I wondered if Signora Ruggeri had seen the uneasiness that mention of Potier’s name caused while she pursued the comte’s affections, and passed that information to Gallo, along with the stolen missive.
“He was.” The comtesse nodded. “I am not certain how much he knew, but Signora Ruggeri even tried to demand some of the payment when I gave her sanctuary, if you please. She said she was afraid of Gallo, and that he’d never share the money with her, so could I simply hand her the payment while she was here? As you English say, cheek.”
“Did you pay him? Or her?” I asked.
“I did not. It was clear neither of them understood exactly what it was all about, and no one they spoke to of it would tell them. It is an episode in our past that no one in Lyon wishes to discuss with outsiders.”
So I had discovered. I also did not recall seeing Comtesse Lejeune’s name on the pages of the ledger I’d studied. She had manage to stymy Gallo and Signora Ruggeri, which must have puzzled them.
The Deveres, on the other hand, obviously had worried that Gallo might blab to the wrong person, who might conduct a thorough investigation. I wasn’t certain whether the Deveres feared someone uncovering their part in the crime or were only protecting the comtesse.
If the comtesse hadn’t been concerned about Gallo’s knowledge, then she’d have had no reason to murder him. I comforted myself with this thought, but it still left me with the question of who had killed him.
One of the comtesse’s retainers? Fearing what Gallo knew? I could easily imagine the fierce Perrault going after him.
However, these were matters I did not wish to pursue at the moment. If one of the comtesse’s guards or Perrault had killed Gallo, or asked someone like Michel to do it, then the gendarmes would become involved, and there would be a trial for murder. The comtesse would face scandal, and whoever had killed for her would not escape punishment.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for telling me, comtesse. I am honored by your confidence, which I will keep. Now, I believe we are here to speak of the sale of the de’ Medici letter. I will vouch for Mr. Denis. He pays a fair price and never breaks his word.”
An hour or so later, I rode back to our villa with Denis in the lavish coach he’d hired for his sojourn. He’d taken a house nearby and offered to return me on his way.
“Why did you come to France?” I was finally able to ask him as we were bumping along the dark road from the comtesse’s chateau. “Did you not trust me to negotiate for the letter, or did you have other business in the area?”
“I was too impatient to wait.” Denis’s gaze moved to our reflections in the dark window as though embarrassed to admit such a thing. “My agent informed me you were making a nuisance of yourself in Lyon, stirring up bad memories. I also feared that someone would steal the letter again. Lejeune appears to be feckless.”
“He has not proved to be the wisest man in creation, no,” I said. “I have to wonder why the comtesse bothered to marry him.”
“I imagine it was a business arrangement between the families. Such marriages often degenerate into a mere understanding, with each party living a separate life.”
“Great wisdom from a man who has never married,” I remarked in a mild tone.
Denis regarded me with his blank-faced patience. “Many come to me for assistance in acquiring objects or money from a husband or wife, because the other relinquishes nothing. I have seen plenty in this situation, which comes of property owners forcing a bad match, with flawed intentions.”
“I see. And those who make love matches never come to grief?”
“Of course they do. Marriage should be entered into carefully or not at all.”
I agreed with him, but his cool detachment rankled. “Marriage is a risk, yes, but it can come with great rewards. I now have a beautiful wife of high intelligence, equally beautiful daughters, and a fine stepson.”
Denis did not change expression. “If you thoroughly believed that marriage was worth any price, you would not be watching the family your daughter is marrying into so closely. You have now learned that they assisted in covering up a murder, disposing of Potier’s body for the comtesse.”
“Twenty-five years ago,” I pointed out. “In pressing circumstances.”
“Yet, they were ruthless enough to do it. They also might have murdered this blackmailer, Gallo.”
“I know,” I said unhappily. “Though I still contend that if one of the Deveres or Michel had killed Gallo, they would have not done so in such a public place. Or, they’d have had the sense to send the body and weapon into the river.”
Denis lifted his shoulders in a faint shrug. “You will not know why it happened in this way until you discover who killed him.”
“Do I want to discover the truth?” I asked, half to myself.
“You will not be able to let the thing rest until you do. No matter that it would be far better to leave it alone.”
I’d come to accept Denis as a man of honor, even if his honor was not exactly the same as my concept of it. I’d even begun to see him as a friend, of a sort, but that did not mean his criticisms of myself and my character were welcome.
“Have you seen much of Lady in the past months?” I asked with feigned innocuousness, naming a woman Denis had seemed fascinated with when I’d introduced them.
It was too dark to discern his reaction, but Denis’s voice turned cool. “I have. I will say no more than that, so do not bother to ask.”
