Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Gunter’s Ice Cream Parlour
Giovanni, the waiter who had served them two days ago at Gunter’s, was standing by the kitchen door smoking a cigarillo when they arrived.
He immediately tried to hide it behind his back and adopt his customer demeanour, but Dora slapped him on the shoulder.
Dora’s ability to shift character had always fascinated Jacob.
‘It’s only us, Giovanni, and not in our front-of-house character. We’re backstage now and can drop the act,’ she said.
Talking about backstage, the rear of the patisserie had no garden but was used for outbuildings.
Milk churns stood by the gate, ready for collection.
A door to one windowless brick shed at the northeastern corner had ‘Ice House’ written on it.
Jacob was pleased to see that it looked a well-managed establishment with swept cobbles and everything neat and tidy.
He would not think twice about ordering at the front again.
‘But signorina…!’ protested the waiter.
‘I’m Dora and this is Jacob. We’re working.’
The waiter looked confused. ‘But you are a lady and gentleman.’
‘He is. I’m an actress – and no, I’m not his mistress,’ she said quickly when a knowing glint entered the waiter’s eye. ‘We solve mysteries for our clients.’
‘Non ci credo!’
‘I swear it’s true. Our office is in Bruton Mews if you want to check.’
Jacob offered his hand, which contained some coins as well as their calling card. ‘We’re after information.’
Giovanni perked up on the offer of a tip; that was something he could believe. He pocketed the money and took the cigarillo out from behind him. He gave it a puff to keep it lit. ‘Very well. But I will not discuss our customers.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Jacob. Unlike the clientele, the waiters at Gunter’s were more discreet. ‘We are looking into an Italian by the name of Lorenzo.’
Giovanni spluttered a laugh. ‘That is all? Ma dai, I can point you to six Lorenzos in London at once.’
‘Do you have a smoke?’ Dora asked, pointing to the cigarillo. ‘I always wanted to try.’
‘Filthy habit,’ muttered Jacob. ‘In Spain, half the army is addicted to them.’
With a grin, Giovanni produced another of the small cigars from his breast pocket and snipped off the end with a pair of grape scissors. He then held it to his own lit one until the fresh one smouldered. ‘For the lovely lady.’
Dora put it to her lips then paused. ‘What do I do?’
‘You suck – like this.’ His eyes danced wickedly as he demonstrated.
Dora laughed and flicked a warm look at Jacob. ‘I do so love sucking.’
Jacob felt a blush rise from his neck and travel up his face. ‘Dora!’
‘Sorry.’ She turned back to Giovanni. ‘He’s easily embarrassed.’
Jacob could tell she was teasing him to get the waiter on her side and convince him that she was his kind of people, but, damn, she could make him suffer.
Only the thought that he would persuade her to carry out her love for such things when they were in bed later made him feel better and left his breeches uncomfortably tight.
‘You want to know a Lorenzo? Which one?’ asked the waiter.
‘Well, Giò, this one was a very bad lot. He killed the Comte and Comtesse D’Antraigues.’ Dora leaned beside him and tentatively puffed on the cigarillo. She made a moue of distaste.
‘It will grow on you, as you English say,’ said Giovanni. ‘Sí, I know that Lorenzo … purtroppo. Lorenzo Stelli. He came here with his master and mistress. While they ate ice cream, he would come out here and talk about the old country. He missed speaking Italiano.’
‘Can you remember anything about him?’
‘He could talk, that one.’ He made a yapping gesture with his free hand. ‘He came from Milano. He said he was persuaded to join the emperor’s army because they were winning. He wanted to be a winner. If he did not join army, he would have no work and they would kick him around as a peasant.’
That pride went with what they knew of the man.
‘Did he say why he left the army?’ Dora asked.
Giovanni nodded. ‘He was proud of doing so. He said he hated how the Italians were always given the worst jobs. They were sent to face the guns while the French waited behind the hill, saving their powder so they could make a bold advance when the enemy was worn down and they could claim credit for the victory.’
