Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (6 page)

“Did you miss me? I haven’t seen you in ages and ages, and Ornetta’s been so mean, telling me I must not see you.” She wore a felt cape and scuffed boots, stained blouse and gaucho pants, patched and taken in to fit her small frame, fastened with a large belt. In her hand was a wooden sword, which she waved back and forth. A battered fedora, possibly discarded by one of the outdoor servants, hid most of her curls. It must be the baron’s youngest who was in the midst of play, but nonetheless, Serafina was surprised to see an aristocratic child dressed in this fashion, surmising that perhaps the normal rules of strict upbringing had been relaxed due to her mother’s death. In any case, she warmed to her and felt pity for her loneliness.

Rosa smiled, and Serafina opened her reticule.

“These two lovely women are our guests, what do you say to that?” He set her down. “Adriana, my youngest,” he said, introducing her to Serafina and Rosa. “She has the run of the house, as you see. With us until Easter, I hope. She stays with her grandfather most of the time, but she’s my joy, aren’t you, pet? Now, run along, your nurse waits for you.”

“But first I’ve brought you something.” Serafina reached into her purse and brought out a small bag, placing it in Adriana’s outstretched hand. The child opened it and smiled, picking out one of the marzipan candies and popping it into her mouth.

“What do you say, Adriana?” The woman, who was later introduced as her nurse, walked over to her charge.

Removing her hat to show a riot of blond curls, the child curtsied. “Thank you ever so, and I’m sure,” she said in the deepest voice she could muster.

“An actress,” Rosa said.

“Dressed as one of the three musketeers. Which one is it today?” Ornetta asked.

“Not a musketeer. D’Artagnan.”

“She has quite an imagination,” Serafina said.

“Some days she dresses like this. Other times, she’s a princess.”

The baron, meanwhile, had forgotten all about his daughter, lost in his ledger and paying no attention to anyone in the room.

Serafina smiled at the nurse. “I would like to spend more time with Adriana later today. “Where might I find you?”

“The nursery is on the fourth floor, but we are usually not there during the day. Adriana keeps me quite busy,” she said, running out the door in pursuit of her young charge.

“Like a wave on the sea, your daughter, and so beautiful.”

The baron looked up for a second, his finger paused over a number in the ledger, and gave her the ghost of a smile.

Serafina pulled on the chain of her watch pin. “I’ll need two servants who were close to Lady Caterina, one to work with me—and I’d prefer Doucette, if she is still available; she worked closely with your wife, no?—another to accompany Rosa, for expediency as well as for your protection and mine. And we’ll need a tour of the grounds. My daughter will supervise the search of the kitchen along with your cook. No doubt she will assist?”

The baron perched on the edge of his desk, facing them. “A trusted servant, Mima, with us since forever, and before that, cooked for Caterina’s father; she came to my household when my wife and I were married.”

There was a knock on the door, and the butler entered.

“Ah, Umbrello, I should have rung for you sooner.” The baron beckoned him to the hearth, where he leaned against the mantle and spoke in low tones, using circumspect gestures, counting on his fingers, pointing to Serafina and Rosa. He finished with the directive, “Arrange it all, won’t you?”

The butler nodded. “Yes, my lord. And now, luncheon is served.”

“Late today. It’s nearly two,” the baron said, consulting his timepiece.

“The ladies were detained.” The butler opened the door and disappeared, presumably to do the baron’s bidding.

“Ah, yes, I was worried, sent della Trabia for you,” he said, walking toward them.

“And he found us,” Serafina said.

“Shall we?” The baron held out his arms, and the three walked arm in arm out of his study.

On their way to the dining room, Rosa told him about their brush with the bandits at Solunto. Serafina excused herself and walked to a window to take one last look at the view of the grounds and consider for a moment. Before she knew it, she heard the madam’s ferocious whisper.

“Control your leaps into the abyss! He’s waiting for us at the dining room door. Not done, detaining a baron.”

Serafina shot her a glance. She recalled the baron’s smile whenever he regarded the madam and was grateful for her presence. She’d speak to Rosa later about him, her best chance for determining the man’s true feelings.

“After the meal, I’d like to meet the cook and afterward, spend some time in Lady Caterina’s bedroom, and if she had other favorite rooms—a boudoir, for instance, or the conservatory—I’d like to visit those as well.”

“Then by all means, you must. I’ll have Umbrello see to it.”

“And I may have more questions for you. Do we have your permission to interview all the servants who were in your employ during her illness?”

