Duilio licked his lips. “Secrets have a way of consuming lives. Does this have something to do with Maria Melo?”
He’d made that connection quickly. “When she came here to the house, she said my mother didn’t know how to play the game.”
“You think she killed your mother,” he said, catching her implication.
“Yes, or it was done to protect her. It has to be her. There’s something wrong with her, something my mother noticed.”
It all came spilling out after that, everything her father had told her. He listened, his lips pressed together, until she reached the end of her words. Then he closed his eyes, brow furrowing. He was, she realized, trying to get his gift to tell him the answer. If he could only ask himself the proper question, surely he would know.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’re right. Eventually you will learn she was responsible.”
At least I’m not crazy. “If she’s planning to assassinate the prince, she’s putting my people in danger. I don’t know who’s protecting her, who’s giving her the authority to do these things, but they’re acting against the interests of my people.”
“That’s why you need to return to the islands, isn’t it?”
It was a relief that he understood. “Yes. She might be the one acting, but someone is sanctioning her acts. They gave permission to kill my mother, exile my father, and to execute me. Marina’s legally dead, so she can’t interfere there. I can’t help but wonder if the farce surrounding her supposed death was done in part to assure that.”
“Then again, you’ve been declared dead. You’re not allowed to return. What can you do?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
His hand settled atop hers. “We’ll think of something.”
We. He didn’t even question involving himself in a matter that might cost him his life. “Duilio, you wouldn’t like it there. Males don’t have the same rights. It would be difficult for you. And if I’m expendable, you would be as well. I don’t want you to get hurt in all this.”
He shook his head. “That’s not going to change my mind, Oriana. If you mean to tackle this hydra, then better you don’t do it alone.”
The Ministry of Intelligence was like a hydra, but there was one head of the beast who may still be in this city. “In the morning, I’m going to start looking for Maria Melo. Try to figure out who she is.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No,” she said firmly. “The people I need to speak with won’t talk with you around, Duilio. I need to go alone.”
He started to argue, but paused and asked, “Will you take the gun or . . . a knife? I’d worry less.”
“I’ll do that.” She’d already decided the little revolver would fit into her handbag.
He took her hands in his own. “And you won’t leave the city, not without me.”
“I won’t leave the city,” she promised. “Not without you.”
He smiled. “Good. This whole courtship process may not be settled, but you’re not going to be rid of me easily.”
Her heart swelled when he said that.
“How long, exactly,” he went on, “does this courtship take?”
“Until both are sure that it’s what they want.” But he clearly had no doubts about taking her as his mate. He’d offered to make her his wife, even. She was the one dragging her feet. “It’s only been two days, Duilio.”
He lifted one of her hands to his lips, then turned it to press a kiss to her palm. “Yes, I’m impatient,” he said, “but I will wait.”
Oriana shivered. It still amazed her how he affected her. She raised her hand to his cheek and slid it around to draw him closer. His lips found hers and he surprised her by lifting her onto his lap, but that let her press closer. She felt the heat of his body against hers. She slid her hands inside his dinner jacket, running them down his sides.
She loved the way this felt, this warmth and closeness and that fevered need to press even closer. When she was touching him, all her worries slipped away. She believed this relationship would work and he wouldn’t regret this in six months or two years or seven. It was as if the rest of the world and all its tangled webs of social expectations and politics no longer mattered. Just the two of us.
One of his hands lifted to her cheek again, then slid to touch her tightly braided hair. She could feel his fingers searching for her hairpins, and she laughed against his lips. “Let me do it.”
She raised her arms to unpin her hair. His hands slid up her sides, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Not content to wait for her to finish, he began kissing one side of her jaw, brushing close to her gill slits. She nearly dropped all the pins.
“Duilinho!” Felis’ voice snapped from the doorway, startling both of them.
Duilio let Oriana go and she slid awkwardly from his lap back onto the sofa.
The elderly maid stormed across the room and cuffed Duilio’s left ear hard enough that Oriana heard the pop.
“Behave yourself, boy!” She waggled one gnarled finger at him and grabbed Oriana’s arm. Oriana rose, more out of surprise than anything else. “Come on, girl. You can’t trust men to control themselves. They’ll take advantage every time.”
Oriana cast a helpless glance back at Duilio as the old woman dragged her away. He seemed torn between amusement and pain. By the time Felis had hauled her into the hallway, she heard him give in to laughter.
“Don’t give a man anything until he’s married you,” Felis lectured as she pulled Oriana up the stairs. “That’s all they’re after, girl. Next thing you know he would have had your dress off. Yes, even Duilinho. I love the boy, but he’s got the seal in him too. Not as bad as that Erdano, mind you. Still no excuse for putting his hands all over a trusting girl.”
Trusting girl?
The tirade went on until Oriana was standing before her bedroom door. “Now lock it after you,” Felis admonished, “or he’ll try sneaking in here.”
Oriana meekly went into her room and shut the door behind her, making a point of fetching the key and rattling it in the lock for Felis’ sake. Then she leaned her back against the door and giggled. She should be grateful that Felis wanted to protect her honor. Having someone concerned for her was valuable.
