by Rhys Bowen
But she actually laughed. “Yes, he’s pretty dreadful, isn’t he? He gives me the willies, frankly. But he comes with the house. Rather like a dog you can’t put down. He and Paolo’s mother. That’s why I’m glad I’m not here too often.”
“You must miss your family,” I said. “Do they come out to visit you often?”
“Never,” she said. “I think I told you that my father is of the impression that abroad starts at Calais and anywhere abroad is utterly bloody. Give him his hounds and his pheasants and his pigs and he’s quite happy. And Mother is the timid sort who would never travel alone. So I see them maybe once a year.”
I looked at her with pity. Here was someone who had everything—palaces, an ancient title, respect, oodles of servants and a handsome husband—and she was lonely. Then I thought that Darcy and I would muddle along on little money and be blissfully happy.
“I suppose we should join the others for luncheon,” she said. “They will wonder what has happened to us.”
Before we could leave the room there was a light tap on the door and Gerda appeared. “Ah, Contessa,” she said, hesitating in the doorway. “I was told that Lady Georgiana was not feeling well and went to lie down. I wondered if I could bring her something.”
“Very kind of you, Gerda,” I said. “But thank you. I think I feel well enough to join the others for lunch. It has been something of a shock for all of us today.”
“Naturally,” she said. “One does not expect a death in the house. It is always shocking, especially for those with sheltered upbringing. Myself I saw death during the Great War.”
“Did the war come to Austria?” I asked. “I hadn’t realized that.”
“I volunteered to go as a nurse,” she said. “I was only eighteen, but I felt I should do something to help the suffering.”
“Very commendable,” Camilla said.
“One does what one has to,” she said. She gestured to the floor beside the wardrobe. “I took care of the mud on your shoes, my lady. I think they look a little better than they did.”
A little better! The shoes were gleaming as if they were brand-new.
“You’re a genius, Gerda,” I said.
She actually almost blushed. “You are most kind, my lady. So if you do not need me, I will go back to pressing the contessa’s evening dress.”
She bowed and walked out.
“Golly,” I muttered involuntarily. Camilla shot me a look that completely echoed what I was feeling—that Gerda was a little scarily perfect. We walked down the stairs together in silence. In the dining room a simple luncheon had been prepared: grilled pike from the lake with parsley potatoes, followed by ice cream and biscotti. We ate in near silence. Nobody felt like talking and most of us didn’t feel like eating either. My mother pushed her food around her plate, glancing up nervously at me from time to time. Klinker, now in clean clothes again, looked exhausted and ate methodically. Only Paolo’s mother and the priest tucked in with obvious enjoyment.
After lunch my mother announced she was going to lie down. I decided I couldn’t wait a second longer. I had to see Darcy. The storm had passed and the sky was now a brilliant blue, with a few streaks of white cloud clinging to the mountaintops. A perfect excuse to go out for a walk. I had just reached the front door when I heard a voice behind me.
“Where do you go, signorina?” It was Stratiacelli.
“I thought I’d take a stroll through the gardens, since the weather has brightened up,” I said.
“Really?” He had that same smug smile on his face. “Did I not say that all were forbidden to leave the house without my permission?”
“I don’t see any harm in letting me go for a little walk,” I said.
“No harm? The innocent young lady who has never met the murdered gentleman before.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“And yet her fingerprints are all over his room. On his door. On the armoire beside the gentleman’s bed.” He had his head on one side, giving me an inquisitive look.
Golly. I swallowed hard. How could I come up with a good answer to that one? Then Camilla called to me. “Is something wrong, Georgie?”
“Signor Stratiacelli won’t let me leave the house because he says my fingerprints were in Rudolf’s room,” I said.
“Well, of course they were.” Camilla came up to us. “Perfectly simple, Assistant Chief. When Lady Georgiana arrived I asked her which room she would prefer. I showed her the room that Count Rudolf eventually occupied and the room she finally chose.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I was originally assigned to Count Rudolf’s room, but I wasn’t comfortable there as it had a masculine feeling to it. So the contessa let me switch to the room next door.”
Stratiacelli frowned as he tried to understand this. Camilla obliged by translating into Italian. “I see,” he said. “And you have no connection to the gentleman at all?”
“I told you. I met him for the first time when I arrived here.” I was just praying they hadn’t managed to find out we were on the same train. Nobody knew that except for my mother and Camilla.
“One of the servants tell me you were seen coming down the stairs together, arm in arm and looking very friendly. Perhaps he tried to become even more friendly. Perhaps you did something with him that you later regretted. Perhaps he forced himself on you. The signora had told you that she had a gun and you decided to take revenge.”
“A good story, Assistant Chief,” I said, “except that I was never friendly with Count Rudolf. It’s true he did try to turn his charms on to me, but I rejected them. And he held my elbow to come down the stairs so that I did not fall in a tight evening dress. And for your information, I am still a virgin. I am saving myself for my marriage this summer.”
To my amusement Stratiacelli looked a trifle embarrassed. “All the same,” he said, “nobody may leave this house for any reason until I have apprehended the murderer.”
