A Tangle of Serpents

  BOOK SIX IN THE LADY ARIANNA REGENCY MYSTERY SERIES

  Andrea Penrose

  A Tangle of Serpents

  A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery

  Book Six

  by

  Andrea Penrose

  Copyright © 2020 by Andrea DaRif. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  * * *

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Created with Vellum

  “Men love in haste,

  but detest in leisure.”

  —Lord Byron

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Andrea Penrose

  Excerpt: SWEET REVENGE

  Excerpt: THE COCOA CONSPIRACY

  Excerpt: RECIPE FOR TREASON

  Excerpt: THE STOLEN LETTERS

  Excerpt: SMOKE & LIES

  Excerpt: A QUESTION OF NUMBERS

  Excerpt: A SWIRL OF SHADOWS

  Excerpt: MURDER ON BLACK SWAN LANE

  Excerpt: MURDER AT HALF MOON GATE

  EXCERPT: MURDER AT KENSINGTON PALACE

  Excerpt: MURDER AT QUEEN’S LANDING

  Excerpt: MURDER AT THE ROYAL BOTANIC GARDENS

  Excerpt: MURDER AT THE SERPENTINE BRIDGE

  On the World of Books and Reading

  Chapter 1

  With a last little flutter of rosy light, the pink and gold hues of sunset were fading to evening. A breeze, redolent with the hint of impending rain, ruffled through the twines of ivy framing the diamond-paned windows, the soft swish-swish of the dark leaves brushing a gentle caress against the glass.

  “Dio madre, it’s good to be home,” murmured Arianna, the Countess of Saybrook, as she looked up from the age-dark sheets of paper spread across her desk and set aside her pen. The lamplight filled the study room with a cheery glow, illuminating all the familiar shapes and textures—the carved bookcases, the burnished leather bindings, the curio cabinet . . .

  A smile touched her lips as she watched a silvery plume of steam rise up from the mug of spiced hot chocolate that she had just brought up from the kitchen.

  “At last . . .” A sigh stirred the mist. “Peace and quiet.”

  Which in the next instant was suddenly shattered by an explosion of metal banging against metal.

  Arianna shot up from her chair, cursing herself for a bloody fool. One should know better than to spit in the eye of Fate.

  The banging came again. It was, she realized, the sound of the heavy brass knocker rapping against the front door.

  Fisting her skirts, she hurried into the corridor and down the grand curling staircase. The butler was already at the entrance portal—a cudgel, noted Arianna, gripped in one hand as he clicked the latch open.

  Alas, Trouble is no stranger to our household, she thought wryly. Though it didn’t usually seek to come in through the front door.

  Quickening her steps, Arianna started to cross the foyer’s black and white checkered tiles just as a cloaked figure slipped in from the misty twilight.

  “Oh, thank Heavens you’re home!” Pushing back her hood, Sophia Kirtland turned into the fluttering candlelight. Her face was pale as death. “But where is Saybrook?”

  A clench of fear squeezed the air from Arianna’s lungs. It had been barely more than a fortnight since she and her husband—along with Sophia and the earl’s great aunt Constantina, the dowager Marchioness of Sterling—had returned from Brussels, where international intrigue had forced them to spin a whirlwind dance along the razor’s edge of death. After matching wits with Napoleon on the bloody battlefield of Waterloo, she had thought the threats were finally over.

  But the look on her friend’s face said otherwise. And Sophia wasn’t given to flights of fancy.

  “He . . . he’s attending a lecture at the Royal Society on—”

  Sophia’s ragged oath cut her off.

  “What’s wrong?” Arianna demanded, forcing herself to stay calm.

  Before her friend could answer, the bang-bang of metal against metal sounded again. The echo rippled through the shadows, like a serpent in search of unsuspecting prey.

  “Milady?” The butler raised his brows in question.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Arianna caught a flicker of movement in the side corridor as the household’s two senior footmen quietly positioned themselves on either side of the archway.

  Trouble.

  The unspoken word burned like bile in her throat as she signaled for Sophia to hide herself in the foyer, and then answered, “You may go ahead and answer it.”

  The latch rattled and paneled oak swung open on its well-oiled hinges.

  An officer of the Royal Horse Guards stood stiff as a ramrod, his fleshy face schooled into an officious scowl.

  Something about him immediately had her senses on full alert. His pristine gold epaulettes and artfully arranged decorative medals brought to mind a toy soldier.

  A thin veneer of pomp and polish filled with naught but self-important hubris, she thought, looking up to meet his gaze.