All at once his exasperation peaked. “Of course, I’ve told you—free reign. Search wherever you wish, the servants’ quarters, my bedroom—a small chamber next to Caterina’s on the third floor; I’ve given instructions that it is to be unlocked during the day. Interview everyone if you must. Talk to them all, once, twice, as many times as you’d like and Umbrello will arrange it, but why these interviews? Do you understand, we have over fifty servants, most of them in our employ during my poor wife’s illness. They adored her, wouldn’t dream of doing her ill, were devastated at her loss. What do you hope to find?”

She hated herself for upsetting the man obviously still in mourning, but she gazed into his mottled face and said, “The truth.”

A Tour

A
f
ter they’d finished eating, the baron excused himself, saying he had a meeting with an associate, and the butler appeared, opening the dining room doors leading to the main staircase and domed atrium. He introduced Rosa and Serafina to Doucette, the housekeeper, who had been waiting for them next to a potted palm.

Just then, della Trabia arrived, a little the worse for wear and smelling like horses. He pulled the butler aside, and the two spoke. It was not an argument, not by any stretch, more like a pointed conversation, their animosity held in check by their proximity to the dining room, the baron’s study, and his guests, but she felt their mutual dislike. The housekeeper, who stepped back to the plant, kept her eyes fixed ahead, her stance a study in tranquility.

“A slight change. I’ve arranged with della Trabia to take you on a tour of the grounds,” the butler said. Turning to Doucette, he dismissed her—and rather stiffly, too, Serafina thought. “Perhaps you’d be so … good as to wait below stairs for our guests?”

The housekeeper raised her nose and regarded the butler. “Send a footman when you are ready for me. I shall be in my sitting room.” She lifted her skirts and was about to leave when Serafina tapped her on the shoulder and smiled. “Won’t you excuse us, please?”

For his part, della Trabia stood, at ease with himself and with the world, smiling first at the butler, then at Doucette, who regarded the
gabelloto
with as much disdain as she had reserved for the butler.

Doucette turned to Serafina, her back straight. “But of course, Madame.”

At the edge of her vision, Serafina saw movement behind a potted palm. She focused, saw the tip of a wooden sword disappear behind a frond. Two eyes below golden curls stared out at Serafina, the small figure solemn until an arm in black wool shot out and gripped Adriana by the collar. “Got you!” the governess said. “To your room, my lovely,” and vanished up the staircase with her charge, who turned around to stare at Serafina.

Before leaving, the housekeeper cast her eyes once more in the butler’s direction, and sweeping up her skirts, she departed.

Rosa poked Serafina in the elbow as they followed della Trabia outside. “Interesting,” the madam said.

“One of them missed an order, and they’re covering up, or some such nonsense.” Serafina said.

“Oh, it’s more than that. Della Trabia disturbs the schedule, for what reason, I’ve no idea, but it was deliberate. The three don’t like one another, that’s plain. The butler has no love for the housekeeper or della Trabia, and there’s something between that outdoor rotter and Doucette. I’m no wizard like you, but I can see anger when it snarls about the stage.”

“You don’t like della Trabia? I thought I caught you making eyes at him earlier?”

“Don’t be daft. For all you know, he staged that little shootout in the ruins.”

“You must be joking. He killed a man for show?”

“Men have been killed for less by the likes of that tin soldier.” Rosa made a face. “He’s besotted with himself, and the poor butler has his hands full. Now the butler, there’s a real man.”

Outside, Serafina and Rosa followed della Trabia’s lead around one side of the house, obviously uncomfortable with silence, since he insisted on smothering them with talk. Strange, for a
gabelloto
; she didn’t think they had so many words, but she listened to see if she could get a sense of the man.

He pointed to two buildings washed in the same hue as the main house. “The carriage house is one of the oldest outbuildings on the estate, it and the stable.”

“Beautiful, all the palms and blooms, the ornamental grasses around it. The landscaping is unique.” Serafina stumbled on uneven ground “My daughter would approve.” She thought of how Carmela would arrive, flap her eyes once around the park, and most definitely rearrange everything. Serafina rubbed her forehead, regretting the quarrel they’d had last night, saw Carmela’s face now, and knew her daughter was right to criticize her, even if Serafina was the mother. She wasn’t keeping enough hours at home, what with midwifery and sleuthing, that was true, and she had no right to spend her free time with Loffredo. Even saying his name was difficult without wanting him. She shook her head. She had no right. After all, she had small children, and they needed her, and she needed the coins. Snaking around her mind, she saw her mother’s nose wrinkle, saw the admonition in her eyes, heard her say, “Just get on with it and enjoy,” and felt a pain in her right temple.
Fat burden you’ve given me, Mama.
Serafina felt a sudden thrust from behind, spun around, saw no one, and bumped into Rosa before righting herself. The madam gave her an appraising look.

