“I agree that it can be good to discuss things in a more open manner. But this was a fight and the attacker was furious. I wonder what would have happened if I had not intervened.”
“Leonardo Biancci has a rare talent. It comes at a price.” Vernassi gestured at Jasper. “Don’t blame me for saying so, I’m merely repeating what Marcheti told me.”
“So he discussed the young man’s murderous tendencies with you before?”
“Nothing quite so drastic. Just that Leonardo isn’t like other people. He should be treated with special care.”
Jasper shook his head in disbelief at his friend’s assessment of the situation, but Vernassi put a hand on his arm. “Let’s not spoil this beautiful evening with a discussion about a wilful boy. He will grow up once he’s married.”
“Married? So you actually want to subject a young woman to this kind of violent behaviour?”
Vernassi laughed. “Giulieta Calvieri is ten years older than Leonardo. A widow with a strong mind and a deep purse. She will control him. Don’t you worry about that. Oh, there is my friend Vincenzo Ciutto. Allow me to introduce you to him.”
While exchanging pleasantries with Ciutto, Jasper’s mind kept debating the scene between the talented violinist and his renowned master. Part of him was relieved that his strike with the lantern hadn’t harmed the young man, as he might have ended up in a painful investigation into his guilt in damaging the arm of a man dependent on that arm for his talent and his entire future. If Leonardo lost his ability to play, the people who all sought him out now might soon be gone.
Including Giulieta Calvieri?
Jasper tried to shrug it off, telling himself it was none of his business what other people did and he should just praise himself for his narrow escape from very unpleasant consequences of his impulsive decision to intervene. He hadn’t hesitated to prevent a murder, but right now it seemed no one was happy with that. All the better that it should stay under wraps.
“Just wait until you see the démasqué, my friend,” Vernassi said. “It’s even more spectacular than you’ve seen so far.”
Jasper glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes to midnight. People began to throng into the biggest room where the ceiling had been partly obscured with colourful draperies. Tables with enormous fruit baskets and towering flower arrangements were moved aside so the guests could all fit in. At the centre of the room the host stood with the light reflecting off his golden laurel crown. He was gesturing to several footmen and Jasper noticed that these fanned out to bring certain guests to him. He supposed these were considered the guests of honour and should be in the centre when the démasqué happened.
The start of a headache beat in the back of his head and he ached for a glass of cold water and a quiet moment with Red, his Labrador, who would probably be snoring beside his bed right now. The dog had not really missed much here. But Jasper would never say that out loud to Vernassi who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely and expected his guest to do the same.
A harlequin halted beside them and gestured for them to come along. He made silly bounces and tapped people with the wooden stick he carried as he preceded them to the centre of the room. Vernassi whispered at him, “This is a great honour. Thank the host for it.”
Jasper felt this was one honour he could do without, but to avoid a painful moment he gripped Sir James’ hand and thanked him profusely for the marvellous party.
Sir James’ face was red from the heat or an excess intake of champagne and other refreshments. “Of course, dear chap,” he gushed, slapping Jasper’s shoulder.
Jasper looked around him to see what other guests had been deemed worthy to stand here with them. A harlequin with a Tudor queen by his side, a dark robed highwayman with a Marie Antoinette in satin and roses, a monk in a heavy robe with the hood drawn over his head, and an astronomer in a cape full of moons and stars, even carrying a telescope in his hand.
Some people looked up, and following their gaze, Jasper spied a small balcony where a huge ornate golden clock ticked away the minutes to midnight. As the guests counted the last ten beats – ten, nine, eight… – the curtain beside the clock moved and a woman appeared, dressed in red, with a lace headdress.
The heavy robed monk gasped. Glancing at him, Jasper saw the Tudor queen grabbing the harlequin’s arm and pointing up. Even the host seemed overtaken by the appearance of what had to be someone playing a part in the midnight ceremony.
“Three, two, one!”