But she’d been thoroughly enjoying herself. What a shame.
CHAPTER 25
TUESDAY, 28 OCTOBER 1902
Duilio and Joaquim stood in the hallway at the Royal Medical-Surgical School, waiting for the promised doctor to show up. Their inquiry here had taken far longer than they’d expected. Every doctor who might help them had to be fished out of a consultation, meeting, or class, and none so far had been able to help. They were waiting now on a Dr. Cruz, who’d attended the school in the same years as Dr. Teixeira, twenty years ago or more.
The officious clerk who’d been grudgingly helping them came striding back up the hallway toward them, a stern-looking older man in his wake. The gray-haired doctor looked down his narrow nose with a disdainful scowl. “Well, Officers, what do you need today?”
Joaquim patiently explained again that they were looking for information about a healer who’d visited the school years before to demonstrate his powers for the doctors. “Do you have any recollection of that?”
Dr. Cruz’ jaw worked. “Yes, it was a farce—a waste of the students’ valuable time. Why are you asking after ancient history?”
“We’re following up on an earlier conversation with Dr. Teixeira,” Duilio inserted. “I believe he also witnessed that demonstration. Is there any record of the healer’s visit?”
“I doubt it,” the doctor said. “Professor Rocha—the one who arranged it—wasn’t much of a record keeper. He was constantly losing papers and books.”
“It would be very helpful,” Joaquim tried, “if you could tell us anything about t
he healer who visited.”
“I don’t recall much, to be frank.” The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “He was a novice. I remember asking whether he was going to be a priest or a monk.”
He? The doctor seemed sure about the healer’s gender. Joaquim glanced over at Duilio as if seeking agreement, but they both knew what the next question should be. And they both knew the answer. Witches in the Church generally migrated to the same order.
“Do you recall what order?” Joaquim asked anyway.
“A Jesuit, of course,” the doctor snapped. “Is that all, Officers?”
* * *
They’d come to the large house on Boavista Avenue that Anjos had rented for himself and the others of his team. The house sat across the wide avenue from the Dom Sebastião III Military Hospital. Built in a style favored in Spain, it had a small courtyard in the center, complete with a quince tree and a fountain on one wall. It had to have cost a small fortune, making Joaquim curious about the source of the funds. But it was spacious and served as both offices for their handpicked corps of two dozen or so Special Police officers as well as a dwelling for the four of them: Inspector Anjos, Inspector Gaspar, the Lady, and the frightening Miss Vladimirova. Perhaps it was just the Spanish blood in him, but Joaquim liked the house.
“There’s no point in your approaching them,” Anjos told them in a weary voice. He seemed to be having a difficult time catching his breath after climbing the stairs to join them. “They won’t divulge anything about one of their number.”
“I know a couple of the priests,” Joaquim offered. “I might be able to approach them in an unofficial capacity.”
Anjos looked doubtful. “I’ll have the Lady make an official inquiry. She’s been working with them for years. If they’re going to give up anything, they’ll give it to her.”
The Lady’s specialty was witchcraft, and she’d negotiated a tenuous truce between the Jesuits and the Freemasons. She had managed to keep the two groups working together in civility as they sought to unravel the web of spells left behind by Maraval’s attempt to remake the world. If Anjos meant to use official channels, she would be the one to handle it. “Has Gaspar reported back in yet?”
Anjos took a deep breath, and then began coughing. He drew out a handkerchief and covered his mouth. Joaquim fought the urge to shrink back. Tuberculosis was contagious.
After a moment, Anjos had the coughing fit under control and tucked away his handkerchief. “Dr. Teixeira’s secretary didn’t report anything out of the ordinary in his schedule or his notes,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “He did go out to lunch that day, meeting someone at a café on Santa Catarina Street. She didn’t know who. Gaspar’s gone to inspect the doctor’s house.”
Well, that didn’t help. Joaquim took his leave of the ailing inspector, and he and Duilio made their way down the stairs to the ground floor. Joaquim stopped in the foyer, glancing up in time to see a black-draped figure watching them from a window across the courtyard. He shuddered and turned away, heading out into the street. It was overcast, but he felt better for being out of that woman’s sight. “Did you see her?”
Duilio adjusted his frock coat, likely settling it over his holster again. “Yes. I felt that all over the back of my neck. I’d swear she was thinking about killing me.”
Joaquim didn’t argue. “She has barely enough power to stop him from dying, but when she kills something, she’s stronger. That’s probably why Gaspar decided she’s not our killer. If she’d killed all these women, Anjos wouldn’t look so bad.”
Duilio shook his head. “The Lady told us she saved Anjos once before. He works with her, but does she strike you as caring about him? Or anyone?”
Miss Vladimirova’s lack of emotion was eerie. Joaquim walked silently for a few steps, trying to decide whether he was slipping into gossip or merely discussing the case. But it was pertinent that Miss Vladimirova may have a motive to kill. “The rumor is that they are lovers—Anjos and Miss Vladimirova.”
Duilio stopped and gaped at him. “No,” he said in a flabbergasted tone. “Truly?”
