I rose. “I’m not the bumbling English soldier you take me for. I know where the things in de Luca’s house came from and that you are trying to put things right. Baldini is furious about that, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” The answer was breathy.
“He’s taken her, the nearest and dearest person to you, as your wife is in Venice, out of reach. I know what he will want for her safe return.”
Trevisan stared at me. “You do? This note means nothing to me.”
“We found inventories, of a sort, to de Luca’s collection. I believe he would very much like to get his hands on them before you do.”
Trevisan shot to his feet. “We cannot give them to him.”
I held up a hand. “I did not say we would give up everything, only that he will wish it. We will bring the contessa back safely without compromising your mission. I do not think Baldini is the sort who would hurt a woman.”
Trevisan shook his head. “I do not know anymore. He was so enraged at me.”
I turned from Trevisan and his anguish, pacing the hall, my walking stick tapping, though I scarcely felt my stiff knee as I thought rapidly.
Baldini had taken the contessa a few hours ago—that is, if we were right that it was Baldini behind the deed, though I knew in my bones that this was the case. He’d been disillusioned, and such men acted irrationally. He must have been quite frustrated when we’d rushed away to see Proietti and he hadn’t been able to discover where Brewster had hidden the box of papers.
He’d not have gotten far in a few hours. Baldini was happiest in the world of the past, as he’d showed when he’d ecstatically taken us through the long-buried worlds of Pompeii and Herculaneum.
I considered the idea that he’d take the contessa all the way to Herculaneum, to hide her in the long, dark tunnels he knew so well. But it was a more than a hundred miles there and even in a fast coach, it was a few days’ journey. He’d want to meet with us sooner than that.
I went through the words on the note again, and chose the site it had to be.
“Where is Gisela?” I asked sharply.
“She went home this evening,” Trevisan said, his voice tired. “Her mother has returned—she wanted to see her.”
“You are certain she is there?”
Trevisan’s trepidation returned, but he nodded, grasping his own arm as though trying to reassure himself. “I took her there myself, saw her enter the house.”
“Good.” Proietti would keep her safe. I imagined Baldini had decided to take the contessa, because Gisela had gone to her family where she’d be well protected.
“Grenville will return you home,” I said. “And stay with you. Brewster and I will find your mother.”
Grenville gave me a nod as though he approved of my choice. If Baldini contacted Trevisan at his house, Grenville had the skills to deal with him or any ransom demand.
“I too will accompany the conte,” Donata announced. Her fierce gaze down at me dared me to argue.
I did not. She could keep Trevisan calm and also help his mother when she was returned.
Brewster said nothing at all, which meant he approved of my plans. He’d not have hidden his opinions if he’d objected.
Donata withdrew to fetch warm wraps against the continuing rain, then she descended to the ground floor with Grenville. She squeezed my hand on her way past me, Trevisan’s carriage glistening outside the now-open door.
Trevisan did not look at me, only followed Grenville, who took on his calming tones as he guided Trevisan and Donata into the coach. Grenville raised a hand to me and leapt in after them, and then the carriage clattered away.
Brewster, who’d disappeared while I saw the others off, returned with lanterns which he set on one of the stone benches. Next, he stuffed rope, extra candles, flint boxes, a small axe, and various knives into two leather bags. He quietly handed me one bag, which I slung over my shoulder before I lifted a lantern.
I considered recruiting reinforcements—Bartholomew and Matthias specifically—but decided against it. Brewster and I knew about skulking in the dark, and we were both trained fighters. While the brothers were robust and had proved their might more than once, I did not want to risk Baldini stabbing or shooting them in the dark.
Brewster and I stepped into the night. This street was murky, though there were lights in the wider squares. As I led Brewster south, the lights faded, and soon we walked through needles of rain from the inky black sky. Our covered lanterns helped us not trip on the cobbles but did not provide much more illumination.
“Where we going, guv?” Brewster asked as we marched along.
“To the ruins.”
