Mateo.” De Luca addressed Lord Matthew Roberts with open arms, voice booming. “How splendid to see you.”
Lord Matthew, apparently used to the conte, consented to his embrace and his noisy kisses on both cheeks.
“De Luca.” Lord Matthew’s greeting was more reserved but no less warm. “How are you, my old friend?”
“As well as ever.” De Luca spoke English with barely a trace of accent. He next turned his attention to the ladies, beaming a broad smile at them. “As beautiful a trio as I can ever hope to find.”
Lady Matthew flushed at his compliment, and Mrs. Hetherington simpered as she gave him a curtsy.
Lord Matthew introduced us. “Mr. Grenville, Captain Lacey. Conte Adolfo de Luca.”
“An honor, sir.” De Luca shook Grenville’s hand hard, no embraces for strangers. “I have heard of your collections in London, so very tasteful and intelligent.”
Satisfaction sparkled in Grenville’s eyes. “One does one’s best,” he said with an attempt at modesty.
“No, no. It is a stupendous gathering of beautiful objects, I have been told. You have seen it, Captain Lacey?”
“Indeed.” I let de Luca grip my hand, already liking the man’s genial ways. “Mr. Grenville has some amazing things.”
“I also have heard that you are under commission to purchase one of my, as you English say, bits and bobs.” De Luca grinned at my surprise. “I keep my ears open. So many are interested in my treasures, but I simply gather what I like.”
Sir Matthew chuckled. “A fine understatement.”
De Luca opened his dark eyes wide. “No, it is true. I promise you. I might have a few interesting pieces, I suppose.” He laughed, mouth open, a man amused by his own self-deprecation.
The ladies and gentlemen in the room smiled and nodded as though de Luca had made an excellent joke. I wasn’t quite certain what to make of him, but I saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes, as though he acted the bumbling aristo to disguise keen shrewdness.
“You must come and see my house, Captain Lacey,” de Luca continued. “Pick out what you like, and I won’t be too hard on you about the price.” His amusement told me he might indeed be a skilled bargainer, but I would face that when I came to it.
Grenville answered before I could. “We’d be honored, although we are in somewhat of a hurry. We depart Rome tomorrow. The ruins on the Bay of Napoli await us.”
“Ah, you English. I resided for a time in Oxford, and I noticed that you rushed through your meals and coffee, though had time to linger for hours over your ale.” De Luca’s smile shone out again. “I cannot blame you. The food was terrible, the coffee sludge, but the ale was a marvel.”
Again, all in the room laughed with him, and I could not help it as well. His humor was infectious.
“Never fear.” De Luca’s large hand landed on my shoulder. “You shall come when you return. I will put aside time for you, and you will put aside time to share a meal with me.”
We could not disagree with such a generous offer. Both Grenville and I promised to attend.
Talk turned to art and antiquities as we drank more wine. Bonaparte had helped himself to many of the treasures of the Italian States as he’d created the Kingdom of Italy, with himself at its head. The artwork, in the five years after Bonaparte’s fall, had drifted slowly back where it belonged, but by no means had all been restored.
“Plenty of works are still missing, or remain in Paris,” Grenville said. “It will be a long while before what Bonaparte wrought is completely dismantled.”
“What he wrought is idolized by some,” Sir Matthew mused. “The new constitutions would have let Italians rule themselves—or so they believed, with Bonaparte as overall emperor, of course, and members of his family over the various states. But the point was, he rid them of Hapsburg rule.” He waved his glass. “Now the Austrians have returned, their hold on the northern states tighter than ever, and they have control of Venice. A thousand-year-old republic, gone with the stroke of a pen.”
Sir Matthew simplified the situation greatly, but it was true that Bonaparte, the wars, and the Congress of Vienna afterward had altered the map of Europe. No more Holy Roman Empire: the Hapsburg territories were now called the Austrian Empire, and France, while nominally a kingdom again, would never be the same. Only the Ottomans continued as they had been, though I’d no doubt Bonaparte’s ambition would have turned to that realm if he’d prevailed in Europe.
