Chapter 14
We waited under the shade of the trees where the driveway met the quiet road on the slope behind the villa’s outbuildings.
Aside from the arrival of a cart carrying two young maids and several baskets of produce they’d purchased at the market, no one else passed us.
The road was only used by Signore Scala’s servants and his lover, out of sight of visitors.
We didn’t have to wait long before we saw Rocco cut through the line of trees and cross the grass to join the gravel driveway. He didn’t notice me until I stepped out from the shadows. The others stayed back, for now.
Rocco showed no sign of concern at the sight of me.
Now that it was daytime, I could study him properly without the lantern light casting shadows.
He wasn’t so much handsome as he was pretty, with olive skin, a heart-shaped face and large dark eyes.
Eyes that now flared with mischief and something else that I couldn’t decipher.
“You changed your mind, Gavin,” he said in his thickly accented English.
I took a step back, even though he’d not taken one toward me. “My friends and I want to question you.”
I heard the rustle of leaves as Miss Wheeler and Oscar stepped out of the bushes.
Rocco’s jaw slackened. His gaze flew to Oscar, ignoring Miss Wheeler entirely. He swallowed. “What is this, Gavin?”
“Gavin already?” Oscar’s cocky tone irked me.
Miss Wheeler cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. “There is no point running, Rocco. We will catch up to you.”
Her mild, soothing voice had the desired effect. Rocco visibly relaxed. “I have no more to say. I tell Gavin everything last night. I know those men, but we are not friends.” He sliced his hand through the air to drive the point home.
“Our questions are not about them,” she said. “We want to know about Signore Scala’s family.”
“Pietro’s family?” Rocco frowned. “I do not understand. He is not married and has no children.”
“He has a brother.”
Rocco’s lips parted with his soft gasp.
“I see you know all about him.”
“Not all.” Rocco shrugged. “I have not thought about him in a long time, but yes, Pietro’s brother is the abbot.
Not many in the village know because they did not go into the village much as boys.
Their father kept them in the villa when they visit here each summer.
” He peered down the slope to the magnificent villa and its vast grounds.
With boats, horses, and extensive gardens at their disposal, there would be no need to leave except to explore, or to observe others.
“Their father did not like his sons to speak to the villagers. They were beneath his family, so Pietro told me.”
“What else did Signore Scala tell you about his brother, the abbot?” Oscar asked.
“Only that they do not like each other. The abbot is very pious; he believes strongly in the teachings of the church. Pietro does not. How can he believe in something that calls men like us disgusting, depraved?” Rocco spat on the ground.
“Pietro told me he and his brother argued a lot about Pietro’s love of men.
He tried to change Pietro, to drive the devil out of him. They no longer talk.”
“They do,” Oscar countered. “We know the abbot gave Signore Scala some books to do with as he wished.”
Rocco shook his head. “Pietro does not care for books. There are not many in the library, which I think you saw, Gavin.” He arched both brows at me.
“No. I mean yes,” I said. “There are not many books there. But Signore Scala did get books from the abbey. He told us he sold them.”
Rocco shrugged, disinterested.
“Do you know who he sold them to?” Oscar asked.
Rocco lowered his head and lifted his gaze to peer at Oscar through his thick, dark lashes. I’d seen coquettes regard him that way, but never a man. “Pietro and I do not discuss books when we are together. Can I go now? I have to meet my friends.”
“De Angelis?” Oscar asked, not at all perturbed by Rocco’s flirtation.
In a repeat of last night’s encounter, Rocco’s manner completely changed. “No! It is not true. We are not friends. I do not like the anarchists. Gavin, I tell you this last night. You promised you would keep it secret.”
“I promised not to tell Signore Scala,” I said firmly, even though I felt some sympathy for Rocco. He looked desperately worried. “I will keep that promise. My friends also won’t tell him about your anarchist connections.”
“No, no, no. Not a connection.” Rocco put a finger to his lips to silence me. Then he turned back to Oscar. “Please, sir, do not tell Pietro. I need him. My family back home are poor.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am poor.”
Good lord, was Signore Scala paying him?
I knew men paid for flats for their mistresses to live in, and clothes and jewelry for them to wear, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that in relationships like the one between Scala and Rocco, the same financial arrangement applied.
