The Golden City

by Cheney, J. Kathleen

  So they had ample motive, but nothing more. “And your mother’s just repeating your father’s claims.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have looked everywhere, Joaquim and I. We know the pelt hasn’t been destroyed—that would kill her. But each lead we had fizzled away. I personally searched every one of my uncle’s properties. My time with the police forces taught me a great deal about breaking into others’ houses discreetly.”

  “You broke in?” The idea of urbane Duilio Ferreira breaking into a house seemed fantastic. He laughed, the gloom about the room fading with the sound. At least her incredulity had gotten a smile out of him. “Forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to make it sound . . .”

  “Implausible?” he supplied. “That’s what makes me valuable to the police. People think I’m useless, but I was instructed by some excellent housebreakers. I’ll have you know I’m very good with a skeleton key.” He nodded once at the end of that statement. “I’ll even stoop to breaking a window if necessary, although I have not attempted the palace.”

  Oriana wondered if he might be a touch drunk. Or perhaps he was simply fooling her again. “The palace?”

  “To see if he’d hidden the pelt there,” Mr. Ferreira said.

  Something clicked in her mind, a recollection of his wary reaction when she’d first mentioned Paolo Silva the day before. “Do you mean Paolo Silva, the prince’s seer? The one who pulled me out of the river?”

  “Yes.” He sighed, his dark lashes hiding his eyes. “He’s my father’s bastard brother.”

  Why hadn’t he mentioned that when she’d told him of the seer’s “rescue” of her? Of course, many families didn’t speak of their bastards. But Silva’s entry into her story must have made him suspicious. “And what happened to you tonight, Mr. Ferreira?”

  “Erdano and I met at a tavern,” he said. “We were set upon as we left.” He reached back, dug something out of the pocket of his frock coat, and laid it on the table. It was a knife bearing the mark of the Special Police. “It could be a coincidence or stolen, but this doesn’t look like a cheap copy. It’s regular issue.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “I think they’re not happy that I’m asking about The City Under the Sea. What I’m not sure about is how they know I’m still asking.”

  Oriana glanced down at the blade. A line of his blood stained the edge. “Do they know about you . . . and your mother?”

  “Why would we be alive if they did? No, I suspect this is about the investigation.” He regarded her wearily. “I came by earlier to return your sketch, but you were out.”

  Oriana licked her lips. Was he accusing her of telling someone about his investigation? Did he think she’d provoked this attack on him? “I . . . I saw my master on the street, and . . .”

  He held up one hand. “You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to apologize for not getting you a knife earlier, as I promised I would. I’ll bring one to breakfast.”

  The coil that had been twisting in her stomach loosened. She didn’t want him thinking badly of her. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Ferreira stood and offered her a hand up. Her mitts lay on the table, but she placed her bare hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. That close, he smelled of ambergris cologne, of blood and brandy, a fascinating combination.

  “I should go to bed,” he said, “before the brandy goes to my head.”

  He must be exhausted. She felt guilty now for interrogating him. “Of course.”

  “Then good night, Miss Paredes.” He gathered up his coat and assortment of weapons, including the knife with the sigil of the Special Police. He moved toward the door, but stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “And if you sleep in the bathtub, you might contrive to rumple the bed anyway. I was already asked by my valet, who had it from the butler, who was told by a maid that you didn’t sleep in your own bed last night. Their assumption being, of course . . .”

  “That I was in your bed,” she finished for him, warmth stealing through her body again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He nodded, and then was gone.

  Oriana sat down and stared dazedly after him.

  She didn’t know why she was reacting this way to him. She had never given a moment’s thought to any of the men who’d made up Isabel’s court of suitors. Some had been overly familiar, touching her inappropriately or making suggestions, but that had only made her like them less. They simply hadn’t interested her.

  She wasn’t certain why this man did. He wasn’t strikingly handsome. He was human—or half-human, she corrected herself. He was also half-selkie. Her people tended to regard selkies as savages, choosing to live in the sea like animals. She’d never met one before, though. Lady Ferreira was certainly not a savage, nor was her son.

