Chapter 19 #2
In these days where magic was practiced in the open and magicians flourished, Emiliano may feel it unfair that he could not declare his talent for fireworks.
But Oscar was right. Being a firework magician made him a target for bomb makers.
Safely detonating bombs from afar would have to wait for an artless solution to be invented.
When that day came, perhaps Emiliano could produce fireworks with his magic again.
Until then, it was wise to keep it hidden.
Mr. Defoe entered the hotel and inclined his head in a greeting. “Good morning to you all.” He turned to us with a smug face that even me, a man not prone to violence, wanted to punch. “I see your brief incarceration hasn’t done you any harm, gentlemen.”
“No thanks to you,” Oscar said, his tone unruffled. If he wanted to resort to violence to wipe off the smugness, he didn’t show it. “You could have had us freed along with Miss Wheeler.”
“I was able to vouch for her character, not yours. I don’t know you.”
“Let’s not pretend your money had nothing to do with it.”
“Ah, we’re being honest, are we? Well then, I confess that I paid the Carabinieri a bribe to release Adele but not you. Why should I waste money on two rogues who refuse to do business with me?”
“Rogues!” I said. “We are nothing of the sort. We’re honest men, which is more than I can say for you.”
Mr. Defoe smiled that smug smile of his, not in the least offended.
I expected Oscar to chime in with a few stern words of his own, but he was too busy gazing longingly at Miss Wheeler. She was pretending not to notice, and stood quite still, apparently listening to my exchange with her employer. I doubted she heard a word, however.
Mr. Defoe turned to her, causing her to give a little shake of her shoulders, as if to shake off Oscar’s gaze.
“I’ve chartered a private boat to take us to Como.
It leaves in an hour. That will give us plenty of time before the train to Milan departs.
Tomorrow, we’ll travel to Genoa and take the first ship to New York.
” He touched the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, gentlemen. I doubt we’ll see one another again.
” He strode off without waiting for our replies.
Miss Wheeler looked down at her hands. One glove still contained remnants of the chalk dust she’d thrown at the abbot.
Instead of attempting to brush it off, she removed the pouch from her pocket, whispered the moving spell, and directed the dust from her glove into the bag.
She pulled the drawstring to close it and palmed the pouch, as if weighing it.
“As Mr. Defoe said, this is goodbye. So, goodbye.” Her gaze lifted to Oscar’s, lingering a moment as he stared back with the look of a wounded puppy.
It was I who broke their connection before it grew awkward. “Goodbye, Miss Wheeler. Once again, you have been a revelation and a marvel. Indeed, you’ve become a friend.” My throat constricted with emotion. I cleared it with a light cough. “May we write to you, care of Defoe’s office in New York?”
Her lovely brown eyes flared before softening. She rested a hand on my arm. “I don’t think that’s wise, Professor. It’s best if we have a clean break now, before friendships deepen.”
I understood her perfectly. It didn’t mean I liked it, but I would respect her decision.
She was right not to want to encourage deeper affections between her and Oscar if she had no intention of having a relationship with him.
He was smitten with her, and I suspect she was with him, but that would pass in time. It was best not to give him hope.
In the spirit of keeping emotions at bay, she gave a perfunctory smile, said “Goodbye and safe travels,” and walked away.
Oscar watched her until she was out of sight, then he continued to stare at the space where she’d been.
He needed a distraction to shake him out of his melancholy and I could think of only one thing that would work. “Let’s call at Villa Corzoni. We didn’t get Scala his letter back, but perhaps he’ll still give us the address of the antique bookseller considering we rendered him a service today.”
“What service?” Oscar grumbled. “We played a part in having his brother arrested for murder, exposing his father’s shameful secret, and forcing him to adopt his nephew.”
“I don’t think we forced him to do that. I like to think he wants to adopt the boy.”
“That’s because you’re an optimist.”
“I suppose I am. After all, I believe we’ll get the address from Scala, one way or another.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “One way or another? Do you have a plan in case he refuses to give us the address?”
“I do. I’ll tell you on the way.”
The guard at the main entrance to Villa Corzoni recognized us and let us in without question when we explained we had business with Signore Scala.
We ambled along the path to the villa, neither of us in a hurry.
The lush garden and verdant lawn bathed in sunshine on the edge of the serene lake was so picturesque that I found myself daydreaming of living there.
If the villa was mine, I’d restock its library and read a new book each day in the octagonal folly that overlooked the water.
The structure, resembling a small temple, was the perfect spot to while away a few hours on a lazy afternoon.
It was also the perfect spot for a lovers’ tryst at night, although I was surprised to hear light laughter followed by a man’s seductive voice coming from the folly during the day.
It was somewhat exposed on the lakeside, although the higher walls on the other sides provided a measure of privacy from the path and villa.