by Stella Riley
‘Yes. So I did.’ Deep within the night-dark eyes lurked a cold, disquieting gleam but the beautiful voice remained smooth as ever. ‘I’m sure you’ll find it worth remembering.’
‘Eh?’ Ahiram suddenly recognised that he was beginning to feel slightly fuddled. He pushed his glass aside and stood up, saying, ‘I’ve done well, you know. Built up my father’s soap-works till it’s the biggest in the city – expanded into shipping – become a respected figure in the community. And next year I plan to be mayor.’
‘My congratulations.’
‘You think I won’t do it? I will. I can do anything I set my mind to. Always have.’ He peered down at the Italian. ‘I’m a rich man, you know. Rich and well thought-of.’
‘So you said. But why tell me?’
‘So you’ll understand. You help me – I’ll help you. Simple. And no questions asked on either side. Falcieri’s brother may own Genoa – and maybe he could do me some good. But I’ve got Bristol there.’ He held out his cupped hand and closed his fingers hard. ‘And if you want to set up in business here, you’ll need me. Think about it.’
‘Think about it, Mr Webb? I don’t need to think about it.’ Graceful and deadly as a panther, Luciano came out of his chair. ‘I wouldn’t trust you to count the loose coins in my pocket.’
‘Wh-what?’ Ahiram blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No. You’re not particularly intelligent, are you?’ There was steel, now, beneath the honey. ‘Permit me to introduce myself. Luciano Falcieri del Santi. The scurvy money-lender’s son.’
Ahiram’s skin turned patchily white and, for a moment, he looked as though he might vomit. Then he said feebly, ‘I – I – what do you want?’
‘What do you think I want? I wanted to hear you confess.’
‘You knew?’ And then, frantically, ‘It won’t help you. I said I’d deny it and I will. Your word against mine. You can’t touch me.’
‘I haven’t the remotest wish to touch you. You are gutter-filth, Mr Webb – and hypocritical gutter-filth at that. But you’re right, of course. The law won’t help me. And you need not fear the assassin’s knife – for if that were my way, you’d already be dead.’ As swiftly as he had risen, he dropped back into his seat. ‘Get out.’
Ahiram reached for his hat and then stopped nervously, as if fearing some catch. He said, ‘You’re letting me go?’
‘Before you turn my stomach. Yes.’ The implacable, derisive eyes burned through him. ‘Go. We shan’t meet again. But I think you will remember me.’
* * *
Standing at his window, Luciano watched Webb emerge into the street below and then waited until another figure appeared in his wake. Precisely as arranged, Selim looked up to receive his master’s signal and, on being given it, set off noiselessly to follow the alderman. Luciano sat down by the hearth and prepared to wait.
Twenty-five minutes later the door swung open on the Turk, faintly breathless but charged with satisfaction.
‘Well?’ asked Luciano. ‘Did he go?’
‘He went – and is there now.’
Luciano closed his eyes for a moment. It had been the only possible flaw; the one thing outside his control. But he’d reasoned that, after his own revelations, Webb would want the opium quite badly … and apparently he’d been right.
Opening his eyes again, he said flatly, ‘On to Act Two, then. And remember what I said. It’s to look worse than it is. More alarm than destruction. Then get back to the quay and arrange matters there.’
‘Everything is taken care of, efendim. It is no problem,’ said Selim. And with a rare, immensely cheerful smile, went out again.
* * *
Luciano remained by the hearth. He looked at the brandy but did not touch it. Later perhaps, if all went well. He thought of Webb, saving his skin at the expense of another’s and admitting it without a trace of shame; proclaiming his respectability while he debauched small boys in secret. Then he looked back on the things he himself had done … and wondered, cynically, how much further he could go before arriving at the point where he was little better.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, he thought. But there again, the Lord helps those who help themselves. Am I better than those I seek? Perhaps … perhaps not. But at least my motives are less grubby.
He could hear the sound of feet on the stairs and then a fist hammered urgently on his door. Drawing a long breath, Luciano rose from his place and coolly bade his visitors enter.