Still, I’d never met such a mistress. It felt quite shocking to be in the presence of a male version.
Neither Miss Wheeler nor Oscar seemed shocked by the revelation. Both regarded Rocco coolly.
With a smile that unnerved even me, Oscar agreed not to inform Signore Scala…for a price. “We won’t tell him about your association with known anarchists, or your presence in the piazza when a bomb went off, if you find out who he sold those books from the abbey to.”
Rocco’s face paled. “But if I cannot?”
“Let’s assume you will. We are staying at the Grande Hotel. Ask for Professor Gavin Nash.”
I bit my tongue before I blurted out the question on the tip of it: why me?
Miss Wheeler took Rocco’s hand in hers and passed some coins to his palm. “For your trouble.” I wondered if she’d have paid him if she’d thought Rocco was with Signore Scala for love.
Rocco pocketed the money then hurried off without even a glance in my direction. We watched him go until he was out of sight.
“Do you think he’ll find out anything about the books?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” Oscar said. “So are we ready for the second part of our plan now that we know for certain the abbot is Scala’s brother?”
“I am,” Miss Wheeler said, setting off toward the driveway. Oscar fell into step alongside her.
I rushed to catch up. “I’m not going to break the promise I made to Rocco. I won’t tell Scala about him meeting De Angelis. Are we in agreement on that?”
Miss Wheeler seemed offended that I’d thought she’d not keep her word. “Of course, Professor. Rocco is in a vulnerable position here at the villa, and I won’t be the cause of Scala ending their arrangement, even if we discover Rocco lied and is betraying his lover.”
My question hadn’t been for her, however. “Oscar?”
“I plan to keep our promise, too.” It was very nearly, but not quite, the same thing.
Miss Wheeler asked a maid hanging washing on a line if Signore Scala was at home.
The maid fetched the majordomo. When he emerged from the villa, he looked set to order us to leave the premises but hesitated when he recognized Oscar and me.
On our last visit, he’d been under the impression we were English art dealers.
It wasn’t clear whether Scala had told him the truth, but he did seem uncertain as to why we were using the service entrance.
Even so, he invited us to wait in the drawing room while he checked if Scala could receive us.
A few minutes later, Signore Scala arrived. Without a word of greeting, he blurted out, “You have it? You have the envelope with my wood spell?”
Oscar cleared his throat and introduced Miss Wheeler.
Signore Scala gave her a tight smile, politely welcomed her, then repeated his question to Oscar.
“Not yet,” Oscar said. At Scala’s look of disappointment, he added, “But we believe we soon will. There has been a problem, you see. The boatbuilder is dead.”
This was clearly news to Signore Scala. For several moments, he simply stared at Oscar, unblinking.
“Oh,” he finally said. “That is unfortunate. But it changes nothing. Indeed, it is even more urgent to get the envelope back now. If the spell gets into the wrong hands, it will be a disaster. I need to get it back.”
What did he mean by the wrong hands?
“It will hardly ruin you, Signore,” Oscar said. “It will merely allow someone else to improve their wooden things with the aid of a wood magician. Nothing more.”
Signore Scala twisted the gold ring with the emerald gem on his finger. “The boatbuilder wanted to ruin me. Perhaps he was working with anarchists. He had sympathy for them, I think. He was heard saying the workers in Milan’s factories are paid poorly and are worked too hard.”
“And are they?” I asked.
Signore Scala’s nostrils flared as he looked down his nose at me. “They are paid the same as others who work in Milan’s factories, Professor. I do not have to give more.”
His attitude revolted me. Men like him never seemed to care that their workers lived in terrible conditions, barely able to feed or clothe their families, at risk of descending into poverty if they became ill or injured and couldn’t work.
“Do you have no sense of responsibility toward them?” I asked. “Do you not want to do what’s fair and right?”
“What is fair and right is that I give them work. They are welcome to leave if they do not like the pay and conditions.”
“And go where? Every factory owner is paying the same!”
He merely shrugged in that dispassionate manner that was starting to annoy me.
Despite my anger and revulsion, all I said was, “History is not on your side, Signore Scala.”
He shifted his weight to face me fully and drew himself up to his full height. He was every bit the lord of the manor, yet I wasn’t intimidated. Perhaps that was because I’d seen him naked in bed without his wig. “History will show I am right.”