Everyone removed their marks, but Jasper forgot to reach for his, as he looked up at the woman on the balcony. She pulled off her mask and stood there, almost defiant, looking down on the masses.
“Olivia!” the heavy robed monk cried. He began to plow his way through the crowd, throwing people aside.
The Tudor queen collapsed into a heap on the floor. The highwayman clutched the dagger hanging from his belt and the astronomer raised his telescope to look at the woman.
Sir James was pale like a sheet. He gestured at Jasper and croaked, “Inspector, she’s dead, dead, but… My daughter!”
Jasper stared intently at the woman’s face, comparing it to the photographs he had seen of the first Lady Bantham. It was three years ago and he couldn’t be sure it was her. But as the others all responded to her appearance like someone had just returned from the dead…
The colourful banners on the ceiling came loose, and white rose petals rained down on the guests like snowflakes. Through the whirl Jasper saw how the woman in red turned away and vanished behind the curtain.
“No! Stop her!” the harlequin shouted, as he crouched beside the collapsed Tudor queen, and the highwayman raced to get out of the room.
Jasper himself wanted to have a word with this lady and followed in his wake.
But the people all pushed and shoved at each other, asking what was happening. Those further from the centre hadn’t noticed anything peculiar and were congratulating each other on a perfect disguise. “I had no idea it was you.”
The floor was slippery with rose petals, their white fading as feet trampled them, and Jasper had to flail his arms a few times to stay upright. Once in the hallway he went up a broad staircase, estimating quickly, by the position of the room’s balcony, that he had to be able to get onto it from the upper storey somehow.
In the corridor he ran into the highwayman who was already coming back. “Did you see her?” he called. “She’s gone.”
Jasper stopped directly in his path and when the man tried to scurry past him, he grabbed his arm. “Was that truly the late Lady Bantham?”
“Of course not. That’s why I wanted her arrested. It’s merely a cruel game to upset my poor sister. First the dress delivered to her address—”
“What dress?” Jasper inquired sharply.
“The same dress that woman, that impostor, was wearing. Apparently it was the dress the late Lady Bantham wore the night before she died.”
Jasper’s mind raced. Why would anyone do this? Send such a dress to the new Lady Bantham? Then appear here, dressed as the deceased woman on the last night of her earthly life…
“She’s getting away,” the highwayman urged.
“She’s probably already gone.” Jasper exhaled. “Too many people here and too many ways to get out of this palazzo. Especially if you know it well. If she’s the daughter of the owner…”
“She is not. Lady Bantham is dead. I mean, the old one is and my sister Penelope is now Lady Bantham.”
Jasper looked at the man opposite and could imagine that the prospect of the first Lady Bantham still being alive was very unwelcome to him. After all, if that was the case the marriage between this man’s sister and Lord Bantham would be invalid. Instead of being the brother-in-law of a well-to-do peer he would go back to being… well, whatever he had been before.
“Your name is…?” Jasper eyed him.
“Arundell. George Arundell. Not that it is any of your business.”
“It might be more than you s
uspect. I’m the inspector who investigated Lady Bantham’s accidental death three years ago.”
Arundell stared at him. His eyes narrowed. “And you are here tonight? Who invited you here? Are you in on this?”
“In on what?” Jasper asked in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the man’s intense features.
“This whole charade of her still being alive. It must be some kind of ploy to get money from her father or husband. If you investigated her death, you must know that she is indeed dead.”
Yes. He had seen the car wreck, the body; the items of clothing and jewellery which had helped identify her. A clasp from her belt which had not burned, her shoes, and of course the expensive bracelet that had been on her wrist. He had believed, firmly, completely, that Lady Bantham had died that morning, on her way to London. So who was the woman posing as her now?
“I’ll ask my friend Vernassi how we may trace her,” he said to Arundell.
Arundell scoffed. “How can you trace her? Unless she appears again. She must have some plan to terrorize us all. First the dress, now this.”