Three men tumbled into the room. He surveyed them impassively. Both of Webb’s sons and another merchant of the Common Council. It was even better than he had expected. Selim had done exceptionally well.
He said in a tone of courteous surprise, ‘I appreciate the honour, gentlemen – but am at a loss to account for it. Is there something I may do for you?’
‘My father,’ said the older Webb boy baldly. ‘He was to dine with you tonight, wasn’t he? Where is he?’
‘Gone. As you can see.’
‘But he was here?’ It was Webb’s friend, Joseph Wood, who spoke. ‘When did he leave?’
‘More than an hour ago,’ replied Luciano. ‘Forgive me for asking – but is there some difficulty?’
‘The manufactory’s on fire,’ blurted out the younger boy. ‘The office is ablaze – all the ledgers and order-books and so on. It’s being put out but Father ought to be there. Where is he?’
‘I believe … at a certain establishment near the quay.’
‘Do you know the address?’
Luciano smiled soothingly.
‘Why yes,’ he said. ‘As it happens, I do.’
And softly, in as few words as possible, he gave it to them.
~ * * ~ * * ~
NINE
On an unseasonably cold day towards the end of August, Luciano rode back into London and found people looking more cheerful than he’d expected considering Parliament’s recent defeats and the shortages of cheese, grain and vegetables. He also found, on entering his own premises on Cheapside, that the house was full of whores.
‘Well, what did you expect?’ demanded Gwynneth. ‘London’s no place for a brothel these days – let alone one as colourful as ours. I’m sick of having the windows broken and things thrown at me in the street. What’s more – with trade so poor – the girls are sick of it, too.’
Luciano looked for a vacant chair and failed to find one. He said, ‘I’d no idea things were that bad. You should have told me.’
‘And how was I to do that? I haven’t clapped eyes on you for the best part of five months - and last time I did, you were moving so fast that the dust didn’t settle for a week. So I’ve taken matters into my own hands and shut up shop.’
‘And here you all are. How nice. Giacomo must have thought it was his birthday. And Gino … and Tobias. Oh God. Where is Tobias?’
‘I haven’t the remotest idea,’ said Gwynneth irritably. ‘And we only came here yesterday. You’ll also notice, if you take the trouble to look, that Zorah, Firuze and Christina are missing.’
‘Are they?’ Luciano looked round at the five exquisite faces inhabiting his parlour and felt the first quiverings of hysteria. ‘It seems a shame to break up the set. What happened to them?’
‘They had other offers.’
‘Lucky girls. And the rest?’
‘Have their own plans. Why are you laughing?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I was just wondering how I’m going to explain this to Richard if he should happen to call. Or perhaps he’d like to put in a bid. Then again, we might use the situation to boost business downstairs. Buy a brooch for your wife and get a free --’ He stopped and raised a brimming gaze to Gwynneth’s disapproving one. Then, drawing a long breath, ‘All right. It’s not funny. So tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Take Bridie, Ghislaine, Marie-Claude and Elena to Oxford. They want to set up their own house there.’
‘I commend their enterprise. But why do I have to take them?’
‘Ah.’ This, unfortunately, made sense and finally killed any desire to laugh. He’d only just arrived back from Bristol and, aside from the mountain of work that he knew would be waiting for him – and the need to earn some money – there were various other matters he had to attend to. A trip to Oxford, therefore, was the very last thing he needed. He said crisply, ‘All right. I take your point. But what about Aysha and yourself?’
For the first time since he’d come in, Gwynneth looked less than composed. She said, ‘Aysha wants to stay with Selim. As for myself … I’m open to suggestions.’
Or to one in particular, thought Luciano, not without a certain regret.
‘I’m sure Selim will be delighted,’ he replied at length. ‘And regarding your own future, if we put our heads together doubtless we’ll come up with something.’ He looked at the four bright, interested faces. ‘Very well, ladies. Pack up your perfumes and saddle the camels. We’ll leave for Oxford in the morning.’