‘I suppose it stands to reason that the French might want to spare their own.’
‘Sí, ovviamente. Also, Lorenzo hated his commander who did not like him. He was given lash for … how do you say? … insubordination?’
Jacob nodded. ‘Army discipline can be brutal and if your commanding officer doesn’t like you then your life does become unbearable. What happened next? Lorenzo absconded?’
Giovanni nodded and waved the cigarillo in a circle. ‘He ran away and took a boat from Genova.’
‘How did he end up working for an émigré?’ asked Dora.
‘I have to go soon.’ Giovanni dropped the end of his smoke and ground it out with his heel. ‘He said he arrived in London and asked for the man who hated Bonaparte the most. An Italian who plays in the Theatre Royal orchestra pointed him to the Comte D’Antraigues.’
If you were in fact an informer for the French, would you not cook up a story exactly like this?
thought Jacob. Why else carry your political views with you and let that influence who you wanted to work for if you were running away from all of that?
‘Would you say that Lorenzo truly hated Napoleon?’
‘Oh, yes. He would spit every time anyone said the emperor’s name. He swore that he would stab him if ever he got the chance.’ Giovanni made stabbing motions. ‘Like this, he said.’
Instead, Lorenzo stabbed two people who had befriended him and who stood against Napoleon. ‘Would you say that he was mad?’
Giovanni shrugged. ‘I do not know. We can all break, no? He was passionate, but he made sense. He was tipico uomo Milanese.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Dora.
‘He was quick to take offence. I would not pick an argument with him.’
‘And what did you think when you heard he had killed his employers?’ asked Jacob.
A man appeared at the door of the kitchen and beckoned Giovanni back inside. The waiter brushed off the ash that had drifted onto his sleeve.
‘I thought everyone else had a lucky escape. Lorenzo Stelli was boiling with anger – hot, hot fury like Vesuvius – and someone was going to get burned.’
Jacob updated the casebook while Dora retired to her room.
She was on her monthlies, and though as a doctor he was aware of the mechanics of the process, he was vaguer on the methods women used to pad the flow.
Even his bold Dora was reticent when it came to normal bodily functions, as most of his female patients were.
She had merely said she needed to get changed and he had not pressed her to stay, despite the fact he really didn’t want to let her out of his sight while the threat still hung over them.
Biology, though, trumped even safety concerns.
Jacob dipped his pen in the inkwell. Lorenzo Stelli, a bomb with a lit fuse – that was the impression Jacob had taken away from the helpful waiter.
Either he was a convincing actor or a fanatical opponent of Napoleon.
His murder of his employers could have been for personal motives – a slight that he felt he must repay or some other grudge – but with the missing report in the middle of this it felt more than ever as if there was a key piece of information lacking to make sense of the crime.
Why would a man who hated Napoleon kill someone who was aiding the allies in the fight against him?
Alternatively, why would an informer for the French, successfully undercover in the comte’s household, blow that all to smithereens in a fit of temper?
Who else could possibly have been there?
He looked back through Dora’s notes. Lorenzo had been a favourite of the ladies so that suggested he might have been susceptible to a female, someone who could get close enough to kill him and make it look like suicide.
Dora had eliminated the female servants as they were down in the hall to see their mistress to the carriage.
A woman, or perhaps a man who was trusted like a brother?
Italians were more exuberant in their greetings and would hug and touch each other without shame, unlike the English.
He added that addendum to the notes. They must not get fixed on looking for a woman.
Alex came in from the street and hung his hat on the hatstand. He took a quick look around the room.
‘How’s Dora?’ he asked.
‘She’s in her room and will return soon.’ Jacob pushed back from the desk. ‘What do you make of all this, Smith? We’ve found out more about the killer. The story he told about himself fits with the idea that he was a disgruntled deserter who hated Napoleon and objected to army discipline.’
