“No, indeed,” Grenville chuckled. “I liked him a bit better than the other lads foisted upon me, and we still correspond regularly. James lives in France now, with a wife and son of his own. He took to written languages very well and is a translator for diplomats in Paris.” Grenville’s pride in his half-brother rang in his voice.
“Our assailant spoke English,” I said. “I confess I could not make out what he was saying.”
“It didn’t help that he was quite agitated,” Grenville answered. “Something to the effect ofYou will not stop me.”
“Stop him from what?” I rolled my wineglass between my hands. My ribs ached from my assailant’s punches, and he’d known exactly where to hit me at the base of my spine. “I wonder if he was soldier. Or a pugilist.” I glanced at Brewster.
“He didn’t fight like a boxer,” Brewster answered. “But, aye, he knew where to strike, and how. He twisted away from me easily enough.”
“I suppose we will have to put our hands on him and shake some answers out of him.” I grimaced. “I must sound heartless wanting to bully a deaf man.”
Grenville barked a laugh. “James and I scrapped plenty. A fellow not being able to hear does not mean he is feeble of body or of wits. This chap could have killed you, had not Brewster and I intervened. Or at least he’d have left you greatly injured.”
“Agreed.” I hardened my resolve. “I suspect he is the same who threw the knife at me in Napoli. I wish I knew what I’d done to earn his anger.”
“Mistaking you for another bloke?” Brewster suggested. “You do have a cousin what looks much like you.”
Indeed, that resemblance had given me a great amount of trouble in the past. “Marcus is tucked into the Lacey estate making it run better than it ever has. Why should an Englishman follow us about, trying to kill me, believing I’m him?”
“You could write Marcus and ask him,” Grenville said. “You’ve only known him a little over a year, and he’s proved to be quite skilled at intrigue himself.”
True, my cousin had begun our acquaintanceship by trying to assassinate me and did end up nearly killing Brewster. He could have tangled with other men in his past, angering them enough for them to seek revenge. I’d been mistaken for him and he for me before.
“I do not believe this is the case,” I concluded. “It is well known that Mr. Lucius Grenville took a villa near Rome for part of the Season and is exploring ancient cities with his friend Captain Lacey. These facts were blasted in all the newspapers before we left home. Anyone would know that the man with Mr. Grenville is me.”
“Then we are back to thoseyouhave offended.” Grenville sent me a wry look. “A long list. But for now, I am weary.” He set his wine cup on a table. “Tomorrow, we are for Pompeii. We will simply have to guard ourselves against our unknown attacker.”
“The captain’s attacker, you mean,” Brewster said. “Didn’t seem interested in knockingyoudown.”
“True.” Grenville rose, and I did with him, ready to retreat to my own chamber. “Guard him well, Mr. Brewster. I would say we should call off our exploration and return to the villa, but I know how quickly Lacey will refuse. Besides, we have come a long way, and I’m damned if I’ll let a ruffian turn us away now.”
“Not a ruffian,” I said. “His coat was of a decent cloth, from what I felt when grappling with him. Though his knife was rather ordinary.” I’d left it in Napoli, else I’d have used it to defend myself tonight.
“Sold in any shop in the Italian states,” Grenville said. “I’ve seen many like it. You are correct that his clothes weren’t a laboring man’s, but nor were they tailor-made in Bond Street. Secondhand, I’d say. Didn’t fit him precisely.”
Even in the dark, in a fight, Grenville had an eye for a man’s garb. He was a noted expert on couture.
“So, our decently dressed Englishman comes to Italy after me, realizes he needs a knife, and purchases one before he attacks?” I frowned as I finished. “It makes no sense.”
“No, indeed. But it might in the morning.”
Gautier entered at the precise moment, like an actor awaiting a cue. Without a word, he went straight to Grenville and took his frock coat as Grenville shrugged out of it.
We said our goodnights, and Brewster followed me out.
“If you are going to advise me to remain here or return to Rome, save your breath,” I told him.
Brewster gave me the even stare he did so well. “Wouldn’t dream of it, guv.”
In the morning,we packed what we needed for the day and set off for Pompeii.
Brewster hadn’t slept much, preferring to stay wakeful in case our assailant returned. He’d seen nothing, and as far as he knew, the man had not approached the inn.
He looked surprisingly refreshed for his vigil and kept a sharp eye out as we walked. I confess I glanced behind and about me often, waiting for another knife to sail at me across the fields.
A mile or so from the inn, we came to the ancient city of Pompeii.
Vesuvius loomed above us, a serene and beautiful mountain that had caused so much destruction. We climbed a short hill and passed under the arch of a large gate into the ruins.
