The rain ceased as we entered the Piazza Navona, and I shook out and folded up the umbrella. Others were strolling the long square, mostly tourists from other lands, with a few Romans hurrying about their business.
Clouds broke, and sunshine eked through. I’d already learned that the weather in Rome was changeable, with the winds blowing up the river from the coast to meet colder air rolling down from the mountains.
A man whose hair was a riot of dark curls stood in the middle of the piazza, playing a violin. The sweetness of the melody called to us, and we wandered that way.
The man continued to play, his eyes closed, his entire being absorbed in the music. I recognized a piece from Hayden, something from a symphony, I supposed, but pared down to its basic theme. The tune was heart-wrenching, but not in a sad way. I saw more than one handkerchief emerge from his listeners as the tune continued.
The last note of the melody sang as he drew the bow out in one long glide, the sound fading into the still air.
His listeners burst into applause, as did I, and money clinked into the hat he’d laid upside down before him. I tossed in a few coins myself.
The man grinned at Donata and sent her a cheeky wink, before he went into a rousing, lively piece. His arm moved rapidly, elbow wrenching up and down as his fingers danced over the strings.
Donata listened in delight. She was a patron of musicians in London, bringing forth new talents in her musicales all Season. Members of thehaut tonfinagled for invitations to these musicales, mostly in vain. Donata was very particular that only those who could do the musician some good attended.
The piece continued, the man twirling in place as he played the whirlwind notes. He lifted on tiptoes as the pitch rose, until he slammed home the final chord and made a bow at the same time.
More applause, cheers, and coins raining into his hat.
Donata and I waited in delight, ready for more. The man abruptly spun to us, reaching forward to brush a gentle finger over Donata’s chin.
Before I could make my objections, he’d flitted away, laughing at me. Donata’s flush and starry eyes told me she was not offended.
The man lifted his bow again. “For the lady,” he said in heavily accented English. Then he began to play another sweet melody that tore at our emotions.
The music stormed at us then withdrew, then stormed again, then wound down to a lovely series of notes. The man finished with the highest note fading, his eyes closed, his face twisted with emotion.
He lowered his bow as we applauded, and wiped his eyes.
Donata had a card out of her reticule and shoved it at me. “Give him this. Sir, you must look me up in London. I will introduce you to people.”
I handed the man the card. He took it with a bow of thanks and tucked it into his pocket, but whether he understood Donata’s invitation, I could not tell.
As he lifted the violin again, a sudden tramping of feet sounded at the south end of the piazza, beyond Boromini’s Sant’Agnese church. The tourists peered curiously, but any Italian who’d been lingering to listen to the violinist suddenly faded away.
The violinist likewise vanished. One moment, he was beginning a new piece, the next, he’d swept up his hat, coins, and violin case, and had disappeared into the lane I’d run down the day I’d spotted Mr. Broadhurst.
A group of patrollers marched in, gazing about as though hoping to catch anyone doing anything at all. The foreigners eyed them warily, then continued their walks.
Donata and I strolled on as well. “I’d like to show you something,” I told her.
She peered over her shoulder at the patrollers. “I believe they wish to speak to you, Gabriel.”
I turned to find the now-familiar captain of the squad, who looked as harassed as ever, accosting me. “Captain Lacey.”
“Sir.” I gave him a bow.
He glanced at Donata and forced himself into a respectful stance. “I have arrested de Luca’s servants. One of them must have killed him.” The captain was tight-lipped, as though irritated he’d had to follow these orders. “The one called Gian implored me to tell you. I was heading for your home but saw you here.”
“Damnation,” I exclaimed. “Quite right Gian should protest. I don’t believe he or the cook did anything of the sort.”
The captain lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I was told to arrest the murderer, and there are no better suspects. If you can prove otherwise …” He spread his hands, leaving it up to me.
“I will.” I bent him a glare. “Where did you take them?”
“To jail. You may not visit them. If you bring me another murderer, I will let them go.”
“Bloody hell.” I felt sudden irritation at de Luca for getting himself killed and causing others so many troubles. “I will find the correct culprit, Captain. You have my word.”
