Chapter 10 #2
“I do. Did anyone else get the impression that Signore Scala and his friend are more than mere friends, and Brother Eduardo knows it? It’s no wonder Scala avoided the monks at the market. If his tendencies go against the teachings of the church, he must feel unwelcome here at the abbey.”
“Brother Eduardo not only knows they’re more than friends,” Oscar said, “I’d say he’s as much of an aesthete as Scala when it comes to handsome men.”
“Oscar!” I hissed. “You must stop speculating about these things out loud.”
“It’s not speculation, Gavin. I can tell the brother is of that particular persuasion.”
I scoffed. “You can’t possibly tell. He doesn’t sport a sign.”
“Not one with words on it, but he does show signs. I’m very good at identifying these things. Better than you, anyway.”
I rounded on him, my fists clenched at my sides.
I wasn’t sure why, but I was furious. “Mistaking me for an aesthete was one thing, but you shouldn’t suggest Brother Eduardo is without proof.
It’s grossly unfair on the poor man. At least I had the chance to deny it to your face and set you straight.
Honestly, Oscar, you believe you can identify men like that, but you can’t.
I know you’re going to suggest he looked at you in a certain way, as if he—” I lowered my voice.
“As if he desired you. But I didn’t notice anything like that.
In fact, it’s quite arrogant of you to think you’re always the center of attention.
Perhaps you ought to have a closer look in the mirror.
You are not as handsome as you think you are. ”
Miss Wheeler made a noise, part choke, part laugh. She covered her mouth with her hand, her wide-eyed stare on me.
I felt sick. Why had I become so angry with Oscar?
And to berate him in the abbey forecourt, of all places, and in front of a third party!
“I’m sorry, Oscar. I don’t know what came over me.
I shouldn’t have got cross with you. You are very handsome, and if Brother Eduardo looked at you in a particular way, then of course you’d be aware of his gaze. ”
Oscar clapped me on the shoulder. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“Don’t panic, Gavin. I’m not cross, and you’re right, I can be arrogant.
You were also right about the monk. He wasn’t looking at me in a particular way.
He was looking at you. So I rather think my assessment of him is correct.
But we can agree to disagree. It doesn’t matter in the least.” He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Ah, here comes the abbot.”
A sense of exhaustion settled over me as I watched him stride off to greet the abbot. I wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation we’d just had. How could I have read the exchange with Brother Eduardo so differently to him? How could he be so cavalier when my mind felt disturbed?
Miss Wheeler sidled closer to me. “Are you all right, Professor? You look quite done in.”
I thrust two fingers down my collar to tug it away from my skin. I suddenly felt very hot. “I’m sorry you heard that. I shouldn’t air my grievance with him in public.”
“Please don’t be embarrassed, Professor. Your secrets, whatever they are, are safe with me. I don’t care what you are or are not.”
“I’m not,” I felt compelled to tell her.
She followed my gaze to Oscar. “I agree with you about Mr. Barratt. He is very handsome. If you tell him I said that, I will deny it most vehemently.”
Relief flooded me, making me feel even hotter. She was being so kind about my dreadful outburst that I couldn’t help the rush of warmth I felt for her.
She took my arm and squeezed. “As for Brother Eduardo—”
“Don’t, Miss Wheeler. Please. I don’t want to talk about him, or Signore Scala, or aesthetes.” I sighed. “I just want the books.”
“Then I’m afraid you will have to talk about Signore Scala at some point.” She tugged my arm. “For now, let’s see what the abbot has to say about his argument with the boatbuilder.”
The abbot peered down his nose at Oscar with a mixture of disdain and indifference.
I’d seen deans and other senior staff at University College look at junior staff in such a way.
I’d even been looked upon like that before I became professor.
The abbot felt himself far above us. Was it because of our interest in magic?
Or was it simply his nature? Hopefully, it wouldn’t stop him from answering Oscar’s questions.
When we reached them, Oscar was informing the abbot of the murder in Pecco. The abbot must have already heard about it as he showed no sign of surprise or horror.
