City of Devils: A Novel (18 page)

‘Why are you interrogating me?’ Sofia asked.

‘We need to find the old lady,’ James said. ‘It’s important, Sofia.’

‘I cannot help you,’ she said.

He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes. ‘Please.’

She sighed. ‘Rosa Bruno is a
“maga”.’

Tullio nodded his understanding. ‘A sorceress or wise woman.’

‘You believe in this nonsense?’ James asked Sofia, surprised.

Sofia pulled away from him angrily. ‘I do not believe in
stregoneria
– witchcraft – but Rosa is a healer.’

‘What do you need a healer for?’ James asked.

‘It is not your business!’ Sofia replied.

‘What are you doing meeting her here anyway?’ Ottolenghi asked. ‘I’m not sure the professor would be happy to know you frequent places like this.’

‘I work for the professor. He does not own me,’ Sofia said, coldly. ‘Now, may I go?’

Tullio nodded and she started to leave.

‘Wait, I’ll walk you home,’ James said. ‘It is not safe for you to be alone.’ He turned to Ottolenghi. ‘I’ll see you at the reception. Please offer Professor Lombroso my apologies and tell him that I will be there as soon as I can.’

Ottolenghi nodded his agreement and he and Tullio watched as James escorted Sofia to the door, amid further jeers from the crowd. Before they could reach it Vilella stood in front of them.

Tullio came over. ‘On your way now, Vilella.’

Vilella scowled and suddenly grabbed Sofia by the arm and whispered something to her. She pulled away and ran to the door with James following in her wake.

Once they were outside, Sofia stalked off into the night, leaving James to scuttle after her like an errant child following its mother. After a while, though, she relented and her pace slowed, allowing him to catch up and walk with her rather than behind.

‘Why are you so angry?’ James asked. ‘What did Vilella say?’

‘I am angry with
you,
not him. You should not have followed me,’ she replied.

‘We didn’t. It was a coincidence. I had no idea you would be there!’

Sofia stopped and turned to him, frowning. ‘I have my own life. It is private.’

James looked at her as she stood there, her chin held up defiantly, her dark eyes flashing with fury and pride. He realised what a mistake it would be to underestimate such a woman. ‘I know. I am sorry if we embarrassed you.’

‘Rosa is my friend. We cannot afford doctors at fancy prices so she helps us all in one way or another.’

‘She said that she had something to tell us. Do you know what that might have been?’

‘No, I do not. Please do not ask me any more.’

‘And the man?’ James tried again.

‘He was not with us.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Stop this! I have told you. He was not with us. And Rosa was helping me. There is no more to say.’

‘I had to ask you. You do understand, Sofia? Rosa might be in danger.’

Sofia sighed and held out her hand. ‘Enough please, James. Now come. It’s this way.’ She began to lead him through the streets as she had done before. As they walked he could feel the warmth of her hand and smell her perfume, spice and a hint of citrus, like an exotic dish of ripe fruit. Before long she stopped. ‘We are here,’ she said, looking up at him and smiling in her usual enigmatic way. Suddenly James could wait no longer. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She tasted of cinnamon. He felt her body press against him, voluptuous and yielding and it was as if he had, for an instant, become part of her. All that had happened since they met and even before that seemed inconsequential. It was just he and Sofia in their world and everyone and everything else could wait.

‘Do you want to come up,
caro
?’ whispered Sofia in his ear. ‘I have some wine or more
grappa
?’

James looked into her dark eyes. ‘You are so beautiful . . .’ he said. ‘So, so beautiful . . .’ Then he groaned. ‘I can’t, I just can’t.’

‘Why not? Do you not want to drink with me?’

He kissed her again. ‘More than I can say, but I am supposed to be with the professor. He’s expecting me at the reception and I’m late already. I could come back later.’ Sofia smiled again. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, laughing gently as she went up the rickety steps to her rooms. ‘We’ll see.’ With that she unlocked the door and went through it without so much as a look behind her, leaving James determined to leave the reception as early as was decent and return to ‘see’ as Sofia had so temptingly put it.

