Chapter 15 #2
We’d arrived at the back of the houses and boatshed.
While the front facades were painted in earthy tones, the backs were left bare.
Patches of stucco had fallen off, exposing the stone walls like sores.
The tiny courtyards seemed to be used as storage for broken things that didn’t fit inside, with an outhouse tucked into the far corner.
Beyond the packed earth courtyards was a communal kitchen garden and orchard.
Some of the trees and shrubs were covered in netting to protect the fruit from birds.
Compared to the houses and courtyards, the garden was well cared for.
The barrow Miss Wheeler mentioned had been pushed up against the wall, the crates stacked nearby.
She was right about them being solid. Compared to the broken rooftiles and the pot with a crack through it, the barrow was in perfect condition.
As quietly as possible, Oscar moved one of the crates onto the barrow, testing its strength as he did so.
He removed his hat and handed it to me, but Maria took it before I could.
Then he carefully climbed onto the barrow.
He blew into his fingers as he studied the task ahead.
From the crate, he could reach the windowsill of the first floor window, but it would mean clinging by his fingertips.
He blew into them again then flexed them.
Maria watched on, biting her lower lip as she clutched her cross with one hand and Oscar’s hat in the other.
If I could speak Italian, I’d have pointed out that the barrow and crate looked sturdy and should hold him.
I opened my mouth to ask Miss Wheeler to tell Maria, but she no longer stood beside me.
She squatted at the rear door, hairpins in hand.
She unlocked the door and entered, but only took one step in.
Beside me, Maria’s sharp intake of breath had me glancing in the direction of Oscar.
He dangled from the windowsill, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the wall.
Somehow he managed to find a notch for the toe of his boot to use to push himself higher.
I resisted the urge to call out for him to be careful.
On the ground level, Miss Wheeler took another step into the house. What was she doing? She’d mentioned herself that Signora Colombo could be held hostage, or could be the murderess. We’d agreed to peek in, not enter.
I followed her as far as the doorway then peered into the gloom.
With the curtains closed, it was quite dark and my eyes took a moment to adjust. Once they did, I joined Miss Wheeler further inside and looked around.
Everything was as it should be in a sleeping household.
There was nothing cooking on the stove, no dishes to be washed.
If I hadn’t known it was the middle of the day, I’d have thought it was the middle of the night.
Aside from the lack of domestic activity, the only thing different in the kitchen from our last visit was the small case on the table and the missing photograph from the shelf. I suspected the latter had been packed away in the former.
Signora Scala and her son were leaving, most likely that night. They were probably napping now upstairs to ensure they weren’t tired later.
To my great relief, Miss Wheeler didn’t want to go any further. She signaled that we should return outside.
Oscar was in the process of lowering himself gently onto the crate. From there, he stepped down to the barrow then the ground. He placed his hands together on one side of his tilted head to indicate the occupants were asleep. He then put up two fingers to represent two peopl.
Maria released the cross and patted her chest, relieved her neighbor was unharmed.
We all tiptoed out of the courtyard and returned to the piazza. Maria and Miss Wheeler exchanged a few words, with Maria clasping Miss Wheeler’s hands. Her gaze flicked more than once to Oscar who was flexing his fingers after his climb. He seemed quite unconcerned by the attention.
The three of us headed out of Pecco, but didn’t speak until we’d left the houses behind. Then Oscar told us he’d seen the widow and a boy aged about thirteen asleep on the bed.
“I can’t tell you how good it feels to know the lad is alive,” he said. “But it’s no life for him to be shut away like that. Signora Colombo needs to rethink her plan.”
“The plan is for them to leave Pecco,” Miss Wheeler told him. “Tonight, I suspect. Professor Nash and I saw a case on the kitchen table.”
“You went inside? Without me?”
“You were busy with your own very important task, Mr. Barratt. You confirmed that the boy is alive.”
“I suppose so.”
“It was very well done, scaling the wall like that.”
His back straightened at Miss Wheeler’s praise. She smiled ever so slightly in response. I wondered if he realized she was manipulating him. I wondered if he let her.
The walk up to the abbey didn’t seem quite so arduous as last time, despite the heat and humidity.
Also unlike last time, we were not permitted to enter beyond the gate.
The monk guarding it wouldn’t let us through, despite Miss Wheeler’s attempts at convincing him.
When a monk who spoke English was finally fetched, Oscar had reached the end of his patience.
He simply walked in. One of the monks grabbed his arm but Oscar shook him off. The other monk shouted, bringing two more into the forecourt, garden rakes in hand. The abbot rushed out, too, and snapped in Italian. Upon seeing us, he switched to English.
“You disturb our peace, Mr. Barratt. What do you want this time?”
Oscar readjusted his sleeve, crumpled at the shoulder from the manhandling. “May we talk to you in private, Father Abbot?”
“What you have to say to me can be said in front of my brethren.”
“I doubt that. It’s about your family. Your secular one, not this one.”
The abbot went quite still. Then, with a mere jut of his chin, he indicated we should follow him.
I looked for Brother Eduardo as we made our way to the abbot’s office, but he wasn’t with the other monks. He must be in his beloved library, too intent on his studies to notice the commotion in the forecourt.
The abbot closed the office door behind us. “Speak.”
“We know you and Signore Scala are brothers,” Oscar said.
The abbot looked unsurprised. He must have guessed that we’d learned the connection from Oscar’s comment in the forecourt. “Si. And?”
“And you gave some valuable books from the abbey library to your brother without getting anything in return. I doubt your bishop would appreciate that.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Barratt? Why? What do you want?”
“We want to know why you really argued with Giovanni Colombo. We know it’s not about his son’s funeral.”
“It was.”
Oscar merely waited. He waited so long that the abbot felt compelled to fill the silence.
“If you know Pietro is my brother then you will also know that Colombo stole our family spell from him.”
“Allegedly,” Miss Wheeler added.
The abbot ignored her. His gaze didn’t move from Oscar’s face. “Pietro told me this when I gave him the books. So I confronted the boatbuilder and asked for the spell back. He denied he had it. I did not believe him. We argued.”
“Your brother didn’t tell us he’d told you about the spell,” Oscar went on.
The abbot shrugged. “So?”
Oscar changed tack. “You hate your brother, yet you helped him by giving him the books, asking for nothing in return.”
The abbot tucked his hands up the sleeves of his robe, and for one dreadful moment I worried he had a knife hidden there, until he slipped his hands out, empty.
“Pietro is greedy and depraved, but our family is more than just him, or me. Neither of us have children, so the Scala legacy means everything, and the legacy is the business. Pietro needs my help or he will ruin everything.” He pointed at the door.
“Now you understand why I helped him, so go.”
We’d get nothing more from him, if there was indeed more to get. I left the office first, the other two on my heels. Up ahead, I caught sight of Brother Eduardo peeping out of the library. He quickly ducked back inside.
The abbot did not join us in the corridor, and slammed the office door in our faces.
“You two go ahead,” I said. “I want to see the library one last time.”