Whatever the case, it seemed certain there were now two blackmailers in their midst: Minnie Alladice with her inexplicable campaign against the Count, and Roger Valentine, with a campaign against pretty much anyone.
The party from the Romagnoli Palace were turning out to be much more complicated than Posie could ever have guessed.
And it would be up to her to get to the bottom of it.
****
Twenty-One
The official meeting hadn’t yet started.
‘Good evening,’ murmured Posie, her stomach a tense ball of nerves. She stole a glance at Alaric, who was looking pointedly away from her, into the flames of a steady fire which seemed curiously unwelcoming.
He had obviously bathed, and shaved, and his cream open shirt and dark blue suit framed his lithe, angry body in a way which was somehow intoxicating. His lemony scent seemed to pervade the room. A manila envelope – was it the same ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ one that the Inspector had handed him only a few hours before? – was lying at his feet.
Posie had the feeling that Alaric was being eaten up with worry, and his long, tanned fingers drummed ceaselessly on his knee.
Posie noted how the drinks trolley was clear of bottles and decanters for once, and that everyone seemed stone-cold sober, even Dickie Alladice, whose face was haggard, but expectantly serious, his eyes blazing keenly in the firelight.
Over near the door Posie saw that Salvarocca and Inspector Lovelace were talking in hushed undertones, looking serious. Presumably Lovelace had updated his old friend on the true identity of Lucy Christie and had revealed the existence of the second, identical hip-flask by now.
But Posie had hardly ever seen Inspector Lovelace look so fraught. What on earth had happened in the last couple of hours? What had they found out about Bella’s murder or murderer?
Settling herself into a chair next to Aunt Minnie, Posie noticed that Roger Valentine was missing.
‘Where is Mr Valentine?’ Posie asked carefully.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ asked Inspector Lovelace, unsmiling. ‘You must be the only one. Roger Valentine managed to escape.’
‘How? From a locked room with a police guard?’
Richard Lovelace checked his wristwatch. ‘It must have been about three o’clock. He tied a lot of sheets together and shimmied out of the window to avoid my searching his room. He ran away in the fog. We should have known better: he was an Oxford sailing blue and an expert at gymnastics; sliding down three flights of a building on a bit of fabric tied with some reef knots must have been a picnic for him.’
Posie sat numbly, remembering the running figure in the dark alleyway, the crowds looking up in amazement through the patchy fog. She also, strangely, remembered Lucy’s introduction to Roger yesterday evening: ‘He’s very clever: keeps us all on our toes.’
Well, he was obviously keeping the police on their toes now.
The Commissario nodded grimly. ‘It doesn’t look good for Mr Valentine. We found some material he was burning in the grate of his room, and he evidently has something to hide. By the very action of his running away we’re assuming he’s guilty of something. Police throughout the city are on the lookout for him, and we’ve got men on watch at the station and all the main water exits out of Venice.’
It sounded hopeless, even though the Commissario couldn’t admit as such in front of all these people. The policeman continued:
‘Regarding today’s murder of the Countess Romagnoli, we are detaining Miss Lucy Christie for further questioning. We have not yet charged Miss Christie with murder, but I expect to arrest her properly by lunchtime tomorrow. The silver flask connecting her to the murder has now proven positive for containing poison.’
There was a collective intake of breath, a suppressed murmuring in the room. Dickie Alladice was shaking his head, over and over. Posie hoped against hope that this was Lovelace’s double-bluff at work, his ploy to keep Lucy out of harm’s way.
The Commissario rolled on: ‘So, in a minute you are all free to go. I can’t hold you any longer. You’re free to have dinner out, maybe? Or celebrate Mass at the Salute Church? The main service is at ten o’clock tonight, and there will be crowds. Please take care, both of pickpockets and of the fog. These mists which envelop Venice are truly devilish; they sap all the noise right out of the air and people have been known to simply fall into a canal without making any sound at all. Personally, I would stay in.’
‘So we are free to go now, Commissario?’ Minnie Alladice was twisting anxiously in her chair.
