Larcenous Lady (9 page)

The contessa awaited them in her saloon, a chamber of faded grandeur in which the duchess felt very much at home amongst the other antiquities. There were threadbare Oriental carpets, draperies sagging with age and dilapidation, ornate gilt-trimmed sofas covered in shredding satin—all of it topped by a fine chandelier with its lights turned as low as seeing would permit.

But it was the hostess that was of more interest to Deirdre, and her youthful eyes could see well enough that the contessa was as beautiful as she remembered. This evening she wore a dramatic black gown that revealed a pair of alabaster shoulders and hinted at other attractions as well.

“Duchess, Miss Gower, so kind of you to come,” the contessa said, striding forward to shake hands. “My husband will be here in a moment. Belami has gone to fetch him.”

The ladies made polite greetings and were shown to one of the sagging sofas. Within a minute, Belami appeared at the door pushing a hooded bath chair. In it sat the conte, a shriveled little gentleman of some seventy-odd years, wearing a deep blue velvet jacket of ancient cut. At his throat a fall of white lace gleamed.

He greeted them in a quavering voice.
“Ah, Duchessa! Lei è molto gentile— “

“Inglese, caro, “
the contessa reminded him.

Even while he welcomed the duchess, his black eyes turned to ogle Deirdre.
“Che bella!”

“Mind your manners. Guy,” his wife scolded, and nodded for Belami to push him up to the fireplace. The duchess hastened to occupy the chair closest to him and Deirdre stood, struck dumb that the beautiful young contessa should have shackled herself to this wreck of humanity. The conte was obviously a skirt chaser, but why on earth had Carlotta married him?

Deirdre became aware that both the contessa and Belami were staring at her, both in much the same way. They looked curious, alert, expectant, and it made her very nervous.

“What a charming palazzo, Contessa,” she said.

“
Grazie.
May I offer you a drink, or would you rather have Belami show you the gardens while it’s still daylight?” Before Deirdre could answer, the contessa continued. “Do show Miss Gower the garden, Belami, and I’ll tend to Guy. He’ll become snappish if I don’t get him his posset.”

“Deirdre?” Belami offered his arm, and in some confusion Deirdre accepted it and was led out the door.

“You are looking very beautiful this evening, Deirdre,” he said as they went along to the door.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “The contessa is lovely.”

“She’s a diamond of the first water,” he replied unwisely.

“It’s odd that she should have married such an old man.”

They had reached the door. Belami opened it wide and smiled at her, one of his peculiarly intimate smiles that always disarmed her. She felt as if she were the only woman in the world when Dick looked at her like that. She felt suffocated, and always fell speechless.

“Therein lies a tale,” he said, and led her outdoors.

The place was less a garden than a tangle of weeds from which an occasional flower peeped out. At the four corners of the plot, classical statues reared up on pedestals, staring disdainfully at the mess below. The vestige of a curved path led into the small jungle. “Is it safe to take you down the garden path?” Belami asked, glancing at her skirts. Their eyes met briefly. “An ill-chosen phrase.” He smiled.

“I’ve survived your garden paths till now,” she answered tartly, and followed as Dick pushed aside the weeds and bushes.

When they were in the center, he stopped and turned to face her. The smile was transformed to a severe, questioning face. “Why did you do it?” he demanded.

“It was my aunt’s idea to come!”

“I mean why did you bolt on me in Paris? I waited for ages that night—and then to learn you had left without even sending me a message.”

“But I did leave you a note!”

“The hell you did!” he exclaimed angrily.

“Dick, I did! At least Elvira did,” she added, and explained the nature of their departure.

“There was no note,” he said simply.

“It must have gone astray. Elvira doesn’t speak French—perhaps the clerk misunderstood.”

Dick frowned uncertainly. “It was only your telling me you were coming to Venice that kept me from hating you,” he said. “If you hadn’t come here, I don’t know what I would have done. Elvira told Pronto your destination was Rome.”

“But it was Elvira who insisted on coming to Venice.”

“There’s something strange about that woman,” Belami said.

Deirdre tossed her shoulders. “You’re just annoyed that she doesn’t care for you. The contessa is not so immune to your charms, I think?”

“Carlotta’s a man-izer. It stands to reason, being married to old Guy.”

