Chapter 14
Then the comte lied,” I said, coming alert. “Why would he claim to be at his hunting lodge when he was not?”
Donata answered without worry. “I imagine he didn’t see the reason to tell anyone his business. Lejeune is the sort who believes he can do as he pleases, and no one should bother him about it. That doesn’t mean he was wandering the streets of the old city in the early morning to murder a man.”
“But he could have arranged a meeting with Gallo,” Grenville said. “To warn him away from Signora Ruggeri, perhaps. Or to order him to leave the city entirely.”
“He has underlings who would do that for him,” Donata argued. “Such as his guards at the chateau, who saw Gallo summarily away, as we observed.”
I withdrew the letter and paper Brewster had found in Gallo’s rooms and presented them. “The comte might have had good reason to meet Gallo himself. We’ve discovered that Gallo was a blackmailer.”
Both Donata and Grenville were gratifyingly startled. I handed the letter to Grenville and the one with the name to Donata, and explained all that had happened since I’d left the villa this afternoon.
“If Gallo was a blackmailer, that rather widens the field,” Grenville said, echoing Brewster’s conclusions. “An unfortunate number of people have secrets they might kill for.”
“Does the comte?” I asked.
Donata handed the paper back to me. “I have no idea. He and the comtesse were never close—an arranged marriage of convenience—but she has never once hinted at a transgression so terrible he’d murder to keep it quiet.
Although …” She cocked her head, a curl brushing her cheek.
“Signora Ruggeri was trying to put it about that the comte’s sons were not actually his heirs. Suppose it is true?”
My natural instinct to defend a lady sprang forth. “That would be the comtesse’s secret, surely. Besides, she does not seem the sort to be so duplicitous.”
“You say that because you like her.” Donata sent me an indulgent smile.
“But I was not suggesting that the comtesse put a cuckoo or two in her husband’s nest. I meant that perhaps he did bear a child out of wedlock and has been pretending that one of his sons—or both of them—are the offspring of himself and the comtesse.
To make certain the title and money stay in the family. ”
“It is possible, I suppose,” Grenville said. “Though I hate to disparage a gentleman and a lady when they are not present to defend themselves.”
Donata shrugged slim shoulders. “All aristocrats have nasty secrets in their pasts, and we should not pretend otherwise. My great-great-something grandfather did horrible things during the time of the Tudors, murdering monks and stealing their lands during the first push of anti-papacy. His son wasn’t kind to those trying to restore the church under Mary either.
I wager yours has done similar things, Grenville.
Gabriel’s forebears, on the other hand, likely defended all those in distress in their end of Norfolk. ”
“You speculate that only because you never met my father,” I said wryly.
“Well, he did try to steal his estate, after all, so I suppose your family can join the ranks of those with desperate secrets,” Donata finished, a teasing light in her eyes.
“Very well,” Grenville said. “Every aristocrat in Lyon has committed shameful deeds they want hushed up, and one of them decided to murder Gallo to keep him quiet.” He waved the letter I’d given him. “I will translate this and determine whether whoever wrote it wished Gallo gone.”
“If Signora Ruggeri didn’t murder Gallo herself,” I said.
“Perhaps hiring someone to kill him for her. Claude was certain that Signora Ruggeri aided Gallo—whether in discovering the secrets or helping him collect money from his victims, I’m not certain.
We did find a cache of gewgaws in Gallo’s rooms that Brewster reasoned he stole, but they might have been payment for his silence.
I brought them home in case you can find their owners,” I told Donata.
Her brows rose. “I see. You have much confidence in my success.”
“I have every confidence in it,” I said warmly.
“Well, I will have to have a look at the things. But, returning to Signora Ruggeri, if she benefitted from the blackmail, why would she murder Gallo?”
“Perhaps she’d had enough,” I said. “If Signora Ruggeri believed she was persuading the comte to give her all she wanted, she might have wished to disentangle herself from Gallo permanently.”
“It is possible,” Donata said. “However, I have ascertained that she did not leave the comtesse’s chateau all night.
The comtesse’s lady’s maid, Perrault, who is rather a dragon, had charge of her.
Perrault went so far as to station herself outside Signora Ruggeri’s door, for her protection, she declared. ”
“Brewster informed me that there are plenty of tunnels in the cellars where anyone can go to and fro without notice,” I said.
Donata shook her head. “The comtesse would hardly put her in a room with a secret passage to the outside. It’s the comtesse’s family home, so she’d know where they all are.”
I had to concede the point.
“Look here,” Grenville said. “I hate to mention it, because the comtesse is such a grand lady, but she herself might have slipped from the house to meet Gallo. Argued with him on the bridge about whatever hold he thought he had over her or their family. The confrontation turned violent and the comtesse, shocked at what she’d done, dropped the knife and fled. ”
“Highly doubtful,” Donata said at once, then she sighed. “But I suppose, by my own logic, we have to consider the possibility.”
“She’d have had blood on her clothes if she stabbed him,” I said, trying to remain practical. “On her gloves at the very least.”
“Which the faithful Perrault would dispose of for her,” Donata said unhappily. “All of her servants would lie themselves blue for her.”
“Even if the comtesse proves to be the culprit, I doubt she’d face the same consequences as someone like Claude Devere,” I said. “I hope I have cleared his name, at least.”
“Poor Claude has been a foolish young man,” Donata agreed. “But, yes, we must worry about whatever hold Gallo had over the Devere family. Unfortunately, it means any of them might have silenced him.”