Toby drifted back part-way through the evening and admitted to having taken leave of absence to visit Amy and Geoffrey Cox. He was completely unabashed and even faintly accusing.
‘I was sick of kicking my heels,’ he said. ‘There’s scarcely any work and you’re rarely here. I’m never going to learn anything at this rate. And now I suppose you’ll be taking the girls to Oxford?’
‘With regret – yes.’ Luciano looked at him. At sixteen, the boy showed every sign of growing as tall as his father. ‘Disappointed?’
‘No. I just want to know whether, when you come back, you might find the time to instruct me in the art of enamelling. If, of course, it’s no trouble.’
There was a look in the clear grey eyes that reminded the Italian sharply of Kate. He sighed, assured his apprentice in caustic tones that he would be happy to do his poor best, and then decided to cut his losses and go to bed.
Gwynneth was in it, her dark hair loose against the alabaster-pale skin of her shoulders.
Luciano stopped dead and, closing the door, remained leaning against it.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said gently. ‘What else did I expect?’
She looked at him gravely and let the sheet slip a few inches.
‘Do you want me to go?’
‘Where to? Giacomo?’ The candlelight accentuated the hollows at the base of her throat and bathed the soft curves of her breasts. ‘Or perhaps he’s already suited?’
‘Elena,’ she replied, her voice as calm as infinite care could make it. He was so beautiful that merely looking at him made her ache … but if he knew how much she wanted him, he would go. ‘This was the only bed I could find. And I hoped that – just for this one night – you wouldn’t mind sharing it.’
‘I see. And that’s all?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Unless you have … other ideas?’
His body certainly did – its reaction automatic, inevitable and involuntary. His brain, some way behind, was still attempting to grapple with the implications. It would be easy to take what she offered; so very easy, just this once, to allow himself some long-denied physical release. But he couldn’t do it. It would be cruel to leave Gwynneth hoping against hope for what he knew he could never give her. And no few moments of pleasure were worth tarnishing the golden bead of possibility that was locked, as yet largely unacknowledged, in his heart.
Advancing to her side, Luciano gently replaced the sheet over her breasts and said, ‘Cara – forgive me. I appreciate the offer and wish I could accept it. Truly. But I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ she pleaded. ‘Why can’t you?’
‘Because it would be quite wrong – for both of us. I’m sorry. But you must try to accept it. As I have.’
And dropping a light kiss on her brow, he turned and left the room.
* * *
In the end, because of the unlikelihood of one man conveying four inviting armfuls unmolested to Oxford or anywhere else, Luciano decided to take Selim with him. Then, on the brink of departure, Tobias presented himself booted and cloaked on the doorstep and announced that – having nothing better to do – he’d quite like to go along for the ride.
‘Why not?’ responded Luciano sardonically. ‘Let’s all go. Let’s take some cakes and ale and plenty of joie de vivre. Does anybody know any jolly songs?’
The journey was neither better nor worse than he expected. The roads were fairly empty of traffic but they were challenged three times in the last ten miles. Rupert – or, at least, one assumed it was Rupert – was plainly giving security a high priority. Fortunately, with Rupert’s safe-conduct in one’s pocket, it did not present a problem.
The city was heaving with people. Luciano sighed and then applied himself to finding beds for seven people. He eventually found the girls a pair of rooms from which a gentleman whose credit had run out was in the process of being evicted, and then resigned himself to sharing a squalid attic in an equally squalid tavern with Selim and Tobias. The girls professed themselves perfectly suited and accepted the purse he gave them with becoming reluctance. Luciano bade them a graceful farewell, told Selim to show Tobias the city without letting him out of his sight and then spent three fruitless hours searching for Liam Aherne.
He eventually learned that Ivo Courtenay had returned to Ireland alone and that Aherne was probably somewhere about – though no one seemed to know where; and, after drawing a blank in a dozen likely locations, Luciano came to the inevitable conclusion that the fellow wasn’t in Oxford at all just at present. He was probably at Thorne Ash visiting Gianetta.
