Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

Arianna carried a glass of brandy over to where Saybrook lay stretched out on the sofa. He had listened to her account of the evening with surprisingly few interruptions. But on seeing his expression, she guessed that the silence was about to end.

“I expect that it’s time for one of our jolly little councils of war, eh?” Henning clapped his hands together in anticipation. “But we had better make it quick, before I tend to my patient’s injuries and dose him with laudanum.”

The earl made a sour face. “It’s naught but a few bruises.” He was, however, looking a little pale as he quaffed a swallow of the brandy. “So, Rochemont’s superior here was Lord Reginald Sommers?”

“You were acquainted with him?” asked Henning.

The earl pursed his lips. “Only in passing. His father is, of course, a prominent peer—and well liked, I might add—which helps explain Lord Reginald’s position on Castlereagh’s staff. But he had done nothing to distinguish himself from the crowd of other gentlemen who frequent the gaming hells and brothels.”

“You think he was Renard?”

The earl mulled over the question for a moment. “No. Something in my gut tells me that the cunning fox is still running free.”

“Call it an instinct for survival,” said the surgeon. “So, we may have guarded the henhouse on this night—”

“But a dangerous predator is still on the loose,” finished Saybrook. “However, we are beginning to pick up a scent. The government should start sniffing out the details of Lord Reginald’s life and acquaintances. Combined with the information you acquired on Rochemont’s activities in Scotland, Baz, they should be able to narrow the field of suspects.”

“Especially as we now know for sure where his loyalty lies,” said Arianna.

“Napoleon,” said Saybrook. And yet he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“You don’t agree?” she asked.

“We can’t dismiss the possibility that his—or her—only Master is money.”

The glitter of gold versus the fire of abstract ideals. It was, she mused, an age-old conflict. One that had consumed countless lives.

Arianna fetched herself a glass of port, and settled into a cross-legged seat on the carpet, close to her husband’s head. “A mercenary rather than an idealist?” She thought for a moment about David Kydd and felt a slight pang of regret at the terrible waste of passions and intelligence. “You’re right of course.”

“That’s a conundrum for the coming days,” remarked Henning. “I have a more mundane question about the present. We now have three deaths to explain. And while I don’t give a fig about leaving the Austrian authorities to chase their own tails, our government is going to have to offer some sort of explanation.” He rubbed at his jaw. “To wit, what do you propose to tell your uncle about Kydd? And what should the duke know of his son’s treason? Or Talleyrand and the émigré community in London about Rochemont’s perfidy?”

Saybrook shifted his shoulders in a cynical shrug. “Remember, I am not in a position to make the final decision. But I would advise the Powers That Be to say nothing about the conspiracy. It serves no purpose. The parties involved are dead—there is no need for anyone to know of their betrayals.”

As he lifted his wineglass, Arianna watched the candle flame refract off the cut crystal, sending shards of light winking in all directions.

“The fewer people who know the truth, the better,” went on her husband. “Let Renard wonder just how his well-laid plans went so awry.”

“Cat and mouse,” quipped Henning.

“Yes. A game that is growing far too familiar.” The earl’s gaze found hers. “As is the one of masquerades.”

Her chin rose a fraction. “I play it rather well, don’t you think?”

Saybrook met the challenge with an unblinking stare. “It’s not your skills that I’m questioning. It’s the fact that I asked you to stay out of harm’s way and you didn’t.”

“Seeing as I was dressed as a male, it could be argued that I didn’t actually ignore your request,” she murmured. “You made no mention that a London street urchin was to stay away from the action.”

He tried to look angry but a telltale twitch crept to the corners of his mouth. “For someone who claims to have little regard for formal academic training, you parse philosophical points with the skill of an Oxford don.” He eyed her snug black breeches and lifted a brow. “And by the by, those look far fancier than your original urchin rags from Petticoat Lane.”

“Yes, and they are far more comfortable,” she said. “No wonder you gentlemen are willing to pay Weston an arm and a leg for his services as a tailor.”

Saybrook’s chuckle dissolved into a cough. Grimacing, he raised himself on his elbows. “I—”

Henning quickly rose from his chair and placed a hand on the earl’s chest. “Don’t move until I get a few bandages wrapped around you, laddie. I think you have a few cracked ribs.”

“Speaking of bones, I’m going to break every last one in Grentham’s body when we get back to London,” growled the earl. “I swear that this is the last time that any of us risk life and limb to do his dirty work.”

15 tablespoons butter, softened

1½ teaspoons baking soda

¼ cup boiling water

2½ cups flour, sifted

½ teaspoon salt

2 cups light brown sugar

2 eggs

1 cup buttermilk

6 oz. unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled slightly

6 cups confectioners’ sugar

½ cup heavy cream

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 325°. Grease two 8-inch round cake pans with 1 tbsp. of the butter and set aside. Stir together the baking soda and ¼ cup boiling water in a small bowl and set aside.

2. Whisk together flour and salt in a medium bowl and set aside. Combine 8 tbsp. of the butter and the brown sugar in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating briefly after each addition. Working in 3 batches, alternately add the flour mixture and buttermilk, beating briefly after each addition. Add the baking soda mixture (stir before adding) and chocolate and stir to make a smooth batter.

3. Divide the batter between prepared pans and bake until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean, 35–40 minutes. Set the cake pans on a rack to let cool.

4. While the cakes are cooling, make the icing. Melt the remaining 6 tbsp. butter and transfer it to a large bowl. Add the confectioners’ sugar, heavy cream, cocoa and vanilla and beat until well combined and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Set aside.

5. Loosen the cakes from their pans. Place 1 cake on a large plate and spread top evenly with about 1 cup of the icing. Top with the second cake and use the remaining icing to spread over the top and sides. Serve immediately or refrigerate until ready to eat.

Grentham leaned back in his chair, his gunmetal gray eyes focusing on the far wall of his office rather than meeting Saybrook’s gaze.

Arianna waited for a moment and then, matching his deliberate rudeness, twisted around in her chair. Rain pattered against the mullioned windows, the watery light blurring the details of the gilt-framed painting that the minister appeared to be studying.

“Turner’s seascapes are far more interesting,” she commented. “But then, I suppose that one must have some artistic imagination to appreciate them.”