Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (12 page)

The Tall Grass

S
erafi
na found Rosa where she knew she would, sitting in the gazebo and staring out at the water. Surprised at Serafina’s disarray and mood, the madam asked if she’d seen a ghost. “Sit here, you’ll feel better.”

She told Rosa about the theft, about her horror at seeing her desk empty of books, about barging into the baron’s study without thinking and, to her great consternation, meeting up with the don—of all people—sitting in an overstuffed chair behind her, pleased as a potentate. As she told her story, Rosa tried to hide it, but Serafina could see that the madam was shaken, so they sat for a while, trying to calm themselves, waiting for the shock of it to ebb so that she, Serafina, could think clearly and alter her plan while the baron’s servants searched for the books. She watched the tall grasses bending toward the sea, their underbellies shimmering in the wind. These high grasses were a distinctive feature of the grounds, she decided. They were everywhere, surrounding the outbuildings and ornamental pools and on the edges of the grounds as if they held Villa Caterina in their grip. There was something about them she could not quite put her finger on. They had a mesmerizing effect on her, as if they held the secret of the house, and she expected to see some sort of mythical beast rising up from them at any moment.

As if reading her thoughts, Rosa said, “Something spooky about this place. The spider crawls up my spine. And that little girl, what’s her name?”

“Adriana.”

“Sweet little thing, but weird all the same. If my Tessa acted like Adriana, she’d get her hide whipped once and that would be the end of it, I can tell you. And the nurse, or governess or whatever she is, gives me the creeps.”

Serafina was quiet for a while, and when she spoke, she told Rosa about the child’s vision of her mother walking about the grounds in the middle of the night, doubtless the fantasy of a child grieving for the loss of her mother, but the telling deepened Serafina’s sense of foreboding: at her core, she felt the mysterious atmosphere at Villa Caterina. However much Serafina knew she needed to distance herself from fear and cultivate a clear head, she could not seem to shake her mood, and her temples throbbed. When she shut her eyes, she saw the undulating grasses, now appearing in bright colors in her imagination, and heard a strange wind blowing through them, so she opened her eyes and gazed at the sea.

The two were silent, listening to the waves crashing against the seawall.

“Are you sorry you came?” Serafina asked.

Rosa looked at Serafina and smiled. “Just disappointed in the food.” She walked over to the front of the gazebo and looked out at the ship, remarking at all the activity on deck. “It’s a mystery to me how a being like the baroness has so many words to begin with and why she’d ever want them, and still less, why she’d ever want to write them down.”

“Some people are consumed with words. They fill the mind until they flow out the fingers onto the page to be read by others.”

“Or not at all.”

“That’s why there are books,” Serafina said.

“Daft, if you ask me,” the madam said and fanned her face.

Serafina was quiet a moment longer before speaking again. “Genoveffa mentioned that she thought there might be other volumes, that her mother was always writing in something or other, but she gave me the one book only.”

“But why wouldn’t she have kept the others?”

Serafina shook her head, turned away from the harbor, and looked at Rosa. “Forgive me for not anticipating them, but complications spoil our plans for an early finish to this investigation. I’m afraid we’ll be here longer than I intended.”

“Nonsense. The food’s no good here; the spooks haunt the place, and I’m ready for action, so we must get a move on, search for the stolen journals before we do anything else. The nun realized it would take time; that’s why she gave you such a handsome retainer—the wealthy don’t part lightly with their coins.”

As they walked toward the house, Serafina chewed on Rosa’s words. “Perhaps the baron’s correct and there is a simple explanation as to why the journals are missing.”

“The baron sees what he wants to see, I’m afraid, and that’s never the way to wisdom. Not bright, the baron, to begin with, and his position in society blinds him even more. Take his son, blighted by something bleak and forbidding when he was a child, something he has not the ken to confront, his chance for a reasoned existence fled years ago, but the baron looks at him and sees his son, young and strong and full of vigor and doesn’t see him as he is. How difficult it is for us to see the truth in those we love.”

Despite herself, Serafina smiled at Rosa’s speech—her friend, turning into a philosopher? Not a chance, she’s trying to make me feel better, Serafina thought, and was comforted by Rosa’s efforts. “Perhaps the housekeeper misunderstood and moved them to the baroness’s room, I didn’t even think to check.”

