“’Struth,” Brewster said in reverence. “Never saw so many statues outside a gent’s fancy garden.”
They filled the space, carved stone, bronze, marble. Warriors, maidens, busts of Roman emperors—I noted the distinctive features of Vespasian, Augustus, and Hadrian—Apollo clutching Daphne as she began to morph into a laurel tree, a muscular David pulling back his sling as he eyed an unseen Goliath, a regal marble lady reclining on an equally regal marble couch, an onyx chubby Cupid, asleep, and various other large statues to grace a Roman villa or an emperor’s palace.
“Good Lord,” Grenville said softly. “Canova, if I’m not mistaken.” He stepped reverently to the reclining marble woman, who was near to life-sized. “And Bernini.” He glanced at Apollo and Daphne. “What the devil are these doing here?”
“Copies?” I asked, though I didn’t truly believe this explanation.
“Could be,” Grenville conceded.
“No,” Brewster said at once. “The real thing has a feel, don’t it?” He touched Apollo’s marble shoulder. “Smooth as anything. Only time does that.”
I took the expert’s word for it.
“Could this be important?” Baldini bent over a trunk he’d opened, one filled with enough ledgers and papers to make both Denis and Trevisan happy.
I lifted a long ledger and opened it. Inside, in a barely legible scrawl, were notes and numbers, words crossed out and others added in margins. It would take a long while to go through it, but I had a feeling that we’d find gold among this dross.
“It could be,” I said cautiously. “It could also be the conte’s expense reports for his kitchen for the last fifty years. Grenville and I will lug these home and pore over them.”
“I’ll have a go, if you like,” Baldini offered.
He spoke politely, but there was a light in his eyes that was too cajoling, too eager. He might be trying to be helpful, but I was suddenly certain of nothing.
“No need,” I replied. “Grenville, Brewster, and I are old hands at going over art inventories. We will get through this lot in a trice.”
Grenville said nothing about my optimistic boast, his face a careful blank.
“Right.” Brewster shouldered his way forward. “I know who’ll be the one doing the hauling. Mind your feet, Signor Baldini.”
He all but shoved Baldini out of the way, his hobnailed soles in true danger of squashing Baldini’s trim boots. Brewster put his arms around the trunk and lifted it as though it weighed nothing.
“Just pop that on the top, guv.”
I relinquished the ledger and let Brewster carry the entire box out of the room. Baldini watched after him with some trepidation. “Are you certain …?”
“Brewster is quite loyal to me,” I assured him. “I would trust him with my life. Have, on several occasions.”
Baldini gazed longingly at the items in the room, especially those that were ancient rather than from the Baroque or more modern eras. The Roman emperors eyed him back, chipped marble attesting to centuries of wear.
“Best we shut this up,” I said. “Until we know to whom these belong.” I herded Baldini out of the room after Grenville and then shut the paneling. “How did you find this?”
“Entirely by accident.” Baldini bounced on his toes. “I had backed up to study this exquisite vase.” He indicated a red pot with black athletic figures charging around its circumference. “And bumped into the wall. I was astonished to feel it give way, and the paneling popped out.”
He demonstrated how a hidden knob on the wood separated it from the wall.
“Well, thank you for that,” I said. “This has been of immeasurable help.”
Baldini flushed. “I am happy to be of service.”
“Right.” I clapped my palms together. “Shall we continue, gentlemen?”
Grenville and I trudged out of the chamber, leaving the Greek vases to Baldini.
Another hour passed without any more revelations. I tediously wrote down what I found in my rooms—even if the ledgers did tell us what everything in this house was, it would be best to compare the two lists.
I had to wonder who we could trust to return the objects or discreetly inquire whether these princes wanted them back. I imagined the cardinals who ran the Papal States, if they learned about this lot, rubbing their hands and lugging everything back to the Vatican. Or the Austrian emperor sending someone like Metternich to retrieve not only the emperor’s belongings but the rest of the treasure as well.
If Denis learned of the cache we’d just unearthed, he might decide to keep it for himself. And Trevisan? Was he principled enough to help return the things or did he too have an ulterior motive?
