Father Gianni. He was dead.
I gasped as the memories of finding his dead body came rushing back. The pool of blood flaring out like deep red wings of fire around him. His twisted, broken body at the foot of Cosimo de’ Medici’s statue. His eyes flung open with that unstaring, vacant look of death. I crossed myself, murmuring a quick prayer for my lost, dear friend.
Paula kept her hand on the cloth. ‘When you did not come out of the basilica, the driver went in to look for you—’
‘And found me in the Old Sacristy with Father Gianni,’ I finished for her in a grim tone. ‘I can scarcely believe it, though I saw him with my own eyes.’
‘Apparently, he was … stabbed,’ Paula said with a shudder. Raphael slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned in closer to him. ‘After he found you, the driver shouted for the polizia. Then an unknown man helped to carry you outside to the carriage, and the driver ferried you back here.’
As she narrated the events, I had a vague recollection of several priests hovering around me at the basilica and, after that, the sensation of floating out to the carriage. ‘I seem to recall someone who cradled me in a comforting embrace on the trip home – a savior. Did you see who brought me home with the driver?’
‘No. You were alone in the carriage when Raphael and I came down for you,’ she responded.
Frowning in concentration, I tried to summon clearer images of the sequence of events. ‘But someone drove back with me.’
‘The driver would know,’ Raphael pointed out. ‘I will question him.’
‘Aunt Claire, what is going on?’ Paula removed the damp cloth and held it in a tight grip as she locked glances with me. ‘You did not visit Father Gianni to confess, did you? The Old Sacristy is far from the confessionals at the basilica.’
Holding her worried gaze for a few moments, I realized that I could not lie to her any longer. Paula was too dear to me, and she deserved to hear the truth. Forcing myself to sit up, I took in a deep breath and launched into my story. ‘I went to see him yesterday because I was distraught and needed my old friend’s counsel.’
‘Because of Mr Rossetti’s visit?’ she queried.
Nodding, I reached under my pillow and retrieved the note about Allegra. As I handed it to Paula, I explained how I had found it under my teacup the previous day.
She scanned it quickly. ‘I … I do not understand. I thought your daughter died when she was quite young.’
‘Yes, of typhus – or so I thought all these years.’ Taking back the note, I read the words again: Your daughter lives.
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.
Paula shook her head. ‘How is it possible that this fact could have been hidden from you for so long? You would have had some inkling, some bit of suspicion that she was still alive.’
Folding the note again, I clasped Paula’s hand. ‘I always had a doubt about her fate since I never actually saw her body; it was conveyed to England and buried near the church at Harrow. At the time, I received only a letter and death certificate from the Convent of Bagnacavallo, both of which have been lost over time. That is why I asked to meet Father Gianni yesterday. I told him everything, and he was researching the convent’s death records that are housed in the Medici Library at San Lorenzo. In truth, he had little hope that Allegra had survived, though he contacted the present Mother Superior at the convent.’ My heart squeezed in secret optimism. ‘But I wanted to know – no matter what. That is why I went to see him this morning: to see what he had found out.’
‘And he ended up dead,’ Raphael said as he tightened his arm around Paula protectively.
I started to fill them in on the rest of the details when I realized that one of our family was missing. ‘Where is Georgiana?’
‘Do not worry, Aunt. After Raphael brought you in, I left her with her friend, Maria, and her family so you would not be disturbed,’ Paula reassured me. ‘Now, tell us everything that happened at the basilica.’
I closed my eyes briefly to compose myself and then began, ‘Father Gianni was supposed to meet me at the high altar in the Medici Chapel, but he was late, very late. So I waited. When he finally appeared in some agitation, he said that he had begun to research Allegra’s supposed death at the convent, though he had scant hope that she had survived. After that, he disappeared into the Sacristy for some document. He did not return, so I went to seek him, thinking he must have been detained.’ The image of his crumpled body rose in my mind again, and I felt the tears run down my cheeks. ‘It was terrible. A violent death. I can only hope that his final moments came quickly and that he did not suffer too much …’ Dio mio.
