Having exchanged her fancy silks and satins for threadbare cotton and moleskin, Arianna squeezed through a gap in the splintered planking and made her way down the dank alley. The earl’s housekeeper had informed her that Saybrook had gone to Horse Guards for a meeting with Grentham, but was now likely at Mr. Henning’s surgery.
Anxious to share what she had discovered in Lady Spencer’s papers, she had decided to seek him out there, rather than return home and wait with ladylike restraint.
Despite the maze of byways and alleys, the directions proved easy enough to follow. The brick building housing Henning and his rooms stood out as slightly less shabby than its neighbors. Seeing the front entrance shut tight, Arianna went around to the side, where a primitive portico sheltered a door. The sign showed a scalpel crossed with a bone saw.
Crinkling her nose, she slipped inside, finding it difficult to draw a breath. The smell of blood, sweat, and fear seemed to ooze from the damp plaster walls, adding to the staleness of the air. It, too, felt heavy enough to cut with a knife.
The only light in the corridor came from the room ahead, where the door was ajar. She crept closer, loath to interrupt if Henning was in the midst of amputating a limb or dosing a man for the clap.
“I’ve not yet made up my mind about Lord Ashmun.” It was Saybrook who was speaking. “So far I’ve uncovered nothing that indicates he is anything but what he says he is. However, his solicitous manner seems just a tad overdone.”
Arianna hesitated, and then instead of announcing herself, she took up a position behind the oak planking.
“I hate te say it, but we can’t afford te overlook something else, Sandro.” Henning expelled an audible sigh. “Maybe yer lady is really the mastermind of the nefarious group we’re chasing. And this fellow Ashmun is a cohort, whose sudden appearance is meant to throw you off the scent of the real trail.”
“You think I’m being led by the nose?” Saybrook’s voice was suddenly harder, colder than a moment before.
“Auch, ye wouldn’t be the first man in history te fall for the wiles of a beautiful woman.”
“She has the brains and the nerve to be heading a criminal consortium,” conceded the earl. “As well as a grudge against Society. So perhaps you are right.”
Arianna felt as if she had been kicked in the gut. “You really think me capable of that?” she demanded, stepping out from behind the door.
The earl turned around slowly. “Why shouldn’t I?” he answered evenly. “You’ve told me more than once that you have no morals, no principles.”
True. Arianna lifted her chin, willing the sharp, sour taste of disappointment to subside. And I meant every word.
Saybrook was watching her intently. “I’ve witnessed what a consummate actress you are,” he went on. “You’ve an uncanny ability to be very convincing in whatever role you play.”
“No doubt it’s due to having trained for years at the knee of a master liar and blackguard cheat,” she shot back.
His expression softened just a touch.
“No offense, Lady Arianna,” apologized Henning. “We were merely looking at the problem from every possible angle.”
“No offense?” She gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, none taken. I’m quite used to being thought of as a scheming slut.”
The surgeon flushed.
“So why I bothered to care whether the two of you might be interested in another important clue is beyond me.” Her work papers were now clutched in her fist and she shook them at Saybrook.
“What clue?” he asked quickly.
“Go to hell,” snapped Arianna as she thrust them back into her coat pocket.
He folded his arms across his chest. “We apologized.”
“No, we did not. Mr. Henning did.”
“You wish one from me?”
Arianna looked away.
“If I truly thought you were involved in this, Lady Arianna, you would not still be waltzing through the ballrooms of Mayfair. At my expense, I might add.”
She made a mock curtsey. “How reassuring to know I have your full and unqualified support, sir.”
“Please sit down, Lady Arianna.” Henning hastily pulled out one of the rickety chairs arranged around the small table. “We, too, have some interesting things to share.”
“Just as long as you’re not planning on using your scalpels or saws on me to extract information.”
“Baz is a gentleman,” remarked Saybrook. “I make no such claim.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t consider myself a lady.” Arianna took a seat and unfolded her notes. “You have to admit, at least I am not boring, like most of the demure young demoiselles of the ton.”
“You are not boring,” agreed Saybrook. His tone, however, gave no hint of whether he considered that a good or bad thing. His gaze flicked to her notes. “Now that we’ve settled personal concerns, might we get down to business?”
But of course—this was naught but a cerebral challenge for him.
Well, I, too, am capable of using my mind for more than lies and deception.
She hitched her chair a little closer. “I think I have figured out what’s worth all the recent murder and mayhem.” Paper crackled beneath her fingertips. “I believe that Lady Spencer is somehow involved in a conspiracy to establish a trading company based on the model of the South Sea Company.”
The surgeon let out a low whistle but the earl appeared less impressed. “Why?” he demanded.
“Because along with taking the medallion and Kellton’s letter from her desk, I also took this.” She pulled the pasteboard folder from inside her jacket. “It’s a set of mathematical equations—two sets, in fact, one old and one new.”
Saybrook swore. Several times over. “I thought we went through the dangers of withholding information,” he said through gritted teeth.
“We did. And I chose to ignore you.” Arianna narrowed her eyes. “So, now you can either cut off my fingers with that disgusting-looking scalpel or you can hear me out.”
“Listen to reason, laddie,” murmured Henning.
“Bloody hell.” The earl leaned back. “Go on.”
“Your great-aunt’s revelation that Lady Spencer’s grandfather was involved in the South Sea Bubble got me to thinking.” Arianna spread out the papers. “As I said, one set of documents looks quite old, so I started with them. First I gathered a number of books and read up on the history of the South Sea Company. Then I began to work through the mathematics. . . .”
Saybrook made a sound—more precisely a growl—but she ignored it.
“As you know, the Bubble revolved around the government partnering with a private company to divest itself of a ballooning national debt.”
“Aye,” muttered Henning.
“And on paper, the formulas work very well,” she went on.
“Assuming, of course, that the company has real value, and is not just some empty shell made of polished lies and pretty promises,” murmured the earl.
“Right.” She traced over the first string of equations on the age-yellowed paper. “Once I worked through the numbers here, I started to see similar patterns to the things I had been reading about regarding the South Sea Bubble. I guessed that they were the confidential financial papers of Lady Spencer’s grandfather, who, as you recall, was a director of the Sword Blade Bank.”
“Which was the financial arm of the South Sea Company,” added Saybrook, for Henning was beginning to look a bit bewildered.
“Correct, sir. So I decided to compare them to the set of newer documents that Lady Spencer had in the same folder. I ran a few projections, based on today’s debt, factoring in inflation and a percentage of—”
“What?” interrupted Henning.
“Never mind. What we’re really concerned with is the ratio of debt-equity swaps.”
“What?” repeated the surgeon.