Jasper asked Leonardo, “Did you know Lady Bantham was not dead?”
Leonardo’s eyes flickered open. Pain creased his features as he croaked, “Not dead? She is not dead?”
“I mean, that she did not die in England three years ago. Did you know the car accident was staged?”
“Staged?” Marcheti echoed. “You must be mad. Someone died in that car. I read all the newspaper articles about it.”
Jasper looked at him with a raised brow. “You were interested in ascertaining Lady Bantham was dead?”
Marcheti felt the blood rush into his cheeks. How did the foreigner dare assume such a tone to him? “I was interested to see how you English police handle accidents. I thought you did a very good and thorough job.” The false compliment almost stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to be strategic.
“Someone died in that car,” the Englishman said. “But we doubt now that it was Lady Bantham.” He looked at Leonardo again. “This morning, on a bridge, the body was found of the woman in red who came to the party last night. She was stabbed to death. Both her father and her husband have identified her as Lady Bantham. So you see, she did not die in England after all. The question is – who knew she was not dead?”
“Her husband also identified her at the time.” Marcheti took a step towards the intruder into their lives. “He must have been in on it. He identified her and then he inherited money or something. And now that she has come back, he knew his deception had been discovered and he killed her.”
“Which means that we would know for certain that his identification at the time was not correct. How would that help his case? It would only incriminate him.”
Very clever. “She wanted money off him, he refused to give it to her, they struggled and he killed her. He didn’t mean to, perhaps, but it happened in anger.”
The inspector ignored his suggestions and looked at Leonardo. His eyes were still open and he stared into the distance with a shocked expression. “Mr. Biancci,” the Englishman said, “did you know she had not died?”
“I have always wondered.” Leonardo’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I never stopped…”
“Caring for her?” the insolent inspector supplied. “Were you lovers at the time of the car accident near her husband’s estate? Was she on her way to you when she vanished, leaving that burning car behind?”
“Next thing you will ask him,” Marcheti fumed, “whether he staged her disappearance with her. I can tell you that at the time Leonardo was devastated by the accident, as he was a close friend of her husband and had performed at their estate. We left England shortly after and we have never seen Lady Bantham again. The idea that Leonardo would have known she staged her own death, or would even have had a part in it, is ludicrous. Pure slander. I will complain to Vernassi about it.”
“I wasn’t asking you anything.” The foreigner’s eyes flashed at him. “Please leave the room.”
“This is my house and you have no authority here. I demand you leave my pupil in peace. If he sustains lasting damage from his head injury, you will be to blame.”
“Mr. Marcheti, you must be intelligent enough to see what this all means. A woman who was allegedly dead is not dead at all, and your pupil was seen racing after her as she vanished into the night. Now she is dead. And he has sustained a head injury. I wonder—”
“I was with him when he sustained it. He did not harm this woman. He was here all night and I took care of him. Now, if you will please leave.”
“You are very loyal to someone who tried to strangle you.”
Marcheti felt as if his face had caught fire. The foreigner had been witness to that unfortunate incident. How to explain… “Leonardo can be very volatile before a performance. I stay close to him and deflect his… mood. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”
The Englishman leaned over to Leonardo and asked, “Why did you attack your maestro? Did it have to do with the woman in red? You had a red cloth in your hands and tried to…”
Leonardo groaned and his eyes rolled away. He lay still.
Marcheti jumped forward and checked his pulse. “Very erratic. You must leave.” He would call in a doctor and pay him handsomely to declare to anyone coming that Leonardo needed absolute rest or he would never recover again. His talent had to be protected at all costs.
* * *
Jasper retreated to the door. He could see for himself that the young man was not doing well, and he also knew head wounds could be serious and even life threatening. But Leonardo had rushed after the woman in red last night and he had earlier attacked his maestro with a red cloth. Had he discovered he had been deceived as to her death? Had he discovered Marcheti had known all along she was still alive?
Did that mean Marcheti had somehow been involved in the staged car accident?
Questions to which he would get no answers now, as Leonardo was too weak to speak with him and Marcheti guarded him like a lion. Just because the boy was injured and his pupil since childhood? Because he worried the head injury would harm his ability to play the violin like he had last night? Jasper could still hear that haunting music. It would be terrible to see such talent go to waste.
But Marcheti might also have a far more selfish reason to be so protective. More selfish and more sinister. What did he know about Lady Bantham’s supposed death in England and her real death on the Ponte della Musica?
The bridge of music.
A coincidence, or a vital clue?
Chapter Twelve
Marcheti saw him out with a cold disdain, and Jasper stood in the bright sunshine for a moment collecting his thoughts. Then he consulted his notebook in which he had written down the addresses of all involved and decided Lady Bantham was next. Admittedly, she had not been at the estate back then when the first Lady Bantham had died, but she was an important player in the current tragedy; the appearance of the late Lady Bantham had meant her marriage had never been valid and she had basically lost her entire life. Perhaps one could say in a way that she, as Lady Bantham, had died the instant the first Lady Bantham had revealed herself. No wonder she had fainted.
