Chapter 6 #2
“There is no girl,” Giovanni said automatically. “And as enchanting as you are, Bess, I do not think your charms will compel me.”
“Oh, not that,” Bess smiled, patting Giovanni’s hand in a friendly manner. “I do not tilt at windmills, Signore, I would rather set my sights on more achievable goals.”
“Oh?” Giovanni was surprised. “So… what then did you have in mind?”
Bess smiled and then placed her other hand on top of his, trapping them between hers, and leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. As she did, he felt her slip a piece of paper into his hand.
“I was asked to pass this along to you,” she whispered in his ear. “I hope it takes your mind off your unattainable lady.”
She pulled away, smiling roguishly, and then winked at him. Giovanni tucked the piece of paper under his hand and nodded at her.
“Thank you for your conversation, Bess.”
She stood, putting her hands on her waist and grinning down at him flirtatiously.
“Of course, Signore.”
Then, with a flip of her skirts and a toss of brown curls, she sauntered over to another gentleman who was more than eager to accommodate her on his lap. Giovanni looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and unfolded it. It was unmarked by a letterhead, with only one line of writing:
The past is catching up with us.
Giovanni’s felt as if ice had been poured down his back. Swallowing hard, he turned the paper over to check if there was a signatory. There was not.
The past is catching up with us.
He tried to wrap his head around it. Was it a threat?
Was it a warning? Who was the “us” it referred to?
Immediately Giovanni looked up at Silas, who was laughing in the corner, and then refolded the note and slipped it into his breast pocket.
He rose carefully before crossing to Bess and leaning down to whisper in her ear.
She tilted her head towards him as the man on whose lap she was sitting kissed her fingers.
“A private word?” Gio asked.
Bess smiled at her latest gentleman and slowly extricated herself from his grip. He looked forlorn—and very drunk, Giovanni noticed—and she patted his face tenderly.
“I shall be right back, my darling.”
Gio jerked his head out of the gambling hall to a small corner by the stairs. Bess followed him, looking slightly amused by these antics and fanning herself softly. Giovanni held up the note with raised eyebrows.
“Don’t look at me,” Bess grinned. “I’m just the messenger.”
“And who is the sender?” Giovanni asked levelly.
“Couldn’t tell you,” Bess shrugged her bare shoulders. “A servant gave it to me as soon as I got in the carriage to come here.”
“It’s not addressed to me,” Giovanni said slowly. “How did you know it was for me?”
“They told me to look for you, that you’d be with Lucifer of London, and that you were Italian,” she said, shrugging again. “It’s not the oddest thing I’ve been asked to pass along, believe me.”
“So it wasn’t someone inside the club?” Giovanni pressed, drawing a map of where the note had come from in his head, tracing its journey back through the city. “Where did you come from?”
“From the opera house. I’m a soprano,” Bess preened, fluttering her eyelashes.
“From Covent Garden…” Giovanni muttered, twiddling the note in his hands. “Quite the place for a low-life.”
“Oh no, couldn’t be low-life,” Bess said emphatically. “The servant was dressed well, a fine lad, good shoes. Nice uniform. Definitely come from a gentleman’s service. Does that help?”
Giovanni considered. She was right. The people Giovanni dreaded from the past were those who did not keep fine servants whom they told to linger near Covent Garden to catch an opera singer.
They were the kinds of people who dwelled in Cheapside and Whitechapel and sent little street urchins to do their bidding.
“It does, Bess, thank you,” Giovanni said. “You’ll not tell anyone you gave me this, will you?”
“I suppose not,” Bess grinned at him. “See? Not bored now, are you?” She winked and walked away, her red dress swishing behind her.
Giovanni looked down at the note once more, trying to discern anything he could about it.
It was fine paper, and the penmanship was elegant.
Whoever sent it had money and was educated; everything pointed in that direction.
On the one hand, that was reassuring, for some of the least pleasant characters from his and Silas’s European dealings were the most uneducated, and incapable of writing such a fine missive. Yet on the other, it was disconcerting.
At times in their previous lives, Silas and Giovanni had moved in exalted circles in order to lie, bribe and spy, and some of those people were very powerful.
If some of them had found out that Lucifer of London had betrayed them to others, it they ever found of the secrets he had stolen from them and used for his own gain, if they ever found out that Giovanni was the one who did the stealing for him, then he could find himself in very hot water.
Giovanni sighed and folded the note away, resolving to think on it for a while longer before he told Silas.
He would wait and see if his enemy made his move first.
With a sigh, Giovanni thought of their turbulent past. He thought of the ball the other night. He thought of Beatrice’s lips pressed feverishly against his own. Then he thought of Bess’s final remark and snorted with derisive laughter.
“Definitely not bored,” Giovanni muttered to himself.