Paula sat very still for a few moments. ‘I cannot imagine what it must have been like to find his body – and in a holy place,’ she mumbled in a shaky tone. ‘Who would want to kill a Florentine priest, especially someone as kind as Father Gianni? It makes no sense.’
‘Unless he had an enemy – a person who hated him enough to … kill him.’ Raphael switched to Italian, speaking slowly for Paula’s rather basic comprehension of the language.
Folding my hands in a quiet, prayer-like posture, I found my thoughts anything but serene. The images of Father Gianni’s death kept flitting through my mind, along with an impossibly bizarre train of thought. ‘It may be that his murder – and it can be explained by no other word – is linked to the note about Allegra.’
They both remained silent.
Then Paula spoke up. ‘But, Aunt Claire, how could those two events be connected? No one else aside from you and Father Gianni knew about the note; you did not even tell me until just now.’
‘Perhaps he mentioned it to someone else – a person who did not want him to uncover any secrets and decided to kill him quickly to prevent further probing … I am only speculating, but how can I not draw a connection between the events, not to mention—’
A sudden loud knock on the apartment door reverberated through our rooms.
Startled, I whispered, ‘Who could that be?’
‘Signora Clairmont! It is I – Matteo Ricci, your landlord,’ we heard the visitor shout. ‘Come stai?’
‘Sto molto bene,’ I exclaimed. Then turned to Raphael and continued in a low tone, ‘We cannot afford to slight him. Help me into the parlor, so I can receive Matteo there, and I will speak to him alone while you question the driver. D’accordo?’ As I held on to his arm, I managed to hoist myself upright. Surprisingly, my weak ankle seemed fairly stable.
Raphael and Paula stood on either side of me and paralleled my slow steps toward the parlor. Once I reached my usual wingback chair, I slipped into it, resting my head against the back cushion. My niece waited until I signaled her to let in our visitor, and Raphael disappeared into the kitchen.
I folded my hands on my lap and awaited Matteo’s entrance. Listening to Paula exchange pleasantries with him, she gave no sign that we had just been discussing Father Gianni’s horrific murder. My dear, brave Paula.
In a few moments, Matteo hurried into the parlor, his middle-aged, somewhat lined face drawn tight with worry. ‘Signora Clairmont, I just heard that you fainted at the basilica. Have you recovered?’
‘Si.’ I extended my hand to him; he bent over it and placed a whisper-light kiss against my fingers. A lovely, oh-so-Italian gesture that I adored even after all these years living in Florence. It also felt normal. ‘Thank you for your concern, Signor Ricci.’
He took a seat across from me as Raphael returned with a glass of limoncello, an Italian drink much favored by our landlord. Once he set it on the small, carved table next to my chair, he mumbled a greeting to Matteo and then exited with Paula.
‘Pardon their quick departure, but Paula has … pressing issues with her daughter,’ I said, smiling.
He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’
Of medium height, with thick hair graying at the temples, Matteo had been our landlord for three years, and I found him pleasant enough, though not exactly warm in his manners. But he was th
e one who had hired Raphael for us, so I had to acknowledge his good judgment when it came to finding a protective, reliable helper. He also lived nearby at the east end of the Boboli Gardens and was quickly attentive to any needed repairs to our rooms. A typical Florentine in that he was civil, bordering on charming, yet there seemed to be something in his smile that did not quite touch his eyes … It had the cast of a man who was often hiding his true thoughts.
‘I had also heard that you were the one who found Father Gianni …’ He broke off and smoothed down the crisp pleat in his black trousers. ‘It must have been quite an upsetting day for you.’
‘Yes, it was quite a shock. As you know, Father Gianni had been a friend of mine for many years – such a good man in so many ways.’
‘Si – uomo buono. A very good man.’ Matteo murmured a short blessing in Italian. ‘He heard my first confession, and I relied on him for his wisdom throughout the years.’ Of course, as a member of an old Florentine family, he would have known Father Gianni for most of his life, although I had never heard him reference the priest with other than a passing comment. ‘May he rest in peace with God.’ Matteo crossed himself, ending with his hands in a brief, prayer-like position.