And so well timed, Jasper acknowledged. She had been clearly visible for a few moments only, then the rose petals had started to fall, obscuring everything and she had vanished. If she did indeed know the layout of the palazzo, she could have made a quick exit while they were still recovering from the shock.
Footfalls behind him made him spin round. Sir James came towards them. “Tell me it was an illusion, Inspector.” His complexion was still pale, his eyes wide and hollow. The jovial mood from before the démasqué seemed stripped away from him, even his golden laurel crown was sitting askew on his grey hair. “Tell me she wasn’t really there.”
“Someone was there and she looked like your daughter. But I can’t say whether it was her or not. It seems most likely, as Mr. Arundell here just suggested, that it was an impostor, impersonating your daughter.”
“What for?” Sir James breathed. He rested a hand on his heart.
“Are you all right?” Arundell asked.
“Of course I am not all right.” Sir James glared at him. “I bet you have something to do with this. I know you’re deep in debt.”
Arundell flushed. “How dare you!”
“I invited my former son-in-law here to speak with him about you and your sister,” Sir James hissed. “I want him to divorce her. She’s emptying his pockets.”
“And what concern of yours is that? Your daughter is dead and you have no claim to Bantham whatsoever.”
“He would have listened to me.” Sir James breathed heavily. A vein on his temple stood out green against his ashen skin. “He will still. And if my daughter is alive, then… a divorce will not be necessary.”
“So you hired that woman,” Arundell spat. “You made her appear there, so all your guests would see her and start claiming your daughter is not dead. To ruin my sister’s marriage. But I’ll protect Penelope at all costs.”
“I would never…” Sir James made a croaking sound.
Jasper reached out and supported him. “Quickly, help me get him onto a sofa or bed.”
“You help him, I don’t feel obliged,” Arundell said and walked away.
Jasper supported the portly figure with difficulty as he moved him to a door and flung it open wide. It gave access to a study with books along the walls and a desk against the far wall. To Jasper’s relief there was a leather chair by the fireplace and he dragged the man over there and pushed him into it. Glancing around him, he detected the alcohol he was looking for in a corner. Fine crystal flasks and glasses. He sniffed the flasks to determine what was strongest and poured it into a glass. He carried it to the devastated father and let him drink.
Sir James coughed and spluttered on the first sip, but then he grabbed the glass and drank deeply. Some colour returned to his sunken features. Glancing up at Jasper, he said slowly, “Inspector, you were there. You investigated her death. How can that scoundrel claim I would let an actress put on a performance?”
“Well, whoever arranged for it must have enjoyed the effect.” Jasper cast his mind back quickly across the emotions he had personally witnessed among the spectators. Shock, dismay, terror, grief. But no joy upon finding someone who was dead suddenly alive and well. No happiness. Just disbelief, anger and frustration. As if no one had wanted her to come back.
“That monk with the hood drawn over his face,” he said to Sir James, “who was that? He ran out so quickly as if to meet the woman impersonating the late Lady Bantham.”
“That was Leonardo Biancci.”
So after the performance the violinist had donned a costume and mask to mingle with the guests.
“Biancci.” Sir James clenched the glass. “The last man in the world to wear a monk’s robe. Celibacy is foreign to him.”
“You invited him here to perform at your party.”
“Marcheti forced me into inviting him. He has contacts among the theatres and opera houses across Venice and the region, and I can sell my silk well to them for decorations and costumes. It was a business decision, nothing to do with personal preferences.”
“So you would personally have preferred not to have Biancci here?” Jasper asked.
Sir James shrugged. “He’s talented but my son-in-law never liked him. I was worried he would consider my inviting him to perform a slight.”
“You still call him your son-in-law although he is now married to another.”
“I just mentioned I wanted him to come to his senses and divorce that terrible creature throwing away his money and reputation. I can’t imagine how he ever fell into her clutches. He must have been mad with grief over Olivia’s death.”