“I think we may be here for a long time,” I muttered to Camilla as Stratiacelli stalked off again. “Golly, thank you for saving me, Camilla. That was quick thinking.”
“We have to stick together at this moment, Georgie,” she whispered back.
Chapter 26
TUESDAY, APRIL 23
LATE AFTERNOON AT VILLA FIORI
Still haven’t managed to see Darcy.
It was a long afternoon. We sat in the lake view room, watching the steamers sailing up and down the lake and waiting. Every now and then one of us was summoned to be interviewed by Stratiacelli. Mummy remained in her room all afternoon. I had some time to think: Was it possible that she had actually killed him? She had the means. She had the motive. And I knew that she was ruthless. Nobody gets to the top of her profession as an actress and then marries a duke without a streak of ruthlessness in her nature. I didn’t think she’d have the nerve to put a gun to Rudi’s head and pull the trigger, but then I couldn’t be absolutely sure.
And then there was Max. He also knew about the gun; in fact, he was the one who insisted she carry a gun to protect herself. What if he had somehow found out about Rudi’s fling with my mother and subsequent blackmailing? I could see him killing to preserve her honor. But he was a straightforward sort of chap. I didn’t think he’d go through the whole charade of switching guns and trying to make it look like a suicide. He’d have thrown Rudi overboard when they were in the speedboat, or he’d have taken a potshot at him when they were in the grounds.
So who did that leave? Camilla was the obvious one. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her if she had killed him when we were together in my room. Again she had a strong motive—the strongest. Her whole marriage and future were at stake. And she knew where there was a duplicate key, and could well have found out that Mummy carried a gun in her luggage. But could she have sat with me so calmly and discussed his blackmailing her? And of course the ultimate rea
son that she was not the murderer: if she had shot him she would have had all the time in the world to search his room. She’d have had no need to be crawling around on his floor when I found her.
But then there was Paolo. Had he somehow found out what Rudi had done to his wife and taken his own revenge? I realized he had been very quiet since the murder had been discovered. Was he lying low? Then I shook my head. I had seen his face when the dead man was first discovered. His face had shown utter shock and terror.
I didn’t for one second believe that my cousin David could shoot anybody at close range. Just not the type. Mrs. Simpson, on the other hand, had the sangfroid and ruthlessness to calmly pull a trigger and make it look like a suicide. I thought how happy the king and queen would be if she was hauled off to an Italian jail. But I didn’t see how they would ever prove anything against her. She’d also be the type to have wiped everything meticulously clean of fingerprints.
That left the Germans and Uncle Cosimo. Would they have any reason to get rid of someone who was probably sent to be Hitler’s spy and keep tabs on them? That episode with Klinker was interesting. I wondered if he had been somewhere in the morning and the wet and bedraggled appearance had been arranged to give him a good alibi. But if he had killed Rudolf, why not take the next train back to Germany, rather than face the investigation here? Then something did cross my mind: Klinker was the general’s aide. He went everywhere with him. Was it possible that they had more than a friendship? I had heard that even the toughest of men could have leanings in that direction. And if Rudolf had found out about it, he would not have hesitated to blackmail the general. That sort of information would undoubtedly cost him his job, his reputation. And they were both experienced with firearms.
Which led to the white feather. I knew that during the war white feathers were a symbol of cowardice, given to those who did not join the armed forces. Was it possible that Rudolf was killed because he had displayed cowardice in some way? Blackmailers are certainly the worst sort of cowards.
If only I was allowed out of the house, I could find Darcy. It seemed others were feeling the same way about being cooped up and idle.
“Really, David, I don’t believe this,” Mrs. Simpson said. “You have got to telephone the British ambassador in Rome. Have them send a car for you immediately. Any moment now the press will catch wind of this and we’ll be besieged with newsmen. And you know what your father will say about that!”
“Wallis, the police chappie did say that we were not allowed to use the telephone,” the Prince of Wales said.
“You’re the damned heir to the British throne, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “A jumped-up little policeman from the back of beyond can’t tell you what to do. If you won’t call the ambassador, I will.”
She got up. The prince grabbed her wrist. “Absolutely not, Wallis. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do at all. Just be patient. I’m sure by tomorrow we will all be free to leave.”
“Why don’t they just arrest Claire? It’s obvious she did it, isn’t it?”
“Do you think so?” I asked. I had been sitting silently until now. “My mother is not stupid, Mrs. Simpson. Like you, she is a survivor and opportunist.”
There was a hissed intake of breath from Mrs. Simpson. “Now see here,” she began, but I went on.
“If you had just shot somebody and taken the trouble to switch guns and make it look like a suicide, would you put the real weapon back in your bag where it could be found?”
“Perhaps she thought that it would be called a suicide and nobody would do any searching,” Mrs. Simpson said in a peeved voice. She hated to be crossed in any way.
“She could easily have gone out into the grounds and hidden the weapon, or tossed it into the lake,” I pointed out.
“But then Max would notice she no longer had the gun with her,” Mrs. Simpson said, triumphant at having scored a point. “And being the correct and upright guy that he is, he’d probably report it to the police.”