“It’s true that the other officers say that,” Joaquim allowed.
Duilio closed his eyes, concentrating. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said a moment later.
“Duilio,” Joaquim protested halfheartedly, “watch your tongue.”
* * *
Nela ran a druggist shop on Bainharia Street, a narrow lane in the oldest part of the city. An exile rather than a spy, the old sereia woman had helped Oriana once before, despite the rules that forbade interaction between the two groups. Then again, Oriana wasn’t a spy any longer. When she came inside, the old woman closed up her store, guaranteeing them privacy. “Now what brings you here this time, girl? The last time you were chasing a necromancer. I assume it was that Maraval?”
Oriana gave the woman a shortened version of what had happened with Maraval’s plan, and then told her about her near execution. “So I’m hunting for this Mrs. Melo now,” she finished. She described the woman to Nela, but Nela shook her head.
“I wish I could help you, girl,” she said, “but I haven’t heard of her. I can keep an eye out for her, if you think she’s still a threat.”
Oriana had spent much of the morning trying to track down other spies here in the Golden City. Most had refused to speak with her, but the two who had weren’t any more helpful. They didn’t know the name, nor had they recognized the woman’s description. Oriana was beginning to think Maria Melo was a ghost.
“I do think she’s a threat,” Oriana told the old woman. “I think her secret mission is to assassinate the prince.”
Nela brought over the pot of tea she’d had brewing, sat down at her table with its tea-stained cloth, and poured for both of them. She regarded Oriana over her cup of tea. “If so, that would be a catastrophe for our people. It doesn’t make sense for the government to follow that path, so you’re thinking that there’s a faction within the ministry secretly supporting her.”
Thank the gods that Nela had seen that possibility. It meant she wasn’t unreasonable in her suspicions. “Exactly. But I still don’t see the point.”
Nela tapped one finger against her lips. “The question is who would profit. Who would most benefit by our going to war with Portugal?”
Oriana didn’t have an answer.
* * *
Over dinner Duilio had divulged his and Joaquim’s discoveries, along with a bit of gossip which, by comparison, made her day feel wasted. She’d gotten nowhere in her search for Maria Melo. Perhaps she was going about it all the wrong way, but she couldn’t think of any other approach to finding the woman.
Fortunately she had one task tonight, and that was well within her abilities. She could surely locate Genoveva Carvalho and casually initiate a polite conversation. She armed herself for that by allowing Teresa to dress her hair and lay out her best gown.
The black dress was a fine one, certainly. The sleeves were puffed and the silk shantung had a luster that spoke of the high quality of the fabric. The silver satin cummerbund lent the outfit a dashing air that the high standing collar belied. It was well made, yet still suitable to a lady’s companion. Oriana ran one of her hands down the front of the dress, admiring the sheen.
Teresa entered the room again, bearing a box in her hands, one too small to be another gown. “This got put in with Lady Ferreira’s new dresses,” she said. “It goes with yours.”
Oriana crossed to the bed where Teresa laid the box and waited while the young woman opened it and spread the paper, revealing silver beading that sparkled in the dim light. “What is it?”
“A capelet,” her maid said. “Felis says Lady Ferreira had this dress made to go with it.”
Teresa lifted the item carefully out of the box.
It made sense of the choice of the silver cummerbund. The capelet was meant to spread over the weare
r’s shoulders. Its beading simulated peacock plumes, only mostly in silver with the centers of the feathers rose and gold and burgundy. Teardrop pearls dangled from each multicolored plume, and Oriana saw the sparkle of gemstones among the beads on the high collar. Surely those jewels were paste, not the real thing. Teresa unhooked the collar and held it out, waiting for Oriana to turn so she could set it in place.
She could argue that the capelet was too fine for her to wear. She should. It was too colorful, too eye-catching for a mere companion. Oriana caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned about anyway.
Teresa set the overlay cautiously on her shoulders. It was surprisingly heavy, although with all that beading, she should have expected that. Teresa came around, closed the collar’s hook, and grinned. “Felis says it’s one of Lady Ferreira’s older pieces, but the lady thought it would suit you. It does look good with your coloring, miss, and your hair.”
Oriana licked her lips. This was Lady Ferreira’s? She had trouble catching her breath for a moment. The chance that those sparkling gemstones were paste had dropped dramatically.
* * *
Duilio fiddled with his silver cigarette case, wishing this whole night was over. He hadn’t been out in society much in the last few weeks, partly because he wished to avoid Alessio’s former lovers and partly because he hadn’t had much enthusiasm for it. He’d been too worried about Oriana to spend his evenings listening to gossip and avoiding mothers desperate to find a wealthy husband for their daughter. But tonight he would have to wear his mantle of inane social hanger-on again, long enough for Oriana to catch Miss Carvalho and dissuade her from pursuing him.
Normally he didn’t mind acting the fool for a night or two out of the week, passing among the aristocracy. Most thought him too stupid to pose any threat. They never gave him much notice as he stood on the edge of their world, talking as freely as they would in front of a potted orange tree. That had proven useful to the police. Even so, lately his enjoyment of these functions had dimmed.
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