The staircase was steep, and I ascended into darkness a few paces behind Grenville, Brewster’s tread heavy behind me. For once, Brewster did not immediately find the servants’ hall, he not trusting there would be no danger above.
The upper floor was as gloomy as below. The manservant’s candlelight fell on chairs here and there and the occasional table with curved legs, all positioned on red-and-white checkered tile. The servant halted at a double door in the middle of this passageway, pushed it open, and waved us in with enthusiasm.
I stepped into a surprisingly pleasant room, which was well furnished and bright. Proietti rose with a start from a table near a large porcelain stove, its warmth penetrating the chill of the evening. The table held a jug of wine, a glass, and a half-empty plate of food.
The rest of the chamber was cozy, inviting. A sofa strewn with cushions with a long shawl draped over one arm spoke of a place where a lady could comfortably curl up and read. Books filled another shelf, and carpets warmed the tile floor. Paintings graced the walls, nothing brilliant, but colorful pictures of soft landscapes that one could enjoy gazing at.
“I beg your pardon, Proietti,” I said quickly. “We did not mean to disturb you at your repast.”
Proietti came toward me, hand outstretched. “No, my dear Captain, it is of no matter. But you must stay, partake.” He waved at the man who’d admitted us and spoke rapidly in Italian.
“We should not presume.” Grenville said, ever polite.
The servant instantly rushed away to obey Proietti, and Brewster, without a word, departed behind him.
“Of course, you should presume, sir.” Proietti favored us with a bow. “You honor my house, though I am sorry to show it to you so sparse. My wife has left me on my own, you see. She has gone to her sister, most upset.”
His daughter’s flight had unsettled the entire household.
“My sympathies,” I said. “I find your home most pleasant.” I spoke the truth. I preferred this chamber to the overly cool houses of Grenville’s friends and that of Trevisan, and even to the chaotic splendor of Conte de Luca’s grand villa.
“You are kind. Please.” Proietti gestured to comfortable chairs drawn up to the table. He seized glasses from a sideboard and sloshed blood-red wine from the jug into them.
Grenville and I exchanged a glance, and decided, without words, to join him. We seated ourselves at the table, which reposed near a green-shuttered window. This was where I’d seen the light from below.
Proietti returned to his chair, and we drank. The wine was glorious, a perfect vintage that tasted of air, earth, and a bite of spice. Grenville always stocked the best wines, and the one de Luca had served us had been fine, but this one, which Proietti kept casually in a jug, outdid them all.
Grenville, the connoisseur, raised his brows and studied the wine in approval. “Excellent, Signor. I thank you for sharing it with us.”
Proietti sent him a quick look, then was mollified to find genuine admiration in Grenville’s demeanor.
“Pardon my manners,” I broke in. “This is my friend and traveling companion Lucius Grenville. I am here on the Continent as his guest. Grenville, Colonel Alessandro Proietti.”
“Delighted to meet you.” Grenville shook his hand across the table, knowing how to bend etiquette to the moment.
Proietti, likewise, had a comfortable informality about him. Gentlemen on the Continent, I'd found on my travels, could be even more sticklers about protocol than Englishmen. Conte Trevisan, for example, would likely insist on references from a host of those he trusted before he’d let me through his doorway—had I not charged through it on my own. Even Conte de Luca had issued his casual invitation because he knew Grenville’s reputation and was well acquainted with Grenville’s friends in Rome.
I lifted my glass once more to savor the wine and reminded myself why we were here.
Grenville broached the subject before I could. “You will think me terribly rude, good sir, but the captain nearly came to grief from your adventure this morning. The constables—or whatever you call them in Rome—wanted to arrest Captain Lacey for having a go at your Conte Trevisan. Naturally, as he is my guest, I am concerned.”
Chapter6
Proietti sprang to his feet and stared at Grenville, mouth agape. As we rose with him, he began a stream of anguished words in Italian, then switched to English. “I am devastated. Please forgive me, Captain, for ensnaring you in my troubles and bringing you grief. Why did they believe you had anything to do with it?”
Grenville answered before I could. “Conte Trevisan must have decided Lacey was a good scapegoat. Another friend of ours convinced the police that they had no grounds to detain him.”
I noted that Grenville did not state Conte de Luca’s name, perhaps not wishing to bring the man into it.
“Thank God for that.” Proietti let out a breath of relief. “I again apologize to you profoundly, sir.” His remorse was so profound that I regretted disturbing him.
I shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I’m certain he sent the police to me because I am a foreigner here. Easy to have an Englishman arrested and perhaps shipped back to London, as a warning to you, and others.”
“Or perhaps because he thought Lacey might be a threat to him,” Grenville suggested. “You, sir, Trevisan feels he can deal with, but Lacey and Brewster are another thing entirely.”
“He could not know who you were, could he?” Proietti asked me in bewilderment. “Likely he believed you were one of my colleagues left over from the wars, and decided as you say, to punish you for my brashness.”
“He must have discoveredsomeinformation about Lacey,” Grenville said. “As he had the police follow us to one of my friend’s homes and lie in wait for us outside.”