‘Most of the ordinary soldiers do, no matter the army,’ said Alex wryly.
‘So why then turn on his employer, the man who had helped him?’
At that moment, Dora rushed back in. ‘Jacob, I’ve had an idea—Oh, Alex, good day to you.’
‘Dora,’ said Alex with a grin. ‘Your idea?’
‘What if Lorenzo snapped because the comte’s report concluded that Napoleon would thrash the allied armies? Wouldn’t that drive the government to make peace if they lost hope of victory? Lorenzo hated the emperor so much that he couldn’t bear it and struck out to silence the comte.’
That was a thought, though a bad report from a source was unlikely to sway the conduct of the war, no matter how trusted. ‘And the comtesse?’
‘In his killing frenzy he went for her too – hating them, the world, his fate that brought him to this point.’
‘A murder-suicide?’ asked Alex. ‘As the coroner found?’
‘Exactly,’ said Dora. ‘And Lorenzo wasn’t a French informer, but a hater of Napoleon.’
‘Then why are people after us now?’ asked Jacob.
‘Because the report still exists – because we were right that the comte was asking for the highest bidders. It is hidden and everyone is after it. We’ve had the misfortune of stumbling into the skulduggery of international politics resulting from the murders.
’ She looked at them both, eyes bright with excitement.
He wanted to sweep her off her feet and spin her in a circle, however…
Did it tie all the parts of the mystery together? Jacob wasn’t sure, but it felt like a strong possibility. ‘Well done – that’s a good theory.’
Her face fell. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir,’ she said, deadpan. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I’m … open to the idea. I think we must test your hypothesis.’
‘How?’ She flopped down into the visitor’s chair that Alex had vacated for her.
‘It would help if we could eliminate the possibility of there being someone else in the house at the time of the murder. If he acted alone, then your idea becomes our front runner. I’d like to go back to Barnes and look at where the suicide took place.’
Dora pulled a face. ‘The maid knows me. I doubt I’d get back inside again. She’ll think I’m vulgarly curious.’
‘Then Smith and I can go and ask the owner of the property if we can see it with a view to leasing it as my summer residence. How do you fancy being my solicitor, Smith?’
Alex grinned. ‘I imagine I can string together enough legal Latin to be convincing. Caveat venditor.’
‘Glad to see the army hasn’t driven out all your schooling.’ Jacob locked the casebook away and kissed Dora’s cheek in farewell. ‘You’ll stay here? Yarton’s footmen are keeping a watch so you should be safe.’
‘I’ll stay for a bit, but then I thought I’d go and visit Ruby. We need to clear the air between us.’ He was about to object but she put her finger to his lips. ‘And yes, I’ll take a footman to accompany me.’
That would have to do. He couldn’t ask her to make herself a prisoner.
‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ he said, more for himself than for her.
‘And good luck to anyone who dares attack me at Ruby’s. She’ll make mincemeat of them.’
Jacob gave Alex a look.
‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ Alex said.
Once he was gone, Jacob pulled Dora to him. ‘Remember, when Ruby presses her case, I want to marry you.’
‘I know.’ She pressed her forehead against his cheek and kissed his throat.
He stroked her back, enjoying the long line of her spine. ‘We must live our lives for ourselves, not for others. We do them no favours by letting them ride roughshod over us.’
‘That would be a bad habit to encourage,’ she agreed.
‘So?’
‘Jacob, I’m looking for a path forwards that will be acceptable to my friend as well as to us – and perhaps even to your family.’
‘I’m not compromising on the fact that we should marry. What if we have children? I refuse to let them suffer the stigma of bastardy.’
She tapped his chest in understanding. ‘I know. Believe me, I know how ugly it is to be someone’s bastard. But we have time. I’m not pregnant, and Ruby is. Let me see what talking to her will achieve.’
He kissed her and let her go. Despite his smiles, he left feeling a cloud of doom hovering, waiting to envelop them.