The madam shook her head. “You don’t make mistakes.”

Rosa’s instant belief warmed Serafina and gave her hope when she needed it most, but that had always been the case. During the war when they’d had to close the apothecary shop and coins stopped flowing, who contrived for the family’s safety? Rosa. It was a story whose contours were repeated time and again, and she wondered what her life would be like without her friend’s quick grasp of the practical and her generosity of spirit. With Rosa by her side, how could she fail? Walking next to her, her spirits calmed and her mood lifted, and she began to concentrate on the task at hand.

“While the servants search inside for the books, let’s find the high ground and survey the area. Perhaps we will learn something from that vantage point.”

They entered the house and went into the baron’s study. It was empty. Presumably he searched for the books as well, fired by the fear of exposure should her investigation become public, but his telescope was on its stand, so Serafina grabbed it.

As they walked through the atrium, she saw a maid standing next to a potted plant and asked her to show them the way to the top of the house. “We’d like the clearest view of the grounds.”

“You’ll want the roof garden, ma’am, at the top of the main staircase. I’ll be ever so glad to show you.”

“Well, I was thinking of taking a more private route—a back staircase, perhaps?”

“This way, then,” she said with a bob and smile. “If you’ll wait for me here. I’ll just be a moment fetching the keys.”

When she returned with a key ring and enough candles for the three of them, she introduced herself as Lina, a parlor maid, and bade Serafina and Rosa follow her through a side door adjacent to the dining room. Serafina watched while Lina unlocked another door leading to a landing, warmer and stuffier than the rest of the house. Directly inside, Serafina noticed that there were two doors and was told that one led down to the kitchen, the other to the floors above. “For the servants’ use only, quick access to our quarters as well as a back way to the ballroom and the family’s bedrooms,” she explained.

As far as Serafina could see in the candlelight, the hallway and stairs were immaculate, and she smelled lemon polish. “Used frequently?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, used all the time by us.”

There was something effervescent about this young woman. Tall and graceful, Lina was typical of the parlor maids Serafina had seen in the big houses, with shining hair braided and wound around the back of her head, clothed in a beautifully tailored uniform, a slight bustle in the back, crisp apron and cap. Her smile was engaging, with two front teeth slightly crossed, and she spoke with a slight lisp but in perfect Italian with a pleasing, rather husky voice.

“We take the meals up from the kitchen this way.”

“To the dining room?”

“Yes, and there’s a more intimate dining room off of the ballroom on the second floor, and sometimes the family dines in the roof garden in good weather. It’s on the top of the house.” She paused, seemed to consider. “Of course, that was before the baroness took ill.”

“You remember her?” Serafina asked.

“Quite, ma’am, one of my favorite people, so kind and such a thoughtful woman, the baroness. When my mother was dying, she gave me the time I needed without another thought. I’ll never forget her. Taught me what it means to be a lady.” She blushed and looked down at the keys, realizing what she’d said. “Not that I am a lady, good gracious no, I didn’t mean to imply that, but the baroness was the ideal woman, knowledgeable, unflappable, humorous, yet with such a dignified bearing.”

Shadows flickered on the walls, and a few times Serafina thought she felt winged creatures flying low over her head, but realized it was merely her imagination, or at least she hoped she was imagining them. They like spaces like these, she reminded herself.

With each landing, the passage became narrower, or perhaps it was an illusion, but on the third landing, they stopped while Serafina mopped her brow with a linen. Surprisingly, for all her bulk, the madam was unaffected by the steep and winding climb. Serafina supposed Rosa could ascend to heaven without being winded.

“This door leads to the third floor?” Serafina asked, leaning against the wall. She pulled at the door handle and realized it was locked.

“All the doors are locked, ma’am, since these stairs lead to the back of the house and a wooded and wild part of the grounds. Would you like me to open it?”

“I’d just like to see where we are.”

“You mean you just want to take a rest from climbing,” the madam said.

Lina unlocked the door. As Serafina turned the knob, her foot slipped. She steadied herself, realizing she’d stepped onto something thick and wobbly lying on the landing. The light from the hallway shone on a book now partially flattened on the floor.

The madam crowded in to see, picked it up, turned a page, and nodded. “A journal. The baroness’s writing.”

The three women stared at the book for a moment.