Posie stared at Minnie Alladice with fresh eyes, yet again. She was imagining the black masks and cloaks, the leverage this small, scheming woman obviously had over Giancarlo, the Count, who even now stared fixedly away, still looking anguished. Minnie Alladice, whose future, unbeknownst to her, was now changed beyond all imaginings as a result of Bella’s death. She would find this out in a week’s time, of course, when Mr Proudfoot got here and read out the Will…
‘I said in a minute,’ the Commissario barked, in something like anger, an emotion he hadn’t previously displayed. A look laden with meaning passed between him and Inspector Lovelace.
Posie frowned. There’s something else we don’t know about yet. But what?
The Commissario cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid there’s another, crucial matter which impacts you all. It concerns the fire yesterday.’
Everyone looked up sharply, but Posie noticed how the Count had been looking worse and worse, minute by minute, and he alone looked resolutely away.
‘You may have noticed how I’ve had policemen and firemen over at the Palace today; checking things, guarding things. That’s because earlier this morning, while the Count and I were going through the building for the insurance calculation, it came to our attention that there was a certain hidden place – let’s call it a secret chamber – which had also been affected by the fire.’
People were looking askance, as if some practical joke had just gone wrong and they weren’t sure how to react. Posie risked a glance over at Alaric, who she saw was gripping the armrest of his chair tightly, so that his knuckles stood out white. She saw, incongruously, that he had scrawled, in blue ink, ‘FRARI. 7 AM’ on the back of his hand.
The Commissario was aware of the strained atmosphere in the room. ‘The fire burnt away an old false wall in the Palace. A very clever false wall; you’d never have guessed it hid anything at all. The plaster, like so much in Venice, was so damp it didn’t offer much resistance. The wall and hidden chamber it revealed were very old, probably eighteenth century. From the time of Casanova.’
‘A hidden chamber?’ Minnie Alladice piped up, a dreadful eagerness and a sense of horror barely concealed. ‘The chamber of the Mistletoe Bride? I knew it existed. I knew it!’
Giancarlo Romagnoli ran suddenly from the room. Outside in the corridor came the sounds of someone being violently sick. But no-one offered him assistance, not even Mrs Persimmon, and all eyes remained fixed on the Commissario.
Posie remembered Lucy saying that the thought of such a place worried Minnie Alladice, that it preoccupied her. Posie recalled too the note Bella Alladice had shown her only yesterday evening, making reference to just such a chamber. So the person who wrote that note had known that such a dreadful place really did exist.
People were getting uneasy and Posie sprang into action. ‘Where is this secret chamber, sir? And why is it of relevance to us? Despite being historically interesting, I mean.’
‘The chamber, Miss Parker, is located between the suite of rooms occupied by the late Countess, and the suite of rooms your own – er – your own fiancé was given to occupy. Above the piano nobile, to be precise.’
Posie nodded, not much the wiser. ‘So you’ve had your experts crawling all over it today for what reason exactly? You’re worried it’s going to fall apart and you want to take photos before it does so?’
Inspector Lovelace was hanging back, staring at the floor. Posie had seen that look before. Bad news.
She spoke very low: ‘Someone was in there, weren’t they, sir?’
The Commissario nodded, looking about him. ‘That’s right. The fire hadn’t quite obliterated everything in its path. When we were finally allowed inside, late this afternoon, we found the charred remains of a woman, probably about a hundred-and-fifty years old. It must have been the original girl of the legend, poor soul.’
Minnie Alladice was making squawking noises, like she was finding it difficult to breathe, while sobbing sounds were coming from outside in the hallway. Posie felt desperately sorry for Giancarlo: so much of his normal life was being stripped away, and there were dreadful surprises at every turn. It was horrible, twisted. A sick legend made real. But somehow…
Posie stared again at Richard Lovelace. He was still looking at the ground, avoiding her eyes. But why? Surely not because of a hundred-and-fifty year old corpse?
She stood up, and found she was shaking. She meant to go out to the Count, bring him water, or a cigarette. But the Commissario’s next statement stopped her.