9

Religiosity, a characteristic of criminals, is also found in epileptics, where it alternates with cynicism and serves as a pretext for impulsive acts.

Lombroso, 1889 p 252

As he arrived at the Palazzo Carignano James stood and stared at the exterior, which was unlike anything he had seen before. It was curved like a series of waves and in the light of the torches that lit the building’s entrance, the terracotta walls seemed to be undulating gently, almost as if they were a living entity. He looked up at the windows. Most of them were surrounded by mouldings that were so cleverly carved they looked like folds of cloth. There were other decorative reliefs too in various shapes – flowers and plumes and other more abstract patterns. A rotunda crowned the façade and this was topped by an ornate cartouche in the form of a brass scroll. James could just make out enough of the lettering to see the words Vittorio Emanuele II, united Italy’s first king. The whole effect was just a little too much, as if one had eaten a few too many sweets.

The torches gave a medieval atmosphere to the proceedings. The flames flickered in the chill autumn wind, making James feel as if he was arriving at a royal feast. His fellow guests, though, were rather less regal. As he walked through the entrance hall all he could see were academics standing around in groups and gossiping, exactly as they had been doing the last time he saw them.

The company might have been familiar but their surroundings were not. The room he walked into, once he had crossed the torchlit courtyard, was the most magnificent that James had ever entered. The floor was of exquisite marquetry with intricate geometric patterns inlaid into the different woods. Everywhere there was gold and gilt shining in the light of glittering chandeliers. There were frescoes and paintings at every turn – goddesses and cherubs dancing in woodland scenes. No space was left undecorated. Heavy brocade curtains hung from the enormous windows as if waiting for a performance to begin. Uniformed waiters moved around the room discreetly, offering glasses of champagne and canapés to the assembled guests.

Across the room James saw Ottolenghi waiting for him. ‘You managed to tear yourself away from Sofia then!’

‘I walked her home, as I said I would,’ James said firmly. He looked around him and raised his eyebrows. ‘I see you like to keep your decor understated.’

Ottolenghi grinned. ‘This is an understated nation. Hadn’t you realised?’

‘So who’s here?’ James asked, looking round him at the assorted guests who were standing in groups chatting.

‘Well, most are academics from the university or delegates from the symposium but there are some other guests too. Over there are some members of the judiciary and their wives.’

Ottolenghi pointed to a group standing by a statue of what appeared to be Zeus. The men were laughing between themselves. Their wives, like peacocks in their gaudy silk dresses, by contrast, looked rather bored.

‘What about those two ladies sitting with Borelli?’ James looked over to them. At first glance they appeared to be almost identical. They were even dressed in similar gowns in tones of russets and golds. But on closer scrutiny James noticed that one was bright and animated, holding forth with Borelli. He looked entertained enough, laughing every now and then and nodding vigorously at her comments. The second woman was much more subdued. She looked slightly lost, uncomfortable even, as if she was at the wrong party but could not think of a way of extricating herself without causing offence.

‘Ah yes. They’re the Delgado sisters, very influential here. They inherited a number of concerns from their father, bakeries mostly and a gelateria. They are not fond of the professor.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure exactly but it was something he said about epilepsy and crime. Their father and brother both suffer from the condition. The Marchesa had to smooth it over. Oh, and see over there.’ He pointed to a large group. ‘That’s the opera singer Luisa Cetto and the man next to her is her husband who owns the Teatro Carignano. The Marchesa is an enthusiastic supporter of the arts in the city as well as the sciences.’

‘The Marchesa sounds like a very interesting woman. Do you suppose I’ll get to meet her?’ James asked.

‘You may well do. She visits us from time to time. I think she has a soft spot for the professor. Mind you, since Father Vincenzo wormed his way into her circle her visits have tailed off a little.’