“The thief must have come this way, his arms overloaded with books, and never noticed that one had slipped from his grasp.” Serafina paused a moment and turned to Rosa before continuing. “Perhaps the one who stole them from my desk was the footman who helped you find the journals in the gazebo.”

“What did he look like?” the maid asked.

“Tall, wide-shouldered, black curls. Calves the size of bulging wineskins,” Rosa said.

“Gone, ma’am—quite suddenly. We heard a scuffle outside the kitchen and voices raised. Next thing we knew, the butler announced that Reggio had given notice.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Serafina fingered the notebook. “May I?” she asked, taking it from Rosa’s grasp. Wiping the cover with the flat of her hand, she opened it to the first page and read the date, January 1866. Without comment, Serafina stuffed the journal into her pocket, and they continued their climb, lifting their skirts.

On the Roof

A
t the top of the stairs, Lina led them through a small enclosure with a few narrow steps to the top. Serafina’s heel caught on the lip of a tile, but she was able to right herself before walking onto the roof. As she edged toward the railing, she marveled at the view of the sea, immense and rough. In the east, Mount Etna glowered, smoke pluming from its mouth.

“We’r
e able to walk all the way round, a lovely view from up here,” the maid said, holding onto her skirts. A wisp of her hair blew in the wind, and she tucked it back. “But grasp the rail if you go near the edge. Years ago, a young man plunged to his death from this roof. Some say he was a servant who’d had too much wine; others say he was a friend of the family.”

She had their full attention.

“He came up here and wandered too close to the gutter. One story has it that he slipped and fell, another that he was pushed.”

Serafina shuddered, visoring her eyes as she and Rosa held onto their skirts, trying to prevent their flapping in the strong wind.

Lina continued. “Lord Notobene refers to it as ‘the accident that happened long ago, a foolishness best forgotten.’ He doesn’t want anyone talking about it, so a cautionary word. If you wish to know more, don’t ask the baron, ask the butler or the cook. Mima says she can still hear the man’s cry as he fell, a shriek that echoes to this day in her dreams.”

Resolving to walk with deliberation, Serafina stepped closer to the rail, unmindful of the maid’s warning, her eyes fixed on the sea and the lowering sun. When she bumped into the railing just below her waist, she backed up a bit and stared down at the dizzying height below, trying to judge the distance to the ground and testing her resolve, despite the fright she felt in her groin. Her head began to swim.

“What are you doing?” She felt Rosa’s hands tugging at her from behind.

“Best get back here. Keep away from the edge,” the maid called. “That railing’s not high enough for you. A strong gust of wind and you’d be over in no time.”

“You’re daft, Fina! Don’t you ever do that again!” Rosa’s eyes blazed as she jerked her away from the railing.

Fanning herself with her hand, the maid wore a reassuring smile. “Please, ma’am. Don’t do that again. We need you. I shouldn’t have told you the story of the accident.”

“Rubbish! Glad you did. Fina’s nature is half wild, but I know she won’t misbehave again.” Serafina felt the madam’s vengeful fist in her side.

“Oh my, well …” Lina caught her breath and continued. “Some of us, when there’s a big dinner or a ball, we like to come up here between serving the courses, just to take the air, if you know what I mean.”

“The guests don’t come up here?”

“No, ma’am. They have their own balconies on all sides of the ballroom. I’ll show you, if you’d like.”

Serafina shook her head. “Please go on, don’t mind my interruption.”

“As I was saying, it can be delightful here, especially a little later in the spring and summer, after working the dining room all night long, carrying trays and platters and whatnots up and down the stairs. And when the stars cover the heavens, oh my!” She pointed to the gargantuan mass in the east. “And you can see the fires of Etna and hear the ghost of Empedocles wail.”

“Who?” Rosa asked.

“Empedocles, ma’am. He jumped into the volcano.”

“Whatever for?”

The maid shrugged.

“Look at it, the mountain with its peak in the clouds. Can’t you see the fire coming from its maw?” Serafina asked.

Rosa shook her head.

Lina held her arm straight and still, gesturing toward the volcano’s mouth.

