De Luca shrugged and settled his dark cape on his shoulders. “There you have it, sir. Captain Lacey had nothing to do with any assault on Conte Trevisan. Lacey is a friend of mine, and I will answer for him.”
The commander scowled, but the bow he gave de Luca was deferential. “As you say, your lordship.” He snapped a command at his troops, who backed away, their stances saying that while they’d let us pass without hindrance, they’d be watchful.
De Luca clapped his large hands together. “There, that’s cleared up. Gentlemen, perhaps you will accompany me home, and we can chat about my collection this evening.”
I did not know if Grenville had other outings planned but heading to de Luca’s abode instead of our own might be wise.
I nodded before Grenville could speak. “Very kind of you. Of course, we will come, if it is no inconvenience?”
“Not at all. My man is used to me bringing home all sorts on a whim. He keeps my larder well stocked. Good day to you, commander.” De Luca swung around, his cape fluttering. “This way, my friends. A bit of a walk, but safer than a coach or sedan chair. The bearers and drivers can be brutes.”
The commander said nothing at all. No apologies, no snarls. He had lost the power in this encounter, and he conceded it with dignity. Grenville tipped his hat to the commander, and I gave him a nod. Brewster ignored him completely.
“’Tis why I don’t like foreign parts,” Brewster muttered as we tramped off after de Luca, who moved swiftly for so large a man. “When there’s trouble, gents like that commander round up the first cove what’s not from around his city and shove him into a dirty cell.”
“Do not be too hard on the man,” I said. “He’s torn between answering to his superior officer and knowing that upsetting a prominent citizen will bring him grief. He loses either way. I have sympathy for him.”
“Have as much sympathy as you like.” Brewster tugged his hat tighter against the wind. “But don’t let him arrest you and drag you God knows where because you feel sorry for him.”
“No fear,” I said adamantly.
Grenville had caught up to de Luca, but Brewster kept his steps slow to match mine. The two men were never out of sight as we followed them to the Piazza de Popolo, which sported yet another obelisk in a plaza being renovated. From there we skirted the gardens surrounding the Villa Borghese and continued past the Villa Giulia, where Pope Julius III had taken his ease in great splendor from his exhausting days at the Vatican.
Houses grew fewer and farther between, until we walked up a street and through a gate into a lovely courtyard.
The garden in this courtyard must have been laid out when men in the seventeenth century had made Rome a place of resplendence. Three fountains lay among well-trimmed garden beds, the largest one in the center of the broad walkway that led from gate to house.
As it was February, the flower beds were empty but the box hedges were dark green, and the fountains played, the late afternoon’s weather too mild for freezing.
De Luca walked through this pleasant garden without pause, leading us to a columned portico. One of a pair of doors at the top of three shallow steps opened before he reached it, de Luca passing inside with a nod to the manservant who’d admitted us.
If this manservant was surprised to see his master return with guests, he made no show of it. The same height as de Luca, with dark hair and eyes, he made a brief bow to Grenville and me as we entered. Without a word, he reached for hats, gloves, and greatcoats, which we all surrendered.
De Luca’s house was narrow, tall, and echoing. Still in the city, it was hemmed in by houses on all sides, but within this space was a simple opulence. A travertine-stepped staircase rose to a gallery, both stair and gallery railing of ornate wrought iron. Tables of luxurious curves rested in niches along the walls, each holding vases of flowers or bronzes finer than any I’d ever beheld. Ancient or modern, I could not discern, but Grenville eyed them with appreciation.
Rooms opened from the main hall, and I glimpsed more quiet beauty. Though de Luca had claimed he only had a few interesting pieces, what I saw negated this declaration. Perhaps de Luca had decided to be self-effacing at the gathering to not appear conceited, just as a great painter might dismiss his own masterwork wasa mere daub.
De Luca did not acknowledge these other chambers, but started up the stairs, gesturing for us to follow. Brewster, with a nod at me, left to find the servants’ hall.
My leg was sore from our swift walk through the city, but I was too curious to slow and rest. We passed along the first gallery and up a second staircase, then up yet another staircase hidden behind a door in a side hall. From this we emerged onto what I supposed was the topmost floor.
Here, under a low ceiling lined with dormer windows, lay an astonishing hoard.
Grenville’s mouth fell open, and I was aware of my jaw slackening. De Luca grinned as we beheld the shelves, tables, and cabinets holding a mass of statuary, urns, bronzes, bejeweled boxes, marble pillars, silver and gold plates and pitchers, ancient lamps made of both metal and stone, finely wrought gold bracelets and earrings, and what looked like bits of papyrus from Egypt.
The things were not all from the ancient world. Plenty hailed from more recent times, including ornate clocks made only a few years ago, very like ones I’d seen at Carlton House. Paintings and tapestries covered every inch of the walls between the windows, and marble and alabaster statuary peered from every niche and corner.
De Luca gazed about in satisfaction. “I collect what I like. No arrangement to it.” He flicked his fingers at a gold monstrance—an ornate upright pillar with a round opening in the center, meant to display the host during the Eucharist. Next to it sat a clay tablet with square writing on it from the Persian empire. “I know I should have this all cataloged, but I enjoy discovering something new every time I enter the room.”
“Where did it all come from?” I asked in bewilderment. This was a lifetime’s collection.
De Luca shrugged his large shoulders. Without the cape, his suit was no different from Grenville’s, dark and plain, though well-cut. His was more rumpled—a man unconcerned with how he appeared.
“Here and there. I bargain with my friends for their bits, and we sometimes trade. My father left a good deal, as did my grandfather. Both hoarded like rats.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I scan through estates when wealthy men pass away, their heirs eager to sell precious objects to collect the money for them.” He shook his head, despairing of the young.
“This is astonishing,” Grenville said in wonder. Grenville’s own room of treasures was neat and precise, everything in its place, but I saw the envy in his eyes.
“As I say, bits and bobs,” de Luca said, offhand. “What is it that your acquaintance is looking for, Captain Lacey?”
