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

she thought the house was safe. And what did it matter if we knew she could speak English? Were her colleagues aware of her fluency? “I haven’t the slightest idea, but the gentlemen will figure it all out.”

She snorted. “You English are no different from us Italians. The men always keep the fun to themselves.”

I could not help but smile. Perhaps she did deserve my trust, at least provisionally. “Then it is down to us to change that. Do you think you could find out anything about Signore Spichio? His profession? Who his family is?”

“I can certainly try. Florence is a small place. But this house…”

I waited, but she did not continue. “Yes? What about it?”

“This house holds its secrets. It always has. If the signore’s death is part of that, we will never learn anything.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It started in the days of Savonarola, the monk who preached against the Medici four hundred years ago. I cannot say more now, as I must get back to work, but we will speak again and I will tell you everything I know. Signora du Lac is in the room where you earlier took tea. She will be waiting for you.” She made a little curtsy and left the room. I went to Cécile and recounted for her my conversation with the maid.

“What are you saying, Kallista? That this wisp of a girl is a spy?” My friend was feeding bits of sandwiches to her dogs, Caesar getting three for every one given to Brutus. Although she loved both little creatures and would never allow harm to come to either, on occasion she doled out what she believed to be a small measure of justice against Brutus’s namesake. The dog accepted this with equanimity.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far, but she’s awfully well educated for a maid.”

“It’s not unusual for servants on the Continent to speak good English, and a city like Florence is full of British travelers.”

“I think it’s more than that,” I said. “We are told the countess secured the house. Would she not also have installed a staff suited to the requirements of her work for Austria?”

“Such measures would be sensible, oui, but she has been dead for more than ten years. Signora Orlandi was in her employ, but not Tessa nor Fredo. They are both too young. And given that Katharina only recently learned of her mother’s work, she would not have had cause to screen her servants accordingly.”

“We don’t know who hired them.”

“Could Monsieur Hargreaves enlighten us?”

“I wouldn’t expect him to be sharing any information for the foreseeable future,” I said. “He’d like us to explore Florence as if nothing has happened.”

“He knows you too well to expect any such thing.”

“Quite, but I must accept that the nature of his work requires my exclusion. That does not, however, mean we must content ourselves with doing nothing. We shall find out whatever we can about Signore Spichio, employing every ounce of discretion we possess. So far as the gentlemen are concerned, we will be carefree holidaymakers. Should we stumble upon something that might help their own investigation, we can then offer our services.”

“I’ve never known you to stumble, at least not accidentally,” Cécile said. “And what about Tessa?”

“I’m confident she will prove an able assistant, although we must proceed with caution. We don’t know how far we can trust her.”

“Does she speak languages beyond Italian and English?” Cécile asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I never would have suspected her to mention Savonarola and the Medici. She’s better informed than one would expect. I’d like to know why.”

“I shall make it my business to learn everything I can about her. No one is better able than I to uncover the truth about servants. It is why I have so little turnover among my own staff.”

“Because they’re terrified you’ll reveal their secrets?”

“Pas de tout. That would be gauche. They know I respect them, and that my respect comes from knowing even their secrets. That, Kallista, breeds loyalty.” Brutus howled. She bent down and patted his head. “Yes, you poor beast, anyone with your name must lament every mention of loyalty.”

“I’m curious as to her comments about the house keeping secrets. I wonder if there’s any record of its history.”

“Better still, a diary with a complete account of its mysterious past, written in turn by each of its owners. Volume after volume, a new one started the moment the previous was filled.”

“Things like that, Cécile, only appear in conveniently plotted novels. I’m afraid we’ll have to rely on drier documents.”

She shrugged. “I’ve never been one to abandon hope.”

Cécile’s optimism had no impact on reality. I summoned Signora Orlandi—who took the appearance of the corpse in the courtyard in such easy stride that I was convinced she had been more colleague than servant to her original employer—and asked for her assistance. Household records, she explained, were kept in the ground floor storerooms. She took us downstairs and directed us to two enormous dusty volumes filled with rows of figures and half a dozen boxes stuffed with old papers, none of which could be described as useful to our purpose.

“Do you know anything about the family who originally lived here?” I asked.

“Their name was Vieri and I believe they were connected to the Medici in some way. You could go to the Laurentian Library and ask there. There may be mentions in the old histories of the city.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion. Thank you.” She left and Cécile and I decided to search the palazzo, in as inconspicuous a manner as possible, letting Colin and Mr. Benton-Smith think we were doing nothing more than exploring our accommodations. They were still outside in the courtyard with the body—a sheet now draped over it—hardly noticing us as we passed them on our way to the stairs. We climbed to the roof terrace that on a clear day would have provided a stunning view over the city, but could not have made a useful point