“Why did she marry him?”

“It’s called making a good match. Guy’s a conte, he owns this heap,” he said, looking around the derelict garden and to the house beyond. “Carlotta was an actress, and his mistress. When the old contessa died, they made it legal. Guy won’t last long, and once he’s gone, the contessa will be in a position to make a really stunning match.”

“Did she tell you all that?” Deirdre asked.

“The best stories are contained between the lines.”

“That’s true,” Deirdre replied enigmatically, and looked away to where the sun was setting in an amethyst sky streaked with amber. Between the lines of Dick’s story, she read that he was carrying on with the man-izing contessa.

Belami gazed at her profile, her pale face limned against the dark foliage, and felt a wrenching inside. He reached out and turned her to face him. His hands remained on her arms as he gazed at her, and when he spoke, his voice was husky. “Don’t even think it,” he said softly. “You know you’re the only woman I ever loved, Deirdre.”

He pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. It seemed an omen of good luck that in this country where songbirds were rare, a nightingale chose that moment to utter its plaintive warble. He crushed her against his chest and the kiss deepened. Deirdre raised her arms to his neck and clung as though her life depended on it. This wasn’t the time to be difficult, when she hoped to lure him away from the palazzo.

After a lengthy embrace, she pulled away and looked shyly at him. “If you know what I’m thinking, Dick—”

“I do, but the contessa is just a friend. The Ginnasis are in desperate financial trouble. I’m staying here as a paying guest. There’s nothing between Carlotta and me. Don’t ask me to leave. The contessa is helping me.”

“You’re not on a case,” she objected.

“I am, rather. I’ve been haphazardly following an English counterfeiter—Jalbert’s the name. I got one of his false coins at Dover. A couple turned up in Paris, and as I made the journey here, I came across a few more people who’d been duped. It’s difficult for me in a foreign country, but Carlotta has connections. One of the coins turned up at Mestre. It’s obvious the Jalbert gang were on their way to Venice. Carlotta knows bankers and merchants and some of the other sorts as well.”

Deirdre frowned, not understanding. “People from the demimonde,” he said bluntly. “She’s acquainted with criminals from before her marriage—someone like that would be the first to know if a new colleague is in town, and where to find him.”

“Why do you have to be the one to catch the gang?”

“I have an inkling what one of them looks like,” he said, and told her about Captain Styger. “Counterfeiters prey on the innocent. The man’s English. If it isn’t for an Englishman to catch him, who should do it? Besides,” he added more realistically, “it’ll be great fan.”

But it wouldn’t be much fun for her to know Dick was off on an investigation with the beautiful Carlotta. She pouted attractively.

“You can help me, too,” he added. “You’ll be in all the shops. Keep an eye open at the hotel as well. Perhaps Jalbert will turn up there.”

Before there was time for more persuasions on either side, a servant came and called them to dinner. The dining room was better lit than the saloon, and in better repair. An impressive array of fine china and silver gleamed on the white linen cloth. The conte had his bath chair wheeled up to the table. Seating arrangements were bound to be irregular with three ladies and only two gentlemen. They were farther thrown out of kilter when Carlotta sat beside her husband to feed him. She cut up his food as though he were a baby and fed him, beguiling him with baby talk all the while. In spite of this trying job, she also managed to entertain her guests.

The duchess in particular pelted the hostess with questions. “How many rooms do you have here, Contessa?” she asked.

“Forty or fifty. You must see the Tintoretto organ shutters in the music room. They are one of our show pieces. Dear Tintoretto—Michelangelo’s drawing and Titian’s colors was his motto. Unfortunately the colors have faded till they more closely resemble a London fog.”

“I mean how many bedchambers,” her grace persisted.

“Twenty-five, more or less,” the contessa said vaguely.

“Such a shame, all that space going to waste. At Fernvale, I keep the place full of company.”

Dick’s lips moved unsteadily as he smiled across the table at Deirdre. He well remembered the company of bats and mice, and beetles, during his brief visit.

“I hope you and the dear conte will feel quite free to put up with me if you ever come to England,” the duchess said grandly. It seemed safe enough. The conte was scarcely able to get down to his own saloon. The contessa smiled, but she didn’t make any offer.