Britain had escaped, but by the skin of its teeth. If Bonaparte hadn’t had lost much of his army in Russia, he’d have focused his attention to annexing Britain at long last.
We debated the topic, which would give historians fodder for years to come. Grenville managed to slide in a mention of Broadhurst—beginning with swindlers in general and moving to specific ones—but from the blank stares of the company, I concluded they’d not heard of him.
The sun was slanting through western windows when Grenville rose and said we’d take our leave.
Grenville knew exactly when to end a call—he’d stay long enough to be cordial, but not long enough to become tiresome. It was a talent I lacked. When I found someone with whom I could be congenial, I wanted to linger and enjoy the conversation. Likewise, when the company was tedious, I’d find any excuse to rush away.
De Luca again clasped our hands in his tight grip before clapping us both on the shoulders. “Godspeed, gentlemen. Call on me when you return from your journeys, and we shall have a fine repast.”
We agreed, I already looking forward to it, and took our leave, making our way down the stairs and to the street.
“Guv.” Brewster emerged from a door a few feet down the lane, this one fronted by an iron grill that he clanged shut. “Best get indoors. There’s those what are hunting for us.”
“Hunting?” I asked in perplexity.
The sound of tramping feet made him grimace. “Too late, that’s a fact.”
A half dozen men I assumed were patrolmen rounded the corner from a wider street and blocked our way.
“You are Captain Lacey?” one inquired of me unsmilingly. “You and your servant will accompany us.”
Brewster stepped in front of me, his bulk between me and the armed men. Their uniforms were a subdued blue, boots dusty from the streets.
“I beg your pardon?” Grenville gave the leader a haughty stare. “We are visitors here and will go nowhere with you. What is the trouble?” Grenville had not been included in the command, but he had no intention of stepping aside and letting me be arrested.
The commander shifted uneasily. “I have not the English to explain. The magistrate will tell you.”
I agreed with Grenville and Brewster that I should go nowhere. Unlike in London, where the Watch kept a somewhat ineffectual eye on the streets, cities on the Continent had more regular police who patrolled with more vigor.
I imagined the magistrate would not be happy that I, a foreign nobody, had resisted going tamely to him for whatever I was supposed to have done. On the other hand, I had no intention of letting myself be jailed until I understood the nature of my supposed crime.
The commander bore a scowl, not at all pleased with us. His soldiers—or constables, or whatever they were—watched with interest, as though curious about the outcome of the encounter.
A rumbling voice cut through our indecision. I recognized Conte de Luca’s baritone, which was no longer amiable. He barked out questions in Italian, and the commander’s expression grew still more irritable.
I heard the name Trevisan, and de Luca said “Ah,” and bent a stare on me.
“What have you done to upset his worshipfulness, Conte Trevisan?” de Luca demanded.
I returned his gaze in puzzlement. “Nothing. I did visit him this morning, but I spoke little to him.”
De Luca’s brows went up. “I’m certain there is more to it than that. He is claiming you charged in and attacked him. His neighbors did see you entering his house.” His gaze took me in. “They describe you well.”
“Then they will have noted that I am lame.” I tapped my left boot with my walking stick.
“I believe they noted you carried a stout weapon.” De Luca indicated the stick. “And that you left in a hurry.”
My ire rose. “Conte Trevisan was upright and in good health when last I saw him. If someone punched his nose for his arrogance, it was not me.”
De Luca barked a laugh. “So many would like to bruise that appendage, and so many fear to. He is a powerful man. If you promise you did not pummel him, then I will vouch for you.”
“I do promise,” I said. “I did not like the conte, but I give you my word I never laid a hand on him.”
Grenville broke in. “Captain Lacey returned to our rooms as I finished breakfast, and I saw no evidence that he had been in an altercation.”
