02 The Grand Tour Page 18

  "What a pity he did not accompany you," said Cecy. "I would be delighted to make his acquaintance."

  "And he, yours, I am sure." Theodore made sheep's eyes at Cecy. No question, the young man was smitten. And Cecy would never notice, not in a hundred years. I felt a pang of sympathy for the youth. "If you would accompany me back to the house he has engaged, nothing could give me more pleasure than to introduce you."

  "What a splendid notion," said Cecy, with as much candid delight as if she had not been angling for the invitation almost since the moment she laid eyes on Theodore. "But you won't wish to be hurried away from this masterpiece so soon, I am sure. Indeed, we are disposed to linger ourselves. Kate can never be satisfied with a brief visit to the work of the old masters, can you, Kate?"

  "No, indeed. I dote upon them all," I assured Theodore with as much conviction as if I were indeed one of the bas-bleu he clearly took us to be. "Indeed, no matter how I wish to express my admiration, words fail me." I did my best to resemble a young lady with an unhealthy appreciation of such things.

  Cecy drew Theodore away to point out a particularly exquisite patch of mold. Their perusal of the fresco was leisurely, but at the end of it, Theodore allowed us to accompany him home without a moment's suspicion.

  To be honest, I had some preconceived notions about William Mountjoy. The description of his Venetian dressing gown went with what I had seen of his fashionable slipper. I was sure he would be a coxcomb, a vain young man of fashion. To my surprise, Mountjoy turned out to be a man of middle years, with a receding hairline and a paunch. He seemed as mild as milk. Once Theodore had introduced us, he offered us refreshments in the drawing room of the house he had hired for the duration of his stay.

  Mountjoy said, "It is my loss that I did not meet you and your cousin weeks ago. I believe we were all guests at Dessein's the night they were visited by a robber."

  "Indeed. A shocking occasion," I said.

  "A shocking occasion, indeed. Dessein's can't expect to keep their reputation if they let that sort of thing go on. Not only thieves, but the ceiling fell in, yes, actually fell down upon a dinner party."

  "Indeed?" I gave Mountjoy my stupidest look. If he persisted in discussing the plaster that fell during our dinner party, I set myself to feign complete ignorance of the event. "They never found the culprit, I believe."

  As Cecy and Theodore continued their discussion of the genius of Leonardo da Vinci, I thought boredom with my stupidity began to seep into Mountjoy's courteous demeanor.

  "You are very kind to entertain your young nephew's friends," I said.

  "I am delighted to do so," Mountjoy assured me. "We are just getting to know each other. Sometimes that is easier to do when there are others to smooth the way. I confess that I had no idea young Theodore's admiration for Leonardo da Vinci was so... consuming."

  "His tutor seemed unaware of it as well. Theodore told us that Mr. Strangle would not permit him to visit Amboise, where Leonardo da Vinci spent his last days."

  Mountjoy looked as stern as his round face allowed. "If I had known of Theodore's partiality for such things, I would have ordered Strangle to take him to Amboise."

  "Indeed. It is a shame he missed such a treat. Theodore told us Mr. Strangle has been dismissed."

  "Dismissed!" Mountjoy's indignation was clear. "He should have been horsewhipped. He may count himself lucky he was merely turned off without a character."

  "I am sure you showed great restraint." I tried to make my tone an invitation to show no restraint in telling me the whole. Alas, I did not succeed.

  "I did. I won't sully your ears with the details, Lady Schofield, but if you ever hear differently, you will know it for another falsehood told by that lying hound."

  "We aren't likely to hear differently, are we?" I asked. "Mr. Strangle won't find honest employment here. I suppose he will return to England."

  "I suppose he will go to the devil," said Mountjoy violently. "Not that I care where he goes or what he does."

  "No, indeed," I said meekly. "So long as Theodore is safe from him."

  "Oh, yes. Theodore." Mountjoy cleared his throat. "I must see about engaging a proper tutor for the boy. He can't run wild forever."

  "He doesn't seem likely to run wild at all," I said. "He seems a very studious and responsible young man."

  "No thanks to Strangle," said Mountjoy darkly.