The quelling looks Miss Wheeler and Oscar gave me stopped me from biting back. They were right to do so. We’d deviated from our plan, and I was in danger of making him close up.
Signore Scala turned back to Oscar. “If you are not here to tell me you found my spell, then why are you here, Mr. Barratt?”
“We’ve discovered the abbot is your brother,” Oscar said.
The tight muscles in Signore Scala’s face twitched. “So?”
“Is that why he gave you the books instead of selling them to you? He wanted to help you financially, since you are his brother and your business is struggling?”
“Struggle? An odd English word for this situation. But I ask again, so? What does my business troubles matter to you? The books are gone, and I will not tell you who has them until you give me my spell.”
“It doesn’t worry you that the abbot might be accused of corruption if the bishop gets wind of it? He could lose his position.”
Signore Scala shrugged. “I do not care. I do not like my brother, Mr. Barratt. Make no mistake, he did not give me those books to help me. They are to help the factory. He does not want the family name to suffer, and the family name is linked to the family business. He hates me. I will not tell you why. It is a private matter.”
Oscar gave no indication he knew what that private matter entailed. He simply thanked Signore Scala.
Signore Scala opened the door and asked the majordomo, hovering nearby, to see us out. Before we left, he said, “You will continue to look for my spell? You have questioned the boatbuilder’s widow?”
“We have,” Oscar said. “She knew nothing about it.”
Signore Scala’s lips flattened and I expected him to tell us not to believe her. But he did not.
“Speaking of the Colombo family,” Miss Wheeler said. “Did you know their son died recently?”
Signore Scala shook his head. “That is sad news and I am sorry to hear it, but it is not relevant to my stolen spell.”
“I thought perhaps your brother the abbot mentioned it to you after you told him the family spell was stolen by Colombo.”
“I did not mention it to him. As I said, we are not close.”
“But it’s an important family heirloom and he is family. You also saw one another recently when he gave you the books. I simply thought he may have mentioned the child’s death in passing since it upset him that the family didn’t want the boy to have a Christian burial.”
Signore Scala showed no sign of knowing or even caring. He simply invited the majordomo to show us to the door.
The majordomo didn’t seem to have heard. Signore Scala had to repeat himself before the servant stepped forward and indicated the way. He opened the front door for us.
Oscar, Miss Wheeler and I didn’t leave. We all rounded on the majordomo. The fellow glanced back at the drawing room door, now closed with Signore Scala inside, out of sight.
It took no prompting whatsoever for the majordomo to talk.
He must have wanted to speak up very much.
“I am familiar with the family you speak of,” he said.
“My aunt is from Pecco and knows the Colombo family. She is going to the funeral of Giovanni Colombo today. They are a good family, they attend church. I do not think my aunt went to the funeral of their son, but he would have had a proper Christian burial. The abbot must be mistaken.”
“You mean he lied,” Oscar said.
“A man of God does not lie,” the majordomo said through clenched teeth. “The abbot was mistaken.” He ushered us through the door then shut it.
We stood on the porch, not moving. I was trying to think about what it could all mean, and whether it actually meant anything at all, when Miss Wheeler set off, lifting her skirts away from her ankles as she descended the steps.
Oscar joined her and slapped his hat on his head. “We need to speak to the abbot again,” he said. “We need to find out what he and Signore Colombo argued about because it wasn’t the lack of a Christian burial for his son.”
“Agreed,” Miss Wheeler said as she opened her parasol.
“Then I suspect we’ll be returning to Pecco to question the widow once more, but we shall see what the abbot tells us first.” She realized I was lagging behind and shortened her strides until I caught up.
“You’ve got an odd look on your face, Professor. Are you all right?”
“I know the look. He’s thought of something.” Oscar’s tone was approving. Proud, even. “What is it, Gavin?”
I didn’t answer straight away. I took a moment to consider my theory and all the possibilities and potential implications. Then I pushed my glasses up my nose and moved to stand between them. “We should go to Pecco first, before the abbey. We’ve been lied to.”
“Yes, by the abbot,” Oscar said.
“Not just by him. If I’m correct, then the entire village is lying, too.”