“Who is the landscaper?” Serafina asked della Trabia.

“Baroness did most of it. The baron doesn’t want us to touch her design, and the gardener and his men do the upkeep.”

“And the gardener follows the baron’s direction?”

“He’d better.”

His gestures were expansive. “But no complaints. He knows what he’s doing, and the coachman does a decent job. Runs his world with an iron fist, the coachman. Groom shakes when he sees him coming. I knew the driver during the war, told the baron about him, and that’s why he’s here—given overmuch to the races, but a hard worker, all the same.”

They waited while della Trabia hitched up a dilapidated creature to an odd-looking trap sitting high off the ground with no top. Rosa insisted on boosting herself up without della Trabia’s aid, and she shot up, like a ball from a cannon, twirling and sitting like a ballerina half her bulk while Serafina tried to follow suit, missing the footplate on her first attempt and squeezing the trap’s iron rail so hard that she bruised her palm, finally making it to her seat with Rosa’s help. Not fair, really, the litheness commanded by the madam was surprising for one so squat while Serafina, willowy by comparison with Rosa, had no agility at all, none.

With a jolt, the mule sallied forth, picking up speed around the house. Serafina half-listened to della Trabia’s banter and watched his wide gestures while he smiled expansively and pointed to various buildings on the grounds as if he were showing them his own estate until she realized, in a sense, he was. He was the
gabelloto
, after all, leasing the baron’s lands, promising him management and protection in exchange for a percentage of the profits.

Serafina noticed a few clouds in the sky, not threatening, but nonetheless, she became curious. “What do you do when it rains?” she asked della Trabia, after her breathing returned to normal, raising her voice over the clatter. She slid to one side on the hard seat and clung to the rail.

“Me? I have my own horse. As for the rain, we’ve been lucky the past four, five years. Seldom rains in the spring, I know, but we’ve been having a wet one this year, good soaking rains, then it goes dry for weeks at a time. Don’t know about the grain, but the citrus trees like it. Lately when the rain comes, it’s sudden and fierce, so I’ve learned it’s best to keep a slicker in the pack.”

They were silent for a time as the trap pitched and rolled.

Breaking the mood, he spoke, shouting over the braying mule and the creaking wood. “Don’t use this trap much, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment—we’re using all the carts in the field—can’t use the carriage on these paths. Our busy time now, picking, bagging the citrus, pruning some of the trees, cleaning up after ourselves.” He turned around and saw them clinging to the side handles. “You don’t like the ride?”

“It’s fine,” Rosa said, gritting her teeth. “Almost as good as a peasant cart.” She whispered to Serafina, “He’s driving us in this contraption on purpose, the rotter.”

At one point, Serafina knocked into Rosa, both almost tumbling onto the floor, but soon she adjusted to the motion and found her mind wandering. If Serafina were honest with herself, della Trabia would have charmed her a few years ago with his gorgeous eyes and his confident stride. True, they owed their lives to his fearless dispatch of the bandits this morning, but today he amused her, nothing more. She was amazed at how much her life had changed in such a short time and couldn’t help comparing him with Loffredo, who was taller than their guide and certainly more polished than della Trabia, possessing a cleansing, almost magnetic, certainly a
noble de
meanor and a sense of culture, too. Discarding her ruminations of a few minutes ago, she longed for him, right now, right this minute, but she had a job to do and steeled her resolve, turning her mind to the reason she and Rosa were here—finding the baroness’s killer.

Presently they rode on smoother ground, the smell of citrus becoming stronger, almost overpowering. Della Trabia slowed the trap, drove it through the opening in a high fence, and they entered the orchards. As far as the eye could see were orange groves, rows and rows of trees heavy with ripe fruit and men so numerous, they seemed to cover the trees like winged creatures—men on ladders, men on the ground holding sacks and catching the fruit as it dropped, men raking oranges off the ground and dumping them into small boxes.

“The fruit that drops to the ground we sell in town, but most of these crates will be loaded into the lower holds of the baron’s new ship. Cold down there, I tell you. Got something new—it’s called refrigeration. An experiment, Naldo tells me. Don’t know much about it yet, but going to learn, all right. The future, Naldo says. And the ship’s fast, skims the waves like a beast, he tells me.”

“How many ships does the baron own?”

“Small fleet now. The newest is his fourth or fifth, but the older ones are much slower.” He was silent for a time, then straightened, his eyes fixed in the middle distance. Stopping the cart, he tied the reins to a tree and said, “Excuse me for a bit.”