  But selkies also had a reputation for seductiveness. Oriana licked her lips, wondering if that was the source of her reaction. She had gotten close enough to smell his skin. That scent she’d taken for ambergris cologne must have been a selkie’s musk. Could that be it?

  She shook her head to stop her brain’s meandering. She needed to keep herself under control around Mr. Ferreira. She didn’t need any more complications.

  CHAPTER 15

  THURSDAY, 2 OCTOBER 1902

  Duilio had expected to toss and turn for hours, but he’d actually fallen asleep facedown on his bed without even undressing. Marcellin had been livid at Duilio’s disregard for his attire, more so than he’d been over learning that someone had tried to kill his master. Duilio took it with good humor, though, offering the man the chance to pick out his evening wear for the ball that night as a sop.

  By the time he reached the breakfast table, he found Miss Paredes and his mother already halfway through their meal. When reminded of the ball they planned to attend later, his mother promised she would take a nap that afternoon. She appeared unruffled by their plans, which made him feel better about dragging her out into society.

  He turned to Miss Paredes, sliding a napkin-wrapped bundle across to her. “I hope this one works for you, Miss Paredes.”

  She peeked at the knife and its wrist sheath, then quickly shifted the contents to her lap. “Thank you,” she said meekly. Her eyes flicked toward the door where Gustavo was entering, carrying a tray with Duilio’s regular breakfast and coffee. “It will be fine, sir.”

  Apparently she didn’t want to talk in front of the footman. Or perhaps she was sheepish after her boldness last night. But she seemed withdrawn this morning. Duilio preferred the woman who’d surprised him in the library the night before, who’d spoken to him like an equal. He wondered if that was the real Oriana Paredes.

  He wasn’t going to find out this morning, he decided half an hour later. Miss Paredes spent the meal reading to his mother about an effort to lift salvage from a Spanish ship sunk decades before near Lisboa. When he left, pleading a need to go speak with Joaquim, Miss Paredes seemed relieved. It was vexing.

  A quick side trip down to the marina past the Alameda de Massarelos, where the family’s boats were moored, gave him the answer to Erdano’s query about where Aga had gone. As soon as Duilio said her name, a furiously blushing João stammered that Erdano’s sister had decided to “visit” at his flat for the time. Since he’d probably gotten the young man into that situation, Duilio asked João to come up to the house in a few days to discuss it further. João’s apartment was rent free, but the young man would need additional funds if he were to host Aga for any length of time. Duilio didn’t mind—after all, Aga was almost family.

  Joaquim wore a pleased smile when Duilio finally reached his office. The office in the Massarelos Police Station was small, with a modern metal cabinet for files standing in the corner and a decrepit desk in the center of the windowless room. As offices went, it wasn’t particularly welcoming. The plain wooden chairs before the desk were sturdy, though, and surprisingly comfortable—a goo
d thing, since Duilio spent a great deal of time sitting in them.

  “I have good news,” Joaquim said before Duilio even settled into his usual chair.

  Duilio puffed out his cheeks. “Erdano and I were set upon last night.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Joaquim said briskly, waving that away as he sat behind the desk. “Now, Captain Santiago has given me a new assignment—”

  “We’re both fine, by the way,” Duilio said, feeling unappreciated. “Only a knife to the shoulder for me.”

  Joaquim folded his arms over his chest, an impatient frown twisting his lips. “Don’t be childish. Cardenas told me about it when I stopped by the house earlier this morning. He said you came in through the servant’s door late last night, looking like hell but on your own feet.”

  Duilio slumped back in the chair and tugged off his gloves. “You stopped by the house to talk to Cardenas and not to me?”

  Joaquim shrugged off Duilio’s protest. “You were at breakfast. Mrs. Amaral has decided to be petulant and is claiming that Miss Paredes stole personal items of the daughter’s. Some jewelry and—”

  Duilio sat up straight, appalled. “That’s ridiculous. Miss Paredes—”

  Joaquim held up his hands. “It’s a baseless charge. However, the charge gives me license to question the Amaral servants. I can get back to work on this case, even if in a roundabout fashion. Fortunately, Mrs. Amaral doesn’t know where Miss Paredes has gone or she’d probably demand I immediately arrest her.”

