“But how are you going to find out who this visitor was? Ye barely knew the conte. Ye don’t know his acquaintances, his closest mates, or the ladies he might have thrown over. Could have been anyone.”
“I have thought of that, Brewster,” I said in irritation. “I suppose I will begin as always, by asking questions. De Luca did tell us that he’d promised all he had to Bonaparte. Maybe someone came to hold him to that promise.”
“Frenchies, you mean?”
“Possibly, but not necessarily. Plenty of local men gave loyalty to the new emperor in exchange for power, or lands, or money—some sort of reward. Perhaps that person wants to give the collection to his new masters, hoping for a reward from them, or to persuade them to overlook his switch in allegiance to Bonaparte.”
“Now you’re grasping at straws,” Brewster said. “The Corsican is gone, and everyone is trying to give back the things he stole, not take more.”
“You are likely right.” I let out a breath as we tramped up the narrow street that led to Grenville’s house. “I truly don’t know much about de Luca or his background. Grenville and I will simply have to quiz everyone we can about him.”
“Just so you don’t take too long over it.” Brewster wiped his nose with the back of his hand and hunkered against the cold wind that sprang from the river behind us. “Or your lady wife will come and ask me why I didn’t drag you home to her. I’ll be buggered if I’ll know how to answer her.”
At breakfast the next morning,Grenville was unhappy that I’d gone out investigating the death of de Luca without him, but his remonstration was cut short when Gautier announced a visitor.
“Mr. Denis to see you, sir.” Gautier intoned the name with much disdain as he held out a silver tray with a single card on it. “I have put him in the reception room downstairs.”
Chapter13
James Denis was indeed standing in the center of the downstairs reception room when Grenville and I entered, his gaze directed out the long windows to the narrow street. He wore a dark suit topped by a traveling cape, much like the one de Luca had sported, his hat and gloves in his hands. Gautier had not taken them, indicating the valet expected the meeting to be short.
“Good morning,” Grenville said with his usual politeness, though I heard the strain in his voice. “An unexpected visit.”
His civil greeting silenced my more perfunctory one.What the devil are you doing here?
“My travels had taken me to Florence,” Denis said, as though I ought to have known he’d embarked on a Continental journey. “I heard of the death of Conte de Luca, which brought me here.” He fixed me with a steely gaze. “Do you know what happened?”
“Not yet,” I said tersely. “We only heard of it a few days ago ourselves. We were traveling to Napoli when he was killed.”
“Yes, to explore the ruins of Pompeii.” Denis’s voice held disapproval. I should have bent all my efforts to preventing de Luca’s death, apparently.
Denis was about a dozen years younger than I was, his face smooth, his hair dark. His deep blue eyes held a soul far older than they ought.
I’d learned some of his history and understood that Denis had been forced to fight to survive from a very young age. He now controlled most of the underworld of London, and I was surprised he’d come to the Italian peninsula himself. He did not like to leave his demesne unattended.
“If you are worried about your statue, I have it.” I indicated the ceiling. “It is upstairs in my chamber, well hidden. Though I have been told it is a fake, so I doubt anyone will steal it.”
Denis met my gaze without a flicker. “Thank you for obtaining it for me. The price?”
“De Luca’s man, Gian—who is his son, actually—gave me the damned thing. Neither he nor de Luca could understand why anyone would want it.”
Denis did not seem to be interested in Gian’s or even de Luca’s opinions. “When you return to de Luca’s home, offer this Gian the equivalent inscudosof one hundred guineas. That should be enough to satisfy him. Have him give you a receipt.”
“When I return?” I asked in bafflement. “It is not likely anyone in that house will be receiving for a time.”
Denis regarded me with his usual coolness. He was nearly as tall as I was, but I could tell he did not like looking up the slight distance at me. Hence why he usually received me in his study in Curzon Street, he seated and icy.
Today I saw a brief flare of emotion in his eyes. Anger.
“You will invent a reason. I need to discover what happened to Conte de Luca and why. I am fortunate you are here and excellent at such matters.”
My perplexity continued. “You have much more effective means at obtaining answers. I have seen you and your men find out much, swiftly.”
“I do not wish to inform the world of my interest. But you have a reputation for inquisitiveness. Use it. It is important.”
“Is it?” Truth to tell, I was already greatly curious, as well as indignant, about de Luca’s death. I rarely saw Denis this adamant, however, though anyone else would never realize he was anything more than indifferent. “Why?”
Denis’s answer was quiet, ensuring no one outside the door would hear.
