We reached Rome late in the evening of the third day and rumbled past the Circus Maximus on our way to the lane near the Piazza Navona. The house welcomed us, and Grenville took to bed right away, his motion sickness laying him low.
I wrote to Lord Matthew Roberts, thanking him for informing me of de Luca’s death and asking if he had more details of the incident. I also wrote to Denis, explaining what had happened and inquiring if he wanted me to try to purchase the statue from de Luca’s heirs.
Restless, I decided to walk to de Luca’s house and see if anyone was in residence there. Brewster followed me, uncannily knowing the instant I shrugged on my coat to walk outside.
“Stands to reason someone murdered the bloke for his gear,” Brewster said as we headed north toward the Villa Borghese. “He had plenty stashed in that house, didn’t he? Wonder who gets it all.”
“Someone in his family, I imagine. I hope they are grateful.”
“Huh. If any is left. Thieves would have picked over the best bits, wouldn’t they?”
“I have a feeling there is more to this than a simple robbery,” I told Brewster.
“Always is, inn’t there?”
We said nothing more as we moved down the lane to the gate that led into de Luca’s mansion. I rang the bell, not expecting to be admitted but thought perhaps the footman who answered could at least tell me about de Luca’s death.
I rang again, and after a few minutes with no answer, decided my errand was futile. Perhaps the house was empty, waiting for the magistrates or bailiffs to admit the heirs.
As I turned away, a door banged behind the gate, and a man hurried out. I recognized Gian, de Luca’s manservant. He waved at me and came forward.
In the dim light from the house, Gian looked haggard. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face blotchy.
“Please.” He opened the gate. “Come in, Captain. Signor Brewster.”
I’d never seen a man more sad or dejected. Gian was a servant and yet his grief was true. He must have been very fond of Conte de Luca.
“Can you tell us what happened?” I asked as we went through the garden to the main house.
“Please.” Gian gestured us inside. The lower hall was dark, the only light coming from moonlight through high windows. Gian guided us to the chamber on the top floor we’d been admitted to before, where a lone candle flickered, creating shadows on the many objects in disarray.
Gian disappeared behind one set of shelves and returned, carefully bearing a statuette about a foot high. “This is what you were wanting?”
I accepted the heavy thing Gian gave me. It was a sculpted Cupid sitting cross-legged on the statue’s base, which was carved to represent a bed of grass. One hand pressed against his cheek, while the other idly held his bow, as though the god contemplated who to shoot next. Instead of a chubby cherub, he had a more adult face, the god Eros rather than the child Cupid. His face was superbly sculpted, the expression of longing quite real. I felt certain he was thinking of his lover, Psyche.
One wing had been broken, and the alabaster that the crack revealed was milky pale.
“Beautiful.” It was no wonder Denis wished to purchase it.
Gian shrugged. “Not from the ancient world, as the conte told you. But I give it to you.”
I wasn’t certain he meant “give” as in he wished no money for it. I also noted that Gian’s English was quite good—he’d spoken only Italian on our previous visit, and I’d assumed he’d not understood English.
“I was instructed to pay whatever Conte de Luca asked,” I told him.
Gian waved this away. “I do not want your friend to bring suit for selling him a fake. Please, take it.”
“Are you certain? What about the conte’s heirs? Will they object to items going missing before the estate is settled?”
Gian stared at me as though he didn’t understand my words, then he drew himself up and pressed his hand to his chest. “I am the heir. He left all his things to me. No other.”
Brewster, who’d been viewing the goods with his hands carefully behind his back, broke in. “His family might have something to say about that. Even with a bloke that has tuppence to leave, the family fights over it.”
“He has no family. Only me. I am his son.”
I blinked at Gian, and Brewster regarded him skeptically. “Not a legitimate one, eh?” Brewster asked with his typical bluntness.
Gian did not seem offended. “I will not become a conte and inherit his lands or this house, no. His cousin will have all that. But his things, his collection, are not part of his title. They all come to me. I have seen the will.”
