Chapter 19
Interesting, indeed.
“If he is enamored of this other woman, why chase Signora Ruggeri?” I wondered in surprise. “Why cause even more strife to his family, including possibly disinheriting his sons?”
“Signora Ruggeri was in league with a blackmailer, remember,” Grenville said. “Perhaps she has some hold over the comte that has nothing to do with passion.”
“She is daring,” I agreed. “And yet retains an air of helplessness.”
“Perhaps she had Gallo murdered, after all.” Grenville settled into his chair and crossed one well-tailored leg over another.
“For jeopardizing her lucrative business, perhaps. He might have been aiding her, instead of the other way about, and became too careless. She insinuated herself into the comte’s home on the night in question so she could prove she was elsewhere when Gallo was killed. ”
“She could not have foreseen that the comtesse would invite her to spend the night,” I pointed out.
“She might have believed the comte himself would. It was Signora Ruggeri’s bad luck that Lejeune chose that night to visit his more steady mistress. But her good luck that the comtesse gave her a place to stay.”
“Until Vernet finds the true killer, I suppose we will never know,” I said philosophically. “Signora Ruggeri might be a careful woman, who would not let a hired murder be traced back to her.”
“You will wait quietly until the gendarmes arrest someone and prove his—or her—guilt?” Grenville asked in astonishment. “Has the alpine air dulled your senses?”
“We are not in the Alps,” I reminded him.
“No, but they are close by. The comte’s hunting lodge has a fine view of them on a clear day.”
“I hope Vernet arrests the correct person, yes,” I continued, ignoring his quip.
“Which is why I raced to the gendarmerie when they arrested Claude Devere. But I am now more interested in protecting Gallo’s victims. They should not be afraid and humiliated more than they already have been. We all have peccadillos in our pasts.”
“You don’t,” Grenville said.
“Not true. For a time, I was in love with my commander’s wife. Unrequited, of course. I realize now that friendship with Louisa was a much better choice.”
Grenville regarded me in exasperation. “You did not seduce her and then fight a duel with Colonel Brandon. You behaved well to your first wife when she deserted you, letting her start another life with Auberge. You have helped James Denis a time or two, but never with anything blatantly illegal, that I know of, and you castigate yourself for it, regardless. No, my friend, you do not have a thing a blackmailer could hold over you. They would have to get up very early to best you, Lacey. Very early, as I know you are walking about even before the sun rises.”
“I’d be more likely to punch a blackmailer in the nose,” I agreed. “But others should not have to pay a man because he once had a mistress or cheated at cards.”
“To be fair, cheating at cards can get a gentleman barred from a club or run out of town. But I agree with you, as much as I tease you. Mistakes in a man’s or lady’s past should be allowed to fade, provided they are not too awful. Those who profit from people’s shame are reprehensible.”
“Which is why blackmail is a crime,” I said. “And very likely why Gallo died.”
“Murder is also a crime,” Grenville reminded me. “Though I can understand why someone killed him. Very well, we’ll leave it to Vernet, while you protect those Gallo blackmailed.”
“I can try to protect them, anyway,” I said.
“I’d like to have a look inside the townhouse the comte gave Signora Ruggeri when she first arrived.
Are you close enough acquaintances that you can ask the comte’s permission to enter?
Signora Ruggeri claims everything is gone, but I’d like to see for myself. ”
“Imogen Cooke.”
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“Isadora Ruggeri’s real name is Imogen Cooke.
Marianne told me. At least, that was the name she used at Sadler’s Wells.
” Grenville lifted his cup and saucer and took another sip of coffee.
“Anyway, yes, I will ask Lejeune if you can poke around the townhouse. Or, you could simply turn up and tell the housekeeper you’re thinking of leasing it for a longer sojourn in Lyon. ”
“I’d rather try the less deceptive method first,” I said.
“You’ve grown positively priggish during this sojourn, Lacey.” Grenville shook his head. “I will put it down to the fact that your daughter is getting married, and you are feeling in your dotage.”
“You have a grown daughter,” I reminded him. “One doing very well on the stage in London at the moment.”
“She is.” Grenville’s pride surged. “And yes, I sometimes feel positively ancient next to her. I trust you will return to your usual, adventurous self once we reach home.”