I mirrored his action solemnly, and we shared a few moments of silence.
‘Father Gianni was my parocco since my arrival in Firenze years ago and, even more importantly, he was one of my first friends. I shall miss him dearly.’ I heard the sadness in my own words. ‘There is – or rather, was – no one whom I would trust more to hold a confidence or give reassurance.’
‘So you were at the basilica this morning for confession?’
‘Yes. I often go … the consequences of having lived such a long life.’ I offered the ghost of a smile – I could summon nothing more. ‘There is always a need to confess over some newly remembered episode from the past.’
He laughed. ‘I heartily anticipate more of those as I grow older.’
‘One can only hope.’ Leaning my head back, I feigned a tired sigh. ‘I may need to lie down and rest now, but thank you for stopping by. Your kindness is most appreciated.’
‘By all means, I will take my leave.’ He drained the last of his limoncello and slowly rose to his feet. ‘I am very glad that you appear to have no lingering effects from your fainting spell – and, please, do not hesitate to ask for my assistance with anything that you might need. You know you can always count on me.’
‘Grazie mille, Signor Ricci.’
He clasped my hand briefly and then saw himself out. Once I heard the door close behind him, I snapped my head up again and peered out of the window, pondering the real reason for his visit. He had been nothing but congenial in our past acquaintance, but his unexpected appearance and deliberate questions had roused caution inside me.
I closed my eyes again, not pretending fatigue this time. I was exhausted, worn out from the traumatic events today. Certainly, I had seen death in many forms over my lifetime, but never murder. Never that. I needed some rest to restore myself …
The next thing I knew, someone was gently shaking my arm. ‘Wake up, Aunt Claire.’
‘I must have dozed after Matteo’s visit,’ I murmured to myself, my eyelids slowly easing open.
‘Did he stay long?’ she inquired as she and Raphael sat down.
‘No – only a few minutes,’ I said. ‘In truth, I do not completely understand the reason for his visit, aside from questions about Father Gianni’s death. I related nothing but the barest facts.’
Paula’s brows knitted in response. ‘Do you think he believed you?’
‘I believe so, but I am not sure what he wanted to hear. His queries seemed innocent enough, but then again …’ My voice trailed off in doubtful caution. I gave myself a mental shake. ‘What did you find out from the carriage driver?’
‘We located the driver next door, waiting to take Signora Carlino to the cobbler,’ Raphael chimed in. ‘He told us that he did not recognize the man who carried you out of the basilica – it was not one of the priests but might have been a British tourist … one he had seen who was buying Italian artwork from a dealer who is well known in Firenze.’
Paula and I exchanged glances, whispering, ‘Mr Rossetti?’
‘None so.’ Raphael lifted his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. ‘We cannot know for sure.’
‘Aunt Claire, what exactly did you and Father Gianni discuss?’
Taking in a deep breath, I realized that I would have to share the remaining pieces of my story. ‘When I met him yesterday, I gave him a letter that Byron had sent me years ago, turning down my request to see Allegra after he had placed her in the convent. It seemed so cold and heartless at the time, even though our relationship had long cooled. It was a brief note, but Father Gianni seemed quite interested in some marking of a burner that I had not noticed—’
‘Como?’ Raphael cut in swiftly.
I explained the drawing of the charcoal burner on Byron’s letter.
His face lit with sudden realization. ‘The Carbonari – that is their symbol.’
‘Who?’ Paula turned to him with a puzzled expression.
Raphael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. ‘The Carbonari were a brotherhood of revolutionaries who fought to unify Italia decades ago; they were part of the uprisings against King Ferdinand in the 1820s. Some say their group had been around long before that, shrouded in secrecy, but the records are sketchy since they disbanded after Pope Pius issued a condemnation against them. All we know is they played a part in bringing our country together when they were most needed.’
‘But why the charcoal burner?’ she persisted.