If she had really fainted.
Jasper gestured to the gondolier, showed him the address and sat back to let himself be propelled across the smooth waterway. The air was clear and the singing of children sounded from an open window. It seemed to be a simple counting song of “uno, due, tre”. He focused on the happy careless rising and falling of their bright voices for as long as he could hear them. He had imagined Venice to be a well of beauty and relaxation for him after the taxing events on Kalos, but it seemed he had ended up in yet another murder case. A case all the more personal because it confronted him with failure from the past. Sent out by his superior to ensure that the family would be happy with the way in which the sudden death of the beloved Lady Bantham had been treated, he should have looked further than…
But he had been asked to be discreet and protect the family, suggesting something unsavory might come to light that would harm the family name without having any pertinent bearing on the accident. Himself reluctant to feed the gossip columns without cause, he had focused on the hard facts rather than the suggestions of a love affair or other whispers in the small town near the estate. The husband had identified the body, the coroner established accidental death, even part of the stolen jewels had been recovered from the pawnbroker where the maid had sold them and… it had seemed perfectly solved. Apart from the tragedy of a healthy young woman’s life being cut short abruptly, it had been resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. He resisted the urge to laugh.
“Excuse me, sir,” the gondolier said in accented English, “but can I help you?”
Jasper turned to look at the young man. “I showed you the address,” he said, not understanding.
“Yes, but I can help in other ways. I know the city and the people. I know about crime.” The young man beamed. “I can ask the beggars whether they have seen anything. I can find you information.”
Jasper wanted to thank him for a kind offer he wasn’t going to take, when he suddenly asked himself, why not? Vernassi wasn’t happy with his asking questions and wasn’t about to assist him in any more than not standing in his way. The help of a local with connections could be invaluable. “What is your name?”
“Luigi. I own this gondola. I got my brother’s share in it when he left for Padua.”
“Share?” Jasper asked.
“Yes, he bought a share in it years ago. Most gondolas are shared. We often row around the policemen. I know how they act and what they ask people.”
Jasper doubted that a gondolier who had to stay with his boat would know much of what was going on, but at least the young man seemed enthusiastic.
“When the other gondoliers do their shifts in the gondola, I can go out through the city and investigate for you.”
Jasper sat twisted in his seat to explain the first thing he wanted. “Last night there was a large costumed party at Sir James Lovelane’s house. Can you find out who was near Lovelane’s house and saw a woman in red leaving? Did anyone go after her? Especially ask about a man dressed as a monk and a man dressed in black, like a highwayman. A robber, or thief.”
Luigi nodded enthusiastically. “Street peddlers and beggars gather near a house where a party is held, hoping the guests will feel generous when they leave and spend money. I will find information for you this afternoon and tonight.”
Jasper said, “I want to use your services as gondolier again tomorrow morning and then you can tell me what you discovered. Do not come to the house of Vernassi.”
Luigi grimaced. “I would not dare. He’d send me away with a…” He frowned hard. “How do you English people say? A louse in my ear?”
“A flea in your ear,” Jasper corrected.
Luigi shook his head. “Louse, flea, it makes no sense either way. What would it be doing in my ear?”
Jasper didn’t bother to explain the vagaries of English sayings to him but asked, “Have you heard any gossip about the stabbing last night? Of the woman in red on the Ponte della Musica?”
“Of course. Anything that happens on the street is the talk of all the gondoliers. They say she must have been robbed. It is not good for a wealthy lady to walk in the street at night, alone.”
“I want to know if she was indeed alone. Or whether someone was with her. The monk, the man in black. Or other people. It could also have been another woman.” Jasper thought of the new Lady Bantham and couldn’t wait to ask her where she had gone after the party. Perhaps he should also question some of the household staff to see if they knew about the whereabouts of the lord and lady during the night. Anything to get a clear picture of everyone’s movements.
“What do you know about Leonardo Biancci?”
Luigi laughed. “They say he will soon play something different than his fiddle. The widow he has been seeing. She’s not very beautiful but she has money. People talk about such things.” He sounded almost apologetic, and Jasper gave him an encouraging nod.
“Do you know her?”
“I have seen her sometime. She has her own gondola, painted in beautiful colours. She always carries a parasol as she hates the sun. Her palazzo seems to be full of gold objects. She collects them. They say she will add him to her collection. Here we are. The house you want is over there.”
Jasper nodded. “Grazie.” He held his notebook and pencil out to the young man. “Can you write down the address of the widow for me?”
When he got the notebook back, he glanced over it. “Where is that exactly? I don’t know the city well yet.”
“Close to where you went this morning. Sir James Lovelane’s palazzo.”