“How can you not see it? It’s that huge mountain right in front of us, grey black at the base, a few houses running up its side, white around its peak, smoke and fiery ash spitting out of its mouth!” Once again, as she described it to Rosa, Serafina felt herself drawn to Etna’s power and unpredictable rage. Slowly she led her friend closer to the edge, her arm rigid, her finger
pointing to the view, the madam shaking her head, Serafina straining to show her what only a blind person could fail to see, unaware of how close they’d come to the railing. “Can’t you see the spurts of fire?” Serafina asked.

“Now I do!” Rosa clutched Serafina’s arm, and her face lit with Mount Etna’s splendor.

It stood alone against the heavens, as untrustworthy and magnificent as whoever had killed the baroness, someone within these very walls. Serafina fingered the shape of the journal in her pocket. “We’ve awakened a monster. Whoever poisoned the baroness is in this house. I’m convinced of it. Nature senses it.”

Rosa nodded. “I feel it, too, and the nun was correct—the baroness was slipped a venom—but we’re a long way from proving it, especially to the likes of the baron.”

Serafina continued with her thought. “For eighteen months, he thought he got away with murder and now he’s on high alert, fearful that in her agonized awareness, the baroness may have discovered his identity before she died, written down his name or at least a clue as to who he was, and now that we’ve uncovered her journals, he’ll try to rid the world of us, mark me, and his attempts will be sudden and violent.” She trembled at the thought, but so far, she’d learned next to nothing about him. She must take a more daring approach and stir up his rage if she hoped to discover his identity. Perhaps tonight’s dinner would provide her with a stage upon which to provoke his volcanic ire.

The maid asked them again to stay close to the center of the roof while she finished their tour and led them to the other side of the house. “The garden I told you about with lounging chairs and tables, some lovely palms and potted plants—the family used to eat here in the summer every night, I’m told, when the children were young, to catch the breeze and all, but that was long before my time, and I doubt that they’ve been up recently, not after the accident. Of course, ever since the baroness took ill, the house has been, how should I say, more circumspect, what with the children grown and the baron keeping to his affairs.”

“Who tends the plants?” Serafina asked.

The maid shrugged. “One of the gardeners, I suppose.” She told them to take their time, that she’d wait for them.

With one hand on her skirts, Serafina put the telescope to her eye and began skimming over the grounds, looking for what, she wasn’t sure. Splinters from the late afternoon sun marred her vision, and she stumbled.

Lina, strands of her hair blowing in the wind, ran up to her and helped her recover. “I’d best stay by your side while you’re looking through that glass.”

With difficulty, Serafina prevented her skirt from flying about. She focused the telescope, admired the view of the sea and the land around Bagheria.

“I can see all the way into town!” she said.

“Let me see.” Rosa grabbed the telescope from Serafina but quickly returned it, saying it gave her a headache.

After some moments of looking over the whole scene, Serafina began focusing on particular aspects of the villa’s outbuildings, turning this way and that, searching for the baroness’s books. “Tell me about all the buildings on the grounds,” Serafina said to the maid. She and Rosa listened as Lina showed them the larder and the ice house, the laundry next to it, where the bedclothes were washed and aired each Monday, the gardener’s tool and potting sheds on the west side of the house, then swung over toward the east to the carriage house, the stables and smith’s tucked into a copse of trees. Next to them were fenced-off areas for the horses and mules, one containing several bales of hay, a pump, and a water trough. Nothing seemed out of place or strange, the maid said when asked, “Although I’m seldom looking down on the buildings—quite the lovely view, and a beehive of activity, if I may say so.” Lina gave Serafina a cross-toothed grin.

“Over here,” Rosa said from the railing on other side.

“What is it?”

The madam pointed to some activity in the back of the gardener’s sheds where a cart had just pulled up. The driver jumped down and, with help from two other men, began unloading his wagon, adding four or five sacks to what must have been a dozen or so already stacked up in neat rows.

“Cuttings from the citrus groves, it looks like, and pruning from all the trees on the grounds—dead palm fronds and the like,” Lina explained.

“Right you are. Here comes a fellow with a cart now. Let’s see what he does with the stuff.”

They watched as the man stuffed clippings and leaves, bits of shrubbery and palm fronds into one of the bags.

“The baron owns one of the largest citrus groves in Bagheria, I’m told,” the maid said. “And the gardeners have been working all week here on the grounds.”

“What happens to all of it?”