‘It symbolizes their brotherhood, including workers who were from the trade of charcoal-selling, known as “men of wood” – they often met outdoors in remote locations,’ he continued. ‘If Byron had that image on his letter, it means that he was probably a member of one of the secret societies – they were very active around Ravenna and may have recruited him.’
Paula turned her glance to me again. ‘It is true? Did you know he was one of these Carbonari?’
I shook my head. ‘We were not on good terms at that time. I was living in Pisa with Mary and Shelley, while Byron stayed in Ravenna with his new mistress, Teresa Guiccioli. But rumors of her family’s involvement in revolutionary activities were well known. Certainly, we were all interested in Italian revolutionary politics, but maybe Byron took it a step further and was actively participating in the brotherhood. The only thing I do know is he did not want Allegra living with him while he resided in Ravenna.’
‘Where is the letter?’ Paula queried.
Still feeling somewhat dazed by Raphael’s revelations, I searched my thoughts for a few moments. ‘I … I believe that Father Gianni had it when I found his body. Before I fainted, I retrieved the letter and slipped it in my purse.’
‘I’ll get it,’ Raphael immediately offered and disappeared into my bedroom. Barely a minute or so elapsed before he returned with my black velvet drawstring purse adorned with a gold tassel. He handed it to me.
Loosening the strings, I hunted around for the letter but came up with nothing. I flipped the purse upside down and dumped the contents on my lap. A few lire, an embroidered handkerchief and a small comb tumbled out – but no letter. ‘I am sure that I placed it in my purse. Then again, I was so overcome by emotion that I may have dropped it on the floor.’ Shoving the items back in my purse, I jerked the strings tightly. ‘We must find the letter and work out if there is a connection between Father Gianni’s death and this unsettling information about Allegra—’
‘It all started with Mr Rossetti’s visit,’ Paula cut in. ‘Maybe he followed you to the basilica.’
‘We cannot know that for certain, but his appearance seems to have set something in motion.’ I paused, fingering the gold tassel. ‘He wanted an answer about selling my correspondence, so I think we should give him one – just maybe not the one he was seeking.’
&n
bsp; Paula eyed me speculatively. ‘What did you have in mind, Aunt?’
Slowly, carefully, I began to lay out a plan …
After a long discussion, we decided to ask Mr Rossetti to meet us at the Uffizi Gallery at ten o’clock the next morning. It was one of the most public places in Florence, and with its magnificent artwork it would, no doubt, appeal to him as a meeting place. Safe and aesthetically pleasing. Then, once we connected with him, I would signal Raphael. He would appear – seemingly unplanned – with the driver who could identify whether Mr Rossetti was indeed the man who carried me out of the basilica.
At that point, if we needed to, we could call in the polizia.
‘Perhaps we should question him ourselves?’ Raphael proposed.
More discussion. We agreed to let that part of the plan unfold – at least until after we knew for certain the facts about Mr Rossetti’s role in the drama earlier today. Going over the details several more times, Paula eventually brought over my quill and paper for me to write the note inviting him to meet us at the Uffizi.
Holding the quill for a few moments, I gathered my thoughts before I began writing.
Dear Mr Rossetti,
I must apologize for ending our talk somewhat abruptly during the last time that we spoke. However, I have had time to consider your proposal to purchase some of my letters from Shelley and Byron. If you are still interested, perhaps we could discuss this matter further? I shall be at the Uffizi Gallery around ten o’clock tomorrow morning on the second floor near Titian’s Venus of Urbino and would be most happy to meet with you.
Gratefully yours,
Claire Clairmont
Signing my name with a flourish, I blotted the ink and then handed the missive to Paula for review. She scanned the document with lightning speed and gave it back to me with a sly smile.
‘Eccellente.’
I folded the note and sealed it with a wax impression of my initials. ‘Raphael, can you deliver it this afternoon?’
‘I will do it now – and wait for his response.’
He took the note and strode out of the parlor, stopping only to give Paula a chaste kiss on the cheek. It was the first time he had shown his affection for her openly in my presence, and my niece blushed as he exited.
Claire's Last Secret Page 11