Brewster contributed nothing. His habitual wariness of any sort of police kept his mouth a thin line, his face hard in his silence.
I was grateful to them both for saying nothing of Proietti, and I wondered if Trevisan had accused him as well. Or possibly he’d chosen me on whom to take out his wrath so he would not upset Proietti’s daughter by having her father arrested.
De Luca shrugged and settled his dark cape on his shoulders. “There you have it, sir. Captain Lacey had nothing to do with any assault on Conte Trevisan. Lacey is a friend of mine, and I will answer for him.”
The commander scowled, but the bow he gave de Luca was deferential. “As you say, your lordship.” He snapped a command at his troops, who backed away, their stances saying that while they’d let us pass without hindrance, they’d be watchful.
De Luca clapped his large hands together. “There, that’s cleared up. Gentlemen, perhaps you will accompany me home, and we can chat about my collection this evening.”
I did not know if Grenville had other outings planned but heading to de Luca’s abode instead of our own might be wise.
I nodded before Grenville could speak. “Very kind of you. Of course, we will come, if it is no inconvenience?”
“Not at all. My man is used to me bringing home all sorts on a whim. He keeps my larder well stocked. Good day to you, commander.” De Luca swung around, his cape fluttering. “This way, my friends. A bit of a walk, but safer than a coach or sedan chair. The bearers and drivers can be brutes.”
The commander said nothing at all. No apologies, no snarls. He had lost the power in this encounter, and he conceded it with dignity. Grenville tipped his hat to the commander, and I gave him a nod. Brewster ignored him completely.
“’Tis why I don’t like foreign parts,” Brewster muttered as we tramped off after de Luca, who moved swiftly for so large a man. “When there’s trouble, gents like that commander round up the first cove what’s not from around his city and shove him into a dirty cell.”
“Do not be too hard on the man,” I said. “He’s torn between answering to his superior officer and knowing that upsetting a prominent citizen will bring him grief. He loses either way. I have sympathy for him.”
“Have as much sympathy as you like.” Brewster tugged his hat tighter against the wind. “But don’t let him arrest you and drag you God knows where because you feel sorry for him.”
“No fear,” I said adamantly.
Grenville had caught up to de Luca, but Brewster kept his steps slow to match mine. The two men were never out of sight as we followed them to the Piazza de Popolo, which sported yet another obelisk in a plaza being renovated. From there we skirted the gardens surrounding the Villa Borghese and continued past the Villa Giulia, where Pope Julius III had taken his ease in great splendor from his exhausting days at the Vatican.
Houses grew fewer and farther between, until we walked up a street and through a gate into a lovely courtyard.
The garden in this courtyard must have been laid out when men in the seventeenth century had made Rome a place of resplendence. Three fountains lay among well-trimmed garden beds, the largest one in the center of the broad walkway that led from gate to house.
As it was February, the flower beds were empty but the box hedges were dark green, and the fountains played, the late afternoon’s weather too mild for freezing.
De Luca walked through this pleasant garden without pause, leading us to a columned portico. One of a pair of doors at the top of three shallow steps opened before he reached it, de Luca passing inside with a nod to the manservant who’d admitted us.
If this manservant was surprised to see his master return with guests, he made no show of it. The same height as de Luca, with dark hair and eyes, he made a brief bow to Grenville and me as we entered. Without a word, he reached for hats, gloves, and greatcoats, which we all surrendered.
De Luca’s house was narrow, tall, and echoing. Still in the city, it was hemmed in by houses on all sides, but within this space was a simple opulence. A travertine-stepped staircase rose to a gallery, both stair and gallery railing of ornate wrought iron. Tables of luxurious curves rested in niches along the walls, each holding vases of flowers or bronzes finer than any I’d ever beheld. Ancient or modern, I could not discern, but Grenville eyed them with appreciation.
Rooms opened from the main hall, and I glimpsed more quiet beauty. Though de Luca had claimed he only had a few interesting pieces, what I saw negated this declaration. Perhaps de Luca had decided to be self-effacing at the gathering to not appear conceited, just as a great painter might dismiss his own masterwork was a mere daub.
