Mr. Cockburn was dressed in a well-tailored suit, more resembling a gentleman of the City than the tough who’d once attacked me in the dark and fought like a madman against the men who’d imprisoned me. As I watched him accept a cup of coffee from Gautier, I’d swear he was nothing more than a genteel man of business.
Donata joined us for this meeting, serenely sipping coffee while she observed Mr. Cockburn. Grenville was the most relaxed of us, leaning back in his chair, cup balanced in his hand.
“You look in fine spirits, if I may say, Mr. Cockburn,” Grenville remarked.
“I am returning to London,” Cockburn said. “I mean to prove my brother was an innocent man, give him a proper burial under his own name, and put things right.” A flush touched his cheek. “Mr. Denis has been of great help.”
Denis had written me, while I lay in my sickbed, that he’d managed to find witnesses to Leonard Cockburn’s death, witnesses who were willing to swear they’d seen Broadhurst stab the man, then disfigure him. Denis had taken the precaution of having his men detain Broadhurst and they would trundle him back to London. I had already written to Sir Montague Harris about the situation, and I had faith that Sir Montague would see that justice was done.
“Mr. Denis can be very helpful,” I said, fixing Cockburn with a stern gaze. “Be careful of his, assistance, though.”
Cockburn nodded, innocence in his eyes. “I am grateful. He has also offered me employment.”
“Doing what?” I asked in alarm.
Cockburn shrugged. “Travel, discover things, help people who have been captured.” His glance at me was wry. “Not in return for his help with Broadhurst,” he continued quickly. “I mean a proper job.”
With Denis, nothing was as it seemed, but Cockburn would have to find that out for himself.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “I have not had the opportunity until now to thank you for my timely rescue, Mr. Cockburn. How did you happen to be on hand?”
“I saw you,” Cockburn said simply. “I do not sleep well of nights, and so I walk. I board near the Colosseum, as I told you. You passed me, you and your man, both looking grim, and I followed you. I lost you in the dark once you were inside the Colosseum, but I came upon Mr. Brewster fighting for his life. I joined in.” He shrugged as though he’d merely picked up something Brewster had dropped.
“I must thank you.” Sincerity rang in my voice. “I don’t think I could have held on before Brewster reached me.”
Another shrug. “You did me a good turn after I tried to do you a very bad one.”
“Still.” I finished, and we let the subject rest before we grew embarrassed at too much praise or gratitude.
“Bartholomew told me this morning that Gian and the cook have been released from jail,” I said to Grenville as the awkward pause continued.
“Indeed,” Grenville sat up straight, interest taking him. “I went to the house and spoke to Gian, to congratulate him and make certain all was well. The police captain has decided it was a passing thief. Gian has admitted he does not remember clearly whether he locked the door and perhaps did leave it open. The thief thought himself lucky, did not realize the master was at home, then knocked him on the head, and fled, too terrified to steal anything. This happens, apparently.”
“Apparently,” I said.
Donata looked me full in the eyes before she resumed her quiet calmness. An astute lady, she discerned that I’d had more of a hand in this imagined scenario than I let on.
Grenville did not notice our silent exchange. “The cook is once more ensconced in de Luca’s kitchen, making wonderful meals.”
“Surprising he doesn’t seek another house to work in,” I said relaxing back into my chair.
Grenville shrugged. “It might be difficult for him to find other employment. Even proved innocent, an arrest stains one.”
That was true. I hoped de Luca’s cousin simply accepted the cook as part of the house and carried on.
“Gian will also help Trevisan in his task,” Grenville went on. “I suspect Gian of being completely hand in glove with de Luca, but he makes out that he is genuinely shocked and of course wants to return all the items to where they belong.”
Gian could play both sides of the coin—the lackey who had no idea what his master had been up to, and the heir who would receive what part of the collection de Luca and his family legitimately owned. I silently wished him well.
The rest of the visit was a bit more relaxed, Cockburn returning to the theme of traveling to London and working to remove the taint from his brother’s name. He planned to make certain the investors were paid back for Broadhurst’s sins, using the money Broadhurst had managed to smuggle out of the country. I had the feeling that here, Denis would be of the most help.
When Cockburn departed, I returned to my chair after our farewells, still tired from my illness. I did not have much time to rest, however, because Gautier ushered in more visitors—Proietti and his wife—and vanished to bring more coffee.
After the lengthy greetings inquiring about my health and Signora Proietti advising me on remedies sure to bring back my strength—one involving raw eggs, hot peppers, and plenty of brandy—we settled into conversation.
My wife was taken with Signora Proietti and she with her. Signora Proietti tried to be very deferential to her until Donata firmly tucked her hand through Signora Proietti’s arm and pulled her to sit on the sofa.
