by P A Latter
‘I suppose you’re right. It’s no more speculative than my original idea.’
‘Look, I know you’re dying to start reading the diary. I so hope it has the answers, but it only covers a very short time.’
‘I’ll try not to raise my hopes too high. Thanks again. So much. I’ll give you a full transcript as soon as I can work through the handwriting. And I nearly forgot. I brought you a souvenir.’
Julia handed over the tee shirt. It was printed with a cartoon of two punk-styled putti defacing an old Master with graffiti.
After Sam left, Julia ordered another coffee and settled down to read the diary. Hours later, oblivious to the clearing going on around her as the café tried to close, she was eventually ushered out.
She was already convinced that Edmond had met the Assassin. The diary held the key to his identity.
Chapter 29
I can scarce believe I am in Venice at last, but the light, the noise and, above all, the Stink, serve to convince me that this is not a dream. I am so grateful to my father for permitting this Voyage. I intend to repay his generosity by applying myself to study, with great diligence, when I go up to Cambridge, on my return to England.
However, I mean to enjoy every moment of this Adventure, before I have to return, which I am sure will be with the utmost reluctance. I am also fortunate that James Mackenzie is the most considerate Bear-leader that one, such as myself, could hope to have. As he has been my tutor for so many years, I imagine it would be all too easy to continue to treat me like a boy, but he is cognizant of my Maturity and has granted me a gratifying degree of independence.
After some thought, I have decided to address this Journal as if to an intimate friend or, better, a stranger, but one to whom I have promised to keep no secrets. I wish to make as full and honest account of my impressions - both of the Sights I encounter and the people I meet - as I am capable, and I do not wish to constrain myself with concerns that my writing may be too indelicate for a gently-bred female to see, or that I otherwise might - unintentionally - cause insult to anyone.
I will freely confess I am hoping for opportunities of the former nature. Venice has a Reputation, which appears to be borne out by the boldness of the women I have seen in boats and at the water’s edge. Mackenzie refused to translate everything that the women of the docks were calling out. However, I have attended to his lessons more closely than he suspects, and I believe I could make out the prices and some of the services they offered.
Tomorrow we begin our Exploration of the architectural Delights of the City. Mackenzie has secured the services of a local guide and a boatman to convey us around this most astonishing City. It may be the most unoriginal observation, that the waterways take the place of thoroughfares, and small vessels of ever imaginable style, perform the functions of wheeled vehicles at home, but I believe I will never tire of the novelty of observing this water-borne traffic or of stepping into a skiff in order to cross a “Street”.
Our most obliging landlord has promised to procure tickets to the Opera for us and tonight we will attend a Concert at one of the famous Ospedali.
***
During the performance by the girls of the Ospedali last night (whose singing was truly angelic), I was gratified to make the acquaintance of a most illustrious and also notorious visitor to Venice. He insists that he is here Incognito, despite his identity being known to the whole of Venice Society. Even I, unsophisticated as I may be, knew his name, from the newspaper reports, when it was whispered to me.
On account of the Circumstances surrounding his exile here, he (laughingly) denies his Title and will acknowledge no other appellation but “Henry” and consequently I will abide by his wish, and give him no other name in this Journal.
Henry has been so obliging as to invite me to join his party to the Fenice in two days’ time. I keenly feel the honour, that such a personage should single out a young country gentleman for his attention.
***
Mackenzie has promised to keep a detailed record of our cultural expeditions - of the Palazzos and all their Treasures. I will comment on the Sights and Artefacts that most particularly draw my attention, but I will devote the greater part of my narration to other more personal observations and to preserve memories of the social engagements which are already multiplying into a satisfyingly full schedule. My mantel-shelf is filled with cards and invitations.
***
One would not need to know Henry’s true identity to recognise that he is accustomed to the exercise of Power and to Deference from those around him. I have been told - I believe it was meant kindly - that he can be unthinkingly selfish, even cruel and, indeed, in repose, his face shows little sweetness of expression. However, his features are rarely at rest, but I am surprised that in one so animated, I find I am frequently unable to read his thoughts.
He has shown nothing but the utmost of disinterested kindliness and friendship to me, and I am minded to suspect that the perceptions of others are clouded by Envy or Jealousy, rather than to doubt Henry’s good faith, without evidence to support a contrary position.
***
Venice continues to charm and amaze. Henry has promised to guide me as Dante was led, but says I must decide whether he is Virgil or Beatrice. He is an unlikely Beatrice and, accordingly, he has introduced me to a delightful establishment which is in the nature of an Earthly Paradise.
Gambling is the principal attraction for those who attend and Henry affects to find it amusing that I have little aptitude and - fortunately for my pocket - less interest in play, but am content to watch the fall of the cards. I have to conceal my horror at the sums the players appear unconcerned to lose. I would not wish them to think me such a greenhorn. Henry won a considerable sum last night and declares I bring him good fortune.
I fear I am in more danger of losing my own Fortune and, perhaps, my Heart, to the ladies of the establishment. I have had the most delightful introduction to their Charms, which are quite unlike anything of this nature that I have experienced.