De Luca did not acknowledge these other chambers, but started up the stairs, gesturing for us to follow. Brewster, with a nod at me, left to find the servants’ hall.
My leg was sore from our swift walk through the city, but I was too curious to slow and rest. We passed along the first gallery and up a second staircase, then up yet another staircase hidden behind a door in a side hall. From this we emerged onto what I supposed was the topmost floor.
Here, under a low ceiling lined with dormer windows, lay an astonishing hoard.
Grenville’s mouth fell open, and I was aware of my jaw slackening. De Luca grinned as we beheld the shelves, tables, and cabinets holding a mass of statuary, urns, bronzes, bejeweled boxes, marble pillars, silver and gold plates and pitchers, ancient lamps made of both metal and stone, finely wrought gold bracelets and earrings, and what looked like bits of papyrus from Egypt.
The things were not all from the ancient world. Plenty hailed from more recent times, including ornate clocks made only a few years ago, very like ones I’d seen at Carlton House. Paintings and tapestries covered every inch of the walls between the windows, and marble and alabaster statuary peered from every niche and corner.
De Luca gazed about in satisfaction. “I collect what I like. No arrangement to it.” He flicked his fingers at a gold monstrance—an ornate upright pillar with a round opening in the center, meant to display the host during the Eucharist. Next to it sat a clay tablet with square writing on it from the Persian empire. “I know I should have this all cataloged, but I enjoy discovering something new every time I enter the room.”
“Where did it all come from?” I asked in bewilderment. This was a lifetime’s collection.
De Luca shrugged his large shoulders. Without the cape, his suit was no different from Grenville’s, dark and plain, though well-cut. His was more rumpled—a man unconcerned with how he appeared.
“Here and there. I bargain with my friends for their bits, and we sometimes trade. My father left a good deal, as did my grandfather. Both hoarded like rats.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I scan through estates when wealthy men pass away, their heirs eager to sell precious objects to collect the money for them.” He shook his head, despairing of the young.
“This is astonishing,” Grenville said in wonder. Grenville’s own room of treasures was neat and precise, everything in its place, but I saw the envy in his eyes.
“As I say, bits and bobs,” de Luca said, offhand. “What is it that your acquaintance is looking for, Captain Lacey?”
Denis had written me, with his usual brevity, a description of the precise piece he wanted. I did not have the paper with me, as I hadn’t anticipated meeting de Luca today, but I remembered it, having studied the short letter often enough.
A small Roman statue carved from alabaster. A seated Cupid, face propped on his hand, one wing broken.
I related this information to de Luca, and the man’s thick brows drew together.
“I believe I do have such a thing.” He turned in a slow circle as he scanned the many shelves and tables of haphazard items. “But I’ll have to have a hunt for it.” He strode to the top of the stairs and shouted down them. “Gian!”
Unrushed footsteps sounded, and presently the dark-haired manservant appeared, he betraying no surprise or resentment about the peremptory summons.
De Luca spoke to him in Italian, sweeping his hand to the jumble in the room. Gian nodded, as though understanding exactly which piece de Luca meant, and answered his master, his tone deferential, even fond.
Gian’s puzzled gaze then rested on me. He asked me a question, and I shook my head apologetically.
“Forgive me,” I told him. “My Italian is very bad.”
“He is wondering at your friend’s taste, Captain,” de Luca said jovially. “As am I. If it is the statue we are thinking of, then your friend does not understand what he is asking for.”
“No?” Denis had told me to agree to whatever price they asked, and I knew he did not want me to leave Rome before I acquired the statue. “Is it so very valuable?”
De Luca’s laugh rang out, and Gian smiled with him. “The opposite,” de Luca told me with delight. “It’s not from Ancient Rome at all. There never was such a piece made in antiquity. The Cupid is a forgery.”