  “Damnation,” Duilio said with a grimace. “She’ll know tonight. Remember, we’re supposed to go to the Carvalho ball tonight.” When Joaquim looked ready to argue, Duilio added, “Besides, servants up and down the street do gossip. It wouldn’t occur to them that her presence should be kept secret.”

  “Which is why I spoke with Mr. Cardenas this morning,” Joaquim said. “I wanted to ask him to have the servants keep quiet about Miss Paredes.”

  Duilio stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles under the desk. It irritated him that Joaquim felt unwelcome in his home. There’d been a lot of friction between Joaquim and Alessio when they were young. When his mother’s pelt was stolen, Alessio had chosen not to tell Joaquim, even though Joaquim surely would have been helpful in the search. Duilio didn’t know what had passed between the two of them, but he suspected that was at the base of Joaquim’s behavior. And Alessio was dead. “You should have come up and eaten with us.”

  “I’d already eaten, and I wanted talk to Mr. Cardenas, not you.”

  That puts me in my place. Duilio sighed. “That will give us until tonight, at a minimum. Has Efisio contacted the police in any way about Lady Isabel?”

  “No,” Joaquim said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a conspiracy of silence, with him and the girl’s mother shielding the criminal while they’re trying to protect their so-precious reputations.”

  Duilio did understand Joaquim’s disdain for that aspect of privilege. Reputation shouldn’t come ahead of the truth. He nodded mutely.

  “Now, I have something to show you.” Joaquim opened a desk drawer, withdrew a slip of paper, and handed it to Duilio—an invoice from the Castro Ironworks. “I talked with the bookkeeper there a couple of weeks ago, before the investigation was shut down. He didn’t recall anything unusual, but left this for me late yesterday. He didn’t know where the chain ultimately went, but the bill went to that address.”

  Duilio frowned down at the paper, an order for three hundred feet of galvanized marine chain. A coffee stain marred one corner of the invoice, as if a cup had been left atop it. The grade of chain, a little heavier than a normal anchor chain, approximately matched what Duilio had seen when peering out through a submersible’s windows. The billing address near the bottom was in a less-well-to-do parish of the city on Bonfim Street. “Espinoza?”

  “I stopped before work this morning and talked to the landlord,” Joaquim said, “one Mr. Gouveia. The renter answers Espinoza’s description handily. Middling age, lean, with white hair in a queue. He hasn’t been seen there for some time. Gouveia isn’t certain exactly how long, but he’s still receiving the rent via the mail.”

  Fortunately, Espinoza’s old-fashioned hairstyle made him memorable. “Well, this has promise.”

  “Here’s the best part,” Joaquim said. “The tenant rented both the first and second floors and, according to Mr. Gouveia, the first floor has been made over into a craftsman’s shop.”

  “Woodwork, perhaps?”

  “The landlord wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make me curious.”

  “Me too.” Duilio folded up the invoice. He held it between his palms and asked himself whether it was important. Yes, came the answer. Duilio grinned at his cousin. “I’ll try to get back with you later today, let you know if I find anything.” He quickly rose to take his leave. “By the way, did you get a chance to tell Captain Santiago I had another lead I was working on?”

  Joaquim rose as well. He retrieved his suit coat from the back of his chair. “I did, although I didn’t tell him what lead or mention the specific case. He would know, since you’re only on the one right now. But I didn’t feel comfortable talking about your source. Captain Rios was in with him,” Joaquim finished, shrugging on his coat.

  Duilio paused, one hand in the doorknob. Captain Rios was the liaison between the Special Police and the regular police, and he thoroughly disliked Duilio. Rios considered him an interfering busybody and dilettante. “The person who attacked Erdano and me in the tavern last night? He left his knife behind. It was Special Police issue.”