Jasper stared at the boy. Suddenly he wondered how the widow, who collected things, would have reacted if someone came along who was a threat to a new item she wanted. If she had heard that the woman who had been close to Leonardo in England was now here in Venice, returned from the grave.
Had she been to the party? Or had a friend been and spread the word to her right away? Her palazzo being so close…
He could not exclude her. He had to go and see Giulieta Calvieri. After he had spoken to Lady Bantham.
* * *
“So you see it is in your interest to tell the police we were together all night.” Lady Bantham put energy in her voice. Her husband, or whatever he was to her now, glowered at her, but he had not protested. She had hoped he would not, so she could keep her trump card close to her chest.
“Former inspector Jasper of Scotland Yard to see you,” the maid squeaked from the doorway. The girl had a habit of popping up suddenly, making her wonder if she had stood there longer and listened in.
Fire flushed through Lady Bantham’s face and she snapped, “Show him up, you silly girl, hurry.” As soon as Rose had left, she said to her husband, “All night.”
Footfalls returned and the maid saw in a tall, dark-haired man with grey at the whiskers. He nodded to her husband and then smiled at her, offering his hand. “Jasper. I hope you’re not too upset about last night, your ladyship? Your fainting had me worried for you.”
“I feel better now. It was quite a shock. Especially since the dress she wore had been delivered to this address earlier that day. To have me wear it. I mean, not the dress she wore obviously, but something similar. To have us look alike.”
She drew breath and continued before he could speak, “I thought at first it was a cruel joke to divide me and my husband. It was rather awkward for him to see me in that dress, as you may imagine. But I have been thinking about it now and… it seems clear. The killer made a terrible mistake. He meant to kill me and killed that woman instead.”
The former inspector’s eyes betrayed the fact that he was totally puzzled and she rushed to explain, “You see, by sending the dress to me the killer ensured that I would be wearing something recognizable so he could easily strike at me.”
“But how did he plan on getting you alone?”
“He must have passed a note or something. To the wrong woman.”
Jasper shook his head. “Pardon me, but that seems unlikely. The woman in red impersonated the late Lady Bantham. Why would the killer send you a dress to have you look like her as well?”
She was confused a moment, her idea escaping her like sand slipping through her fingers. But she had to save herself, and she tried again. “The killer wanted me to die and caused the confusion with the fake Lady Bantham.”
“We established the woman who died on the bridge was in fact Lady Bantham.” Jasper glanced at her husband. “I thought he would have told you by now.”
Bantham said quickly, “Yes, well, I did tell her, but she finds it hard to believe. We all do.”
Jasper nodded. He held her gaze with an earnest expression. “You feel your life is threatened?”
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to send me a dress just like hers, for any other reason than to cause confusion between her and me.”
“Confusion, yes, there seems to be plenty of that,” Jasper said. “Your last name was Arundell, before you married? I believe the man I met last night, in the black highwayman costume, is your brother?”
Her heart beat fast. “Yes. He inherited my father’s shares in an American goldmine. My father did very well for himself when he explored Nevada. Both my brother and I were born there and lived with my mother on our ranch, while my father looked for gold. Unfortunately she died when I was just eleven and my father has never been the same since. He made sure we had the best private teachers and set aside money for us in case of his death. I guess he felt that without my mother his life wasn’t going to last long so he wanted to provide for us.” She hung her head. “He was such a kind, generous man.”
Jasper seemed pensive. “Will you go back to America now?”
“Back?” she echoed, perplexed. “Why?”
“Because your marriage to Lord Bantham has never been valid as his first wife was still alive when you wed. You a
re still your own person and can do as you please.”
“But Lady Bantham is dead now and…” She faltered a moment under Jasper’s stare. “My husband assured me we will wed again and make everything legal.”
Jasper looked at Bantham, who stood at the window staring down on the gondola traffic on the canal. “Is that so?”
“Yes, of course.”
She could just kick him for saying it with so little enthusiasm. She straightened up. “My husband and I will soon have a child. We have both been looking forward to that.”
Jasper reached out a hand to her. “May I congratulate you?”
“A bit premature,” Bantham shot. His eyes sparked at her. “She’s not with child yet.”
Her cheeks burned and she lowered her head. He strode through the room with heavy footfalls and drew the door shut behind him with a thud.
Jasper gave her a questioning look. She wrung her hands and said demurely, “It is very hard on him that he has no heir. When his first wife died – which of course she didn’t. But she was with child and… Oh, if she was just another woman with child – how awful.”
Her thoughts raced. Bantham’s reputation was important to her as she could not afford to alienate and lose him. But saving herself was far more important and diversion could lead him away from new questions about Nevada. “I wonder if, at the time, someone else was expecting his child and Lady Bantham felt so insulted she staged the woman’s death as her own. That would have punished both the woman and him, as he was deprived of the child, and given her freedom to start a new life, away from him.”
Jasper nodded slowly as if he considered her story a plausible option. “And why then return to him, here in Venice?”
Under the Guise of Death Page 9