“And she could say her gun had been stolen,” I countered. It was like verbal Ping-Pong. Actually I was jolly proud of myself. When I first met her I had been completely tongue-tied.
“At least they should let us go outside,” the German general said. “The weather is now fine. It is not healthy to sit here all day.”
“I agree,” David said. “Surely that wretched policeman could station one of his men at the gate if he was worried about our making a bolt for it.”
We stopped talking as we heard footsteps coming across the marble foyer. It was Umberto, the butler, and he carried a silver salver.
“A note for the lady Georgiana,” he said. “Delivered by hand.”
From Darcy, I thought and almost snatched it from the tray. Then I saw it wasn’t Darcy’s bold, black script. I opened it and saw it was from Belinda.
My darling Georgie,
I took your advice and I’m back at my little house in the village. You suggested I could move back home and you could look after me. I’m sure your house party must be nearly at an end and frankly I couldn’t stand it in that place a moment longer. All those rules and dreary food and nuns giving me disapproving looks, and worse still, praying over me and for my lost soul. Of course I’ll have to return when the birth is imminent, but in the meantime I can’t wait to be back with you and we can laugh and eat and drink what we want to. Even smoke if I want to, which has been strictly forbidden there! I’m sending this note with Francesca’s granddaughter who speaks a little English. She’s been told to wait outside for a return note from you. Let me know how soon you can be here.
Love,
Belinda
Oh crikey, I thought. What am I going to do now?
“Bad news, Georgiana?” Camilla asked.
“Not at all. Just unexpected. The sick friend I came to visit really misses me and wants me at her side. I’ll have to write and tell her that I’m not allowed to leave here just yet. Could I possibly have some writing paper?”
“Of course,” she said. “Paolo, could you take Georgie to your study and set her up with a pen and writing paper?”
Paolo stood up and smiled at me. “Come with me, Georgie.”
I thought how strained he looked, utterly drained, and how nice he was. And again I found myself wondering if he had found out about his wife’s being blackmailed and taken things into his own hands. And with his sort of family honor, he was now being eaten up with guilt about what he had done. I wished that Stratiacelli would hurry up with his search for fingerprints and could now conclude who actually had committed the murder. I followed Paolo along the mirrored corridor and into his study at the far end. It was a dark room, its window in the deep shadow of a colonnade outside. Paolo cleared off his desk and put paper and an inkwell in front of me.
“I will leave you in peace,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “You are most kind. This business must have been a terrible shock for you.”
“It was,” he said. “Never did I think that a murder would take place in my house. And what is worse is to know that somebody among us committed that murder. What if they never find out the truth? What if that silly little man arrests the wrong person? I feel so helpless.”
“We all do,” I said. I looked around the room as I spoke and I noticed that the window leading to the colonnade was, in fact, a French door. I could get out without being seen! I gave Paolo a sweet smile. “I won’t be long,” I said. “And I can find my own way back to the others.”
He took the hint and left. I wrote quickly:
Dear Belinda,
What a shock to find you have returned home. I hope it was the right thing to do at this stage, as you were being well looked after, although I’m sure it was boring. I’ll try to join you as soon as possible, but I can’t say when that will be. One of the guests at the house party has been murdered and we are currently all under suspic
ion and not allowed to leave the premises. Until I can be let out maybe Francesca’s granddaughter can do some shopping and bring in some food for you. I’m sorry. This is really quite upsetting and I can’t wait to leave. Take care of yourself.
Your friend,
Georgie
I tucked the note into an envelope, then I slipped out through the French door, finding myself in a colonnade that ran the full length of the back of the villa. I crept along it and caught sight of Francesca’s granddaughter, Giovanna, standing outside the servants’ entrance on the far side. I called to her and she ran up to me.
“Here.” I handed her the note. “It tells the signorina why I can’t come today. You help her, all right? You get food for her if she needs it? Bring messages?”
“Okay. I do,” she said and gave me a bright smile before running off.
I looked around wondering where I might find Darcy and whether I’d get into trouble if Stratiacelli looked for me and I was nowhere to be found. On the side of the house where I was now standing there was a kitchen garden and beyond it an orchard, olive trees and even a chicken run. Darcy had promised to come to my room tonight, but he must be dying with curiosity to know what was happening inside the house. I hesitated, torn between wanting to find him and finding myself in serious trouble with the assistant chief. I set off, darting toward the first row of shrubbery and then planning to make my way around to the gardeners’ quarters. Then I heard a whistle. Surely it came from a human and not a bird. I looked around in the direction it came from and Darcy’s head poked out from behind the henhouse.
“Georgie, over here.” He beckoned.
I slipped into the kitchen garden, between the rows of beanpoles, and reached the olive trees that bordered it. Then I dodged around until I came to the chicken run. Darcy was standing behind the henhouse at one end of their enclosure. The chickens rushed over to me, clucking madly in the hope that I had come to feed them. I just prayed that nobody heard this ruckus. I looked around and saw that we were hidden from view of the main villa.