CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Bingley and Wilshere hired a carriage to take them to the piazza where they could survey the layout and features of the landscape. Maitland would meet them in the early evening for dinner and discussion of the latest information on the Lord and the Cardinal. He had, additionally, been charged with the task of locating a pistol. It was early afternoon before Carlotta left his room and left him with all the intelligence he would require.
The piazza was, even at that early hour, as crowded as Wilshere had anticipated. There were lots of buildings surrounding the rectangular-shaped common, with two major lanes leading in and out, but lots of small alleys and corridors that broke off in every imaginable direction. A large fountain adorned the centre and the church loomed menacingly on the south side. The street was cobbled, and a few restaurants and cafes dotted the scene, along with a flower market, tannery, and jewellery shop.
Bingley and his steward located the ‘ Volpe e Cane ’ restaurant where the target— targets , potentially—were to dine the following evening. They sat inside and ordered drinks. Bingley was mildly irritated to learn that they did not serve pizza. He had an excellent pasta e fagioli instead. The space was cramped with tables situated in very close proximity to each other, and even during the daytime, not much light penetrated the room. The two men quietly remarked that this was ideal. Once they had finished, they walked round the piazza several times and made endorsements and criticisms about each possible point of exit. It was eventually decided that an alley on the north side, between the flower stall and a leather shop, would be the ideal point of flight once the act was accomplished—it led directly down into the ancient catacombs under the city. They followed the maze of passages out onto a main thoroughfare with intersections along the way. From that point, it would be simple to disappear into a carriage and be off in nearly any direction. Notes were copiously drawn on each detail of their exercise and what elements would be required to make the plan into an actuality.
Eventually, and perhaps not entirely by chance, they found themselves at the same pizzeria where Bingley and Maitland had eaten the previous night. In fact, he was already there awaiting their arrival. They ordered four slices of pizza each and sat at a table across the lane.
“What news have you, Mr. Robin Hood ?” Bingley quipped.
“Lots,” Maitland answered. “Though I am afraid that what I have to say may complicate our business slightly.”
“Be so good as to enlighten us.”
“Endrizzi is most definitely not involved in the particular plot for which we have hunted Lord St. John thus far.”
“That simplifies matters, does it not?” Bingley supplicated.
“To an extent, only,” retorted the reconnoitre. “There is reason to believe that Napoleon Bonaparte is scheming an invasion of Russia, as you may well know. The Kingdom of Naples, as you are also aware, is nothing more than a French satellite state. While our current situation of war against the Russians in the northern seas is ongoing still, we as British citizens, are appalled by the thought of a further expansion of French power across the continent. The information I have gathered makes it clear that St. John and Endrizzi are in the war munitions business together.”
“Are they supplying the French or Russians?” Wilshere asked.
“Neither—they are supplying the British navy.”
“I do not follow you, Maitland,” remarked Bingley.
“I should have been more clear. They are plotting to use St. John’s name and status to enter the business, while Endrizzi supplies faulty canister shot. The balls do not open when they hit their target—they open when they are fired .”
“Good Lord,” muttered Wilshere.
“St. John becomes even more enriched while the Cardinal means to destroy the British fleet in the northern seas on behalf of his French overlord,” said Bingley.
“Do you have proof of this?”
Maitland shrugged. “If you mean to ask if I have notes or letters or purchase orders or agreements, then no, regretfully. Do I have it on reliable information?—I believe so.”
“Your whore?” Wilshere demanded.
“Her uncle —the foreman in Endrizzi’s munitions production factory.”
“Well, this is a complication that puts me in a dudgeon from which I am afraid even this heavenly repast may not lift me,” declared Bingley, tossing his final slice of pizza down.
“Is it safe to presume that Sir Andrew Fraser was also involved in this particular plot?” Wilshere asked suddenly.
“I think it is,” Bingley replied. “An arms deal of that sort would most likely require an endorsement from a respected military figure like Fraser.”
“Which means he has been replaced as a figure in the cabal,” asserted the steward.
“I believe wholeheartedly you are correct,” Bingley said with a cringe. “However, while that detail certainly does complicate our work all the more, it cannot distract from the reason we are here at present, nor can it divert us from settling on the cardinal question of the Cardinal. Do we eliminate both targets?”
“Mr. Bingley, it is far too risky,” Wilshere chimed up. “The Cardinal is an important figure, and extremely well known locally. The uproar would be tremendous. If you were sighted, I fear we might not ever leave this city alive.”
“What say you, Maitland?”
“To my mind,” he started slowly, “it is both or nothing. If you eliminate Lord St. John but allow Endrizzi to live, he will simply contact the new military wing of the operation in England and the machination will go forward largely as planned, and our own men and boys will die as a result.”
“Mr. Bingley I would strongly advise against such a—”
Bingley put up his hand. “I shall think on it. In the meantime, Maitland, were you able to procure a pistol?”
“Aye, sir—a Francotte. Made in Belgium; quite reliable.”
“Good man.”