“And your butler reported this back to you? I cannot imagine him taking such a liberty, if he had gone out of his own accord, feigning an errand.” Jasper shook his head. “No, Donna Giulieta, you sent him.”
She flushed under his sharp look. “And what if I did? Part of my success lies in knowing all of Venice’s secrets. I was just intrigued by the suggestion that the woman on the balcony had died on that same night.”
“You wondered who might have wanted her dead.”
“I was just interested.” She picked up a biscotti and broke it in two, dipping half into her coffee and then slipping it into her mouth.
Jasper eyed her. “And how did you feel when the butler revealed to you who he had seen coming and going, and you could conclude it somehow involved both of these men?”
“I was rather excited.”
“Excited?”
“Yes. It is not every day that someone returns from the dead.”
Jasper shook his head. “Pardon me, but I find that very hard to believe. You are about to be married to a man who is, may I put this indelicately, considerably younger and an eligible bachelor. You discover that at a party he attended, the woman he allegedly loved before appears and shortly after she dies a violent death. This does not disturb or worry you, but you are excited?”
She put the other half of the biscotti into her mouth and chewed, postponing an answer.
Jasper said, “Did you contact Marcheti?”
She swallowed too quickly, the dry mass sticking in her throat. She began to cough and reached for her coffee cup. Jasper quickly handed her the glass of water placed on the tray with her coffee and she drank deeply. Tears burned behind her eyes from the coughing.
“Marcheti,” she said as soon as she could speak again. “Why? Do you think I suspected him of the murder? I guess it makes sense as he doesn’t like Leonardo being distracted. This woman’s return must have hit him hard.” Look closely at him, former inspector, look at him, not at me.
“I think you wanted to know if Leonardo had been home all night. Or whether he might have—”
She raised a hand. “You’re contradicting yourself. You told me you know Leonardo loved this woman. Why would he have killed her?”
“Because she did not die three years ago and she kept her survival a secret for him. How would you have felt if your husband had suddenly turned up alive and well, not having died like you believed him to?”
“That is very indelicate. I will not answer such questions. Does Vernassi know you are here? I’m surprised he allows you to harass me in this manner.”
“He doesn’t know and he wouldn’t agree. He told me he will not investigate the case of someone who is already dead.”
“There, a wise man’s judgement. Why do you not listen to him?”
“Because I handled the case back in England when Lady Bantham allegedly died.”
She blinked a moment. “Ah, I see. You made a mistake and now you want to set it right.”
“Yes. Again I ask you – how would you have felt? If you had handled what you believed to have been an accident and then it turned out the victim had not died? But – somebody else had.” Jasper held her gaze. “There was a body in the car which crashed and burned.”
Giulieta shivered. “Terrible. Then that person must have been murdered somehow and… Did Lady Bantham do this? The woman who now died herself?”
Before Jasper could answer, she added, “Perhaps there is something like divine justice after all.”
Jasper looked her over. “You think that the death on the bridge was justified?”
“If she killed another to get away from her husband and she is now dead herself… Why not? I’m Italian, we believe strongly in vengeance. Even after a long time.”
“Three years is not a very long time.” Jasper put down his coffee cup. “I thank you for seeing me.”
She was confused that he was suddenly leaving. As if he had what he had come for. Had she made a mistake? Said something to give herself away? But no, that could not be. She had been careful. She always was.
He rose to his feet. “I will call again if I need anything more.”
“You’re questioning the bystanders while you should be questioning the actors in the drama.” A burning need rushed through her to divert his attention to someone else, anyone, just so he would forget about her. “Have you spoken with Larissa Kenwood?”
Jasper tilted his head. “Why her? She’s just a friend of the family, isn’t she?”
Giulieta laughed softly. “Just a friend. She has been chasing Bantham since before his first wife died. She never liked her, although she pretended to be friends with her. Now she’s friends with the new Lady Bantham. She’s always around, like a shadow you can’t shake. I would look closer at her. At her movements in the night. If anyone wanted the woman in red dead, it would have been her.”
Jasper made a bow. “Thank you for telling me that. As a matter of fact, I’m headed for Miss Kenwood now. I will keep what you told me in mind.”
She felt like both his bow and his tone were mocking and would have liked to stamp her foot. But she kept a dignified posture until he had left the room. Then she picked up his coffee cup, went to the open window and threw it into the canal below. It immediately sank to the bottom. She didn’t want to see that cup again, be reminded of the inquisitive former inspector and the niggling sensation she had made a terrible mistake. Something that could endanger everything she had worked for.
Chapter Fourteen
Larissa Kenwood, again. Is she really that important? Or are the other women happy to point the finger at her as a convenient scapegoat? Jasper mused as he followed the discreet servant up the stairs to the music room where Miss Kenwood was playing. The notes of a lively piano piece floated towards him as they closed in on the door. The servant knocked and the playing ceased abruptly. “Enter!” a voice called.