“Conte Trevisan has asked me to help him go through Conte de Luca’s collection,” Proietti said as soon as the polite greetings were finished. “He found even more in the houses behind de Luca’s, vast statues from palazzos all over the peninsula. He is pleased—as much as Trevisan can be said to be pleased.”
“Ah,” I said. “Then he has warmed to you. I am glad.”
Proietti made a self-deprecating chuckle. “Warm is not the word I would choose. He continues to believe I am an ineffectual father but has said that if I prove myself in his task, he believes he can procure employment for me. He has many friends, all of them quite wealthy.”
“Which will be a boon,” Signora Proietti broke in. “We cannot pretend otherwise.”
“I also think my daughter has put in a good word for me.” Proietti’s smile turned rueful. “When Trevisan is finished here, he will be going back to Milan. His mother is not well, he tells me, and she wishes to be among her friends and family … when the time comes.”
The contessa had been very certain her end was near. I hoped for her sake it would be a peaceful one.
“Will your daughter …?”
I could not finish the question, but Signora Proietti beamed at me.
“Gisela will be coming home to us once the conte has gone. She is staying only to tend the contessa.”
“No more charade about Trevisan marrying her?” I asked.
“No,” Proietti answered. “Though I know he was tempted to make her a permanent part of his family.” He grew pensive. “Gisela vows that she knew the conte and contessa were fond of her only because she reminded them of the conte’s daughter. But the situation was not so simple, and I know this. So does Gisela. Trevisan is a complicated man. Gisela is prepared to return home, but I see the pain in her eyes. I believe she truly fell in love with him.”
“She is a brave lass and tenderhearted,” her mother finished softly. “If romantic. I hope that we can find someone worthy of her.”
“She will mend,” Donata said with conviction. “In time, she will speak of it as a whim of youth.” Her voice softened. “The Trevisans, I think, will not mend.”
“Yes, the poor things,” Signora Proietti said. “The contessa pretends to be so arrogant, but her heart was broken.”
As my wife and the Proiettis continued to converse, I faded a bit, recalling how Trevisan had come to speak to me before I’d left his house, as the fever had begun to seize me. He’d waited until I was alone then had stood before me.
“I thank you, Captain Lacey,” Trevisan had said stiffly. “For what you have done for my mother.”
I tried to laugh. “If anything, I served as a post for men to hit, so that they would not strike her. My rescue attempt was feeble.”
Trevisan’s mouth quirked into a thin smile, the first softness I’d seen on his face. “But successful.” He swallowed. “I meant, I am grateful for letting her die in peace.”
“She has suffered quite a lot,” I said quietly. “I do not say that de Luca deserved death, but she struck out in anger and never meant to kill him.”
Trevisan huffed, his smile deserting him. He drew a breath as though to correct me, then released it. “As you say. I will finish as quickly as I can here and take her home.”
“I will need a culprit to give the police captain to satisfy him,” I said. “Gian and de Luca’s cook are innocent and should be set free.” I paused, sifting through an idea I’d had while resting in this chamber with Donata. “Gian knows that house better than any you will ever find. Let him help you sort through the things. The job will go faster, I imagine.”
Trevisan’s face pinched, but he nodded. He wasn’t a fool. “It will be as you say. I have no small influence in Rome. I will make certain the men are released.”
“It would have been so easy for a passing thief to find his way into the house, especially if Gian had forgotten to lock the door,” I said pointedly. “He found it open in the morning, he said. Perhaps he could be persuaded to be uncertain whether he’d locked it before he departed to visit his friends.”
Trevisan only stared at me, but I thought I saw a modicum of respect flicker in his eyes. “This is what must have happened. I will explain to the police captain.”
He began to bow as though ready to depart, but I cleared my throat. “One more thing, if you please.”
Trevisan’s good will was quickly evaporating. “What is that?”
“The Proiettis,” I said. “They would feel the loss of their daughter if you took Gisela with you. I believe you have had a similar experience.”
“It was not the same,” Trevisan’s voice went icy, he the chilly aristocrat once more.
“I know it was not. Gisela would be alive and well but so far away from them. They are a close family.”
Trevisan’s brows drew down, his mouth a sour line. I would never know if Trevisan had meant to marry Gisela, or only adopt her, or merely have her become a companion to his mother. His grief was deep, and he might have wanted to sink himself into her sunny nature and try to find healing.
My idea that he’d taken her in to cloud the real reason he’d come to Rome was a wrong one. Trevisan had needed Gisela to ease him, and I imagined he’d decided to damn the scandal. Pain made one’s judgment murky.
“I will think on it,” Trevisan said, shutting himself off from me. “Your man wishes to remove you now. I think you must go.”
“Yes.” I struggled to my feet, shaky and weakening. “That would be best. Good night, Conte Trevisan.”
“Goodbye,” he’d said firmly, and then left me. I’d not seen him from that day to this.
I swam back to the present to rejoin the discussion. “I am pleased that you and Gisela are reunited,” I said to the Proiettis.
