Larcenous Lady (17 page)

“This is completely baffling,” Belami admitted. “The caller must have been Claude, but where is Claude staying? How do you know Styger’s gone for a couple of days?”

“I find out from Marie where he is buying milk and butter and eggs. He asks for none to be delivered till two days.”

“What time did Claude call yesterday?”

“Around noon-hour time.”

“Elvira would have had time to visit Claude... and whatever her errand was, it had to be related to Styger—who then went on a short journey. What could it be?”

“This cannot be learned,” Réal said simply. “What can be done is for you to talk to the contessa. Sweet talking,” he added, lest his mentor not catch his meaning.

“I doubt if she knows any more than I do. I tipped her the clue the counterfeiters were at Mira—she only went to see if she could gain anything from them. Blackmail, more or less, but I’ll speak to her—sweetly.”

“I followed her gondola. It is went to the Saint Mark Square landing. I do not follow, as I want to report at once to you this important findings.” Réal peered from the corner of his eye to see that this won approval.

The master nodded, then narrowed his eyes and deduced. Carlotta had no luck finding the Jalberts at Mira, but he’d told her Elvira was involved. Damme, she’d gone to the hotel. She’d spoil the whole thing! He hopped into the gondola and handed Réal the pole. “Get to Saint Mark’s landing, as fast as you can.”

The boat Réal had hired was light. He put his wiry strength into the oars and skimmed across the surface like a butterfly. When they were halfway there, they spotted Carlotta returning and Réal turned the boat around.

“I go back quickly so the contessa doesn’t see us,” he said. With a superhuman effort, he got the gondola landed a few minutes before the contessa arrived.

Carlotta wore a suspiciously smug smile. “Good afternoon.” She smiled at Dick. “I’m back from my visit. Did you miss me?” They began walking toward the palazzo.

“More to the point, did your luncheon partner not miss you?” Belami asked, and took her arm.

She laughed merrily and moved her reticule to her other hand. “You’ve found me out. Well, I confess. I had a tryst with my marchese. Guy hasn’t been asking questions?”

“No, Carlotta, it is I who have some questions to ask. About your trip to Mira,” he said, and opened the door.

Her flashing black eyes met his. “How did you know?”

“I’ll ask the questions. What were you doing at Mira?”

“It’s where I rendezvous with my marchese,” she teased.

“Your memory is faulty. You told me you had never made love at Mira. You didn’t choose Captain Styger’s house for your initiation, I think.”

She shrugged her shoulders and pouted. “I didn’t discover anything. The place was empty—a total mess. The man doesn’t even have a servant.”

“Why did you go?”

“Why, to help you, caro.”

“Try again,” he suggested.

“Don’t be an ass, Dick. If there are counterfeiters hiding nearby, it stands to reason they don’t want anyone to know. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised if they’d pay for it to be kept secret.”

“That’s what I thought. Did you speak to Elvira when you went to the Saint Mark’s landing?”

Her frank answer didn’t surprise him, but he felt a little uneasy. The lovely contessa wore an air of excitement—of smugness—as though she were getting away with something. Her hands betrayed nervousness as they clutched at her black kid reticule. Rather a large reticule, and bulging with something.

“I merely delivered invitations to my masquerade party. That should be quite a party,” she added, with a pensive look.

Carlotta noticed that Belami’s eyes were trained on her reticule. He saw a square protrusion showing through the soft leather. Her fingers closed over the telling bump. Just as he reached for it, a servant came into the hall. “I must go and relieve the duchessa,” she said. “Where’s your lady today?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Such a lukewarm lover,” she chided, and swept away, her hips swinging insouciantly as she went toward the staircase.

Deirdre was indeed getting short shrift in the midst of the confusion. He’d enlist her help in discovering what Carlotta was hiding. What could it be? Stolen counterfeit coins wouldn’t make a square bulge—but the dies for making them would. Had the vixen waltzed off with Styger’s counterfeit dies? It should indeed be a lively party if that was the case.

Could this be turned to his advantage? The Jalberts would want those dies back. And he wanted Pronto back. It would leave him with the jobs of getting the dies from Carlotta, then recovering them again after he’d bought Pronto’s freedom by giving them to Elvira, but at least he’d have Elvira right under his nose. He waited till Carlotta had disappeared, then went prowling the rooms in search of Deirdre.

