Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (7 page)

He motioned to one of the gardener’s helpers to walk the trap and mule back to the stable. “The game larder,” he said, gesturing to the squat windowless building on their left, “and next to it, the icehouse.”

The door to the larder had a wooden crossbar fastened with lock and chains. Serafina lifted her skirts and walked closer, touched the stucco exterior. “Would you open it, please?”

From his belt, he unfastened a large brass chain, fiddled with the keys, all the while staring at Serafina. While he unfastened the lock, Rosa looked at Serafina as if she were a wild woman.

“What is it now?” Serafina asked.

“What would we find in a larder?” Rosa asked.

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t have to look, would we?”

One side of the door opened slowly, the old wood scraping the ground and tearing through a clump of weeds growing around a metal stanchion, opening a few meters until it caught on the high grass surrounding the building and had to be muscled the rest of the way. As della Trabia struggled with the door, out flapped two or three creatures of the night.

Covering her head, Rosa backed up and motioned to Serafina. “I’ll stay out here while you look inside.”

“Sloppy work,” della Trabia said. “Place is a mess. Door should have been shimmied; the lock and hinges need oiling. One hinge has broken off and needs to be replaced. Creatures shouldn’t be allowed to nest in here—must be a family of them in the eaves. Good job the baroness didn’t live to see this: she’d be having an honest fit right about now.”

“Why would she have cared about the grounds?”

Della Trabia shot Serafina a wry smile. “You didn’t know her ladyship!”

Serafina shook her head. “Well, not to speak with. I’d seen her in town, knew about her charitable work at the hospital and orphanage, but no, she wouldn’t have associated with my family.”

“A taskmaster, that one. Into everything, and everything mattered with her. Had an opinion, too.”

“What happened to her?”

“Died.”

“How?”

“Stopped breathing.”

“I know that, but what do you think happened?”

He hunched his shoulders. “I’ve no idea. She became ill. Doctor didn’t know what it was or how to heal her, so how should I know? She died. But I’ll say one thing for the baroness: everything’s changed around here since her passing.”

“In what ways?”

“In every way. Villa’s not run the same; I’d be blind not to see it. And it’s spilling over to the outside, too. The way this larder’s kept, that’s an example. But it’s not bad enough to be my business yet.” He looked at the keys in his hand. “Not quite yet,” he said softly. “I must have a talk with the gamekeeper.”

“What did you think of her?” Serafina asked.

He thrust both hands into his pockets. “Not my business to have an opinion about the baroness, now, is it?” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and said nothing more.

Turning back to his keys, he jiggled them a bit and was silent. Serafina watched his movements and focused on his face for telltale signs of his real feelings, but he gave away nothing. The man, used to the outdoors and one step up from a mercenary, probably didn’t know what his feelings were, but she felt that while della Trabia had admired the baroness, he had not liked her—just a feeling she had. More important, he was withholding information.

“I’d be glad for your insight and would like to talk to you after you’ve finished our tour.”

He grunted. “No time.”

Serafina realized she would get nothing more from the man, no information. He was a puzzle. Was it because he could sense her dislike of him?

“Not com
plaining, understand, part of my job to protect, especially the baron’s guests, give them what they want, but I can’t promise.” Grabbing the lantern from its hook near the door, della Trabia lit it and adjusted the wick.

Serafina poked her head out the door. “Still want to stay outside?” she asked Rosa, who remained motionless.

Nodding, she said. “A bit stiff from the trip—the cold, you know.”

Serafina followed della Trabia inside. He closed the door behind them, then took Serafina’s elbow as if to lead her.

She moved away from his touch. “I’ll be fine, thank you, as soon as my eyes adjust to the light.”

The
gabelloto
bent to avoid hitting the carcasses hanging from the low ceiling. Smelling old meat, she was struck with the difficulty of her task. Already her toes felt like pieces of ice. She was tired from the trip; she missed Loffredo and her children, and she wanted to be home. But she strengthened her resolve: she owed it to Genoveffa to leave no stone unturned.

