She gave us each a stiff nod, then she turned and stalked from the room. The door opened as a footman on the other side hastened to let her out. Her skirts swished, her heels clicked, and she was gone.
Donata let out her breath. “Well.” She rose and reached for my hand, but said nothing more.
“She and her son would suffer if I told the police captain what truly happened,” I said. “Even if I am right that she would never be convicted. I could not bring more tragedy into their lives.”
Donata brought my hot, cracked hand to her cool lips and kissed it. “No, of course you could not.” Her voice was soft, tender, and I recalled what the contessa had told me about the loss she’d seen in her eyes.
When she’d thought Peter had been taken from her a few months ago, Donata had been in deep anguish, followed by towering rage. I wondered if that was all that the contessa had sensed.
Now was not the time to pursue it. I tugged Donata closer until she sat on my lap, her head on my shoulder. I touched her cheek, soft as silk.
“Thank you,” I said, and then we spoke no more about it.
I had beencorrect when I’d mused that Rome was a place of fevers, because one took me. I was laid up for days in Grenville’s house while Bartholomew, Matthias, and Gautier ministered to me. I made Donata stay away from me, not wanting to risk contagion. She chafed but satisfied herself with giving me strict orders through Gautier, who delivered her instructions to rest, keep warm, and swallow Gautier’s concoctions with cool authority.
I was wretched for a while, my head pounding, my throat aching, congestion stuffing my head. Gautier’s potions, which I manfully drank while he stood over me, saved my life, I was certain of it.
Once I was able to rise from my bed and move about in a somewhat normal fashion, Mr. Cockburn came to visit.
Chapter26
Mr. Cockburn was dressed in a well-tailored suit, more resembling a gentleman of the City than the tough who’d once attacked me in the dark and fought like a madman against the men who’d imprisoned me. As I watched him accept a cup of coffee from Gautier, I’d swear he was nothing more than a genteel man of business.
Donata joined us for this meeting, serenely sipping coffee while she observed Mr. Cockburn. Grenville was the most relaxed of us, leaning back in his chair, cup balanced in his hand.
“You look in fine spirits, if I may say, Mr. Cockburn,” Grenville remarked.
“I am returning to London,” Cockburn said. “I mean to prove my brother was an innocent man, give him a proper burial under his own name, and put things right.” A flush touched his cheek. “Mr. Denis has been of great help.”
Denis had written me, while I lay in my sickbed, that he’d managed to find witnesses to Leonard Cockburn’s death, witnesses who were willing to swear they’d seen Broadhurst stab the man, then disfigure him. Denis had taken the precaution of having his men detain Broadhurst and they would trundle him back to London. I had already written to Sir Montague Harris about the situation, and I had faith that Sir Montague would see that justice was done.
“Mr. Denis can be very helpful,” I said, fixing Cockburn with a stern gaze. “Be careful of his, assistance, though.”
Cockburn nodded, innocence in his eyes. “I am grateful. He has also offered me employment.”
“Doing what?” I asked in alarm.
Cockburn shrugged. “Travel, discover things, help people who have been captured.” His glance at me was wry. “Not in return for his help with Broadhurst,” he continued quickly. “I mean a proper job.”
With Denis, nothing was as it seemed, but Cockburn would have to find that out for himself.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “I have not had the opportunity until now to thank you for my timely rescue, Mr. Cockburn. How did you happen to be on hand?”
“I saw you,” Cockburn said simply. “I do not sleep well of nights, and so I walk. I board near the Colosseum, as I told you. You passed me, you and your man, both looking grim, and I followed you. I lost you in the dark once you were inside the Colosseum, but I came upon Mr. Brewster fighting for his life. I joined in.” He shrugged as though he’d merely picked up something Brewster had dropped.
“I must thank you.” Sincerity rang in my voice. “I don’t think I could have held on before Brewster reached me.”
Another shrug. “You did me a good turn after I tried to do you a very bad one.”
“Still.” I finished, and we let the subject rest before we grew embarrassed at too much praise or gratitude.
“Bartholomew told me this morning that Gian and the cook have been released from jail,” I said to Grenville as the awkward pause continued.
“Indeed,” Grenville sat up straight, interest taking him. “I went to the house and spoke to Gian, to congratulate him and make certain all was well. The police captain has decided it was a passing thief. Gian has admitted he does not remember clearly whether he locked the door and perhaps did leave it open. The thief thought himself lucky, did not realize the master was at home, then knocked him on the head, and fled, too terrified to steal anything. This happens, apparently.”
“Apparently,” I said.
Donata looked me full in the eyes before she resumed her quiet calmness. An astute lady, she discerned that I’d had more of a hand in this imagined scenario than I let on.