She and Rosa watched him amble over to a knot of men some meters ahead who were agitated about something. The mob seemed to be swelling with men, who were climbing out of trees and stumbling over, each man swallowed up into a circular mass of seething dust. In a few strides, della Trabia arrived, shoved one of the men aside and wormed his way into the middle. The churning increased, and the dust roiled. Serafina heard shouting, and in a blink, the group spread apart, and they saw della Trabia haul a man to the side and, not too gently, shove him down next to a tree. The others dispersed. Wiping his hands, della Trabia returned to the trap.

“What happened?” Serafina asked.

“Some crazy bastard grousing about pay. Supervisor told him to shut up, and the man got angry, threw a few punches. He’ll be fine once he thinks about it. If not, he’ll be out on Saturday.”

“Why Saturday?” Rosa asked.

“Baron doles out their pay on Saturday. I decide who stays, who goes.”

They rode at a slow pace, and their guide began explaining the various kinds of citrus grown on the estate. “Nine or ten different types of oranges, most of them ripening now, but others mellow earlier, some later, so we’ve got a crop to work most times.”

“Lemons?”

He nodded. “But they seem to grow on their own, as long as I have my right-hand man. Don’t need much attention from me, unless, of course, we get too much of the cold.”

“How long have you been working for the baron?” Serafina asked.

He turned to stare at her. “I work for myself, not the baron. Not right now, anyway. Things may change soon. I lease the land and manage his estate, hire the men, make sure there’s no trouble. Got a few good ones who help me keep them in line.”

Serafina didn’t like the sound of that, but Loffredo had warned her not to become involved in whatever happened outside the house. So far, she had heeded his words. So far. She rephrased her question. “How long have you been working here?”

“Little over ten years.”

He wasn’t inclined to answer questions, that was apparent, but Serafina thought she might wait a few more minutes before asking another one when Rosa, who must have sensed her mood, spoke up. “You’re not from Trabia, I can tell by your accent. Yours is a made-up name, no?”

He narrowed his eyes in her direction, and Serafina saw a side of him that most men would fear. She felt the sudden chill of his stare, sensed Rosa sitting by her side, a rock of determination, and she was glad for her friend’s presence.

“I came from the islands off the coast, carved by Aeolian winds. A harsh land, it toughened my hide.”

“Your family must miss you,” Serafina said.

He shook his head, picked up the reins as if closing the subj
ect, but thought better of it and wr
apped them around the rail. “No family.”

“Dead?”

“My mother died when I was two. Sometimes at night I can remember her holding me. They say I was the one who found her body, but I couldn’t swear to it, I have no recollection. Never saw my father. So I was on my own from the age of two or so. They put me in a foundling hospital, and there I stayed. Nice enough, but no shoes, no honor, so I left. Fishermen took pity on me. Took me to a port on the north coast. I was eight or ten at the time.” He was silent for a moment. “In the end, I made my life, you see. Made my life with these.” He fisted his hands, then pointed to his head.”

“Not married?” Serafina asked.

He shook his head. “Once. Lost her. No more.” He was silent for two or three minutes. “After that, I wandered a good part.”

“So you have a good head for survival, but what about the heart?” Serafina asked.

“That gets me into trouble.” He lifted his chin and, for a long while, gazed at something she could not see, something deep inside him, she figured, and the moment stretched to two, three, four. She heard a few men laughing in the distance, the rustle of leaves as the wind picked up.

“You talk like you’ve had schooling,” Rosa said.

“Taught myself. Learned early on that I needed to. At first, I took day jobs, whatever I could get. Found out the hard way that whoever reads gets his pick of work and rises to the top of the pile. I still read at night, lots. Taught myself trades more from hunger than from anything else. My lucky day, finding the baron, powerful man like him. And before you ask how, I found him through word of mouth you might say. Been here ever since. The land makes money, at least the baron thinks it does. He credits me. The one before me didn’t last long. He had no brains, no muscle, and you need both.”

“Who was he?”

“The gardener’s son.” Abruptly, he turned away from them and flicked the reins. They rode back to the villa, Serafina vowing never to ride in that rickety trap again.

Della Trabia stopped behind a clump of tall grass and lifted Serafina. As he did so, he smiled, staring into her eyes. She stared back, aware of the man’s deadly power, feeling revulsion but also pity for him and for the love he’d lost. He had something, this
gabelloto
, an ability to control men, yes, but his gift was something more than that, an unshakable belief in his own power, the drive and ability to survive, a quickness of mind and spirit, an unwillingness to give up. She had no doubt that he was a mighty force.