These Courtesans affect the manners of the most gently-born, in the elegant salons of the Palazzo. When one selects a companion - or, it seems, one is selected by the lady, for they are quite determined in whom they will or will not accept as a patron - one is led to a more intimate Boudoir.
There she will exhibit the most shameless and lascivious behaviour. Henry tells me they are trained to excite the most jaded palette and I can imagine it is so. For myself, I was scarce able to contain myself before she was undressed to receive me. But my lovely whore took pity on my incontinent haste and pleasured me further while I suckled her splendid bubbies. I cannot imagine why so many men wish to gamble, when there are Delights such as these, on which to spend one’s money.
Henry jokes that my youth and comeliness, which I do not claim to possess, have given me the privileges - and bargain rates - of a valued customer, but I must marshal my resources strategically, if I am to continue to enjoy the favours of these beautiful but avaricious Sirens. I take Henry’s teasing in good part, being well accustomed to such usage from my older brother.
***
I wish I had a fragment of Dante’s skill, to relate the extraordinary beauty to be found in this City, as well as the contrasts one experiences at every turn. I am awestruck by a marble statue in a Piazza, and then I see a man piss on its plinth, as readily as a carter, against the wheel of his wagon, at home.
Today, knowing of my desire to purchase a painting as a memento of my stay, Henry has taken me to visit a number of artists’ studios. I did not see anything - or, rather, saw too much to make a choice of an individual work to take home. Henry did not help in my selection, as he was paying rather more attention to the pretty artists’ models, than to the completed canvasses.
He has suggested I should commission a work, as he says he has done, but I do not think I could afford such an indulgence, and there might not be time for its completion, before Mackenzie and I travel on to Florence.
/> ***
There is news from home of lively political arguments, despite the most recent Election. My father is more concerned with the weather continuing cold and dry, which is like to cause severe distress to some of our tenant farmers.
My brother is taken up with research into the modern theories of improving Agriculture, but he cannot change the weather.
Henry is a confirmed partisan of the Prince of Wales. He is racked with frustration that he cannot take his Seat in Parliament, to help combat the government’s majority in the Commons. It is one area in which we disagree, as I have a high regard for the good sense of His Majesty our King.
I begin to fear that his residence in this country has caused my Friend to become imbued with the spirit of Machiavelli:- he spoke to me somewhat wildly, that the death of the King would resolve any amount of turmoil and dissent.
However, I know that on occasion he professes sentiments that he does not truly hold - I believe, to test out their effect on himself, as well as his interlocutors - and so I cannot consider his words treasonous, or to come between our friendship.
***
I am more concerned that Henry has involvement with people who I believe are not good Christians - not merely Papists, as are all the natives of this country - but practitioners of Dark Arts. Henry mocked me roundly when I ventured to suggest this, saying they are merely students of Natural Philosophy and Alchemy, but I have a deep suspicion of one of his newest intimates, who names himself as an Apothecary.
I believe it is the political situation at home which is causing this darkening of Henry’s moods and interests. He feels another change of government might permit his return, but any pleasure I would take in such a Reversal would be solely for his sake. I can see beneath his insouciance, that he finds his exile overwhelmingly irksome.
***
Henry sent a message requesting I attend him in his rooms yesterday. He lodges most comfortably near the Rialto Bridge, although I do not know how he can rest in such a neighbourhood, which is filled with noise, both day and night. I am beginning to feel the faintest melancholy yearning for the peace of the Kentish countryside.
He has charged me with a particular commission:- despairing of being able to return to England for several years, he has asked that I convey a package, privily and personally, into the hands of his cousin, whose name and direction in London, he has entrusted to me. He emphasised that this should be undertaken with the utmost discretion.
I cannot tell how seriously this is meant - his expression, as so often, was unreadable - but I will honour his words. I am to wait on him in three days’ time to collect this parcel, and he has told me he will be engaged elsewhere in the interim period.
I shall feel quite abandoned, as I have come to depend on him so entirely. But I have been neglecting poor Mackenzie, and this will provide me with an opportunity to redress this neglect, and to devote more time to his company.
***
I have this moment returned from Henry’s lodgings. I am shocked and discomforted beyond imagining. Henry is dead. I will continue when I have ordered my thoughts.
When I went to the lodgings, Henry’s man recounted to me that he had discovered his master’s body, when he went to rouse and shave him earlier this day. Henry was in full health when I saw him last, and the valet had no suspicion of an impending illness. He firmly believes that his master has been the victim of Black Magic.
He told me that Henry had returned home very late the previous night, and was unusually subdued, but well and not even in his cups. Henry holds - held - his drink nobly, but I do not doubt a competent valet could estimate his master’s consumption, almost to the glass. He knew, but was reluctant to tell me, where Henry had spent the evening, and it was simple enough to deduce that it was at the premises of this Apothecary. When I challenged if this was the case, he claimed not to know the address, which I believe was from a desire to protect me from any danger that this individual could represent.
I departed with the package which had been left for me, carefully wrapped and sealed, on his desk. I am unable to do anything more than honour and fulfill Henry’s final request to me, that I deliver the package to his cousin.