  Cecy could probably have done better, but Theodore monopolized her until it was time for us to go. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to coax any more information about Mr. Strangle from William Mountjoy. We took our leave of them and returned to our lodgings only moments after the arrival of Thomas and James. Both were in a state of great excitement.

  "We found him," said James.

  "Found who?" Cecy demanded.

  "Strangle," Thomas answered. "He's dead. The authorities fished him out of the ornamental pool in the di Monti gardens."

  From the deposition of Mrs. James Tarleton, &c.

  Thomas's abrupt announcement startled us all. "Dead?" I said after a moment. "But who could have—"

  "I'm sure we'd all like to discuss that," James said. "But not in the hall, I think."

  We proceeded up to the sitting room. "When did they find him?" I asked as soon as everyone was settled.

  "This morning," Thomas said. "And before you inquire, yes, it was foul play. Not, however, of a sorcerous nature. It was a straightforward knife in the back."

  "Oh, dear," Kate said. "Then when we were talking to Lord Mountjoy, he was already— Oh, dear."

  "I can't see that it would have made much difference if we'd known," I said. "One could hardly offer insincere condolences to an ex-employer, especially one so put out as Lord Mountjoy was."

  "You spoke with Mountjoy?" Thomas said.

  "Kate did, mostly; I was occupied with Theodore," I said, and explained the circumstances.

  "I don't like it," James said. "The way this young man keeps popping up is beginning to seem a little too convenient."

  "But convenient for whom?" I said, frowning. "And why? Nothing quite fits together."

  Thomas started to say something, but Kate looked at him and he only cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. "What do you mean, nothing fits?" Kate asked.

  "Well, first there's the chrism. The Lady in Blue had it all ready to hand on to Lady Sylvia the very day we arrived in Calais—but all our travel plans were so scrambled, how did she know Lady Sylvia was going to be in Calais that day? And how did Mountjoy know where to try to intercept it?"

  "Did he try to intercept it?" James asked mildly.

  "Someone certainly did so," I pointed out. "And Mountjoy was there. That story of a thief running off with one of his slippers always seemed unlikely to me. Furthermore, he lied about his reasons for being in Calais. He clearly hasn't left the Continent, after all." I sat up very straight. "Remember, Mr. Strangle said he came to Calais and took up his post as Theodore's tutor 'after a final interview with Theodore's uncle'? Mountjoy was in Calais to see Strangle, and he didn't want us to know about it."

  "That fits with what Strangle told us," Thomas said. "But it doesn't have anything to do with the chrism. In fact, it is entirely unexceptionable. Much too entirely unexceptionable."

  Behind me, Walker made a diffident noise. I turned and nodded encouragingly.

  "The Lord Mountjoy we spoke to today, Madame," she said. "He is the small gentleman who visited Monsieur Strangle in Paris."

  "No surprise there," Thomas said.

  Kate and James gave Thomas identical reproving looks. I cleared my throat. "Then there is Sir Hilary's attack— those highwaymen who shot James."

  "Sir Hilary may have proposed it, but I don't think he was behind it," James said. "Remember the letter Lady Sylvia's friends found."

  "I was getting to that," I said. "Sir Hilary was after us— but those highwaymen stole the chrism. So Sir Hilary's mysterious friend, the wizard who assisted him with the ambush, must have been trying to get hold of
the chrism."

  "You think Mountjoy is Mother's X?" Thomas said thoughtfully. "An interesting idea. I said his excuse for being in Calais was too unexceptionable."

  "You didn't say it very loudly," James put in. Thomas ignored him pointedly.

  "I don't see how it can have been Lord Mountjoy," Kate said. "Those highwaymen came from Paris, and he was still in Calais. With Piers asking him things."

  "He was, but Eve-Marie wasn't," I said. "If Mountjoy was the thief, she must have known him. She got Piers out of the way for him, after all. Mountjoy could have sent her off to Paris with instructions for the highwaymen as soon as he realized he couldn't steal the chrism from Lady Sylvia. Eve-Marie would have had plenty of time to get there while we were in Amiens visiting temples and bishops and so on. But it doesn't explain why Sir Hilary was killed."

  "Hold on a minute," James said. "We know that Sir Hilary wanted revenge on us, but he could have been after the chrism as well."