  • • •

  Oriana had been working in the front sitting room where the light was good, but she’d finished the edge she was hemming some time ago. She’d been sitting there just staring at it. The blue silk dress with its layers of skirt and newly attached ruffle was almost ready. At the moment it lay across her lap on the beige sofa, a cloud of darkness that reflected her mood.

  She shook herself back to awareness. The day before she’d checked behind her a dozen times on her walk home—using a far more circuitous route than she would have normally taken—and had finally been satisfied that she wasn’t being followed. Her brief foray in pursuit of Heriberto had given her a great deal to think about. She’d always suspected that Heriberto wasn’t above blackmail. Now she knew that to be true.

  He had definitely been threatening her father. It had been a vague threat, but Oriana had heard Heriberto mention his girl. She didn’t know whom Heriberto meant by that. It wasn’t Oriana herself, because Heriberto had said he knew where she lived. It apparently wasn’t her father’s employer and purported lover, Lady Pereira de Santos, which hinted that her father was involved with more than one woman. Oriana hadn’t yet forgiven him for replacing her mother with Lady Pereira de Santos, no matter that her mother had been dead for fourteen years now. It implied that the tie of Destiny between her father and mother had been false, didn’t it? She hadn’t been able to reconcile that in her mind yet.

  And she was jealous of her father’s new life here, where he had a gentlemanly occupation and likely didn’t wear shoes that pinched his feet. Here the males had all the opportunities, which would suit her father perfectly. She shouldn’t be angry with him. But she’d been the one left behind to raise Marina when he’d been exiled. She’d had to hear the news that her sister was dead. She’d been alone then, with no one to comfort her.

  Lady Pereira de Santos lived one house over, and Oriana’s father came there on occasion. She would peer out the Amarals’ windows, trying to catch a glimpse of him as he walked up the front steps of the Pereira de Santos mansion. But she’d never contacted him—not even a note. She had played by the rules, done everything as she should, and now she felt a fool.

  He’d known she was here in the city. Her father hadn’t contacted her, but he hadn’t displayed any surprise when Heriberto asked about her either. He�
��d seemed ready to defy Heriberto for her sake. He said he wouldn’t tell Heriberto where to find her even if he knew. Part of that was simply his temper. She’d gotten her hot temper from him, not her mother. But she believed his words.

  She’d spent the past two years in fear that Heriberto would blackmail her by threatening her father. Evidently she’d gotten it all backward. And what of the woman who’d watched her from across the street? Oriana sighed, clenching her teeth on the pins in her mouth. She wished she knew what the truth was.

  Stop wasting time. She could mull this over and over for hours and still get nowhere. She turned the dress about to take in the waistband.

  The door to the sitting room began to swing open. Oriana reflexively buried her bare hands in the mass of fabric in her lap. But it was Mr. Ferreira who stepped inside, leaving the door open. His brows drew together quizzically as he regarded her. “Miss Paredes?”

  She abruptly recalled the pins in her mouth and carefully removed them, keeping the webbing between her fingers hidden the entire time. “Mr. Ferreira.”

  “Please don’t rise,” he told her. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Alterations, sir.” She calmly set the two pins into a small pillow that rested on the table and reset the needle in the fabric. “For the ball tonight. Is your shoulder better?”

  “Is that one of my mother’s old gowns?” he asked, disregarding her query.

  Did he think she’d misappropriated it? “Miss Felis assured me your mother wouldn’t mind my wearing one of her old gowns. In fact, Miss Felis insisted. She didn’t want me being a discredit to Lady Ferreira due to lack of proper garb.”

  Mr. Ferreira sat down in the chair next to the sofa, saving her from craning her neck to look up at him. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips. “I doubt my mother would even notice, Miss Paredes,” he finally said. “But I recall your wearing several attractive gowns over the past few months. Why do you not . . . ?” When Oriana didn’t clarify, he said, “Ah. Lady Amaral didn’t allow you to take anything with you when you left. Did she?”