On a corner of the outer wall stood an old desk, the brass handles on the drawers in need of polish. It had become the home of spiders and other creatures, the whole thing wobbly and dusty with disuse. The top was filled with debris, and next to it stood floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with knives and blades and tools of all sorts, most of them covered in cobwebs—a place where men worked. Serafina made a quick study of the shelves, which held nothing of interest to her, but the desk had seven drawers, and they were locked.

“Do you have a key?”

“Nope. Gamekeeper would and perhaps the cook, if you’re lucky. You’ll have to ask her.”

On the way out, Serafina bumped into a spider’s home and was brushing cobwebs from her curls as they left.

While della Trabia locked the larder, Serafina looked around for Rosa. Nowhere. She began circling around to the back, slogging through dead branches and finally found her, poking at the weeds and long grass with the toe of her boot.

“What are you doing?”

“Making
myself useful.” Rosa bent to pick up part of the tangle and came up with a crumpled note, torn and faded, weakened by the wind and the sun. She held it out to Serafina. “Probably nothing.”

Gently, Serafina smoothed out the paper as best she could, but it was so old and weathered that a corner of it crumbled at her touch.

“We’ll be in residence a month if you don’t hurry.”

Serafina made no reply. She could barely read the notation, “5g.,” followed by a partial word “tri” and something else, so smudged that it was illegible.

“Keep it,” Rosa said.

Gently she stashed the dog-eared note into her pocket. Serafina wondered where she’d seen the notation, 5g, before and wished, not for the first time, that Loffredo were here. Could be a doctor’s directive or a druggist’s cipher. Her son, Vicenzu, would know. She wrestled with the thought until she remembered a case she’d worked on two years ago where the victim was given a small dose of arsenic trioxide “to soften him up.” They had to be careful because less than four grams would kill a man, she remembered Loffredo saying. Could this paper have something to do with the chemical that slowly killed the baroness?

She and Rosa returned to the front of the larder, but della Trabia was nowhere in sight.

“What good is he—too full of himself by half. Wouldn’t waste more words on him, he’ll be coming round to fetch us any minute.” She peered at Serafina. “But you don’t seem to mind him. Have you forgotten Loffredo already?”

“Never! And as for della Trabia, I haven’t made up my mind about him yet. At first I was grateful for his presence in Solunto—those bandits could have killed us. I’m not ready, like you are, to say the shootout was fake. But after his quick disappearance now … ” She let the rest of her thought hang in the air as she grappled with her failure to understand him—
their
failure to understand him—part of her attempting to peel away his masks. And Rosa, from the outset, had not liked him. Why? Aloud, she said, “Harmless, I’d say, at least that’s my first impression.”

“Lucre and gain, that’s what’s on his mind. ‘What’s in it for me,’
he
seems to be saying with every breath he takes.”

This was the second time Rosa had aired her feelings about della Trabia. Serafina respected it, but tempered her friend’s words with what she knew about Rosa, who had an ability to determine the truth of a man or woman in a flash and a relish for quick expression. Most times, her first impression was correct. On the other hand, Rosa had an impatience with deliberation, mistaking it for weakness and hesitation; she loved black and white, did not hold with grey. But in this instance, she, Serafina, needed to find out more about della Trabia before she judged him, and so far, thanks to her inept questions and the absence of Rosa’s interest in him, he eluded her.

“There’s a locked desk inside the larder, and I’d like to find out what’s inside.”

“Only because it’s locked. I know how your mind works,” Rosa said.

“Why would an old, battered desk be locked? Della Trabia suggested that the gamekeeper or the cook might have the key.”

“You won’t find a gamekeeper around here. He stays on the estate in Prizzi.”

“And who told you that?”

“No one. But I know that the baron hunts there,” Rosa said.

Doucette

W
hile a maid unpacked her luggage and Serafina waited for the housekeeper to appear, she surveyed her accommodations decorated in tints of rose, mauve, and gold with phthalo-blue accents. Like the rest of the house, the style was rococo, not Serafina’s taste at all, but she appreciated the luxury of having a room with a full bath. Although the afternoon was mild, logs burned in the fireplace. Opposite a canopied bed was a gilded writing table and chair, and in another corner, a more comfortable reading chair upholstered to match the drapes. After unlatching the window, she opened the shutters and surveyed the harbor, where men scurried around a large steamer.