  His dark eyes seemed to shimmer with malice. “We are looking for Lord Grentham,” came the surly demand. “Is he here?”

  Grentham? Holy Hell . . .

  Masking her surprise, Arianna hardened her stare and countered with a question of her own. “Who are you? And by what authority are you intruding on the Earl of Saybrook’s residence to make such queries?”

  A flicker of hesitation. “I have my orders, madam. You would do well not to interfere with government business.”

  “Whose orders?” she pressed.

  The officer appeared nonplussed at her refusal to be intimidated. “I’m not at liberty to say,” he replied stiffly.

  “In that case, I’ve no intention of answering your impertinent questions.” Arianna turned in dismissal and addressed the butler “You may close the door, José.”

  “Madam!” The officer set his boot on the threshold, but the butler quickly shifted to block his way. “I tell you, this is official government business! I have the authority to search this house.”

  “Then show me your official papers.”

  “A female has no need—”

  “I’m not a female,” she snapped in her most imperious tone. “I’m a countess. And you are . . .” Her gaze flicked over his gaudy uniform, “. . . some sort of toy soldier who will now march yourself and your minions back to the street.”

  The officer’s face flushed with anger. His hands clenched, and for a moment he seemed to be contemplating whether to attempt entering the townhouse by force.

  Arianna gave a small nod to her two footmen, who silently slipped out from the shadows.

  It was fashionable within the beau monde to choose such servants for their height and handsome looks—and it was considered even more stylish if one could find a pair that matched each other in build and hair color. However, on his return to London from wartime duties, her husband had brought with him former Spanish partisan fighters from the Peninsular campaign, where he had served as a military intelligence officer on the staff of General Arthur Wellesley—now the Duke of Wellington.

  Unlike the parade ground soldiers on her doorstep, their household footmen were heavily muscled fellows with hard faces, and calloused hands that looked capable of crushing a skull with one blow.

  “When your husband returns—” blustered the officer.

  “Be glad that my husband isn’t here,” interrupted Arianna. “He would have already thrown you out on your arse.” A pause. “Which I shall have my footmen do in a moment if you and your minions don’t remove yourselves from the premises.”

  The officer touched the hilt of his sword, but seemed to think better of it, and merely muttered an order to his men. “We’ll be back,” he s
narled before pivoting on his heel and stomping off down the marble steps.

  Arianna waited for the door to close and the lock to click shut, and then released a shaky breath.

  “Ye gods.” She spun around as Sophia hurried out from her hiding place. “What the devil is going on?”

  The shiver of silence seemed to deepen the chill that had taken hold of the house.

  “I-I’m not sure,” answered her friend slowly. “All I know is, I stopped by Hatchards a short while ago, in order to pick up a chemistry book that I had ordered. And as I passed by one of the side alcoves, I overheard Lady Jersey and Lady Mannerly whispering something about an arrest order having been issued for . . . for Grentham.”

  Arianna froze.

  “And so I rushed here to see if Saybrook had heard anything from the Foreign Office.”

  “Arrest order? For Grentham?” She couldn’t quite believe her ears. “On what charge?”

  Sophia needed a moment to gather herself. “T-Treason.”

  “But that’s absurd!”

  “I can’t fathom it either. But it’s what I overheard.” Sophia shook her head, looking a little dazed. “Surely you don’t believe it . . . do you?”

  Arianna understood why her friend felt compelled to ask. The circumstances of her first encounter with Lord Grentham had made them mortal enemies in an intrigue that threatened the country’s stability. Indeed, he would have quashed her like a loathsome gnat if Saybrook hadn’t interceded. However, loathing had mellowed to a grudging respect over the course of several subsequent missions for the Crown. And now . . .

  They had come to be friends. Though friendship was perhaps too simple a word to describe their relationship.

  “No, of course I don’t believe it,” replied Arianna. “Grentham’s position as Minister of State Security often demands that he make ruthless decisions. But he’s a man of unbending principles. I can’t imagine that his sense of loyalty and personal honor would ever allow for such a betrayal.”

  But who really knows what lies in the darkest recesses of another person’s heart? she added to herself. Cynicism had long ago chiseled girlish idealism into a sharper-edged view of the world.

  “He’s dedicated his life to the fight of Good against Evil,” exclaimed Sophia. “Right versus Wrong.”

  And yet the struggle between the two is not always painted in black and white. Arianna couldn’t begin to guess how tangled the hues of grey might appear to a man as complex as Lord Grentham.

