Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

The fluted stone scraped her palms raw as she slid to the ground. Giving silent thanks for her earlier surveillance of the grounds, Arianna whirled around and sprinted along the line of the privet hedge, making for the gate that she knew was set in the far right corner of the garden wall.

A door slammed somewhere on the terrace and suddenly there were footsteps peltering in pursuit.

“Stop sneaking a peek at the clock, laddie. The hands have moved naught but a tick since the last time ye looked.” Henning closed the folder of Saybrook’s notes. “Which, by the by, was only a minute ago.”

“She’s never been this late before,” said Saybrook.

“Something must have come up,” replied the surgeon.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” came the earl’s gloomy retort.

Henning ran a hand through his hair, the gesture doing little to smooth the spiky tufts. “Don’t worry. Lady S is exceedingly clever and resourceful.”

“She is also exceedingly unconcerned when it comes to her own safety.” Saybrook scowled. “And now that you’ve brought the news that Rochemont is a duplicitous viper, I have damned good reason to be worried.”

“Laddie, if I thought she was in danger right now, I would be urging you on with a red-hot poker. But be reasonable. You’ve told me that she’s been a week working in the kitchens and has had no trouble so far, eh?”

Saybrook conceded the point with a wordless shrug.

“So there’s no reason to think tonight will be any different.”

“Damnation, Baz. If you would tell the details, I could decide that for myself.” The earl sounded tired. Frustrated. And a little frightened, despite the Sphinx-like stare. His face appeared carved out of stone, but his dark chocolate eyes simmered with anxiety.

“I told you, I’ll explain it all when Lady S gets home. It’s a long story and I’d rather tell it only once,” replied Henning. “And as soon as she is here, we can also have a council of war about how to continue.” The surgeon wagged a warning finger. “But don’t have high hopes that she will want to abandon the masquerade. We still don’t know how all this ties together, and Lady S isn’t one to leave loose ends hanging.”

“Bloody hell,” swore the earl softly. “Why is she determined to take such dangerous risks?”

“I might ask the same of you,” countered his friend. “And I suggest you think of an answer that does not include any mention of women being the weaker sex. Unless, of course, you want your ballocks served up for breakfast by your lovely wife.”

“Don’t remind me of cooking, if you please,” muttered the earl. He rose and slowly circled past the hearth to the sideboard where he paused to uncork a bottle of port. “May I pour you a drink?”

Henning pursed his lips and then demurred. “Nay. I think I’ll keep my wits about me.”

Saybrook set the glass aside and resumed his pacing.

“Ye know, in all our battles together, I’ve never seen ye this on edge.” A pause. “May I ask you a personal question, laddie?”

The earl’s growl was nearly lost in the scuff of his boots.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the surgeon. “I was just wondering—have ye told Lady S that you love her?”

“I . . .”

Henning waited.

“I . . . she . . . Bloody hell, Baz,” groused Saybrook. “She knows that.”

A brow winged up in blatant skepticism. “Women are odd creatures. Unlike some of Nature’s other creations, they do not always absorb things through osmosis.”

“Since when have you become such an expert on the female sex?” snapped the earl.

“Don’t bite my head off. I am merely offering an observation. And in fact, I’ll add another one. Sometimes people feel compelled to take risks in order to win the regard of those they admire. Especially if they perceive that regard to be uncertain in the first place.”

The earl’s jaw clenched, drawing the skin tight over the sharp edges of his cheekbones. Candlelight dipped and danced over the angular planes, the fire-gold skitter not quite strong enough to penetrate the shadows.

Bowing his head, he resumed his silent marching.

After several long minutes of listening to the same thump, thump, thump cross over the carpet, the surgeon chuffed an exasperated grunt. “Auch, you are more twitchy than a cat crossing a hot griddle.”

The steps halted.

“If you can’t sit still, perhaps we ought to take a stroll toward the Prince’s palace. I’ve heard that Vienna is a dazzling sight at night, so I might as well take a peek through the windows at all the fancy people at play.” Henning crinkled his nose in disgust. “Along with the rest of the Great Unwashed, I won’t likely be invited to be on the inside looking out.”

After a moment of thought, Saybrook asked, “Have you packed a decent coat?”

“One without acid burns or blood stains?” Henning made a face. “I believe the charcoal gray will pass muster.”

“I’ll have my valet bring you a starched cravat. And he’ll have orders to brush the worst of the wrinkles from your noxious garments, so don’t kick up a dust.”

“Why?” demanded the surgeon.

“You just reminded me that there is a soiree going on tonight at the Duchess of Sagan’s residence, and Talleyrand is said to be attending. Rather than sit here and stew over what Arianna is up to, we might as well pay a visit so you can get a firsthand look at the Master of Manipulation yourself and give me your impressions.”

“You think he’s secretly working for Napoleon instead of the newly restored king?” asked Henning.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he has betrayed his employer,” Saybrook pointed out grimly. “So it’s only logical to assume that he and Rochemont are in league to destroy the balance of power here with their assassination plot. But who and how is proving perversely difficult to decipher.”

“Patience, Sandro. And perseverance,” counseled his friend. “All it takes is one small piece of the puzzle to fall into place for the picture to become strikingly clear.”

“Then let us go look for that elusive clue,” snapped the earl. “Before yet another body ends up in the grave.”

1 cup long-grain white rice

½ cup blanched almonds

½ cup pepitas (pumpkin seeds)

1 vanilla bean

1 2-inch piece cinnamon bark

2 oz. dark brown sugar

1½ oz. very dark chocolate

5½ cups water

Additional ground cinnamon and sugar, to taste

1. Grind the rice, almonds and pepitas to a coarse powder (a coffee grinder works well here) and pour into a large bowl. To the powder, add the seeds from 1 vanilla bean and cinnamon bark. Pour in 3½ cups water, stir, and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Let sit overnight.

2. The next day, pour the watery rice and nut mixture into a medium saucepan and warm it over a low flame. Stir in 2 oz. dark brown sugar, 1½ oz. chopped very dark chocolate, and 2 cups water, mixing until all is well combined. (You may wish to add more cinnamon and sugar.) Once the liquid is even in color and just barely simmering, remove the saucepan from heat and let it come to room temperature. Then pour the contents into a large bowl, cover, and let chill for at least 3 hours.

3. Once it has cooled, strain the horchata—which should be a milky, dappled brown—through a fine-mesh sieve and into a pitcher, taking care to press the last bits of liquid from the rice and seed solids. If some nutty kernels make their way into the pitcher, don’t worry; they will only enhance the drink’s wonderfully thick texture. To serve, pour over ice cubes and garnish with a piece of cinnamon bark.