Donata turned from me and drew the shawl closer. “Please do not bring him home with you,” she said crisply. “I have no wish to set eyes on the man.”
Her chill tones touched me, but my visit to Denis was of a practical nature. He had eyes and ears both here and in London that could be very useful.
“Take Bartholomew with you,” Grenville advised. “Since Mr. Brewster is engaged conveying Mr. Cockburn safely home. I will keep Donata company, if she will allow it.”
“Of course,” Donata said, her tone a trifle warmer. “Though in a more comfortable sitting room, I think. I want to hear your version of all these events.”
“Delighted to oblige.” Grenville extended his arm, and Donata took it.
I followed them out, asking Matthias to fetch his brother. Grenville and Donata ascended the stairs, the two much alike in their manner, background, and place in the world. As I watched them, I realized how outside their sphere I was, and wondered anew at my good fortune of finding the esteem of both.
I pressed these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. Not long later, Bartholomew and I strode through a finely falling rain north toward the Palazzo Borghese, near the river. Brewster would not be happy that I did not wait for him, but he could catch us up.
“How are you faring, Bartholomew?” I asked as we went. “I haven’t given you much to do on this sojourn.”
Bartholomew regarded me in surprise. The tall, fair-haired young man trod evenly as though he never noticed the rain.
“Mr. Gautier keeps us plenty busy, Captain. He can’t abide idleness. There is a reason Frenchies fought the war so long—doing little drives them spare.”
“So that is the reason for Bonaparte’s ambition,” I said in amusement. “Can you escape Gautier’s strictures to assist me?”
“I’m your man, sir,” Bartholomew answered quickly. “I work for you now, so he can’t stop me.”
“Well, do not upset him—Grenville does not need discord among his staff. What I’d like is for you to chat with maids and other servants. In particular, the woman who did the dusting for Conte de Luca. I realize you don’t speak Italian, so it might be a tall order.”
Bartholomew shrugged his large shoulders. “I’ve learned much already. Matthias, though, he’s very good at picking up other lingos. I’ll take him with me.”
I wasn’t certain how both young men would escape Gautier’s watchful eye, but I’d leave them to find a way.
“Thank you. I’ll discover where Conte de Luca’s maid lives.”
“No bother. I’ll ask in the houses around his. The other servants will know. Probably they can tell me a fair bit as well.”
Bartholomew and his brother indeed had a gift for making others talk to them. They were handsome, personable, and of sunny dispositions, and most people ended up speaking with them readily.
We walked on through dark rain that began to beat down harder until we arrived at the house that, as Denis had told us, lay next to the Palazzo Borghese.
The palazzo itself was massive, lining one side of a square and running along an entire street beyond that. There was more than one house on the opposite side of the square, but I decided Denis must have taken the one that was large and square but with a plain facade. His house in London was equally understated.
Bartholomew and I approached the front door, and I tapped on it with the wide brass knocker.
The door opened after a long interval to reveal a large man with a scar where his left eye should be. He glared down at me, though Bartholomew, straightening his frame, was the same height as this specimen.
“Si?” The one word held disdain.
“Mr. Denis, please.” I removed a card from my pocket and held it out. Easier than trying to explain who I was.
The man glanced at the card but didn’t reach for it. “Non è qui.”
I knew that meant He’s not here, but I did not budge. “I have important business with him. Perhaps I can wait for his return.”
The man regarded me with his one eye. Whoever had taken his other must have been formidable indeed.
After a moment, he snarled and slammed the door. I exchanged a nonplussed glance with Bartholomew. Before I could ask his opinion on what we should do, the door was yanked open again, this time by a London man.
“Captain.” He looked as much a ruffian as the other, but I recognized him as one of Denis’s bodyguards. “Better come in.”
“I’ll nip to the kitchen,” Bartholomew said. “All right?” he asked the bodyguard.
The man let out a laugh. “Suit yourself, mate. But Luigi, he’ll eat you alive.”
“Never fear.” Bartholomew gave him a confident grin and sought the entrance to the staff area with an unerring sense of where it would be.
Denis’s man shut the door against the rain and led me deep into the house’s interior.
The squareness of the abode was more evident inside. The ground floor hall was an open space between four stone walls, with a staircase leading to a gallery above us. That too formed a perfect square, with rooms opening from it. The large columns of stone that held up the gallery were topped by capitals of flowing elegance, and a frieze of carved maidens chased vines of flowers around the upper eaves. The grandeur was understated but graceful.
The bodyguard took me up the stairs and around to a room that sat in the right front corner of the house. He knocked on the door and admitted me when we heard Denis say, “Come.”
I half expected to enter a study with Denis seated behind a blank-topped desk, as happened whenever I visited him in London. Instead, I found a cozy library lined with bookcases, a thick carpet covering the floor, a fire on a hearth, and Denis rising from a chair, setting aside a book. The only other time I’d seen him look this human was the day I’d caught him eating a meal.