The servant opened the door and announced, “Former inspector of Scotland Yard, Jasper, to see you about something important.”
Jasper pushed past him and went straight for the woman who stood beside the piano. Without the Marie Antoinette costume with the towering wig and elaborately embroidered mask, her appearance was now simple but elegant in a yellow dress that fell just over the knee and matching shoes. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon allowing full view of the large pure white pearls dangling from her eardrops.
Having heard from several sides she had hoped to become Lady Bantham, Jasper couldn’t help comparing her to the woman he had seen last night on the balcony. She had breathed a daring air, a sort of life-hungry eagerness that kept all eyes on her. Larissa Kenwood lacked that spark. Everything about her was composed, pleasant to look at but without intrigue. Too thought-out and perfect, possibly.
She reached out a slender hand. In the French manner he pressed a kiss onto it. The gallant gesture seemed to take her off guard and she eyed him with a nervous flutter of her long lashes. “You are a former inspector of Scotland Yard? Has something happened?”
“Yes, someone died.” Normally he would have broached the subject in a circumspect manner, but he was curious how much she already knew, being such a close friend of the Banthams. “Perhaps you have already been informed?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. Who then?” She raised a hand to her throat and toyed with the pearl necklace she wore. “How terrible. I mean, in Venice one would not expect—”
“Did you think people could not die in Venice?”
She flushed. “This is a holiday for me. It’s supposed to be a pleasant time. One does not expect death.”
“One never expects death, but still it always comes, and usually at the most inconvenient times and places.” He gestured to a sofa in the corner. “Shall we sit down? I think you might be upset to learn what exactly happened.”
She followed him to the sofa and sat, up straight, with her hands in her lap. “Is it someone I knew well?”
“Lord Bantham…”
Jasper began slowly, and immediately all colour left her face and she swayed.
“Lord Bantham died? No, that cannot be.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her, scolding himself for having done this. “No, no,” he rushed to say, “it’s not him.”
Larissa sat up again, pulling away from him. “Not him? Oh, that is good.” She exhaled. “He’s a dear friend of mine. Has been for many years. I saw him just last night at a party. It would have been terrible if he had—”
“Yes, that party. Do you recall seeing a woman in red on the balcony?”
Larissa’s pale face flushed. “You mean the woman dressed as Lady Bantham before she died? It was such a shock to all of us. Poor Bantham. He took it hard.”
“Yes, but he did not go after her, did he? Two other men did, but not he.”
“His wife fainted and he had to tend to her.”
“Of course. And you? What did you do?”
“I helped him to get Penelope onto a sofa. She was all limp.” A moment’s hesitance and she added, “I did wonder if she really fainted or only pretended to have done so.”
“Why would you wonder about that?”
“I don’t know. Something about it didn’t seem real.”
“Nothing must seem real after a person who died three years ago reappears on the scene.” Jasper studied her expression, eager to catch every minor change in it. “You were her closest friend, I heard.”
Larissa nodded. “We shared each other’s secrets.”
“So if she planned to vanish, stage her own death, she would have told you.”
Her features darkened as if a veil was pulled over them. She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “No, she told me nothing about that. She did make some remarks, which struck me as odd after she had died.”
Jasper hitched a brow. “What were they? Did you share them with the police at the time?”
“No, the police never talked to me. They assumed it had been an accident. We all thought that.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “Lady Bantham’s body was interred in the family crypt. We had no reason to think… she wasn’t really dead.”
“Those remarks she made which struck you as odd later, what were they?”
“Oh, it was nothing really. Just conversation.”
“Yes?”
“She held her arms in the air and said something like – oh, to be away from it all, to be free, to vanish without a trace.” Larissa shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I thought it was just her way of letting off steam. Her husband was pushing her so hard.”
“Pushing her hard? In what way?”
“To have a child.” Larissa’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not a matter one speaks of.”
“But we must speak of it now that she has returned.”
“You’re certain she is still alive? It wasn’t some impostor, last night, trying to give us all a fright?”
“Back to her husband pushing her, Miss Kenwood. What exactly did he do?”
“He was harsh on her for not bearing him an heir. Every few weeks he would start an argument about it and tell her she had to try harder. I don’t know what he meant by that. Perhaps her way of life. He didn’t like her smoking, drinking cocktails and going out. He wanted her to be in the country more.”
“But she didn’t like the country?”
Larissa laughed softly. “There isn’t a lot to do in the country if you are not so minded.”
“How minded exactly?”
Larissa sat up as if to launch into a full explanation. “I love horse riding and painting. The country is ideal for that. But Olivia, the late Lady Bantham, wanted to shop for dresses and hats all the time, see new art exhibitions and attend parties. As long as she was in London, she was lively and cheerful, always eager to go out, but the moment she was in the country, at Lord Bantham’s estate, all energy left her and she lay in bed most of the day. He loathed her for that. He believed that walks and time in the garden were good for her health.”
And keeping her away from other men, Jasper thought, but didn’t say so.