“Good chance
you arrive today,” Doucette said, after greeting Serafina and sitting in the chair beside the desk. “When the footman told me you were ready to see me, the baron also rang for me, so I hope Madame excuses my tardiness.”

Serafina smiled, nodded, and was silent.

“Next week, I go to Prizzi to pack the rest of my belongings, and the following week will find me on a steamer bound for France.”

Serafina continued to smile in silence, regarding the housekeeper. Tall and bony, the woman looked a bit like a younger version of Aunt Giuseppina, and she gazed at the housekeeper, who inclined her head, doubtless waiting for Serafina’s response, the hint of a frown above her Gallic nose.

Devoted to the house, Serafina could tell by the woman’s bearing. Like many housekeepers, her uniform was different from the others, and Serafina noticed a large wheel of keys hanging from her waist next to an embroidered chatelaine purse. Doucette was clothed in a long woolen dress of black, finely woven, with a simple white collar and a touch of lace around the cuffs. The garment was cut in the latest fashion with a flounced skirt, the overskirt pulled back into a bustle. She had no apron or headpiece, and as a final touch, she wore a brooch slightly below the collar.

Minutes passed. Serafina could hear the faint sounds of normal activity in the hallway. By now, the housekeeper sat ramrod straight, rubbing her elbows and looking uncomfortable.

Finally Serafina spoke. “You know why I’m here?” she asked.

“Yes, Madame—because of Genoveffa.”

“The baron told you?”

She nodded. “He spoke with me and with the butler. He asked us to extend you every courtesy.”

“I’m curious. He told you what, exactly?”

“That the daughter took it upon herself to decide that her mother was poisoned and that you are here to disprove her claim.” Doucette’s inscrutable face held no shadows, not so much as a tinge of long suffering or dismay, disbelief, disgust or disappointment, no fear, no opinion, no nothing.

“You were with her for most of her illness?”

The housekeeper widened her eyes, slowly nodding.

“And did you ever see anything that you did not understand, anyone who should not have been in her room?”

“Of course not! If I had, I would have called for help, and for certain, I would have notified the baron.”

The housekeeper’s reaction seemed extreme, but Serafina plowed on. “I think Sister Genoveffa is correct. I think the baroness was poisoned, and I think you know who did it.”

Doucette snapped her shoulders straight and lifted her chin. A wash of deep red flooded her face. “Impossible! Not while I was with the baroness. Never! And it is insolence to suggest it, I beg you to know! I was devoted to that dear soul.” Her eyes welled.

Just then, there was a creaking noise on the other side of the room near the closet.

Doucette started. “What was that?” She hurried to the closet door, rested her palm on the handle. It began to turn, but she held it fast. “I thought so, you little viper,” she said, yanking the door open. Blond curls and round eyes flew out. “What are you doing in here, you naughty urchin!”

Serafina bounded to the closet. “Not at all, we were playing a game, weren’t we, D’Artagnan? And I see I’ve just lost.”

Adriana shook her head, smiling slyly. “Look and what do you see?”

“A queen of course,” Serafina said.

“Guess which one.”

“Let me see, couldn’t be Queen Victoria.”

“Marie Sophie, you silly!” Adriana said through badly rouged lips. She twirled, and Serafina could see she’d changed her outfit into a child’s dress, smock, petticoats, thick white socks and boots; around her neck, she wore a long strand of pearls and feathered boa, and on her head, a lopsided crown.

“Where is your governess?” Doucette asked.

Adriana shrugged.

“Come with me, right now.” Doucette grabbed the child.

Serafina protested. “No! We’re not quite finished with our game.”

A knock on the door interrupted, and Ornetta stuck her head in. “In here?”

Doucette stood with crossed arms. “Take care of her, will you, or you’ll lose your job!”