“Lacey.” His greeting was neutral, as though he was not surprised I’d turned up on his doorstep. A large man lounged near the window, as one always did in his London house. Denis was never left alone.
“My apologies for springing myself upon you,” I said.
Denis gave a nod to the man who’d admitted us who then ducked out, closing the door. Denis gestured to a chair near the fire.
“Sit and rest your leg. I know the damp pains it.”
Denis was rarely this solicitous, but I decided not to argue. I sank to the chair as though I’d come for a friendly visit.
He too resumed his seat, reaching to the side table to straighten the book, which was a treatise on ancient pottery. He said nothing more, only waited for me to state the intention of my visit.
“I would like to ask a favor,” I said as though the request did not discomfit me.
“I assumed so.” Denis steepled his fingers, waiting for me to continue.
“I need to know what happened on a night in London about a year ago, in the City. Lombard Street, or a lane just off it.” I spoke quickly, my idea seeming farfetched now.
Denis did not change expression. “A tall order.”
“But necessary. I thought perhaps if you had people reporting to you unusual things that occurred around London, I could find out the truth of how a man named Cockburn—who was misidentified as Broadhurst—met his death. If he was killed by Broadhurst or someone hired to carry out the deed, or if he was simply struck down by a passing ruffian.”
“Ah. You refer to Mr. Broadhurst, the swindler. He cheated powerful men.”
“And not-so-powerful ones. Left them destitute.”
“All stockbroking men are swindlers of some sort,” Denis said philosophically. “They manipulate the markets, and when those markets fail, they climb out of the mess in innocence, with their fees intact. A reason I do not invest my money in the City.”
“Very cynical,” I said.
“But true. So the man killed was not Broadhurst at all.” His eyes flickered, his only indication of surprise. “I assume you know that for a fact or you would not state it to me. I read of the man’s death in the newspapers at the time but thought no more of it. What is your interest in the matter?”
“I wish to assist the dead Mr. Cockburn’s brother, a man I pity.” I briefly told him about meeting first Broadhurst and then Joseph Cockburn. “Cockburn believes Broadhurst himself was the murderer, and this is entirely possible. I need to find evidence so that Broadhurst can be tried and the Cockburn family cleared of stain.”
Denis tapped his fingertips together. “As I said, a tall order, but I believe it can be done.”
“True evidence,” I stressed. “Not a convenient witness who likely witnessed nothing. The magistrate must believe it, as must a judge and jury.”
“Your confidence in the justice system is somewhat amusing, Captain,” Denis said. “But you are correct that my men are everywhere in the metropolis and they tell me about any untoward events. They possibly did not consider the death of Broadhurst of any interest to me, but I will ask about it.”
“Thank you.” I was slightly surprised he agreed so readily, but Denis never revealed his motives for anything he did. “As we are talking of favors, I tried to offer Gian the money for the statue you requested, but he thought me foolish. I insisted but did not have the chance to pay him before he was arrested. Might I assume you still want the piece?”
“I do. Do not bring it to me until you pay him. And before you ask why, that is my business. Have you discovered anything of note about de Luca and his death?” Denis could switch topics with breathtaking rapidity.
“Not yet.” I told him how I’d searched through several rooms in the house but found no hiding places for the list Denis sought.
“He would not have hidden it somewhere so obvious,” Denis said. “Or it could be he had no such tangible list at all.”
I hid my exasperation. “Why do you think he might have had one?”
Denis gave a minute shrug. “He was ambitious. De Luca liked to be the person everyone came to for items they wanted. A record would help him keep his sources organized, and also give him a hold over any of those people if he needed one.”
More cynicism, but Denis had seen much in his life.
“Even Napoleon came to him,” I remarked.
“Just so. That must have been an interesting meeting—both men liked to manipulate a situation for their own gain. De Luca might have won.”
“He claimed to.”
“Possibly.” Denis made another shrug. “Or possibly he told you what you wished to hear. He might have kept the list I want in his own head or stored it in another location entirely.”
“Then how the devil do you expect me to find it?” I asked in irritation.
“You looking at all is helpful. You might unnerve a confederate to try to destroy the list, and then my men will stop him. If everything was committed to de Luca’s memory, then we have nothing to worry about.”
Somehow, I did not think the solution would be that easy. “How many others would think there might be a list?” I asked. “Would they try to find it?”
“I do not know, but we can assume more than a few. De Luca was acquainted with every legitimate buyer and seller of antiquities, but also every thief, every receiver, and every under-the-table dealer.”
“This list would be of great interest then.”
“Indeed.” Denis’s answer was short and emphatic.
I pondered. Trevisan had been very concerned about the method of de Luca’s demise and had strongly insisted his goods remained in his house.
