The Dark Heart of Florence by Tasha Alexander (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

only wish we had come to Florence sooner. Poor Spichio.”

“You know him?” I asked.

“Yes, he was a font of useful information, although that makes it sound as if his contributions—” He stopped and swallowed hard, a pained expression on his face. “I would not want to minimize the importance of the work he did for us.”

Colin clapped his hand on Mr. Benton-Smith’s shoulder. “No one would ever accuse you of that. It was you who ensured his safety, again and again. This just proves the impossibility of perfect security.”

“Who is he and why did he need to be kept safe?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose the details,” Mr. Benton-Smith said. “His work can never be lauded, not publicly, despite the profound impact it had—and will continue to have—on us all.”

“I’ll make arrangements for the body,” Colin said.

“What about the police?” I asked.

“No police.” The gentlemen answered in near unison.

“I agree they’re often useless, but he’s clearly been murdered. It will have to be investigated,” I said.

“Cases like this are not handled by local authorities, my dear,” Colin said. “No one can know what has happened. His death will be recorded as an accident.”

I balked and looked at my husband in disbelief. “Oh, yes, an accident. One cannot walk half a mile without encountering a corpse who has flung himself off a roof these days. I have as little faith in the police as you do, but to suggest that a murder should not be investigated—”

“I never said that. Darius and I will handle it.”

“What about his family?” I asked. “What are they to think?”

“They, like everyone else, will believe he suffered a tragic accident.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“It’s part and parcel of the work,” Colin said.

I crossed my arms and scowled. “So if you were to die in the line of duty, what would I be told?” I knew his answer before he gave it, and while I could not object in principle, my emotions were another thing entirely. Every atom in my body felt as if it were being torn apart.

“Whatever would cause the least harm to the empire.”

“I’d rather know the truth.”

“Sometimes that is not possible.” He pressed his lips into a firm line as he met my eyes.

“I can be discreet.”

“I don’t doubt that. Most people believe themselves to be discreet, but it cannot be relied upon. You’re soaking wet, Emily. Go inside before you catch a chill. I won’t have you missing out on the delights of Florence.”

I opened my mouth but found I could not form words until he took me by the arm and led me toward Cécile. “Stop, right now. If you’re suggesting that I should play holidaymaker when a murdered man has turned up in your daughter’s house—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” He turned to my friend. “Will you please take her inside, Cécile?”

“Oui, bien sûr, Monsieur Hargreaves, but—”

“Please, Cécile. This is not the time for questions.”

Signora Orlandi stepped forward and ushered us toward the stairs, Tessa following. Fredo stayed behind with the gentlemen.

“Your luggage is in your room, signora,” the housekeeper said, “although Tessa has not quite finished unpacking. You will want a warm bath, yes? We will get the water ready as quickly as possible and in the meantime bring you tea.”

Recognizing that I would not get anywhere trying to change my husband’s mind at the moment and no longer able to ignore the fact that I was shivering with cold, I had to admit a bath was an excellent idea. The chamber on the second floor assigned to Colin and me contained an en suite bathroom, a pleasant surprise, as medieval buildings do not lend themselves to modern plumbing. The facilities were small but more than adequate, even if the copper tub had to be filled by hand, a task handled ably by Tessa, whose lithe figure disguised her strength.

Warm and dry after my ablutions, I was grateful for the girl’s assistance with my hair, which, if left to me, would never be controlled. She attacked the task with evident skill and steady hands, but I could see from her pale face that she was upset.

“It’s a dreadful thing to see so violent a death.” I spoke to her in Italian. “I’m more than sorry you had to face it.”

She answered in English. “This house is supposed to be a place of safety. How could this happen here?”

“Your English is flawless. Why did you pretend otherwise?”

“It is bad of me, I know, but I find it useful to let people think I cannot understand them.”

“Yet you’ve shared your secret with me.”

“I like you, Lady Emily. I knew immediately I could trust you. This is a place where I must be careful. Secrets abound.”

“Florence?” I asked.

“This house. Do you know much about it?”

“Nothing at all.”

“You’re lucky,” she said.

“What did you mean by saying this is supposed to be a safe place?” She was too young to have worked for the countess. I wondered if the palazzo was more than my stepdaughter’s would-be home. Did it serve an official purpose? One made use of by my husband and his colleagues?

“Only that the mother of Signorina Katharina is said to have made it so. To keep her daughter safe. It is not wise to let a young lady live alone somewhere that is easy to violate.”

Most would argue it was not wise to let a young lady live alone in any circumstances. Regardless, whatever measures the countess had taken, they could not be explained by concern for a daughter whom, at the time, had almost no connection to her mother and certainly had no plans to live in Florence. “Did you recognize the man who fell? Signore Spichio?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen him before. He must have slipped, but why was he there? How could he get on the roof?”

I didn’t tell her what Colin had said about the poor man being dead before the fall. I had liked her from the first, but didn’t entirely believe her explanation as to why