Well, if that were the case, it would just have to wait. Right now, Luciano’s most pressing need was to attend to his business – from which, as Tobias had quite rightly pointed out, he had been absent far too long of late and which would require some adroit handling if he were not to find himself unable to meet next spring’s obligation in Genoa. He therefore returned unenthusiastically to his attic, listened patiently to Tobias’s animated description of the swordfight he and Selim had witnessed in Magdalen Grove, and then lay down to sleep – fully dressed in the feeble hope of escaping the fleas.
* * *
They arrived back in Cheapside the following evening to find the door bolted against them. Luciano frowned a little and instructed Selim to hammer on it with his fist.
Gino’s face appeared briefly at an upper window and, in due course, they heard the sound of bolts being withdrawn. Then the door swung wide.
Except where it was marked with cuts and bruises, Gino’s face was ghastly white.
‘Thank God,’ he breathed in Italian. ‘Thank God you’re back.’
‘What’s happened?’ Luciano was over the threshold in two strides. ‘Where’s Giacomo?’
‘Upstairs. We’ve had … there was a burglary.’
‘God’s teeth!’ remarked Toby, impressed. ‘If this is what you look like, I’d hate to see the other fellow.’ And then, differently, ‘The workshop. What have they taken?’
Luciano was already half-way up the stairs with Selim in hot pursuit. The door to the parlour stood wide and, for the space of a breath, Luciano hesitated. Then he stepped into the shambles within.
The furniture was too solid to have been reduced to matchwood but there wasn’t a piece of it left undamaged and someone appeared to have taken an axe to his desk. Cushions had been slit open, papers scattered, glasses smashed; and in the midst of it, Giacomo lay propped on a half-splintered settle with Aysha in close attendance and one hand to the blood-soaked bandages at his shoulder.
Aysha looked up, her face streaked and swollen with crying and hurtled across the room to cast herself on Selim’s broad chest. Luciano dropped on one knee beside Giacomo and said quietly, ‘Don’t move. Just tell me.’
‘They – they came in the night.’ Wincing and grey-faced, Giacomo replied in his own language. ‘Four of
them. Gino and I, we did what we could – but they were too much for us.’ He paused and then, with an effort went on, ‘I don’t know what they have taken. A little money, perhaps. You can see what they did to the desk. But it’s worse than that.’ Another pause. ‘I don’t know how to tell you.’
‘As quickly and simply as possible.’
Giacomo closed his eyes.
‘Gwynneth,’ he said baldly. ‘She’s dead.’
It was the last thing Luciano had expected. His insides turned suddenly cold and the air seared his lungs. Then, in a voice that seemed to come from a long way off, he said, ‘Where is she?’
‘The spare bedchamber. Gino carried her up. I – we thought that was the best place.’ There were shining rivers on the contorted face. ‘She tried to go for help and they pushed her down the stairs. They pushed her down the stairs, the bastards. There was no need for that.’
Gwynneth lay, silent and cold, on the red-covered bed. Someone had combed her hair and arranged her robe in decorous folds and laid coins on her eyes. She was unmarked, for a broken neck doesn’t show. She looked like a stranger.
Luciano stood by the curtained window, gazing down at her. His veins were frozen, his nerves raw and, with a terrible suspicion growing in his mind, the tiny bead of hope lay in his chest like a lead weight. The fact that, on the last night of Gwynneth’s life, he’d repudiated her and left her alone and unhappy was bad enough. Worse still was the knowledge that, but for him, she wouldn’t have been there at all. But for him, she wouldn’t have died.
* * *
Alerted by Toby, Richard came. He said simply, ‘I’m sorry. I barely knew her, of course – but I know how you must feel.’
‘Do you?’ Luciano looked through him in the manner which, in less than twenty-four hours, the members of his household were already finding hideously familiar. ‘I wish I did.’
Richard contemplated Luciano in silence for a moment. He looked alarmingly fine-drawn and remote … and something else; something that Richard found he didn’t particularly care for. He said, ‘Violence of this kind is never acceptable – but unfortunately these things happen. So what is it you’re not telling me?’