Was Trevisan a dealer himself? Legitimate or otherwise? Such a thing might explain why he’d moved himself and his mother to Rome for a time. He might have brought antiquities from Milan or Venice to sell to others here. Possibly de Luca was his go-between, or possibly a buyer, and perhaps Trevisan did not want his goods going missing or anyone to know about his true dealings with de Luca.
I heaved a sigh. “Then I will continue to search. Is there any chance you could arrange for me to see Gian? He would know de Luca’s hiding places better than any other.”
Denis’s brows twitched. I wasn’t certain he’d have influence on the police of Rome or its justice system, but he had magistrates in his thrall in England, so why not Rome as well?
“I do not know, but I will see.”
“Also, Mr. Broadhurst is in Rome. At least he was here. Can some of your men keep an eye on him?”
“Where does he lodge?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, exactly.”
Denis’s gaze bore a tinge of exasperation, but he nodded again. “I will find him.”
I wondered how long he’d put up with my requests before he decided his debt to me was paid. It was a very odd feeling, I thought as his bodyguard returned with brandy for me to sip, to be the one who held Denis’s strings. It was usually the other way about.
I departed after the glass of brandy, meeting Bartholomew as he emerged from the servants’ hall. Bartholomew’s cheerfulness was undimmed, but he looked a bit wan in the foyer’s lamplight.
“Luigi is the cove who first answered the door.” Bartholomew shuddered. “They were right that he’s a hard man. Picks his teeth with a knife. Even Mr. Denis’s blokes give him a wide berth.”
“I wonder whether Denis sought him out or if he came with the place,” I mused. When I’d remarked on the beauty of the house, Denis had only given me one of his barely discernible shrugs and said he had an agent who found abodes for him to rent when he traveled.
“Couldn’t say, sir,” Bartholomew said. “No one would talk about him, not with him there, glaring.”
Luigi was nowhere in sight, fortunately, and we left the house without hindrance. Outside, a large shadow detached itself from the dark and stepped in front of us.
“Couldn’t wait ten minutes before ye ran off, guv?” Brewster raged at me. “If ye get yourself killed when I’m elsewhere, it won’t be my fault. This is a dangerous city after dark, by all accounts. Ye stick by me side, and that’s all.”
“Which is why I brought Bartholomew,” I told him. “I knew I’d be perfectly safe in a house leased by James Denis.”
“Aye, but that don’t mean you’re safe from ’im,” Brewster declared. “Or his toughs. They’ll end you quick the minute His Nibs snaps his fingers.”
I experienced a qualm, knowing Brewster had the right of it. Denis and I were in a state of truce but that could end at any moment. “You used to be one of those toughs,” I remarked.
“That’s how I know what they’d do. But now I work for you, and it’s my job to keep you whole. Next time you pay a visit to His Nibs, you make sure I’m with ye.”
“I apologize, Brewster. You are correct. Bartholomew’s presence helps keep the thieves of Rome at bay, but I should not drop my guard with Mr. Denis.”
“Too right, you shouldn’t.” Brewster said nothing more but tramped beside me into the narrow street off the square, his boots ringing on the stones.
When we reached home, Brewster went off to bed, still annoyed with me, though he did tell me he’d tucked Cockburn safely into his lodgings near the Colosseum.
Donata, who was used to staying up all hours of the night, was writing letters in the sitting room upstairs. Grenville was having a late repast in the downstairs dining room, Matthias told me, but I was not hungry and mounted the stairs in search of my wife.
Donata’s maid had released her hair from its elaborate style, and it hung down her back in thick dark waves. She’d told me that when she’d been a debutante, she’d had it cut off to her neck as was the fashion. It had made her head marvelously light, but she’d decided to let it grow it back again.
I was glad she had. I came behind her and brushed back a lock of that luxurious hair, kissing the top of her head.
“Gabriel.” Her pen did not cease, but she sounded pleased to see me. “I want to know what you dashed off to command Mr. Denis to do, but later. I must finish these letters. I have fallen behind on my correspondence.”
She could sit up writing all night. I kissed the side of her neck then left her to it.
Bartholomew, transforming himself from bodyguard to valet, caught my clothes as they came off in my chamber, shaking them out, sorting those that were to go into the laundry and hanging up others.
As he opened the elaborately carved wooden clothes press, my eye fell on the leather bag that contained the statue Denis had sent me to obtain from de Luca. On impulse, I took it out and examined it.
It was a heavy piece, a foot wide by a foot long and a foot and a half high. Eros, with his broken wing, sat dejectedly—a metaphor for how love can go wrong?
The stone was alabaster, presumably solid. In the middle of the base, where Eros’s legs folded on top of the mound of grass, was another crack. The creamy gold of the alabaster was darker, as though someone had broken open the entire piece at one time.
Perhaps, I thought with a gleam of excitement, to hide a list of men who provided de Luca with his goods, including the information that Denis sought. I lifted the statue above my head, ready to dash it to the ground and find out.