An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (20 page)

Underwood, having successfully blocked his own re-entrance by the trick with the chair, now came around behind them all and back through the main door, “Did it work?” he asked, trying to see past their obstructing bodies.

“Perfectly,” said Grantley, full of admiration, “But how the devil did you work it out?”

“From the moment we first examined the room, I was intrigued by the disturbed dust on the stretcher of the chair.  Rarely, if ever, is dust only partially removed.  If a maid wishes to do a job, she does it thoroughly, because she knows that half a task will attract the attention of her superiors.  Nothing makes dust more obvious than a finger drawn through it – as any housewife will tell you.  But the dust on that chair was marked with lines running across it – and there had to be a reason.  When I saw an acrobat this afternoon at the fair, tip a chair on its back legs and balance upon it, the answer hit me like a bolt of lightning.  Tip a chair beyond a certain point and lean it against a wall or a table, and it will stay there.  Once that fact had filtered into my brain, the rest was easy.”

“Easy perhaps, but not the full story.  We still do not know who did the deed, even if we now know how he did it,” said Grantley, suddenly deflated.  He had been delighted to find a solution to at least one part of the case, but he still had no murderer.

“Give me time, Mr. Grantley, I’m getting there.  Slowly but surely, everything is becoming increasingly clear.”

*

CHAPTER TWENTY

(“Una Salus Victis Nullam Sperare Salutem” – Knowing there is no hope can give one the courage to fight and win)

Underwood felt that the time had come to interview the one man who might reasonably be expected to have been the servant who was present when Luisa had her last quarrel with her late husband.

Giovanni proved to be as slippery as he had always feared.  Called to the drawing room by Underwood and Mr. Grantley, he stood before them glowering, his feet wide apart and his thumbs thrust into his belt, looking for all the world, in his dark red livery and neatly trimmed beard, like a miniature Henry VIII.

“Giovanni, we wish to ask you about the death of Lord Peter.  Is there anything you can tell us of the fatal night?”

“Non capisco,”
growled the man, with an elaborate shrug of his shoulders.

Underwood, who had heard the servant using perfectly good English on several occasions, allowed himself to betray his surprise at this obvious lie.

“What did he say?” asked Grantley.

“He says he doesn’t understand.”

“What, English in general or the question in particular?”

“I have no idea.  My area of expertise is Latin, not Italian.  I know a little, but not enough to conduct this interview if he is going to claim ignorance.”

“Then we must bring down Lady Luisa to translate for us,” said Grantley firmly.  He was not about to be outfoxed at this late date.  With Underwood’s solution to the locked door mystery, he finally felt they might have some slender chance of bringing Peter’s murderer to justice.

“Very well.  I will send for Lady Luisa,” said Underwood, speaking directly to Giovanni, who looked distinctly bullish for a moment, then said, “No!” in perfectly passable English, “There is no need to disturb milady.”

“I thought not,” asserted Underwood cynically, “You were there, weren’t you, my friend?”

“That is for you to prove, sir,” said Giovanni in his curiously deep voice.

“It is indeed.  Tell me, what did you do when you were a member of the circus?  Were you simply a side show, or did you actually perform?”

“What makes you think I was ever in a circus?”

“Well, it would be easy enough to find out, though rather time consuming, I imagine.  Why not simply answer my questions?”

“Very well, I was a performer.”

“An acrobat, perhaps?”

“On occasion.  I had to be versatile – we all did.”

“And what did your daughter do?”

“I have no daughter,”

“I think you do,”

“What you think is of no interest to me,”

“I suppose it is not,” admitted Underwood, with great calm.

“What the devil do you mean by that, Underwood?” interrupted the astonished Grantley, “Since Lady Lovell has freely admitted to belonging to a travelling fair with her father, you seem to be suggesting that Giovanni here is Lady Luisa’s father?”

“I am not suggesting it, I am stating it quite plainly.  We have accepted that Peter did not commit suicide, and that Luisa could not have killed him, therefore there must have been a third party in the room.  That person can only have been someone close enough to the couple that they felt free to pursue a quarrel in his presence.  Giovanni is the only man who fits that description.  There can be no other possible explanation for the murderous fury felt by the assailant when Peter insulted Luisa.  No mere servant would kill his master for so trivial a reason – not even an Italian one.  And Luisa would not risk her own neck for a servant, either, even one she had known from childhood.”