‘I must inform you all that we found a second body in the secret chamber this afternoon. And this one wasn’t from days of old, but was rather the body of someone who died yesterday, in the blaze. So you see, the fire has now become a scene of murder, or manslaughter, at the very least. Whoever started that fire has caused a death, and if it is the last thing I do I will bring them to justice. Pietro Corsetti was released from custody after lunch, but in light of this fresh discovery this afternoon there are now instructions to bring him in again. He’s an accessory to a horrific crime.’
Posie forced herself to concentrate. ‘Whose was the second body, sir?’
‘It was the body of a woman. Perhaps she was seeking a place of safety when the fire broke out? Little did she know that she was entering a deadly box which filled up quickly with poisonous smoke and which she simply couldn’t get out of.’
To Posie’s horror she saw the big police Commissario quiver and tears welled up in his tired brown eyes. Inspector Lovelace put a hand on his counterpart’s shoulder.
‘She died trying to get out of the door. She suffocated. In agony.’
Minnie Alladice was whimpering. Dickie Alladice was standing, wringing his hands. The maid, Rita, not part of the party at all, was sobbing hysterically.
And Posie found herself whispering: ‘Who was she? Who was she?’
But in her heart of hearts she knew.
****
Twenty-Two
Salvo Salvarocca hung his head. ‘She was unrecognisable, Miss Parker. We only have a heart-shaped key on the remains of a ribbon hanging around her neck to identify her.’
And then, staring at Alaric, who sat with his head in his hands, it all made sense. And Posie was frozen. Suddenly everything reorganised itself into a clear, definite pattern.
Posie spoke quietly to the policeman, but also to the room at large. ‘I think you’ll find her name was Silvia, sir. Miss Silvia Hanro. And she’s probably the most famous movie star England has, or had, at the moment.’
Richard Lovelace had recovered himself. He spoke softly, so that only Posie could hear. ‘I think I guessed that much, Posie.’
Posie carried on as if her life depended on it, fighting back awful tears which were threatening to come. She dared not look over at Alaric.
‘If you check the key Miss Hanro was wearing against the relevant locker number at Santa Lucia Station, I expect you will find her belongings there. A passport even? She is a friend of Mr Boynton-Dale here. I don’t know, but I expect she travelled separately to Mr Boynton-Dale, by train, and was maybe uncertain if she could or could not stay at the Romagnoli Palace with him. I’m sure it’s her. What exactly she was doing in Mr Boynton-Dale’s apartments is a matter he will no doubt be able to explain to you.’
Alaric, his eyes wild, his body shaking, got up and slowly crossed the room. He carried the brown manila envelope and shoved it forcibly at Lovelace without saying a word. No-one followed him downstairs and the front door slammed onto the street.
Posie’s thoughts were tumbling. Silvia had been with Alaric at the Palace, that much was indisputable. But whether she had been visiting Alaric as a friend, or sharing his bed, or trying to start or re-ignite an affair, Posie had no idea.
She remembered how Alaric had been trying to tell her something about Silvia down by the Dogana when they had been interrupted the night before: ‘This wretched thing about Silvia… There’s something else…’
Had he been trying to tell Posie that Silvia was actually here, in Venice?
Whatever the case, while Alaric had been out on his gondola trip with the other house guests, and the fire had taken hold, Silvia Hanro had somehow got herself stuck in the hidden chamber which adjoined Alaric’s bedroom. But how on earth had she known it was there?
The disappearance of the movie star at the time of the fire had obviously caused Alaric to try, at whatever cost, to find her. He must have been worried sick, and he had been looking for Silvia all over the Palace when Posie arrived in Venice the day before. The story about grabbing Dickie Alladice’s safe had just been a convenient little cover. He had been looking for Silvia again in the Palace, by torchlight, last night, when he had told Posie that he had to ‘search out something. It’s important.’ He had inadvertently told Posie that Silvia was ‘precious.’ Alaric hadn’t known that Posie would watch him later from up on the altana with Max.
Stumped and desperate, Alaric had looked for Silvia again this morning, leaving Posie alone. He had evidently gone to Santa Lucia Station to see whether Silvia had taken her luggage away, hoping that she had managed to escape the fire and had made an inconspicuous exit from the city. But Silvia hadn’t escaped.
