instant that I understand the workings of the minister’s mind. As we’ve said before, he’s a complicated man, one who is constantly faced with having to make ruthless choices.” Arianna called to mind some of his past manipulations, telling herself he had ice, not blood running through his veins.
Still, somewhere in the deep recesses of her skull, a tiny whisper refused to be silenced . . .
“Oh, bloody hell,” she added in a mutter. “Quite likely I’m as big a fool as you are . . .” A chuffed sigh. “But no, I don’t believe it, either. However, proving it will be no easy task.”
“It so happens I have another idea about what we can do while we wait for Mr. Egg’s information.” Sophia edged forward on the seat. “I would imagine that Saybrook took only a few of the incriminating letters to show his friend in military intelligence.”
“Just three or four. The rest are locked in his desk,” confirmed Arianna, knowing she might regret the candid answer. “What do you have in mind?”
“The forgery experts at the Foreign Office and military intelligence are, I’m sure, highly skilled. But who would be more qualified to judge the samples than the forgers who work for Grentham?”
“A theoretical question,” she pointed out. “Unless, of course, we knew who they were. And that must be a very closely guarded secret.”
“No doubt. However, I happen to be aware of where we can find one of them.” Sophia let her words sink in before added. “I also have several notes from Grentham—they’re not long, but I daresay they’re long enough to provide a useful sample of his real handwriting.”
“Sandro won’t like it.” Arianna blew out her cheeks. “But then, a great many of my actions drive him to distraction.”
