Chapter 20 #2
We joined Signore Benedetti near the desk where he peered into a trunk filled with books. “I have not yet unpacked and catalogued them. My back, it aches.” He made a show of rubbing his lower back. “My son is my assistant, but he is pigro, incompetente.”
I couldn’t interpret the first word, but the second one was easy to translate. “May we look through them and choose some we’d like to purchase?”
“Please do.”
He returned to his chair at the desk while Oscar and I knelt and pulled out book after book. We took our time, scanning pages for references to tattoo magic. Few were in languages we could understand, however. It was hopeless. We’d have to buy them all to study at length back in London.
“Is there one you want in particular, Professore?” Signore Benedetti asked.
“There ought to be one referencing tattoo magic. We were led to believe you had it. Do you know which one it may be?”
“I believe you are referring to Ritus et Ritus Populi Insularis. The English translation is Rites and Rituals of an Island People.”
Oscar closed the book he’d been studying and set it aside to search through the others. “Which one is it?”
“It is gone, Signore Barratt. I sold it three days ago.”
Days? So not to Mr. Defoe then.
Oscar lowered his head and muttered something under his breath before looking up again. “Do you have the name of the person you sold it to? Where can we find him?”
Signore Benedetti lifted some papers on his desk before placing them down again and sifting through others. “It is here somewhere. I will look while you inspect the other books.”
A book on a nearby shelf had caught Oscar’s attention while I removed Bloodlines and Birthright: Observations on Inherited Traits by a Monk from the trunk. Its existence among the collection meant these books had definitely come from the abbey via Signore Scala.
“Magic,” Oscar murmured.
I set aside the Bloodlines and Birthright book to peer over his shoulder. The volume in his hands was so old it was bound by wooden boards held closed by shiny silver clasps engraved with fleur de lis. “Found something interesting?”
He opened the book to reveal a collection of pages with hand drawn symbols, some of them illuminated.
I recognized one symbol on the front page, an arrangement of five red balls below a blue one containing three golden fleurs de lis inside it.
“That’s on the Medici family coat of arms. Is there any text? ”
“Only more images, on every page. Signore Benedetti, what do you know about this book?”
The bookseller squinted through his spectacles then shrugged in that typical Italian manner they all seemed to use, no matter what part of the country we were in.
“I bought it from a rich American who thinks he bought it from a library established by Cosimo de’ Medici, but he could not recall with any great certainty.
He may have said that because the Medici symbol is the only one he could decipher. ”
“Have you tried to decipher the rest?” Oscar asked.
“Sì, but I could not understand it. You can have that one for very cheap if you buy other books. It has sat on that shelf for years. No one wants a book they cannot read.”
Oscar placed the book inside the trunk along with the ones that had come from the abbey. “We’ll try to decipher it back home. What else have you found, Gavin?”
We continued working through the collection and decided to buy most. As we were returning our purchases to the trunk, Signore Benedetti approached.
“I am sorry, but I cannot find my copy of the receipt for the sale of Ritus et Ritus Populi Insularis. It is here somewhere, but my eyesight is poor and my son is not good at paperwork. Or much else.” He sighed the sigh of an old man who knew his life’s work would either be ruined by his wastrel son or sold off after his death.
“I will continue to search. If you give me your London address, I will write to you when I find it.”
The trunk of books was too heavy to carry so we paid the bookseller to organize it to be sent to Matt and India’s house. Their attic was getting quite full. Suitable premises for the library would need to be found soon.
With our valises in hand, Oscar and I left. I was keen to check into a hotel and find something to eat. It was growing late, and I worried that Rome’s undesirables would emerge from the shadows after dark, just as they did in London.
However, instead of heading toward the intersection with the main road, Oscar walked in the opposite direction where the street narrowed and the shadows deepened.
“Oscar, I think we ought to go this way!” I called after him.
He didn’t answer. I realized why when a familiar face stepped out of the shadows to block his path.
“Miss Wheeler!” I cried.
She must not have heard me. Or perhaps she was too intent on Oscar to notice me. She couldn’t take her gaze off him.
He’d stopped when she emerged, but now he took a step forward. She raised her closed parasol and pressed the end into his chest, halting him. Their gazes remained locked, and they’d gone quite still, as if any movement would ruin the magical moment.
I came up behind Oscar, puffing a little. “Miss Wheeler, how lovely to see you. Were you on the four o’clock train from Milan, too?”
“I was, Professor.” She wore a sensible traveling gown of deep purple with yellow and orange flowers embroidered on the bodice. Her hat and parasol matched the color. There was no luggage in sight, so presumably she’d had it sent on to a hotel.
“And Defoe?”
“He went to Genoa to take a ship to New York, as planned. You don’t seem too surprised to see me.”
“We realized Defoe bought the antique bookseller’s details from Scala, and expected you’d come to Rome directly.”
“Did Scala sell the address to you, too?”
“Oscar used his ink magic to see it.”
Her gaze turned admiring as she lowered her parasol. “Very clever.”
“It was Gavin’s idea,” he said. “Were you here when we entered the bookshop? I had a feeling we were being watched.”
“I arrived a few minutes before you.”
Oscar frowned. “Why not go in then?”
“I wanted to do a little window shopping first.” The other shops in the vicinity seemed to be mainly bookshops, stationers, and a gentleman’s tailor. Nothing that would appeal to a fine lady of fashion such as Miss Wheeler. “I’m ready to speak to Signore Benedetti now, I believe.”
Ah. Now I understood. She’d deliberately dawdled because she preferred to see the book with the tattoo ink spell in our hands rather than Defoe’s.
“Signore Benedetti sold the book,” I told her. “He can’t find the details of the buyer but will send it to us when he does.”
She gave me a nod of gratitude for the information.
“You should still speak to him yourself, Miss Wheeler,” Oscar said quickly. “Perhaps he’ll share the details with you, too, when he lays his hands on them again. Then you can attempt to acquire the book before we do if you get there before us, that is.”
It seemed Oscar was orchestrating another reunion with Miss Wheeler in whatever location the book happened to be in. I expected Miss Wheeler to refuse, to protect herself from another difficult parting.
She did not. She gave no indication of her next moves whatsoever. “Will you stay in Rome a little longer?”
“Just a day or two more for sightseeing,” I said. “Rome is fascinating, is it not?”
She turned her heated gaze onto Oscar. “Fascinating.”
I cleared my throat. It had no effect on either of them. I may as well have not been there. Indeed, I had the distinct feeling I ought to give them some privacy. “Goodbye, Miss Wheeler. Take care.”
“Goodbye, Professor. Mr. Barratt.”
I backed away. Oscar lingered a few moments then went to step away from her, too.
Miss Wheeler dropped her parasol, took his face in her hands, and kissed him so passionately that his hat fell off. It landed on the dusty cobblestones beside her parasol.
I turned and walked quickly down the street. When I reached the intersection with the main road, I glanced over my shoulder. Oscar was following me at a distance, twirling his hat, a smile on his face. I caught a flash of deep purple as Miss Wheeler entered the shop of Signore Benedetti.
I wasn’t quite sure what to say to Oscar, so I said nothing.
The smile didn’t leave his face for the remainder of our stay in Rome.