‘He seems to have quite a bit of influence then, this priest.’

Ottolenghi frowned. ‘Too much, if you ask me. I don’t trust him.’

‘You were talking about Lombroso’s enemies when we were in the
caffè
the other day. From what you’ve said there seem to be quite a few.’

Ottolenghi sighed. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. They’re everywhere. You see the balding man with the monocle in the group of judges I pointed out? The professor wrote a somewhat disparaging article about the judiciary and gave a case he presided over as an example of bad practice.’

‘Ouch!’ James said. ‘Lombroso doesn’t believe in holding back, does he!’

‘You could say that,’ Ottolenghi said. ‘He likes to speak his mind.’

‘Well, that’s an admirable quality, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps, but one day, as I told you before, if he’s not careful, it’s going to get him into trouble.’

James wondered to himself what kind of ‘trouble’ that might be. Both Ottolenghi and Sofia seemed to be worried about Lombroso but neither had really said what they thought might happen to him. Before he could ask though, Lombroso and Madame Tarnovsky came over to greet them.

‘I see you were admiring the room. It is an extraordinary vision, is it not, Murray? A little overblown, perhaps, but still a sight to behold,’ Lombroso said.

‘It’s certainly unusually ornate,’ James said diplomatically.

‘How elegantly put, Dr Murray.’

‘Madame Tarnovsky.’ James bowed to her and she smiled at him. She was dressed in blue and silver but still seemed to outshine the garish gold that surrounded her.

‘Tell me, did you enjoy Dr Horton’s little performance this afternoon?’ she asked playfully.

‘It was . . .’ James paused to find the right words, ‘interesting.’

Lombroso beamed at him. ‘Exactly right, Murray.’

‘Everyone is discussing it. No one is sure if he was really issuing a warning or actually meant every word,’ Madame Tarnovsky said.

DeClichy, Borelli and Reiner joined them in time to hear this comment. DeClichy shook his head and tutted. ‘He is certainly somewhat of an enigma. I have spent the last hour or so in the university library, Professor Lombroso. I could not find a single piece of work by Horton or indeed reference to him.’

Lombroso frowned. ‘That is indeed strange.’

‘But we met him in Rome. He gave a paper there, did he not?’ said Reiner.

Madame Tarnovsky nodded. ‘That’s right, I remember it. It was an odd little speech. He talked of a new method of neurological intervention – the use of surgery to the frontal lobe of the brain to alter behaviour. No one quite knew what to make of it; a lobotomy, I believe he called it.’

‘A lobotomy!’ James exclaimed before he could stop himself. The mere mention of the word made him feel sick to his stomach. It brought back so many memories that he would rather forget – frightening as well as sad ones.

‘Yes,’ replied Madame Tarnovsky. ‘Are you familiar with the technique, Mr Murray?’

James coloured slightly. The memory of his last encounter with the method was only too vivid but how could he say more without revealing his secret? ‘I think I have read something of it,’ he said lamely.

‘Is Horton not attached to a university?’ Reiner asked.

‘I don’t believe so,’ replied Lombroso. ‘He merely cites his ownership of the asylum in San Francisco.’

‘Well, of course,’ said Reiner, ‘one does not have to be a professor to have an interest in these matters.’

‘So perhaps there is no mystery after all,’ Lombroso said. ‘He is merely somewhat of an outsider, a maverick, as the Americans say, and we should not condemn him for that. After all, where would science be without such men?’

‘Men like you, eh, Cesare?’ boomed Borelli, laughing.

‘Ah, but Adolfo, remember that today’s maverick is tomorrow’s genius!’ replied Lombroso.

Everyone nodded sagely at that. The master had spoken and no one seemed inclined to disagree. James still wondered about Horton. There was something about him that he did not quite trust. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he knew that he didn’t like him and the mystery of his provenance was intriguing. He decided to investigate further as soon as the opportunity arose. DeClichy was not the only one with access to the library.