“Is this true, Giovanni?” asked the still incredulous Grantley.

“Would that I could have been fortunate enough to have fathered so sweet an angel as my Lady Lovell,” said Giovanni, then folded his lips as though determined that not another word should pass them. And so it proved to be.  Nothing Underwood or Grantley asked him was answered by anything other than, “I don’t know”, “I don’t remember” or a stream of intelligible Italian, which Underwood was pretty sure contained eloquent insults.

At length they dismissed him, tired of the circular nature of the interview.  When he had gone, Grantley asked, in a rather bemused voice, “Did you feel that brought us any further forward at all?”

“Not an inch,” answered Underwood wearily, “I rather hoped the shock of my accusation would betray him into rash speech, but it was to no avail.”

“Do you really believe he is Lady Luisa’s father?”

“I think there is not a doubt of it,”

“But,” Grantley could barely manage to voice his protest, “But, she is so lovely – and he…”

“Her mother may have been lovely too,” answered Underwood blandly, “And though Giovanni lacks stature, he is not an ill-looking fellow.”

“I suppose not, but I just always imagined that a dwarf would father a dwarf.”

“Not at all.  These quirks of nature often skip a generation – or even appear just once and never again.  If you were to enquire into Giovanni’s background, I dare swear you would find he has a troop of strapping brothers and sisters.”

                It took Grantley a moment to digest this information.  He paced the room and Underwood watched him, with great compassion in his eyes, from his place on the plush settee, “I feel this notion has disconcerted you, Mr. Grantley,” he said softly, after a long pause.

                Grantley, aware that he had given himself away, made a visible effort to bring his attention back to the present, “Good God, no!  Why should it do so?”

“For the same reason I suspect it disconcerted Lord Peter – nay, horrified him.”

“What the deuce are you talking about, Underwood?”

“Luisa – what else?  You are in love with her, are you not?” 

The Constable blushed to the roots of his hair, “Don’t be ridiculous…”

“Pray, don’t bother to deny it, my friend.  I know the signs – and I cannot say I am altogether surprised.  She is a beautiful, vibrant creature – and you are a free man.  There is no possible reason for you to rein in your feelings.”

“Except that she is recently widowed – and under horrible circumstances.” murmured Grantley, with an edge of bitterness to his voice.

“Ah, but time will cure that ill, will it not?  A year hence she will not be ‘recently widowed’, will she?”

“No, but if what you say is true, in a year I will still be the man who hanged her father for murder!”

“No, you will not. 
I
will be the man who hanged her father – if you care to hand responsibility to me.”

“Gladly – but why do we speak of such things?  I have no idea of her feelings in all this – and we are no nearer to hanging her father – if he is her father - or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Very true, but we have only to be patient.  I feel sure something is going to happen very soon.  Such a secret cannot be kept – and certainly not by those whose passionate displays of anger and frustration are always boiling just below the surface.”

                Grantley resumed his pacing, his head down, his hands clamped behind his back, as though to keep them out of mischief.  After a moment he raised his head and looked at Underwood, a puzzled frown marring his handsome face, “You used the word ‘horrified’ when you referred to Lord Peter just then – what did you mean?”

                It was Underwood’s turn to debate whether or not to answer.  After the barest hesitation, he drew in a deep breath, “I may be maligning the man, but I think I am not.  I imagine he had discovered what we suspect – that Giovanni is Luisa’s only remaining parent.  It seemed strange to me that so proud a man should have been so adamant that he and Luisa never have children.  Her explanation, that he wanted her undivided attention, may have been the true one – but I think it more likely that he was terrified she would produce a child like her father.  For a man of his arrogance, to have offspring that was- in his eyes and the eyes of his peers - less than perfect, would have been a bitter blow to take.  It pains me to say it, but I think Peter was indeed horrified when Luisa made her announcement.  He appeared to have been almost fanatically determined to foist the fatherhood upon someone else, even though he must have known she was never unfaithful to him.  Those were not the actions of a man in full possession of his emotions or his reason.”

“I can certainly understand that,” said Grantley.

