Donata had my full attention now. “She stole it from him?” I asked. “It’s unlikely he gave it to her. Jewels, yes. Antique letters, no. But, if she meant to sell it, then why did Gallo have it stashed in his fireplace?”
Donata regarded me through the mirror as Jacinthe began to wind her hair into a neat coil. “Neither the comtesse nor I could draw a conclusion. Signora Ruggeri and Signor Gallo might not have understood the letter’s worth. Or, they realized it was valuable but that no one in Lyon would purchase it, knowing the comte’s passion for Italian antiquities. They’d have to take the letter elsewhere. Either Signora Ruggeri entrusted Signor Gallo to hide it, or he took it from her, and she could not fetch it back.”
“Is it that valuable?” I’d seen only old paper with writing on it.
“It is, but questionable without the sheets that were left behind. The letter is from none other than Lorenzo de’ Medici. Instructions to his banker in Florence. A prosaic missive, but a treasure all the same, given its writer.”
“Indeed.” My awe of the letter’s faded ink increased. “Why did Signora Ruggeri not steal the entire letter from the comte?”
“The comtesse isn’t certain. It was a long missive, and the comte kept the sheets in two bundles. Many of his letters and things he prizes are apparently in his hunting lodge, where he can pore over them in private.”
“So, Signora Ruggeri helped herself to one of the bundles when she visited the comte in his hunting lodge. Then she gave it to Gallo, who is actually Italian, to see what he could make of it.” I tapped my fingers on the gilded arms of my chair. “He understood what it was worth, and he took it from her.”
Jacinthe cleared her throat. She usually worked in severe silence when I came to Donata’s rooms, never dreaming to speak without leave.
“Yes, Jacinthe?” Donata prompted.
“It is very likely the signora was seeking documents that would embarrass the comte,” she answered in her haughty tones. “The comtesse’s servants say they caught her digging through a desk when she was a guest at the chateau the other night.”
Donata’s brows arched. “Gracious, how rude.”
Jacinthe, having delivered her information, snapped her mouth shut and glided to the wardrobe to fetch Donata’s morning gown.
“Signora Ruggeri must have been more of Gallo’s accomplice than she’s letting on,” I reflected. “Even when she was purportedly hiding from Gallo and given kind hospitality, she sought a way to bleed more money from the comte and his family. I wonder why, if the comte has been as generous to her as everyone claims.”
“Because his patronage won’t last, and she knows it.” Donata glanced at the gown in Jacinthe’s arms. “Not that one, Jacinthe. I think the cream today, as it is so warm.”
“She was providing for her future,” I concluded, as Jacinthe headed back to the armoire. “If Grenville is right, then the comte is already tiring of the demanding Signora Ruggeri. Her dramatic entrance at his chateau might have been a final straw.”
“One can scarcely blame the woman for trying to keep her head above water, though I do not approve of her methods,” Donata said. “A lady without family or a protector has very little resources against the world. Better to keep the comte paying than retreat to a workhouse, or worse.”
Signora Ruggeri had said much the same to me the night of Marianne’s soiree.
“You did well against the world,” I said. Donata had lost a husband but continued to live alone in her son’s house in South Audley Street, hosting lavish salons and at-homes for the haut ton.
“Hardly the same thing. Yes, that will be better,” Donata said to Jacinthe, who presented a creamy gown with brown and gold embroidery on its hem. “My father is an earl who did not shut me out once my marriage went sour. And my son is a viscount. As young as Peter is, his very existence helps mine. I know of heirs who are cruel to their parents, but I am fortunate that Peter is a sweet boy.”
“Even so, I know it was not easy for you.”
Donata had not timidly retreated into the woodwork when her philandering husband had caused her misery, which had earned her much censure. She’d faced censure again for marrying me, hardly the sort of gentleman she should have tied Peter’s fortune and eventual power to.
Jacinthe’s formidable frown as she readied the gown for Donata told me she agreed with my assessment about my wife’s struggles.
I vacated the chamber then, allowing Donata to finish dressing. I informed her of my intention to visit the townhouse where Signora Ruggeri had dwelled, assuring her I’d take Brewster with me.
She waved me off, and I made my way downstairs to inform Brewster I was ready to leave.
“Lacey.” Grenville was just being admitted into the echoing ground-floor hall. “Before you dash away, I have more news.”
I led him into the drawing room where Grenville closed the door, to my surprise. “What is it?” I asked in concern.
“I heard back from my friend in Paris—the one I wrote to about this Potier fellow. I had his reply in the post just now.” Grenville slid a letter from the pocket of his frock coat. “Not only does my friend work in a ministry of the restored Bourbon reign, but he is interested in French history, especially of the revolution and the First Republic. He knew all about Potier and the unfortunate events in Lyon.”
“Ah.” I both wanted to discover what this gentleman had to say and dreaded it. “Did he tell you what became of Potier? Was he recalled to Paris?”
“No.” Grenville’s voice turned grim. “The last record of Potier shows him in Lyon. He was meant to stay here another six months and then join efforts to quell any royalist pockets in the countryside. He never returned to Paris.” Grenville shared a tight gaze with me. “He was in Lyon, and then he simply disappeared.”
Chapter 20