  “He has,” agreed Arianna, holding back her darker thoughts for now. The current conundrum was made infinitely more complicated by the fact that a romantic attraction had sparked to life between Sophia and Grentham on the mission to Brussels. Though God only knew what sort of flames might ignite from the relationship.

  “Thank you,” whispered Sophia. “I was hoping that I might count on you and Saybrook to help fight . . .” Her voice wavered. “Whatever it is we are fighting.”

  Fight. The word roused her from her initial shock. “We need to alert Saybrook.” She gestured to the footmen, who had discreetly withdrawn to allow her and Sophia some privacy.

  “Tomas, please find His Lordship at the Royal Society. Tell him he’s urgently needed here.” To Sophia, she added, “As for Grentham—”

  “I passed by his townhouse on my way here,” said her friend. “There were soldiers stationed at the front door.”

  Which must mean the minister was on the run.

  Still, it wouldn’t be easy for his enemies to beat him at his own game. A man of guile and subterfuge, Grentham was at home in the world of stealth and shadows. Of lies and betrayals.

  “There are those in the government who are aware of our association with Grentham, so that explains why the men in charge at Horse Guards sent soldiers here,” Arianna mused. “And I imagine they have our house under surveillance.”

  “Then if he tries to come here . . .” Sophia bit her lips.

  “José, please have a look around the area and see if we’re being watched. Then station some of our men around the area, to assist Lord Grentham if he attempts to gain access to the house.”

  “Si, milady.”

  She thought for a moment. “And have the boot boy wait with a candle at the entrance of the subterranean passageway leading from the mews, in case the minister seeks to make use of it.”

  An ancient stone tunnel, its original purpose long ago buried in time, ran from the townhouse’s stables, which were situated on the far side of a narrow alley running behind the back gardens, to the townhouse’s wine cellar. Access to it was through a small iron door set into the stone foundation of the building. One of the rusted bolts rotated, triggering a hidden lever that released the lock.

  “Grentham is aware of the tunnel?” ventured Sophia, who knew the passageway’s existence was a carefully guarded secret.

  “Yes. After the minister was attacked by Napoleon’s assassin, Sandro felt that he ought to know of it.”

  “Let us hope he is . . .” Sophia let the thought trail off in a tight sigh.

  Arianna didn’t need words to know her friend’s fears. Grentham might be already locked in some hellhole cell of Newgate. Or lying dead in some stinking alleyway. Or . . .

  She shook off such morbid speculations. They needed to concentrate on figuring out who wished to see the minister disgraced and pushed from power.

  And why.

  Sophia had begun pacing, the staccato click of her half-boots on the marble tiles echoing like the crackling of gunfire within the high-ceiled entrance foyer.

  “What can do we do now?” she asked.

  Arianna stared into the black-on-black shadows beyond the flickering wall sconce.

  “We wait.”

  Chapter 2

  “Treason.” Saybrook moved to the tray of decanters on the sideboard and poured himself a drink.

  It might have been the patter of the raindrops against the windows or simply her own uncertainties, but Arianna thought she detected an undertone of wariness to his voice. They had moved to the drawing room on Saybrook’s arrival home, and the air seemed to thrum with an unseen tension.

  “As if any sane person would believe such lies and slander,” exclaimed Sophia, taking up a stance with her back to the unlit hearth.

  A red-gold spark from the candlelight seemed to flash for an instant beneath her husband’s dark lashes as he lifted the glass to his lips.

  Ah, so she hadn’t merely imagined his reaction.

  He took a long swallow before replying. “I fear it’s not that simple.”

  A spasm of surprise ghosted across Sophia’s face, follow by a look of wounded dismay. “H-how can you think for an instant that he might have betrayed his country!” Her mouth trembled. “A-and all of us in the bargain.”

  Arianna’s heart gave a lurch. She knew all too well the knife-sharp pain of discovering a loved one had dark secrets.

  And the scars that it left.

  “I think what Sandro means,” she said softly, “is that we must understand that the truth may be more nuanced than we might wish.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened—though whether it was in fear or disbelief was impossible to discern.

  “You got a good look at the underbelly of political intrigue in Brussels,” continued Arianna. “And you saw how truth and lies can tangle with shadows until the shape and substance of things becomes hopelessly blurred.”

  “So what are you saying?” Sophia lifted her chin in challenge. “That we should think the worst merely because it’s hard to see anything else?”

  “My point,” said Saybrook gently, “is that we all need to keep our eyes open as we seek to sort through the conflicting information and make sense of what is happening. Truth can be a puzzle that is made up of different pieces. If we wish to piece them together, we can’t allow preconceptions to cloud our judgment.”