Serafina intervened. “Please, Doucette, Ornetta, don’t be cross, I’ve detained her. I’ll be knocking on your door later,” she said, winking at Adriana, “and you’d better be ready with another surprise!”

After they’d gone, Doucette told Serafina she was at her wit’s end with Adriana. “She will have trouble growing up, I tell you. You see how everyone spoils her. She is like the wind, and I’m the one who recommended Ornetta to the baron. I told him she is a nurse and a governess, that she will challenge the child.”

Serafina looked at the housekeeper and let the moment pass.

“You will be wanting help tomorrow morning and Friday with your toilet?” she asked.

“That would be lovely. I rise early.”

“Then I will have a maid knock at six thirty. Daily Mass is at eight. Breakfast in the dining room from six-thirty to ten, earlier tomorrow because we expect the bishop and several priests. They’ll want a substantial breakfast before the ceremony.”

“The bishop?”

“Yes, Madame. The feast of the Annunciation was a favorite of the baroness. She was named in its honor, you see, like her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother.”

“Caterina?”

“Caterina Annunziata,” Doucette said, with a thin smile. “A devout woman, conscientious with her prayers. She once told me that the purpose of this festa, as she called it, was for pondering what it meant to be a mother, the weight all mothers feel, and I tell you, each year she’d do just that—she’d sit for hours after the Mass, praying her beads and writing in her little book. When she was ill, she kept to her bed most days, but she did not miss her prayers each day, going to the chapel whenever she was well enough to attend the Mass. But never did she miss the Annunciation, not even in the final months of her life.”

Serafina nodded and let the housekeeper talk.

“The baron continues her custom. Tomorrow we will have a high Mass, a beautiful celebration, no? Singers from the opera attend, and there will be an organist and choir. The cook and I arrange the flowers this afternoon after tea. Each year, all the servants attend, the gardeners and trimmers, even the guards.”

“And the son attends, too?”

Doucette was caught off guard by the question. She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, Madame, and Genoveffa was always busy with the feast at the Duomo and missed the celebration here, but the baron and his son will be there, most assuredly.”

Ever so slightly, the housekeeper pulled in her lower lip, hesitating a moment before continuing. “Each year since I’ve been here, the feast heralded our arrival in Bagheria—the baroness insisted we celebrate here, you see. So it means many things to me, the start of the Easter season, springtime, new life. This will be the second time we celebrate the feast since her death.” She pulled a linen from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “And, alas, this year will be my last, I’m afraid, although, no doubt when I go home I will attend to the Annunciation at the
Madeleine
—at least that beautiful church glows, and in my heart, too. My sister writes to me saying that I will hear the glorious organ played by a fine man.
”

Serafina n
odded. “I’d love to attend tomorrow, but I can’t promise. There’s so much I must do before I leave. I feel like I’ve barely begun, and we must depart Saturday morning at the very latest. You see, a promise is a promise, and Genoveffa expects my visit on Saturday early afternoon, and more important, my youngest son serves his first mass as altar boy this Sunday noon. So I must be home for it, simply must,” Serafina said. Totò looking solemn in cassock and surplice swam into her mind.

“Promises to sons must be kept by mothers, at all costs.” The housekeeper raised her chin, but her face was impossible to read.

Serafina reached into her reticule for her notebook. “I’d love to see the chapel if I have time this afternoon, perhaps after I sit for a while in the baroness’s room. Won’t you come with me? Or perhaps if you and the cook will be arranging flowers on the altar, I’ll meet up with both of you there.”

Doucette nodded.

“And I’d like to spend time in all the other rooms which the baroness frequented.”

The housekeeper counted them off on her fingers. “There is, of course, the lady’s sitting room on the main floor—she planned meals and special occasions there. And there is a small house, a gazebo, close to the steps leading to the sea. And of course, the cork tree. She’d go there often, especially in the early days, and dream, I suppose, and write.”

“I’d like to see all of them, but perhaps now you’d take me to her bedroom?”

Do
ucette nodded. She jangled her keys and led the way down a long hall and across to the other wing to the baroness’s room.

