More workers had looked up and around at our conversation. Some returned to their tasks, uninterested, but others watched as though waiting for their compatriot to strike me down.
Footsteps clattered on a set of wooden stairs in the corner, and Emile, my daughter’s betrothed, came into sight. His eyes widened, and he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and over to us.
“Captain Lacey. Welcome. My apologies. We were not expecting you.”
The other men relaxed as Emile rushed past them, and went back to what they’d been doing.
Emile Devere closely resembled his father and his uncles, men stamped from the same mold. He had brown hair of an unremarkable shade and eyes of nearly the same color. A round face topped a slim body that would doubtless grow harder as he aged.
Emile spoke to me in the very precise English he’d learned from Gabriella, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the language.
He was also not comfortable with me turning up out of the blue.
“Thought I’d take a chance,” I answered, also in English. Donata always spoke French to Emile, wanting to put him at ease, but I could never help needling him a bit. “Is your Uncle Fernand here? I wish to speak with him.”
“He is.” Emile turned to the belligerent man who’d remained to watch me and Brewster in hard silence. Emile spoke to him in words unintelligible to me and gestured toward the stairs.
The man broke his intense stare and gave Emile a nod that held a hint of indulgence for the lad. He strolled to the stairs and shouted up them in the language I didn’t know. An answering shout soon came to us.
“Uncle will be down presently,” Emile informed me. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”
I took pity on him and switched to French. “Not at all. I suppose you heard about the tragedy in town this morning?”
“Yes, Uncle Fernand told us.” Emile grew more voluble in his native tongue. “Poor man. Signor Gallo was never welcome in Lyon, but no one deserves to be killed like that, do they?”
I’d become better acquainted with Emile when he’d stayed with us in Rome last summer, and had learned that he was a kind young man, possessing true compassion. He’d not acquired the worldly toughness of his uncles and father, who I now knew had been touched by Lyon’s siege and its brutal aftermath.
Emile’s kindness had finally reconciled me to the fact that he’d marry my daughter—not that I could have stopped him. In theory, I had the legal ability to forbid Gabriella the marriage, but I knew that if I exercised my power as paterfamilias, the rest of my family would show their disapprobation, loudly.
In truth, I could find nothing to object to in Emile. The young man worked diligently, was respectful to his parents and family, would inherit the fruits of this business, and adored Gabriella. A father could not ask for more, I repeatedly assured myself.
“It was unfortunate,” I agreed. “The gendarme did not seem to be surprised at Gallo’s demise, however.”
“Captain Vernet?” Emile wrinkled his forehead. “He is an astute man, I’ve always found, even when he feigns to be otherwise. He will no doubt discover the murderer and punish him. Ah, here is Uncle Fernand.”
Fernand hesitated a step when Emile expressed his faith in Captain Vernet but then squared his shoulders and continued his approach.
The large man followed him from the stairs. Fernand barked an order at him, and the man shrugged, returning to his anvil.
“Talkative fellow, isn’t he?” I asked when Fernand reached us.
Fernand glanced at the big man, who retrieved the bar he’d been working on and thrust it back into the flames of his forge.
“Do not mind Michel. He speaks only Lyonnais, and no French. He looks frightening, but he’s staunch and loyal. Now, I cannot imagine that you trudged all the way here to say good morning to me.” Fernand smiled tightly, his eyes holding wariness.
“It is not so far, and good exercise for me,” I countered. “Perhaps we could chat in the yard?”
“Of course.” Fernand gestured me to the large open doors. “It becomes noisy inside.”
He let me lead the way. Though lowering clouds darkened the sky outside, the courtyard was bright after the dim interior of the factory.
Brewster followed, and so, to my dismay, did Emile.
The courtyard was not much quieter, in fact, as men busily loaded wagons in the middle of it, ready to deliver orders far and wide.
“All is well?” Fernand asked when we reached a relatively tranquil corner. “Or do the ladies have more questions about the wedding breakfast?”
Carlotta and Major Auberge were taking care of the wedding ceremony itself, but the Deveres had insisted on organizing the wedding breakfast. Carlotta and Donata were united in uneasiness about this. While the Deveres had the funds to sponsor a lavish feast, the ladies were not certain that a group of ironmongers could arrange something tasteful.