  "Someone would still have had to tell him we had it," I pointed out. "And that is most likely to have been Eve-Marie. Unless you think the Lady in Blue would have gone straight to Paris to let him know."

  "The highwaymen didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular," Kate objected. "They were taking everything." She glanced at Thomas. "It might have been a sort of accident that they stole the chrism."

  "It seems most unlikely," I said. "And after what happened to Mr. Strangle, I don't believe that Sir Hilary's demise was merely a falling-out among thieves, either."

  "But what does Strangle have to do with the chrism?" James said.

  "That's just the trouble," I said. "Mr. Strangle and Theodore don't seem to have anything at all to do with the chrism and the rest of the missing regalia. It was quite by accident that we ran into them in Amiens."

  "At that temple your father suggested visiting," James said.

  Kate's eyes widened. "Cecy! All those places!"

  "What do you mean?" I said.

  "Wait." She practically flew out of the room, and returned a few moments later carrying her commonplace book. "The Temple of Minerva... Victrix, in Amiens," she read. "Sainte Chapelle on the Ile de la Cite in Paris. The Etruscan crypts at the Hospice of the Great Saint Bernard." She looked up triumphantly. "All the places we've run across Mr. Daventer and Mr. Strangle—they're all on your father's list of antiquities to visit. I remembered because I copied it into my book a few days ago. I had spilt soup on the page your Papa gave me, and it was becoming illegible."

  "Becoming?" Thomas murmured.

  "Good heavens," I said. "But what could Papa have to do with Theodore and Mr. Strangle and Lord Mountjoy?"

  "I doubt that he has anything to do with them," James said. "But I think you might write and ask him where he found his list of antiquities to recommend, Cecy."

  "And what else is on it?" Thomas asked.

  Kate consulted her book. "A great many places we haven't seen," she said. "Though I suppose Mr. Strangle and Theodore may have visited some of them; indeed, I think it likely. The royal crypts at St. Denis, the Mithraeum at Villefranche, the—"

  "Yes, but what comes next?"

  "Oh." Kate frowned. "There are some Roman ruins in Westphalia, and a great many shrines and things in the north of Italy. There are dozens of places around Rome, of course." She looked up apologetically. "I am afraid I could not read all of them. And there's the Royal something in V-something. Venice, or Vienna, I think."

  "Too many different possibilities. It's a pity we don't know where Strangle intended to take his charge from here," Thomas said. "It might be very informative."

  "And it might not," James said. "This is all very interesting, but as Cecy said, Strangle and young Daventer don't seem to have any connection to the missing regalia. Which is what we are supposed to be looking into, if you recall."

  "Yes," I said slowly. "And the reason the Duke of Wellington asked us to look into it is because being on our wedding journey gives us a marvelous reason to go anywhere we wish. And shepherding one's charge about the Continent on the Grand Tour is an equally marvelous excuse for that, don't you think?"

  "That is true," James agreed with some reluctance. "But if so—"

  "If so, these peculiar rituals that Mr. Strangle has been doing must have some connection with the missing regalia," I said. "I wonder if that's what Theodore meant when he spoke of 'practical applications' at that bookstore in Paris?"

  "That, on the other hand, is leaping to a conclusion with a vengeance."

  "Maybe," Thomas said. "I'm inclined to side with Cecy in this, however. If only because I doubt that whoever disposed of Strangle was merely concerned about the Daventer boy's morals."

  "Theodore seemed to think his uncle dismissed Mr. Strangle for talking out of turn," I said. "If so, the obvious question is, who was he talking to? And just how much did he give away?"

  "He was talking to the Contessa di Capodoro at the garden party," Kate commented.

  "So he was," James said. "Just before we accosted him."

  "And Eve-Marie showed up at the Conte's exhibit just after we saw it," I said. "Perhaps Mr. Strangle was trying to get information about the exhibit from the Contessa and let something slip."

  Thomas frowned. "I believe I shall pay a visit to the Conte di Monti," he said. "Express my concern about this, er, unfortunate turn of events. I'm sure he'll understand my desire to be reassured that I don't have to spirit my wife straight back to England for safety's sake."

  "You wouldn't!" I said.