“We have been hired by Signora Colombo to find the murderer,” Oscar said. “She doesn’t trust the Carabinieri to treat the death as suspicious.”
That elicited a response of arched brows from the abbot. “I do not believe you. She cannot afford to hire anyone.”
“We came to an agreement that is not financial in nature. In short, she has something we want in return for our services.”
I held my breath. Oscar had not just lied; he’d lied to a man of God.
The abbot didn’t tell Oscar he didn’t believe him again, so Oscar pushed on. “In the course of our investigation, we learned that you were seen arguing with the victim. Can you tell us what you argued about?”
The abbot’s bulbous eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me of murder, Signore Barratt?”
Oscar put up his hands. “Certainly not. We simply want to get to the bottom of this, for the widow’s sake. She has recently lost her child and now her husband. She has no one.”
At the mention of the child, the abbot bowed his head and gave it a barely perceptible shake.
Sensing a weakening of resolve, Oscar continued with the same combination of deference, sympathy, and gentle imploring.
“Please, Father Abbot. Help bring justice by telling us what you and Signore Colombo argued about. It may shed light on his thoughts and concerns at the time of his death. Whatever you say to us will go no further.”
The abbot looked up and sighed. “It does not matter who you tell. The argument is not a secret. I was cross with Signore Colombo for not giving his son a proper Christian funeral.”
“Was Signore Colombo not Christian?”
“He did not have the faith.”
“And Signora Colombo?”
“I have not met her. I did not know their son had died until recently. When I learned the priest of Pecco did not conduct the funeral, I went to see Signore Colombo, to tell him I will pray for his son’s soul.
He did not like this. He did not want my prayers.
And now he is dead, too.” The abbot crossed himself as he murmured a prayer in Latin for the souls of the dead.
With an answer given, I expected Oscar to thank the abbot and leave. He wasn’t finished, however. “You called Signore Scala greedy, depraved and the devil. Why?”
With a subtle adjustment of his shoulders and tilt of his chin, the abbot resumed an air of superiority as if it were as natural as putting on a hat. “That is my opinion.”
The bell in the tower rang out, signaling time for prayer. Brother Eduardo closed the stable door on the donkey. As he crossed the forecourt with another monk, he bowed his head and attempted a subtle glance in our direction.
The abbot caught him looking. Brother Eduardo hurried onward.
“It is time for prayer, and for you to leave,” the abbot said to us.
Oscar wasn’t giving up, however. “Did you call Scala those names because he’s a magician? Or is there a more personal reason?”
The abbot’s nostrils flared, then he turned and walked off toward the chapel.
“I don’t blame him for ignoring you,” I told Oscar as we left the abbey. “You insulted him by suggesting personal knowledge of a man whose proclivities are known to be against the teachings of the church.”
“I think I must side with Mr. Barratt on this, Professor,” Miss Wheeler said. “Time was of the essence. Directness will always get a reaction, if not an answer. The abbot’s reaction of stiff silence tells us Mr. Barratt’s question hit a nerve.”
Oscar seemed to puff up a little with her praise. “Thank you, Miss Wheeler. I’m glad we now know why he argued with Colombo, but I wish we’d gotten an answer out of him about Scala.”
“Do we need one?” I asked. “It’s quite obvious that his opinion is negative because he knows Scala likes men.”
“And is a magician,” Miss Wheeler added.
“Yes to both,” Oscar said. “But why call Scala greedy?”
He made a good point. One that I was ashamed I hadn’t considered. I’d blamed Oscar for being fixated on Signore Scala’s proclivities—and Brother Eduardo’s, too—but perhaps I was the one with the fixation. Oscar had moved on and focused on something else entirely.
I wasn’t the only one who’d overlooked the abbot calling Signore Scala greedy. Miss Wheeler also seemed impressed by Oscar’s observation if the admiration in her gaze was an indication. “It could just mean that he knows Signore Scala’s reputation as a ruthless businessman,” she pointed out.
“It could,” Oscar said. “But if so, why not just tell us? I think it means something else. I think he knows Signore Scala better than he lets on.”