As the two women walked around the landing, Serafina peered down into the vast atrium, marveling at this view of the main staircase and all the servants helping to settle the house after the arrival of guests—plumping the pillows, polishing the brass, dusting the woodwork, the lamps, the chandeliers, sweeping the carpets; performing each task, it seemed to Serafina, with concentration and vigor. She looked around, saw no groups whispering behind curtains, no evidence of shirking work or of backbiting. On the surface and from this height
, the servants seemed content, and this she attributed to the successful run
ning of the house, even after the mistress’s death. She wondered who or what was responsible. The housekeeper? The butler? Fat wages? She didn’t think it was because the baron was a benign, caring, and thoughtful overseer, not from her introduction to him, and not from Rosa’s words about him yesterday morning.

After Doucette unlocked the baroness’s room, Serafina paced its length to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows fronting the sea. “Stuffy in here,” she said, so the housekeeper helped Serafina open all the windows and shutters. Soon the sea air made Serafina exhausted, and she felt like lying down, but knew she must not. So far she had nothing, no leads, held no interviews except for this one with Doucette, and so far, it was turning out poorly. At this rate, her stay would have to be extended.

The room was enormous and decidedly feminine. She and the baron must have kept separate bedrooms, not unusual for the upper classes. Taking up one wing of the third floor, it faced the carriage drive and fountain in the front, running the length of the house with a view of lawn and buildings in back. The walls were washed in pale ochre, and the bed linen and drapes were made of damask in a delicate lemon and lavender print. A brass vase held dried roses. Two fireplaces heated the room, and an Aubusson carpet hung above each mantel. In the corner close to the front windows was a desk and, next to it, a reading chair, so Serafina sat at the desk and placed her notebook on top.

“I shall wait for you in my sitting room, dear lady.”

“Don’t go quite yet.” Serafina patted the overstuffed cushion on one side of the desk, inviting the housekeeper to sit. “Unless you have pressing duties elsewhere, I have some questions, if you don’t mind.”

Doucette sat on the edge of the seat, her hands carefully folded in her lap.

“I’m intrigued. Tell me how you came to meet the baroness.”

“In Paris, about ten years ago, that’s where we met. Lady Caterina had come to our city with her aunt, you see, to avoid the troubles here. And of course, my city has always attracted the upper classes, and yet, I thought at the
time, so strange of the baroness to choose Paris f
or escape.”

“How so?”

“Our life in Paris was difficult in those years, you understand, but first I want to tell you that, despite our hardships, I love it there, too, and long to see it again, even though the baroness was so kind to me.”

Doucette’s accent grew more noticeable as she became more animated, but Serafina sharpened her ears and forgot her fatigue, drawn into the woman’s story.

“It was at the opera that she met me. I was one of the company’s hairdressers, you see.” She hesitated and, if possible, sat even straighter. “We met quite by chance, through some mutual acquaintances, when, as it happened one day, the hairdresser at the house where the baroness stayed did such a horrible job with her coiffure, and she needed some help.” Doucette paused, a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “I almost laughed when I saw it, I still remember the sight. In a few moments, I dressed her hair, and the baroness was most pleased. After that, I went to her every morning to do her toilet, sometimes in the evenings as well. When it was time for her departure, she asked if I’d like employment with her. She told me that when her land is at peace, it is too beautiful for words, and Paris, as you know, was filthy at the time, so full of dirt and dust because the Emperor and Haussmann, they were tearing down whole neighborhoods. They carved up our city like merciless invaders. Without warning, my street disappeared under their blades, and we lost our family home, you see. We were forced to stay with relatives in a distant suburb. I longed for peace and beauty and warmth, so the offer from the baroness came at the right time for me, I tell you.”

“But if you go back now, I fear there will soon be more upheaval in Paris. We hear talk of war.”

“Just so, and with the Prussians, nasty beasts. As a precaution, I told my brother, who sees to my affairs, to take an accommodation for me in the south of France as well as preparing my new home in Paris.”

Serafina was silent for a moment, listening to the hum of the house and the way the wind had of blowing through the eaves. She heard the faint sounds of workers on the grounds below. “You began working for the baroness here?”