  "No, he wouldn't," James said. "You can't visit the Conte, Thomas. The man may be a bit woolly-headed, but he won't have forgotten that you and Strangle had a run-in at the garden party. If you show up asking questions, you'll have every authority in Milan down around our ears. I'll go."

  "And I think Kate and I will send a card to the Contessa di Capodoro," I said. "We can invite her to tea. As an appreciation of her husband's generous donation. You'd better sign it, Kate; 'Lady Schofield' sounds so much more impressive than plain 'Mrs. Tarleton.'"

  "All right," Kate said. "If you insist."

  Thomas, having been thwarted in his desire to interrogate the Conte (for he had to admit the force of James's arguments), instead set himself to finding out who else Mr. Strangle might have spoken to indiscreetly during his time in Milan. James returned from the Conte with the expected reassurances and the surprising news that Mr. Strangle had indeed been invited to the garden party; his name had been on the special guest list of people the Conte di Capodoro particularly wished to be invited (in addition to the Conte di Monti's choice of guests). Applying his considerable address, James succeeded in seeing the list, and informed us that Mr. Strangle's name appeared to have been added to the end, in another hand.

  This left us very little further along than we had been. For though we knew that someone had wanted Mr. Strangle at the garden party, we had no idea who or why. Thomas determined that Mr. Strangle had arrived very shortly before us, and, of course, he left immediately following our confrontation, so he had not had time to talk to many people. Indeed, the only person we knew him to have spoken with was the one we had seen ourselves, the Contessa di Capodoro. Kate and I were therefore exceedingly pleased when the Contessa accepted our invitation to tea quite promptly.

  "So very English a custom," she said in a soft voice, studying the tea tray.

  "Will you have milk or sugar?" Kate asked somewhat reluctantly. It had not occurred to either of us until the last minute that, as both Lady Schofield and the hostess, she would have to pour. This was a mixed blessing; on the one hand, it meant that she had not had time to work herself into a state over the potential for accidents and social embarrassments, but on the other, it also meant that she had had no time to practice.

  "No, thank you," the Contessa replied.

  Kate handed her a cup with evident relief, and poured for herself and me without mishap. We settled back in our chairs to sip and nibble and make polite remarks. The first few minutes pas
sed in unexceptionable comments about the beauty of the city. When Kate mentioned how much she had enjoyed the performances at La Scala, it developed that the Contessa was likewise a devotee of the opera. The Contessa's shyness evaporated as they compared various performances; indeed, for a time it appeared that the purpose of our meeting would be totally forgotten. Kate was at something of a disadvantage, as we had not been in Milan long enough for her to see many different operas, but the Contessa graciously conceded that one's first visit to La Scala must be memorable, no matter the quality of the performance.

  "And the present opera is very good," she added. "Now, when I first came to Milan, Salieri's Armida was playing." She shuddered expressively. "And yet, it was La Scala, and so I treasure the memory."

  "How long have you been in Milan?" I asked, hoping to turn the subject.

  "Some seven years," the Contessa replied. After a moment, she added quietly, "It is my husband's home."

  "And where is yours?" Kate asked with ready sympathy.

  "Rome," the Contessa answered. "Or it was. Now my home must be here." She sighed. "At least there is La Scala."

  "Does your husband share your enthusiasm for the opera?" I asked. "Or is he entirely taken up with antiquities?"

  "The latter, I am afraid," the Contessa said with a little smile. "He is sometimes... very concentrated. We travel a good deal, always to places where he hopes to find more of his Etruscan things. He speaks of Vienna soon."

  "Vienna?" I said. "I thought the Etruscans lived around Rome."

  The Contessa looked at me in surprise. "You know of the Etruscans?"

  "My Papa is an antiquarian," I said. "He is quite... quite passionate about it at times. One cannot help but pick up a few things."

  The Contessa laughed. "He sounds a twin to my husband. I am not sure why he hopes to visit Vienna; some new theory that he has recently learned of, I think. We have been many other places that were even less likely—Spain, Prussia, France."

  Kate and I exchanged glances; I think we were both mentally comparing the Contessa's list of destinations with the Duke of Wellington's list of missing royal antiquities. "It must be pleasant to travel so much," I said. "I have never been outside England before, and I must own, I am vastly enjoying the experience."