“If you are honest – and I think you are, you would admit a similar feeling of misgiving assailed you when I made my suggestion.”

“It did, I suppose, though I would not go so far as to use the word ‘horror’, but it did give me cause for hesitation.”

“I apologise for causing you pain, Mr. Grantley.  I can now admit that I too hesitated.  I was most unwilling to tell you of my suspicions for that very reason.  I have grown fond of Luisa already and I feel the poor girl deserves nothing less than a husband who loves her and would love her children, no matter what their flaws.  It can have been nothing less than torture for her to have Peter utterly prohibiting the babies she so obviously yearns for – and then denying paternity when the unthinkable happened.”

“When seen in that light, it is scarcely surprising Giovanni was provoked into a murderous rage.  Quite apart from the insult to his daughter and unborn grandchild, Peter must have been scathing about his own situation.  He must have been made to feel less than human.”

“Peter could be cruel – I witnessed that for myself.  The atmosphere in their bedroom that night must have been thick with hate and fear.  I have been accused, on many occasions, of being insensitive and unemotional, but when I see where such passion can lead, I am almost glad that I do not seem to have the capability to feel hate to such depth.  I adore my wife and child as a part of my soul, but should Verity ever be prompted to leave me for another man, I fear I should merely curl up in misery, rather than pursue and kill them.  We were all made differently, Mr. Grantley.”

“Thank God, or I should never have a moment’s peace!  Brighton would be knee deep in corpses if all men solved their dilemmas with knife and gun, by murder and mayhem.”

“Quite,” asserted Underwood.

“Only one thing still puzzles me – how the devil could a man less than four feet in height reach to slash the throat of a man of almost six feet?”

“The answer lies in Giovanni’s previous employment – he was quite happy to tell us that he had been an acrobat, was he not?  It surely does not take much effort to leap onto a man’s back, force his head back by grasping his hair with one hand, whilst slicing through his exposed throat with the other, gripping his body between your legs – not if one had the training Giovanni had.”

“Gruesome, but true.  What do you suggest we do next?”

“Speak to Luisa – and Toby.  He has been uncharacteristically stoic throughout this affair.  I fear he knows a great deal more than he has been telling.”

*

Luisa glanced up, without surprise, when they entered the parlour where she sat.  She laid aside the book she had been reading, her face a mask of indifference.  Evidently she had been expecting them – Giovanni had probably warned her, Underwood thought.

“Good day to you gentlemen.  Tell me, Mr. Underwood, did Horatia enjoy her treat yesterday?”

“She did indeed, Luisa, as did we all.  A day at the fair was not only entertaining, but most informative.”

“So I understand.  Giovanni tells me that the smell of the greasepaint must have addled your brains, for you have concocted the most fantastic tale to fit the facts of the case.”

“Indeed I have – and I must say I am immensely proud of it,” he returned equably, adding, “I doubt Shakespeare himself could have created a better plot.”

“I thought it was more reminiscent of an Opera – but I bow to your superior knowledge – I am not particularly well-acquainted with
Signor
Shakespeare.”

Grantley was casting astounded glances from one to the other whilst this light banter was exchanged.  He could scarcely believe they were treating what was, after all, a very serious matter, with such levity.

“Lady Lovell,” he interjected, with a stern look at Underwood, “Are you denying that Giovanni is your father?”

“The notion is too ludicrous to require a response,” she said tartly.

“Nevertheless, you must answer.”

“I will not!”

“Then you will have no objection to my arresting your manservant on suspicion of murder.”

                Her face grew pale, but her mouth retained its determined set, “You will do nothing of the kind.  You have no reason to do so.  Giovanni is a good and faithful servant.”

“To whom?  You – or your late husband?  It appears that all his loyalty is directed towards yourself.”

“Is loyalty a crime, then?  He has been with me since I was a small child, so naturally he is more inclined towards me than Peter – but my husband trusted him implicitly.”

“That much is obvious, madam.  Poor Lord Peter had no reason to fear turning his back on Giovanni – and it cost him his life!”

Luisa gave a shocked gasp then burst into tears.  Grantley’s jaw twitched as his teeth ground together, but he restrained himself from pulling her into his arms, as he so longed to do.