Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

“You mean because I’m the only one who has actually uncovered the coded documents. The book, the hidden paper in the jewel case—it’s my word against his and most government officials will believe a titled gentleman over a lady whose background is, shall we say, somewhat uncertain.”

“That sums it up in a nutshell,” said her husband tersely.

“Bloody bastards.” It wasn’t clear to whom Henning was referring. She assumed it was everyone who moved within the exalted circles of the ton , that special place where wheels turned smoothly within wheels, greased with the drippings of privilege and pedigree.

The earl signaled the surgeon to silence and went on. “Secondly, I want to catch his cohorts. I’m not convinced Rochemont is Renard—there is a weakness about him, despite his cleverness. So if there’s a chance to catch the real fox, I don’t want to miss it.” He tapped his fingertips together. “And thirdly, being intimately acquainted with Wellington, I know exactly how he will react if I suggest a retreat from the enemy. He’ll look down that long nose of his and tell me to go to the Devil.”

“Men,” murmured Arianna with a slight shake of her head. “In this case prudence ought to override pride.”

“It won’t,” said Saybrook flatly. “Trust me, you could light a barrel of gunpowder under his bum and he wouldn’t budge—” He stopped abruptly, the rest of the sentence still hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Arianna had been sweeping the dark grains of crumbled toast into a neat pile but her hand stilled.

Henning straightened from his slouch.

“Gunpowder,” repeated Saybrook.

“Medieval knights did not have gunpowder,” Henning pointed out.

“Thank you for the history lesson, Baz. But I’m not suggesting they are going to ride in dragging a battery of cannons behind their warhorses. However . . .” Picking up his notebook, he thumbed to the center section and read over several pages. “The preliminary drills will include the pas de lance —riding at full gallop and tilting at rings hanging by ribbons—as well as throwing javelins at fake Saracen heads and displaying prowess with a sword on horseback by slicing apples suspended from the ceiling.”

“An apple is the same size as a small grenade—like the one used to kill Kydd,” said Arianna softly.

“An interesting observation.” The earl added a notation to the page.

“How would he ignite it?” asked Henning quickly.

“For the moment, let’s not discard any idea,” said Saybrook. “No matter how outlandish it might seem.”

“Fair enough,” replied the surgeon with a solemn nod. “You’re right—we need to keep an open mind about how they intend to do the murderous deed. We know they are devilishly clever, so we must be too.”

“I suggest we backtrack for a bit, and go through the whole program,” offered Arianna.

“Right.” The earl took a moment to consult his notes. “Twenty-four gentlemen have been chosen to be a knight in the extravaganza. All are from prominent titled families—Prince Vincent Esterhazy, Prince Anton Radziwill, Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, to name a few. As I mentioned, twenty-four highborn ladies have also been invited to be a Queen of Love. Metternich’s daughter Marie is one of them, as is the Duchess of Sagan, Dorothée de Talleyrand-Perigord and Sophie Zichy. Each will carry her knight’s colors and sit in a special section”—the earl’s voice took on a note of sardonic humor—“where she will cheer her champion on to glory.”

“With any luck, several of the idiots might manage to kill themselves,” quipped Henning.

Saybrook grimaced. “Not likely. Though it’s been dubbed a medieval joust, the participants will be wearing snug hose, fancy velvet doublets and plumed hats decorated with diamonds rather than awkward and uncomfortable armor.”

Arianna stifled a snicker on imagining the absurdly elaborate spectacle.

Her husband’s brows waggled in silent agreement. “Oh, it gets even better. At precisely eight in the evening, there will be an opening procession, complete with squires toting shields, and pages waving banners. Our noble nodcocks will follow their minions, mounted on black Hungarian chargers. They will gather in front of the sovereigns and give a flourishing salute with their lances. Then the games will begin.” He paused. “After the pageant, there is a banquet for the guests of honor scheduled, but that need not concern us. Talleyrand and Wellington have already indicated that they do not plan to attend.”

“How many spectators are expected?” asked Henning.

The question prompted a harried sigh from the earl. “The official guest list has around twelve hundred names. But judging by all the forged tickets that have shown up at other events, I think we can expect double that number.”

“A horde of onlookers, a gaggle of Love Queens, a troupe of prancing knights in bloody velvet, a skulking pack of vermin looking to commit murder . . .” mused Henning. His chair scraped back as he shifted and helped himself to another sultana-studded muffin. “I take it you have some ideas on how to spike their guns, metaphorically speaking, that is?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Saybrook turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “Arianna, perhaps you could brew up a pot of your special spiced chocolate. We may be here for a while.”

2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar

¾ cup smooth peanut butter

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

¼ teaspoon salt

6 oz. semisweet chocolate chips

½ teaspoon vegetable shortening

1. Put sugar, peanut butter, butter, vanilla and salt into a mixing bowl and beat well with a wooden spoon. Roll peanut butter mixture into 1-inch balls and transfer to a wax-paper-lined cookie sheet in a single layer. Freeze until firm, 15–20 minutes.

2. Melt chocolate and shortening in a small heat-proof bowl set over a small pot of simmering water, stirring often. Remove pot and bowl together from heat.

3. Working with about 6 peanut butter balls at a time, insert a toothpick into the center of a ball and dip about three-quarters of the ball into the melted chocolate, leaving about a 1-inch circle of peanut butter visible at the top. Twirl toothpick between your finger and thumb to swirl off excess chocolate, then transfer to another wax-paper-lined cookie sheet, chocolate side down. Slide out toothpick and repeat dipping process with remaining peanut butter balls and chocolate, reheating chocolate if necessary.

4. Freeze “Bullets” until firm. Smooth out toothpick holes left in peanut butter. “Bullets” will keep well sealed in cool place for up to 1 week and up to 2 weeks in refrigerator. Serve at room temperature or chilled.

“Damnation, I still don’t like this.”

It was the next evening, and in the smoky light of the carriage lamp, Saybrook’s face looked even more forbidding than it had the previous day, when the preliminary plan had been drawn up. Shadows accentuated the chiseled angles, but made any hint of expression impossible to discern.

“I know you don’t,” intoned Arianna, using her best Voice of Reason. “But we all agreed that Rochemont must have no reason to think that his devilry has been discovered. If I suddenly turn cold and start to avoid him, it will stir up his suspicions. Besides, you need me to keep him distracted for the next few hours.”