Chapter Twelve

Deirdre, curious to hear what Dick had said to Pronto, went to the saloon in search of him. “Did you manage to talk some sense into him after I left?” she asked.

“When love comes in at the window, sense goes out the door. But then we know that, you and I,” he added, with an intimate smile.

“I never blamed your lack of sense on love, Belami.”

He saw he was still in her black books and shifted his mind to business. “Our only hope is to unmask Elvira before the wedding. Will you help me?”

“What can I do?”

“It involves Carlotta,” he said, and told her what he’d learned from Réal. “She took her reticule to her room. She will have hidden the dies by now, but I hoped you might slip in and have a look around. The dies would be bas-relief imprints of the coin—you’d recognize them. A separate die for the front and back.”

“Very well,” Deirdre replied, but far from appreciating Belami’s forbearance for staying out of the woman’s room, she wore a face of accusation. “That will leave you free to amuse the contessa while I perform the search,” she said tartly.

Belami counted to ten and answered fairly civilly, “We can reverse roles, if you prefer. My fear was that Carlotta would come in and find me in her room.”

“I’m sure that possibility filled you with dread.”

As they were talking, the contessa pushed her conte’s bath chair into the saloon. The duchess was with them. “We have had a charming afternoon,” the duchess declared. Her eye darted to the fireplace to see that the wine was present and the fire glowing invitingly.

“I took the conte to the library and had him show me some of his tomes. An excellent collection. A pity it ain’t in English.” She turned to her niece and continued, “Deirdre, would you mind slipping up to my room and bringing down my reticule? I want to show the conte my new patent pen. They don’t have them in Venice yet.”

Belami directed a meaningful look at Deirdre. When he moved to Carlotta’s side and engaged her interest, she knew her search wouldn’t be interrupted. She tapped at Carlotta’s door before entering, to ensure no servants were present. There was no answer so she went quietly in and stared at the lavish bedchamber.

The walls were frescoed with nymphs and cavaliers, cavorting amidst a water garden. Dull gilt trim embellished the painted furnishings. The bed in particular caught her attention. It wore a pink satin counterpane and canopy. Laying in readiness for the contessa was a dashing black lace nightgown and peignoir. Deirdre lifted the gown and fingered it, noticing it was transparent. Was this what Carlotta wore when Dick went to visit her?

She shook away the troublesome thought and went to the dresser to wrench open a few drawers. A welter of gloves and handkerchiefs, ribbons and stockings, all liberally sprinkled with powder from the silver powder pot on the dresser, greeted her eyes. How could such a well-polished product as Carlotta issue from this awful mess?

She turned from the dresser back to the room. Now where would she hide her reticule in this chamber? Her eyes were drawn back to the bed. At the head of it were half-a-dozen lace-edged pillows. Deirdre slipped her hand under them and felt the soft kid reticule. She pulled it out, noticing that it bulged with something. Something hard and square and rather heavy.

Her heart beat faster as she unfastened the clasp and pulled out a morocco-bound copy of a book. It was small, about twice the size of a chapbook, but still large enough to fill a lady’s reticule. It contained excerpts of Boccaccio’s tales from
The Decameron,
all in Italian. With a tsk of annoyance, Deirdre returned the book to its bag, the bag under the pillow, and went to get her aunt’s reticule.

Dick didn’t look at her for a moment after her return to the saloon. Carlotta, however, was wearing that smug look Dick had mentioned.

“Here’s your reticule, Auntie,” Deirdre said.

The duchess drew out a cheap patent pen and handed it with great ceremony to the conte. “For you.” She beamed. “You will have the jump on your friends, Guy. These are all the crack in London, I promise you.”

The conte accepted the token with sufficient grace to satisfy the donor.

It was some minutes before Belami casually worked his way to Deirdre’s side. “No luck,” she said in a low tone.

“Couldn’t find the reticule, or was it empty?”

“It was full—of a book. Square, lumpy just as you said, but no dies.”

Belami glanced around the room, his gaze settling last on Carlotta, who lifted a well-arched brow and smiled. That knowing smile told him all he needed to know. She knew he’d be searching her room and had replaced the dies with the book to tease him.