***
The package I am to deliver to Henry’s cousin has the dimensions and weight of a framed painting. I am curious to see if I am correct, and I hope I may be permitted to see the contents, when the seal is broken. I can only be relieved that the news of Henry’s sudden and shocking death will be conveyed to his relatives, before I return to England, and I will not have the burden of informing the lady of this mysterious Tragedy, when I execute my commission, and complete the delivery.
***
A most awkward occurrence:- Mackenzie came into my room, before I had time to place Henry’s package in my trunk. He supposes it to be a painting, that I have acquired for myself, without his approval. Such a purchase would expressly contravene the instructions of my father, to consult Mackenzie, before committing any significant sum of money.
I had to refuse to break the seal, and now Mackenzie suspects me of choosing a painting of such a salacious nature, I am too embarrassed to reveal it to him. The money lost to the ladies of the Palazzo del Divertimento, which I had not yet confessed spent, is now to be assumed the price of the unsanctioned painting. I cannot disentangle my feelings of guilt and relief, and my sorrow.
***
I am sorely disappointed. An expedition across the lagoon to Murano to inspect some of the famous glass works had been planned, but last night I cast up my accounts and still feel as weak as a cat. I am exhausted by merely sitting to write a few lines.
***
I attempted to rise today, but I feel even weaker than previously. I begin to fear that my sickness is a Contagion I may have contracted from a Miasma surrounding poor Henry’s body. Mackenzie is a wonderful but fearsome nurse. He has said he will take this journal from me and consign it to my travelling trunk, that I may rest completely and regain my strength.
Chapter 30
As soon as Julia had worked her way through the diary, struggling with vagaries of handwriting and occasionally unfamiliar slang, she typed out the sections she had marked as potentially relevant and emailed Sam.
I have spent every free moment deciphering the diary and attach an incomplete transcription. I hope that what I have attached will give you a flavour of the text, plus everything that looks salient to acquiring the portrait - although it all remains maddeningly inconclusive. Let me know what you think. I’ll type out the rest (a lot more naughty bits!) as soon as I find the time.
She went into Fathon House on the Friday, looking forward to Sam’s reaction and to telling Penny all about her holiday. She ran up the stairs to the workshop as soon as she arrived and was gratified by Sam’s enthusiastic response to the diary text.
‘Edmond certainly had some fun in Venice. But he probably came home and turned into a stodgy pillar of the community.’
‘He did sound remarkably level-headed, considering he was probably still a teenager.’ Julia sniffed. ‘Can I smell smoke?’
‘Probably. Cassie comes up here after I’ve gone home, for a sneaky ciggie sometimes. She puts the fan on to cover it, but obviously it’s not a hundred percent effective.’
‘You use inflammable solvents and resins don’t you?’ Julia said.
‘Small amounts. Hence the extractor fan.’
‘But she should know it could be dangerous.’
‘It’s also illegal. But she’s the boss.’ Sam shrugged.
‘Yes. That makes it tricky.’
Julia left Sam with a sympathetic smile and went down to see Penny.
‘Where’s the handsome Italian you were going to bring back for me?’
‘Will this one do?’ Julia placed a printout of the urchin painting in front of her.
‘This looks like.. It must be.. It’s the Assassin’s child. Or it’s him. When was it painted? How did you find this? Does it give us a name for the Assas
sin?’
Julia had to admit that the Marcato painting only added to the mystery of the Assassin’s origin and identity. She related everything she had found in Venice - disappointing or intriguing - depending on mood or point of view. She told Penny about the diary and its abrupt conclusion.
‘Do you think he stopped writing because he was upset by the death of this Henry?’
‘I don’t know.’ Julia hadn’t progressed beyond frustration that the entries terminated so abruptly. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think he planned to continue when he was well.’
‘Perhaps he did, in another book, if this one was mislaid.’
‘Everything I have found has just raised more questions. While I was away, I thought I’d got it out of my system - that I was content to live with the mystery…’
‘But the diary has changed your mind again.’
‘I went to a reconstruction of an 18th century entertainment on my last night, it was just amazing. But when I read the diary, I could see Edmond’s Palazzo del Divertamenti so clearly and I could swear Henry was the Assassin. I have no evidence at all, but it all just fits.’
Penny seized on the holiday detail: ‘I am pleased to hear you did have some fun while you were away.’
‘I had a really wonderful holiday - even all the time I spent in the archives. I got to wander all around the Doge’s Palace. And I went to so many galleries.’
‘I hope you found time to eat.’
‘I’ve put on pounds. The food was tremendous and the wine.’
‘I have to say you do look well. You were a bit peaky before you went away.’
‘I thought I was done with all the stress when I gave up the curatorship. But the trial… and then Cassie… It felt so good to get away from it all.’
‘Well, the trial’s all over and Emma Seckfield is back in the main gallery. But Cassie is still here.’
‘Sam said she is unpredictable.’
Penny paused for a moment. ‘That’s a fair comment. She does seem a bit distracted, but I’m not sure that it’s work-related. She may have private issues that she doesn’t want to share with us.’