“I know,” I said glumly. “I am cheered that we found nothing damning in Gallo’s rooms, but Brewster speculates that Gallo had a better hiding place. Which we will have to hunt for in all of Lyon and possibly the small towns outside it.”
“It is common knowledge the comte has bestowed a villa on Signora Ruggeri,” Grenville said. “Turning out a bishop to do it. Could Gallo have forced Signora Ruggeri to hide the secrets he’d collected for him there?”
“If so, she might have made of bonfire of them by now,” I said.
“Or she might keep the things,” Grenville countered. “To continue where Gallo left off. If the comte tires of Signora Ruggeri, as most men do of demanding mistresses, she might reason she’ll need the funds.”
“I spoke to her,” Donata broke in. “Signora Ruggeri was still at the comtesse’s chateau when I visited this afternoon. She said very little to me and behaved like a contrite, grateful, and pitiable young woman. I could pry no more from her. I believe you ought to have a word with her, Gabriel.”
I’d taken a swallow of brandy, and now I coughed. “I should?”
“She is the sort of woman who will not confide in another woman,” Donata explained.
“I have nothing to offer her, you see. Gentlemen are potential benefactors, but other ladies are rivals, or else will give her nothing but censure. Signor Ruggeri is more likely to unburden herself to a man, at least to a point. She is very, very careful.”
“Then Grenville ought to be her confessor,” I said. “He is more what Signora Ruggeri has in mind when she thinks of a gentleman.”
Grenville lifted his brows. “Why do I feel vaguely insulted?”
“She is used to men like Grenville.” Donata waved my suggestion away. “She will take his measure and play him accordingly. You, she will not be so certain of, Gabriel. She will answer your questions with less prevarication.”
“Again,” Grenville murmured.
“I am not as sanguine as you,” I said. “But I can try. I’m not certain how to arrange a meeting, however. Has she left the comtesse’s by now?”
“She did.” Donata nodded. “Late this afternoon. The comtesse sent her off in her own carriage. My hope is that Signora Ruggeri will understand she has been defeated and withdraw. Move on to another city, another mark.”
“In which case, we need to discover if she holds the secrets of Lyon’s nobility before she disappears,” I said. “I dislike to think we are dwelling among people with darkness in their pasts, but neither do I approve of those trying to profit from their shame.”
“What will you do if you find Gallo’s cache, if one exists?” Grenville asked. “Turn it over to the gendarmes?”
“No, indeed. I will burn the letters, or whatever evidence Gallo has collected, and inform his victims that they may breathe easily again.”
“They might simply believe you are the next blackmailer,” Grenville said.
“I will have to be emphatic, then.” I lifted my brandy and took a decided sip.
“If Signora Ruggeri is wise, she will stay indoors quietly tonight,” Donata said. “I, however, shall not. As I say, I am meeting with one of my girlhood friends, then I will join Grenville, Marianne, and her rather delightful theatre cronies at Grenville’s house in town. Shall you come, Gabriel?”
“No.” I held up my hands. “I walked too far and spent too much time abusing my bad leg all day. I will do as you say Signora Ruggeri should and stay quietly at home.”
Donata’s eyes flickered in disappointment, which surprised me a bit. I’d never thought of myself as scintillating company. However, I’d be here to greet her with some enthusiasm when she returned, if I wasn’t too deeply asleep.
Grenville and Donata departed not long later for their outings, and Bartholomew served me a light repast in the dining room.
After that I spent time writing letters—to my cousin in Norfolk, to various friends in London, including Sir Gideon Derwent and his son, and a note to James Denis, who liked to keep an eye on me.
I’d wondered since I’d arrived if Denis had an agent in Lyon. He likely did, but that agent had so far done nothing to either contact me or impede me.
I also penned a letter to Peter, who was staying with his grandparents in Oxfordshire, along with our daughter, Anne.
Not long from now, Anne would be old enough to read letters I wrote as well.
I included short missives for Donata’s mother and father, and then laid down my pen, fatigue overtaking me.
Bartholomew assisted me to bed and mixed a hot drink for me, after which I knew oblivion. I’d meant to wait up for Donata, but if she ever did look in on me that night, she’d have found a snoring lump drooling on his pillow. A lovely picture for any woman.
The sound sleep did me good, however, and in the morning, I felt refreshed. I drank coffee brought to me by the ever-energetic Bartholomew, then walked down the hill with the less animated Brewster.
The usual contingent of middle-aged and older gentlemen reposed in Baptiste Beaumont’s tavern. They lingered over their coffee, savoring the moment, even in silence, with friends of a lifetime.
Brewster finished his coffee quickly and went out to wander through the nearby market. I ate my breakfast more slowly, puzzling over what I’d learned yesterday.
I’d have to wait for Grenville to translate the Italian letter to find out it if enlightened us, but I could pursue other avenues in the meantime.
“Beaumont,” I said to the thickset man as he brought me a second pot of coffee. “Do you know of a man called Lucien Potier?” I repeated the name we’d found on the slip of paper in Gallo’s lodgings.
Beaumont stilled. He was dour in the best of times, but as I spoke, his face darkened and his hand clenched around the handle of the tarnished coffeepot until his knuckles whitened.
I became aware of the sudden hush around me. The men who’d come to accept or ignore my presence had trained their gazes on me, every one of them hostile.
“I beg your pardon,” I said awkwardly. “I heard the name, and I was curious.”
“Never speak it again,” Beaumont growled at me. “Ever. Do you understand?”
He glared at me a moment longer, then he turned his back and marched through to his kitchen, taking the coffee pot with him.