“And why does Lord Bantham not like Biancci?” Jasper asked. It was insensitive to put so many questions to a shocked and bereaved man, but the case intrigued him and Sir James seemed talkative now.
“Olivia visited me here a few months before her death. She became friends with Biancci and invited him to come and perform on her husband’s country estate. He played there the night before she died.”
Jasper’s thoughts whirled. As the death had been clearly accidental, he had never talked to the guests at the feast of the night before. Why? There had been nothing to ask them.
But right now it felt hugely significant that Biancci had been there. Biancci, who was now here, where an impersonator of the deceased Lady Bantham had appeared.
“Who else was there the night before she died who is also a guest at your party tonight?”
Sir James cradled the glass in his hands. “Her husband, of course. Larissa Kenwood who was Olivia’s best friend. Biancci. Maestro Marcheti. He accompanies that boy everywhere.” Sir James took another draught of his brandy.
Jasper’s sense of unease increased. “So, actually, a number of the people who attended the party where she wore the red dress, were also here tonight when the lady in the red dress made her surprise appearance beside the clock?”
Sir James looked at him. “You mean, any of them would have known what she had worn that last night and could have hired an actress to appear here in the same sort of dress?”
“For instance.” Jasper rubbed his hands together. He wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking. He needed to know more, much more.
“If the woman impersonating your daughter came from the outside, she wouldn’t know the layout of your house. Who can have told her about it?”
“Any of the people I have just mentioned to you. They have all been my guests before.”
Jasper exhaled. That didn’t shorten the suspect list.
The door into the room opened wide and Vernassi came in. He gestured at Jasper. “We must take our leave. We have outstayed our welcome.”
“I was just…” Jasper protested, but Vernassi glared at him. “The party is over. The masks are down.”
Yes, but what exactly have they revealed?
“If you want to leave, please do. I’m talking to Sir James about his daughter’s death three years
ago.”
“Is that really necessary?” Vernassi nodded with his head to the door as if to say: come now, don’t be rude, don’t impose on the man.
“Yes, that is really necessary,” Sir James said. “I’ve had a shock and the inspector here can help me because he lived through it with me. Back then.”
Vernassi’s eyes betrayed he still wanted to argue, but the ‘back then’ clearly excluded him and with a sigh he retreated and closed the door.
Jasper looked at the man in the immaculate white toga again, the self-proclaimed victor, who was suddenly reduced to a frail old man who couldn’t believe what had happened.
Sir James shook his head slowly. “Asking who would have known their way around this house will not help, Inspector. They all knew that. And everyone was masked tonight. It was easy to move around, speak to someone and not be noticed.”
Jasper couldn’t deny that. He folded his hands on his back and paced the room. “At the party on Lord Bantham’s estate, three years ago, the night before your daughter had her accident, did you notice anything strange, any tension between the guests?”
Sir James shrugged. “Bantham didn’t like Biancci being there. It seems they had argued earlier in the day and he had told him to leave, but he hadn’t because he had promised Olivia he would perform at the party.”
“And this Larissa Kenwood? What was she dressed as tonight?”
“Marie Antoinette.”
“She was the best friend of your daughter? You kept in touch with her?”
“She kept in touch with everyone. Bantham also. She befriended his new wife.”
The bitterness in Sir James’ voice couldn’t be missed.
Jasper said lightly, “Well, people do move mainly in the same circles.”
Sir James grunted, then held out the glass. “Could you top this up for me?”
“Of course.” Jasper went to the liquor tray.
“Also pour yourself some if you want to,” Sir James called out.
“No thank you, I must keep a clear head.”
“A clear head.” Sir James held his gaze as he accepted the glass from Jasper’s hand. “Did you have a clear head back then, Inspector, a clearer head than I? I was broken by Olivia’s death. I can’t even remember some details of her funeral. Just the pain inside, that terrible pain.” He winced and emptied the glass in a few gulps.
Under the Guise of Death Page 5