Carlotta was expansive over dinner. She flirted outrageously with her tired old conte, who smiled his gratitude at her attentions. “I want to have a party, Guy,” Carlotta said.

“You’re having a masquerade party, my pet,” he reminded her. With a little waggle of his head he added, “What, are you becoming forgetful? That’s my job.”

“You’re not forgetful,” Carlotta said, and pulled his chin playfully. “I meant another party. We’ve been so dull all winter, Guy. Let us entertain the duchessa’s friends. The Suttons—is that the name, Duchessa?”

The duchess had no objection to any entertainment thrown in her honor, so long as it came without expense. “If you think it worth your while, go right ahead,” she said grandly. “They are not the sort of people I should bother to entertain, but they’re well enough in a foreign country. At least they are English,” she added, with no intention of giving offense.

Carlotta’s black eyes snapped and she answered testily, “I shall invite them anyway. You will enjoy to see your friends, Miss Gower.”

“That would be lovely,” Deirdre replied. She knew Dick wanted to keep in touch with Pronto, and this seemed a way to do it. “You knew Miss Sutton is engaged?” she asked.

“But of course! I must invite that funny Pilgrim, too.”

“I’ll be happy to deliver the invitation,” Dick offered.

“Excellent. Let us make it for tomorrow evening,” Carlotta said. “Ask them to come in the afternoon. I’ll show them around the palazzo. The frescoes are considered worth the trip. Don’t you agree, Miss Gower?” she asked, and slanted a smile at Deirdre. “Especially those in my bedchamber.”

“I haven’t seen those,” Deirdre answered coolly. “I particularly admire the ones in the library, however. Miss Sutton is artistic; she will like to see them.”

“What is Miss Sutton painting in Venice?” Carlotta asked.

“She did the Rialto, but I don’t believe she’s done any painting since then. She is just newly engaged, you know.”

Carlotta cast a bright smile, first at Deirdre, then at Belami. “I know, but as she’s English, I didn’t think romance would feature prominently in the engagement.”

Belami stared in fascination. Now the cat was beginning to show her claws. Carlotta must be very sure of herself.

Till now, she’d been more amiable. He was under no misapprehension as to her reason. She was sunk in debt and hoped to rescue herself through him, but this was no way to set about it. She had found another source of money then—the dies. She was inviting the Suttons here to make some mutually satisfactory arrangement for their return. They were worth nothing to her—she wouldn’t know how to use them, but the Jalberts could put them to use again later, when the storm died down.

The conversation continued in this baiting way till dinner was over. After dinner, Carlotta entertained them with some music. When the conte began snoring in his bath chair, the contessa’s duties were over. She wheeled him into the hall and called for his valet.

“I’m ready for bed myself,” the duchess announced. “Your music was a lovely soporific, Contessa. It has set me to nodding. You youngsters will excuse me? Don’t linger too long, Deirdre. Belami and the contessa will have things to talk about.” She foresaw no danger to Deirdre’s virtue when a very pretty harlot sat ready to entertain the rake, Belami.

“So happy you enjoyed my musical sleeping draught, your grace,” Carlotta said.

When the duchess had hobbled from the room, Carlotta turned a laughing eye to Belami. “Do we have things to talk about, Belami?” she asked. “Or are you too lulled to sleep?”

“The Italian
conversaziones
are famous, Contessa. You set the subject—Deirdre and I will be happy to oblige you.”

“The Italian
conversaziones
are a dead bore. Nothing but idle gossip and bad wine. If you will excuse me, I shall retire before I wake up.” Stifling a yawn, she turned away

Dick rose and bowed her from the room. At the doorway she turned around for one last taunt. “It won’t be necessary for you to have my room watched. I shan’t be leaving it tonight.
Buona notte.”

“I wish I knew what that woman is up to,” Deirdre scolded. “She knew perfectly well I was in her room. That jibe about the frescoes!”

“Of course she knew. She hid the plates and put that book in her reticule to taunt me. God knows where the dies are in a palazzo this size.”

“Do you think she’s inviting the Suttons here to try to sell the dies back to them?”

“I don’t see why else she’s doing it. She must be in a hurry if she can’t wait till the masquerade party.”

“I couldn’t believe at first that Elvira was mixed up in this business, but since she conned Pronto into this hasty wedding, I know she is.” Deirdre sighed.