The locker was still booked out, and Alaric must have realised then with an awful dawning certainty that Silvia had died in the blaze. No wonder he had been in such a dreadful, distracted mood since Posie’s arrival…
Posie listened in a daze to the Commissario’s final words.
‘Needless to say, if anyone has any information on Miss Hanro, or the fire yesterday, which is now being investigated in a new light, please come and speak to me. Or to Inspector Lovelace here. Now you can go.’
The room emptied quickly and at the door Posie found herself squeezed right up against Dickie Alladice, who was sweating, despite the cold draft from the corridor and the lack of alcohol. She suddenly, uncharacteristically, lost her temper, and hissed at him like a scorned child:
‘You knew, didn’t you, Dickie? You knew Alaric had Silvia Hanro in tow and that he was treating me like a first-class fool. That whole “going back in for the safe” business was complete rot! Who else knew?’
‘Posie…’ Inspector Lovelace was at her side and tried to pull her away. But Dickie Alladice had the good grace to hang his head and touch Posie’s arm gently.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. For a second he stared at the manila envelope still in Lovelace’s grip. ‘But Alaric is a friend. And almost a business colleague; tomorrow teatime we’ll be signing the Partnership Deeds for our new venture, and we’ll be in a very sweet place. Besides, it’s not my business to say who Alaric can or can’t bring with him to Venice, is it? Who he can or can’t keep as his mistress?’
He spread his hands, as if absolving himself from any responsibility. ‘He’s just a man, Posie. And after all, we are talking about Silvia Hanro, the most beautiful woman in the world. You can hardly blame the fella, can you? They made a gorgeous couple.’
And Posie remembered, with a flash of sudden understanding, Bella Alladice’s cold first words about Posie having lost Alaric to another woman. Posie saw it now not as a taunt, but as a kind of warning, and she saw that the Countess herself had been put in an awkward position, perhaps not liking it much herself: �
��Anyone who is a friend of Alaric’s has to be invited along, it seems…’ And later, Bella had tried to warn her again: ‘Men always want something else… You have to be careful.’
Then she thought of Max’s seemingly irrational hostility towards Alaric. So he had known what Alaric was looking for over in the Palace, too.
Posie jumped at the touch of Lovelace’s hand on her back.
‘Any idea where Alaric might have gone, old girl? Do you want to go and look for him? Or for me to go and look for him? Speak to him?’
‘No, sir.’ Posie was trying to stop a black rebellion engulfing her. ‘The answer is no to all those questions. Why should I chase him? Now I’m left thinking the worst.’
‘Mnnn, I agree it looks like Alaric has got himself in some sort of pickle. Come on, a cup of tea is what we need now.’ The Inspector almost marched her from the room, towards the stairs to the kitchen. ‘And I’m making it: nothing continental with a slice of bally lemon. A proper cup you can stand your spoon up in.’
In other words, no use dawdling. There was work to be done.
****
The Commissario, Inspector Lovelace and Posie walked quickly away from the crowds.
Above them a blundering full moon was being rocked biliously by banks of wintery cloud, giving surprisingly little light. It was an unpredictable sky.
It was only seven o’clock but the darkness of the evening was absolute, and they walked through dim deserted alleyways and over tiny bridges until they suddenly broke out into the brightness of the fashionable Riva degli Schiavoni; that grand, beautifully-lanterned walkway facing the lagoon. Beautiful people dressed in furs were laughing and promenading up and down.
But within seconds they had dipped back into a warren of snake-like streets and ill-lit courtyards, frequented only by scores of mewling cats. Here and there a candle-lit shrine interrupted the darkness, the scent of rotting flowers blowing sickly on the wind.
‘Along here. Stay close. And watch for rats.’
They walked for a good quarter of an hour and saw no-one until a couple of labourers passed them, calling out something like a warning in the local dialect, and Posie saw they were carrying the silhouetted carcass of a huge, just-cooked pig, still steaming in the night air, bound for an off-the-beaten-track restaurant. Posie’s stomach growled hungrily. She tried not to think of when she might get to eat dinner. Or if.
Murder in Venice Page 18