“Again becoming the man who sparks your interest.” I held up my hand when Grenville began an indignant reply. “You have admitted yourself that you first welcomed me into your circle because I relieved your ennui.”
“Years ago, yes. I do hope we have developed a stronger friendship than that.”
“We have.” I relented. “Forgive me. I am pensive, and yes, Gabriella marrying and starting her own family has me out of sorts. Things will change, and I am not entirely comfortable with that.”
“I understand.” Grenville returned to his coffee.
“I will cease my needling and write to the comte. Also to my friends in Paris about Potier, as I promised you. After I have a good, long nap, I am afraid. Marianne’s friends certainly make me feel in my dotage, though most of them are of an age with me. ”
I could not explain to Grenville what truly had me out of sorts. Gallo had known secrets, possibly dreadful ones, and someone in Lyon had been driven to murder to keep him quiet.
The uneasiness of the Deveres, the tragedies in their past, and the disappearance of the instigator of those tragedies had me on edge. I needed to discover what the Deveres had done, and I wasn’t certain I wanted to find out.
For the next two days, as we waited for replies to Grenville’s inquiries, I tried to busy myself enjoying my stay in Lyon. I strolled along the river, ate meals in fine taverns with Grenville, and visited with Gabriella as much as I could.
Once the altercation between the Deveres and Auberges had settled, Carlotta relented, and Gabriella returned to spend a few days in the villa with us, to my delight.
We could again walk down to the Presqu’?le in the mornings, where she could find more accoutrements for her trousseau and take coffee with me at a vendor’s stand in the plaza.
She was remarkably calm for a young woman about to get married. I remarked to her thus while we strolled the plaza one morning, arm-in-arm.
“I have no need for apprehension,” Gabriella replied tranquilly.
“I’ve known since I was a girl that I’d marry Emile.
We decided when we first met, as quite young children.
” She smiled at the memory. “There has never been a question between us. The wedding will simply confirm what we’ve known all along. ”
Her answer pleased me, but with it came a qualm of worry. Gabriella had been so sheltered from the wide world, as had Emile, in spite of France’s war, that they’d yet to experience tragedy. Gabriella had known only happiness here, which both eased my heart and made me fear for her.
I did not want to cause the disruption that ruined her serenity. But if the Deveres had killed to protect their secrets, that disruption would unfortunately come. I could only hope that my speculations were wrong.
Gabriella patted my arm. “If you fear you will never see me once I am Mrs. Devere, do not. Emile and I have already discussed things. A visit to England in the summers would be welcome, and we will arrange it. I long to see Peter and dear Anne soon—they are my brother and sister after all. And one day, we might be bringing children of our own with us.”
While I liked the picture she painted, I suppressed my anticipation.
Emile and Gabriella would soon be taken up with domestic pursuits.
Emile worked for his father, and Gabriella would not want to travel far when she did begin bearing children.
The visits would grow fewer in number before long, perhaps ceasing altogether.
It was an arduous trek from here to Oxfordshire, after all.
I kept these thoughts to myself. Gabriella shone with bright plans for her future, and I would not dim them with my pessimism.
Gabriella stayed with Donata and me for a few nights, then returned to the Auberge farm on Tuesday morning, where she would remain until the wedding day. After that, Emile and Gabriella would move into the cottage the Deveres were providing for the young couple.
Gabriella had showed us over it when we’d first arrived, a modest brick home with a lush garden just outside the village where the Devere factory lay, and within walking distance of her childhood home.
The morning Gabriella departed, Grenville wrote me, informing me he’d had a reply to one of his inquiries.
Comte LeJeune confirmed that I could indeed root around in the townhouse that Signora Ruggeri had inhabited in the Presqu’?le. Whatever fiction Grenville had invented for my interest, the comte did not object to my entering the house.
The comte had even provided Grenville a key, which Grenville had sent with the letter, via Matthias. The housekeeper looked after the place that was indeed seeking a new tenant, but she was not always in. Hence, the key.
Though Grenville had asked the comte about the letter written in Italian, the comte had been reticent to respond. It was Donata, surprisingly, who supplied more information about that. She requested me, via Bartholomew, to visit her at her toilette that afternoon.
When I entered her chamber, Donata, clad in a peignoir, sat at her dressing table, while Jacinthe combed out her dark hair.