Lina shrugged. “Not sure, ma’am, but I think much of it will be burned, some will go into next year’s mulching, and as far as the citrus cuttings go, sorry, I don’t know that much about it, but I would imagine it depends on the type of fruit and the orchard. In this case, perhaps the baron himself is involved, or the
gabelloto
and head gardener, they might decide, I guess—I really don’t know. Each orchard has its own way of doing things, I do know that.”

“Burning is a perfect way to destroy journals,” Rosa pointed out, aiming her spidery eyes at Serafina.

Through the telescope, she watched the driver jump back into his cart and drive down the path on the side of the house, the mule straining in the rough grass, the empty wagon rolling and pitching but making good progress, traversing the length of the baron’s land. As she gazed at the scene, Serafina felt every bump of the cart partially hidden in dust. “Who’s the driver?” she asked.

“How would I know?” Rosa said.

“Could it be the cook’s son?”

Lina nodded. “Domenico, son of the cook and the gardener. Bit of a spoiler, they say.”

“Mima’s got a fancy notion of the importance of her son’s work.”

“Haven’t we all,” Rosa said, sending her icy gaze toward Serafina.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it for a while.”

Serafina shook her head, dismissing the madam’s barb. She couldn’t help it if her sons excelled in school and work. Well, most of the time. She had a fleeting impression of the whole family seated around the table in happier times, Giorgio laughing and pouring the wine, one dish after another making up their meals, far more lavish than what they could afford now. She missed her children, hoped she’d be home soon, reminded herself of her promise to be there for Totò’s mass on Sunday and strengthened her resolve to move with greater alacrity.

Widening the scope to take in not only the baron’s land but the road and the harbor, she saw Domenico in the cart, now much smaller, roiling through the thick turf. At times, all she could see were the undulations of the high grass. But soon the cart reappeared. It jerked forward, Domenico cracking his whip, the mule straining up the embankment. They crossed the road, heading for the harbor. She refocused, keeping her telescope tight on Domenico, his dark hair hanging over his collar. She watched as his cart wheeled onto the pier and clattered down its length, stopping next to three figures in black—the baron, his son, and someone else she did not recognize. Naldo leaned forward to speak to Domenico. They seemed in earnest conversation for a few minutes; then the baron patted Domenico on the back, and he rattled off the pier. Instead of returning to the gardener’s shed, he turned onto the road, passed the house, and disappeared from sight.

Serafina spun her glass around to the ship. Splinters of bright sun glinted off the waves and the metal hull of the
Caterina Bella
as the crew hoisted the gangplank while men untied the ropes and threw them over the side. Serafina forgot everything around her and leaned against the railing, feeling again the mysterious pull of the ship’s power and might. Like Etna, it held her momentarily in its thrall until she shook herself, heard the screaming of gulls, saw the water begin to churn, and watched the baron wave to someone on deck, perhaps the captain. A few passengers were on deck, signaling to their loved ones on the pier. There was movement and shouting from the crowd. Women wearing black shawls held linen to their eyes and children jumped up and down. Serafina felt the ghost of grief tugging her heart as the ship’s horn let out three mournful blasts and tugboats heaved hard against the steamer, pushing the massive hulk away from the pier and out to sea.

Snapping the telescope shut, she gave it to the maid. “Kindly return this to its stand in the baron’s office. And thank you very much for such a lovely tour. I’d like to put in a word, you’ve been so generous with your time. I understand that the housekeeper will be leaving soon. You’d be a perfect replacement.”

Lina frowned, lost some of her color. “Not here I’m afraid. Not for the likes of me.”

“They don’t think much of you?”

“Not that. I’d … rather not say, especially since I’ll be looking for another job soon, and I hope to have good references.”

Serafina was silent for a moment. She wanted to know more about Lina, but needed to spend time with the gardener and the sacks near his shed while the light was still good. “You’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Rosa and I want to interview all the staff who cared for the baroness during her illness.”

“Yes, ma’am, the butler told me. I look forward to it.” Lina bobbed and was off.

Serafina looked at Rosa. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Let’s go, before all the light fades and they burn everything.”

“And who do we have to help us but one maid, and you’ve just dismissed her!”

“You’re forgetting Arcangelo,” Serafina said. “Not to help us comb through sacks—we’re up to that simple task—but to look in all the outbuildings for journals and toxic substances, and to search the ship’s hold.”