“And I.” Proietti rose. “I came to thank you, Captain Lacey. If I had not run straight into you in the street that morning, I might be without my daughter forever. Instead, she is coming home to me, and I have employment so that I can pay my loyal servants’ wages.”
I met him in the middle of the room and shook his hand. I worried that he would embrace and kiss my cheeks as his countrymen did, but he seemed to remember that I was an awkward Englishman and contented himself with the handshake.
Signora Proietti also regarded me with admiration. Behind her, Donata smiled wisely and kept her silence.
The morning after the Proietti’s visit, Denis summoned me. Grenville and Donata were busying themselves packing—Grenville would shut up this house, and we’d return to the villa two days hence, which suited me.
Grenville and Donata held the opinion that I was not quite healed and should rest, and truth to tell, I longed to cease my adventures. While I was interested in what would happen to the contents of de Luca’s house and the fates of Gian and the cook, I knew they were in good hands with Proietti and Trevisan. I wanted the peaceful spring I’d come to Rome for, and to spend time with my daughters and my son.
Denis’s note was as brief as always.
Bring the statue to me, and I will reimburse your expense. Denis.
I retrieved the alabaster Cupid in its leather bag from my wardrobe and strode north through the streets to Denis’s large, hired house. I walked because the day was sunny yet pleasantly cool, and in spite of Donata’s and Grenville’s beliefs, I felt quite well, better than I had in a long while.
Once I’d learned of Gian’s freedom, I’d instructed Bartholomew to hie to de Luca’s house and give Gian the equivalent in scudos of one hundred guineas. I also made certain Bartholomew brought back a receipt of the transaction. The Cupid statue had not been part of what Bonaparte had stolen. According to Gian, Bartholomew said, de Luca had spoken the truth that it had been in the family for a long while.
Armed with the statue, I headed north. Brewster, as always, was my shadow.
“You’re chuffed today, guv.”
“I am.” I swung the bag a little. “Illness makes me realize what a blessing is good health, and the city today is beautiful in the sunshine. A villain will pay for his crimes, and innocents are freed. This does make me chuffed.”
“No more running around ruins then?” Brewster sniffed. “’Tis dangerous to this good health you love so much.”
“Nonsense. I will take Peter and Gabriella to see Pompeii, but this time, I will be the guide.”
Brewster muttered something in reply, but I ignored him.
Denis’s retainer—one of his regular men, not the granite-faced Luigi—opened the door before I could raise my hand to knock on it. Brewster strolled in behind me, staying by my side instead of seeking the kitchens or his fellow bodyguards.
I was led upstairs, Brewster at my heels, to the library where I’d met with Denis on my last visit. As before, he was perusing a book when we entered. He continued to read from it for a moment before he carefully placed a slip of paper in the crease to mark his place and laid the book aside.
“The statue?” he asked by way of greeting.
Used to his abrupt ways, I placed the bag on the wide library table in front of the bookshelves and pulled it open.
“The receipt for the equivalent of one hundred guineas.” I laid the paper on the table. “And a statue of Cupid, or Eros, a known forgery.”
I lifted the alabaster carving from the bag and set it gently next to the paper. Denis came to it at once, a spark of excitement lighting his dark blue eyes. He shielded those eyes from me and bent over the statue, turning it from side to side to examine it.
His shoulders relaxed as though he’d feared I’d brought him the wrong piece. “Excellent.” His voice held emotion—for Denis. “Most excellent.”
“The lists of agents you asked for.” I dug those from the bottom of the bag and set the sheaf of papers next to the receipt. “They were found among the trunk of papers hidden in the back room. Trevisan was happy to send them to me—or rather, to Grenville.” Trevisan was cutting me out of his life, but I imagined he wasn’t happy I knew too many of his secrets.
Denis barely glanced at the list. His rapt attention was all for the statue in front of him.
“At one time, I fancied that the lists had been concealed inside this,” I said, touching Eros’s broken wing. “I wondered if that was why you wanted the thing. I thought to break it open and discover if this was the case.”
Denis straightened up in a rush, alarm flashing across his face before he guarded his expression once more.
“You did not, did you?”
“No, no. I came to my senses.”
Denis lifted the statue to scan it, as though searching for new cracks, then satisfied I’d not harmed it, he set it down and stepped back to admire it. No invitation for me to sit, no lackey gliding in to serve us brandy or coffee.
I had no intention of scuttling away like a hired man, my errand done. “For my troubles, please tell me why,” I said. “You stated that you knew this statue was a forgery, but you wanted it anyway. There must be a reason.”
“There is.” Denis faced me. I thought for a moment he would not answer but he looked directly into my eyes, his holding a flicker of triumph.
“It is indeed a forgery of an ancient Roman statue. A forgery … made by Michelangelo Buonarroti. I thank you for retrieving it for me. Good day, Captain.”