Undeterred, the duchess forged on to clarify her meaning. “Such a pleasure to be in a home, after weeks of hotels. You are fortunate to have such good friends in Italy, Belami.”

“I am very much aware of it,” Belami said.

The contessa was mashing milk and butter into the conte’s vegetables and ignored these broad hints. “Here you go, my little Guy,” she said merrily, and lifted the fork.

The duchess noticed a smear of green on the conte’s lace fichu. Lord, what an infliction the man was. She very firmly lifted her own forkful of meat and chewed it up on the few remaining steady teeth in her head. Perhaps the conte might be more amenable to her hints.

She bared her teeth in a smile and said, “How very much at home you make me feel, Conte. I was used to feeding my husband just as your dear lady is doing. How I miss feeding him, and wheeling his chair about the garden on fine days, reading to him by the fireside when the weather was inclement. You must let me come one day and take over your chores, Contessa.”

The contessa lifted her head. Aha! She’d hit the magic chord here. The minx hated every moment of her loving act. “That is kind of you,” Carlotta said. After dinner she requested Belami’s help in getting the conte back to the saloon.

She pushed the bath chair aside and whispered, “Do you want me to invite them here?”

“I have nothing against it,” Dick said.

“She won’t expect to pay, but I must say I would appreciate some help with Guy.”

“She won’t lift a finger once she’s here.”

“To hell with her then.”

Dick frowned. Charney would be in a rare pelter if she were crossed. On the other hand, free board would put her in alt—and Deirdre would be here. “I’ll pay,” he said. The contessa gave him an encouraging smile.

She held the door, Dick shoved the bath chair through it, and the contessa went to sit beside the duchess. “I have just had a marvelous idea,” she said, smiling. “Don’t refuse me. You and Miss Gower must stay here with us. We’d adore to have you.”

“Eh?” the conte demanded, and was completely ignored.

As the gondolier rowed the guests home afterward, the duchess was in high glee. She forgot temporarily that Belami, who came with them, was a villain. “A charming couple,” she told him. “Deirdre will do well to involve herself with the contessa’s set. And mind you don’t be exposing your chest like that trollop,” she added aside to her niece.

In the darkness, Dick took Deirdre’s fingers and squeezed them. “I’ll bring the Ginnasis’ boat for you tomorrow morning, your grace. What hour will be convenient?”

Breakfast was obviously too early to go, but lunch could be had free of cost. “Say, eleven,” the duchess decided.

Belami accompanied them from the landing to their hotel and left them at the bottom of the stairs. The duchess was so happy that she allowed Deirdre to remain behind a moment.

“How did you arrange it?” Deirdre asked. “Are you paying for us, Dick?”

“It was Charney’s offer to help with the chore of husband-sitting that turned the trick. I hope this convinces you there’s nothing between Carlotta and me.”

Deirdre smiled mischievously. The world was suddenly bright again. “If there is, I’ll soon discover it,” she warned, and scampered upstairs.

Pronto was sitting in the lobby and called when Belami passed. “Figured you’d bring the ladies home,” he said. “I’ll grab a ride back to the palazzo with you. I’ll be leaving it
demanini,
Dick. I’m moving here, to the Léon Bianco.”

Belami could usually figure out Pronto’s few insertions of foreign speech. They were some strange admixture of French and Italian. “Why?” Dick asked.

Pronto rubbed a hand over his luxuriant brown curls and sighed. “Elvira. Bit of a nuisance having to leap into a leaky boat every time I want to see my
amoro.
Rates here ain’t any steeper than Carlotta’s. I’m taking Elvira to see the Doge’s Palace
demanini.
By the by, she was wondering if you’d come in the morning and take a look at that pearl her mama’s buying.”

“I’ll be here to pick up the ladies,” Belami said. “They’re removing to the palazzo. I’d be happy to have a look at the pearl, but why do they want me to see it?”

“The duchess gave Mrs. Sutton the notion the pearl was a fake. Told her she couldn’t do better than to have my old
compagno
take a look at it.”

“Cerboni wouldn’t sell a fake. He’s a reputable jeweler, but I’d like to see the piece. Well, shall we go?”

They returned to the gondola. As the oars splashed through the water, Pronto leaned back and gazed up at the stars. “Just like a dream,” he said softly.

“It’s beautiful here,” Belami agreed.