“You visited her in the country often?”
“Like I just said, I love horse riding and painting. Lord Bantham let me have my own horse there. I mean, he had a mare there especially for me. I rode her every morning. Then in the afternoons I’d go painting by the river or on the edge of the wood. I made some of my best work there.”
“And Lady Bantham didn’t want to come with you?”
“Oh, sometimes she got out of bed in the late afternoon and we sat on the terrace talking. She mixed herself cocktails then and when Lord Bantham came home, he was angry about it. They did quarrel a lot. But I never thought…” She fell silent, her eyes turning worried. She put her hand on his arm. “What do you think happened, Inspector?”
“Her maid,” Jasper said, determined not to be distracted, “did you see a bit of her too? I believe her name was Agnes.”
“I never really notice servants. Just if they do their job well. That is it.”
“And did she do her job well?”
“I suppose so. Olivia was happy with her. She did call her a silly little goose, but… I guess a maid can be a little on the simple side. It keeps them from getting ideas.”
“What ideas might that be?”
“To smile at the friends of the master?” Larissa sounded scornful. “To look up in the world, thinking a pretty face makes up for a lack of breeding.”
Jasper tried not to show his instinctive aversion to her snobbism. “Agnes wasn’t like that?”
“I have no idea what she did when I was not around, but I never saw her act in an inappropriate manner. I always thought her perfectly harmless. The other servants called her Saint Agnes because she always wanted to do everything right. Olivia told me she broke an empty perfume bottle once and instead of throwing the broken pieces into the dustbin and acting like she knew nothing about it, or someone else had done it, she told Olivia and said to subtract the value from her wages. Olivia laughed it off as it had no value at all. ‘Silly little goose,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t survive out in the real world for a week.’ I thought so, too. Until she vanished of course. Imagine taking the jewellery of your mistress and selling it off like it was yours. Then living off it without your conscience ever pricking. She must have been some actress, our Saint Agnes.”
“We can hardly tell if her conscience is pricking, can we?” Jasper kept his eyes on her face as he continued, “It won’t be doing anything any more if she’s dead.”
“Did she die? Is that why you’re here? You said someone was dead, but you haven’t told me who it is.” She moved to the edge of the sofa. “Suspense is not good for me, Inspector. It gives me headaches.”
“Death is never pleasant for anyone.” Her selfishness grated, but especially her sense of entitlement. She was alive to enjoy herself and no one should stand in her way. Least of all, a Lady Bantham returned from the dead?
He leaned back and said slowly, “This morning a dead body was discovered on one of Venice’s many bridges. It was the woman in red who showed herself on the balcony of Sir James’ party last night.”
She gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth, but Jasper wasn’t done yet. He pushed on, “I recognized her, but I made sure that I was correct by asking both Sir James and Lord Bantham to come and see the body. It was the late Lady Bantham.”
“Olivia? That can’t be.” She stared at him. “And you forced Bantham to come and see her? How could you be so cruel? He was devoted to his wife.”
“You just told me he made demands on her.”
“Because he loved her, and was protective of her.”
“Or because he was afraid she was seeing other men?” Jasper leaned over. “Was he jealous? Obsessive? Violent, perhaps?”
“What are you suggesting?” She rose to her feet and walked away from the sofa. She supported herself on the piano with both hands. “This is a blow to all of us. Dear Bantham. I must go and see him a
t once.”
“I asked you questions. Was Lord Bantham worried his wife wasn’t faithful to him? Was he jealous? Did he put her on that country estate to keep her away from the city?”
“If he did, he did not succeed, did he?” She turned to him with flashing eyes. “She died on her way over to London and her shops and friends.” She halted and widened her eyes. “But no, she did not die. If she died here, like you say. How can this be? Who died then?”
“We do not know yet. I have telegraphed to England for more information. Everything about the old case.”
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “If Olivia died here, on that bridge of music, then she showed herself to all of us at the party on purpose. I thought it was just someone looking like her, an unfortunate coincidence, or a bad joke. But if it was her, she must have done it to – get some sort of response or – I can’t imagine what she must have been thinking. To vanish like that. And then return.”
“How do you know she died on the bridge of music?” Jasper asked sharply.
“You just said so.”
“I didn’t.” Did he? He went back quickly across his memories. He had mentioned the Ponte della Musica to Giulieta Calvieri, but not to Larissa Kenwood. She had known in advance. About the death and the circumstances. Had someone let her know? Who?
Or had she known because she was herself the killer?
He looked her over as she stood there, still hugging herself. She looked fragile and undone, but appearances meant very little. He had heard from several sides that she was in love with Bantham, had been for years now. That she had hoped to become his new wife but had been rejected in favour of another. How deeply she must have hated the other women. Could she not have snapped and gone after Lady Bantham, enjoyed digging that long thin blade into her back?
He asked, “Where were you last night, Miss Kenwood?”
Under the Guise of Death Page 11