“Hardly.” Grenville gaze at him with the imperiousness only he could conjure. “We are friends of the deceased gentleman, as you will recall. Why are you looting his house?”
“It is he who has looted others. I have orders to take everything away and discover where it all belongs.” By his expression, the captain was not happy with his assigned task, but he would stoically try to do his job.
I would have hotly disputed his claim had not Denis’s visit put de Luca’s collection in a different light. Perhaps de Luca had conducted the same sort of business Denis did—to obtain things for people by fair means or foul.
I gestured at the pile with my walking stick. “These things now belong to Gian if he is correct about de Luca’s will. Plus, I am certain the next conte will have something to say about you tramping through his house.”
The captain gave me a curt nod. “I am aware of this, but the magistrate ordered me to empty the place of everything.”
Brewster, who had had turned away as soon as the captain approached, now quietly slipped into the house. Gian ceased his shouting and ducked in after him.
“I have no choice,” the captain continued in a hard voice.
I could see that the captain would dearly love to abandon his task and march his men out. Bystanders were still pelting mud, a few darting in and trying to overbalance two officers who were carrying out a gilded settee.
None tried to actually attack the policemen or attempt to take what they were absconding with, which meant the rabble were not risking getting themselves arrested. They’d be a nuisance until the captain chased them off. That he hadn’t also told me he disliked his assignment.
“Ah.” Grenville had turned at the sound of carriage wheels and now he nodded at the coach that slowed at the end of the lane. “See who has turned up.”
Two lackeys leapt from the coach and approached its door. One opened it while the other lowered steps and bent his back in a protracted bow.
The man who stepped out was tall and haughty, his coat a deep shade of blue. He removed his hat, revealing the graying hair of Conte Trevisan.
“It seems he travels as much as we do,” Grenville murmured to me, then gave the man a nod when he strode to the gate. “Conte. We meet again.”
Trevisan had no interest in us. He swept his freezing glare over the courtyard and the chaos there. I noted that no mud came his way.
He snapped his fingers. Another lackey appeared from the coach, this one dressed in a tailored suit, and joined Trevisan at the open gate.
The captain jerked around, peered at Trevisan and his man, and then took on a look of weary resignation, as though reflecting that this day could not possibly become worse.
As soon as the captain approached, the conte directed a stream of words at him that were full of fury. The captain listened with a scowl, attempting in vain to interject whenever Trevisan drew a breath.
Trevisan snapped his fingers again. The suited lackey produced a leather portmanteau, from which he withdrew a sheaf of papers. He thrust them at the captain, who cast his gaze over the top sheet.
With a growl, the captain turned and barked orders at his men. They looked around in surprise, and when the orders were repeated, they shrugged, set down whatever they were carrying, and began to file out of the courtyard. The men marched past the handcarts they’d already filled, abandoning them to disappear down the lane.
A small boy made to throw mud at one of the last soldiers, who turned and pointed at the lad. The boy dropped the mud and shrank back behind the rest of the crowd.
The abandoned furniture and carts sat forlornly in the courtyard, a few boxes overflowing with goods left on the seat of a finely upholstered chair.
Trevisan barked more orders, and his footmen, burly young men all, surged forward to move the goods back inside.
I signaled to Grenville then lifted a small box, hugging it in one arm, and lugged it to the house. Grenville picked up a graceful table and carried it, legs out, behind me.
Gian raked hands through sweaty hair but also ran out to hoist up an urn and a footstool. Brewster, in silence, passed us and returned with another small table held upright by his unhurt hand.
Between us and Trevisan’s footmen the courtyard was cleared in a few minutes. The bystanders, with nothing more entertaining to watch, faded away.
Conte Trevisan stalked through the downstairs hall as though assessing a palace he prepared to conquer. Grenville, at his most politic, met him at the bottom of the staircase.
“Conte.” Grenville gave him a smooth bow. “I trust your journey from Napoli was comfortable?”
“It was not.” Trevisan’s words were clipped. “Why are you here?”
“We were acquaintances of Conte de Luca. We heard the tragic news and came to see if we could assist. Just in time, I gather. When we arrived, the police were busily emptying the place.”
“They had no business. Everything must stay exactly where it is.”
