Larcenous Lady (11 page)

While the duchess and Deirdre were being installed in their rooms, Belami called for Réal.

“I have a job for you,” he said.

“This is most excellent news.” Réal smiled. “It is very
ennuyante
in this watery place.”

“You don’t care for the Grand Canal?” Belami asked.

“Pshh! You call this creek a grand canal? In Canada, there we have
real
waters. The Saint Laurent, wide as an ocean, and the mighty lakes. The job, melord?” he asked eagerly.

“Go to the Léon Bianco and keep an eye on the Suttons,” he said. “I’m particularly interested to see if any of the party speak to a certain gentleman,” he added, and described Captain Styger. “If Styger shows up, follow him.”

“You wish I enter also into the ladies’ chamber for the searching?” Réal  suggested.

“An excellent notion, but don’t get caught.”

Réal looked at him as though he were an idiot. “I don’t get caught, me. What I am looking for? Which clues?”

“Letters, money—a large quantity of gold coins in particular or anything that suggests counterfeiting. Also names or addresses. Whatever strikes you as out of place in a ladies’ chamber. Take as long as you require. I shan’t need your coaching services on these wet Venetian roads.”

Réal left and Belami went in search of Deirdre. She was busy settling into her new home till lunch time, when the whole party met at the table. The duchess intended to fulfill her bargain for the remainder of that first day and offered to sit with the conte in the afternoon. Carlotta graciously accepted and looked at Belami, who was careful not to meet her gaze.

“That leaves us free to explore Venice, Deirdre,” he said.

Carlotta snapped an angry glance at him but said nothing. Her amorous interests were by no means limited to Englishmen. She had a young Italian nobleman, Marchese Laderchi, in her eye as well, as a potential replacement for her aging conte.

Belami and Deirdre explored the shady streets and shops of Venice, ending up, not quite by chance, at the Rialto. Belami realized Elvira wouldn’t actually be on the bridge when her aim was to paint it. He knew when he saw one stationary gondola jiggling nervously that it was his friend, and had his gondolier pull alongside.

“Will you sit still, Pronto!” were the first words heard from the boat, uttered in a vexed tone by Miss Sutton.

“Elvira!” Deirdre waved. “We’re just going to one of the cafes for wine. Will you and Pronto join us?”

“I’m dry as a desert,” Pronto mumbled.

They pulled in at the nearest landing. Before going to the cafe, Deirdre wanted to see Elvira’s picture. “This is beautiful! Look,” she said, and handed Dick the small canvas.

He viewed a superior painting of the humpbacked bridge, lined with small shops. Considering that it had been done in an unsteady gondola, and with Pronto there to help, it was extraordinarily well executed, in the style of Canaletto.

“You’re a talented lady,” he said to Elvira.

“Why, thank you, milord. Would you care to test and see that the pigments are still wet? We wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to pass off a Canaletto as my own effort. Till the paint has dried a few months, it shall remain a Sutton.” A bold smile gleamed from her blue eyes.

Belami felt no attraction to her, though she was very pretty and very much in his style. “I have a good eye, Miss Sutton. I can see a bridge by daylight.”

“And quote Mr. Shakespeare very appropriately, too, sir.”

“A pity the picture isn’t smaller, and I could steal it from you—slip it into my pocket,” he joked.

Elvira’s lips quivered in amusement. “What
can
you mean, milord? Come, let us go for that wine. Pronto, carry this,” she said, handing him the painting. “And get my paint box, will you? There’s a good fellow.” The box was open, with wet pigments out loose. Pronto frowned at it in confusion.

“Why don’t you just leave all that in the gondola?” Deirdre suggested. She was unhappy to see Elvira behaving with so little consideration of Pronto.

Pronto tenderly returned the canvas to the boat and took Elvira’s arm to follow the others to the cafe.

“What are your mother and sister doing this afternoon?” Deirdre asked Elvira.

“Shopping and looking at churches, in that order, I fear. Tomorrow we must go to see the churches, Pronto. Shall we go together?” she asked, smiling brightly at Belami and Deirdre.

“Be happy to take you, my dear,” Pronto said. He pulled his head back, which in no way limited the range of his voice, and added, “Don’t encourage ‘em. We’ll want to be alone.”

Once they were installed at the cafe, Belami said, “It’s rather chilly here. I’ll get your shawl from the gondola, Deirdre.”

“I’m fine, Dick.”

“I don’t want you to take a chill,” he insisted, and hastened back to the gondola. He was happy to see the gondoliers had left to take some refreshment. Belami climbed into Pronto’s boat and looked around for clues. The only items Elvira had left behind were her painting and paint box. The latter was a large wooden affair, difficult to search as it was smeared with wet pigments. He carefully lifted out the top rack and looked beneath. In the jumble of tubes and brushes he saw some white powder. By tilting the box he shook enough of it to one end that he could take a sample, which he wrapped in his handkerchief.

Then he hastily got Deirdre’s shawl from his own boat and went back to the cafe. It was obvious that Pronto wished privacy for his courting. As Belami had the same desire, he and Deirdre soon left.

“It’s so odd to see Pronto in love,” Deirdre said. “He was carrying on nonsensically while you were gone, Dick. Holding her hand beneath the table and gazing at her as though she were a goddess. I shouldn’t be surprised if he made her an offer.”

“She’ll never have him.”

“Probably not,” Deirdre agreed. “On the other hand, Pronto is a little higher socially than the Suttons. That might be an incentive. I don’t like the way she treats him—almost like her servant.”

Belami and Deirdre enjoyed a leisurely row along some of the smaller canals, while he tried to repair the ill feelings that had grown up between them.

“If you hadn’t broken our engagement, we’d be in Venice together now,” he reminded her.

“We are in Venice together. And I didn’t break the engagement. You did. I wanted to get married.”

“You wanted to honeymoon at Fernvale, with your aunt sitting on our tail.”

“I didn’t want to,” she explained earnestly. “I just couldn’t leave Auntie when she was ill. She really was sick, Dick. She very nearly died.”

Dick put his arm around her. “She’s better now. We could get married in Venice. Let’s do it, Deirdre,” he urged.

The sun slanted down on them as they drifted along the water. It was quiet in this small branch off the Grand Canal. “I’ll need time to prepare her,” Deirdre said.

“Don’t take too much time, or she’ll find some other reason to turn me off. I’ll go to Hoppner and see to the formalities of an Italian wedding. I’d like us to have our honeymoon here, as we planned.”

“Yes, that would be—” Belami’s lips silenced her as he drew her into his arms for a quick, stolen kiss.

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and it was time to turn the gondola toward the palazzo. Belami went to his room and drew out his handkerchief containing the white powder from Elvira’s paint box. He tasted it—not flour or starch or any food stuff. It was coarser, not as white as starch or as silky to the touch. It tasted like gypsum. Plaster of paris? Perhaps Elvira did a bit of sculpting as well as painting.

He poured water on the powder. It quickly absorbed the water and swelled in volume. Within a few minutes, it began to harden. It was plaster of paris then. It could be perfectly innocent—or it could be that Elvira was more closely connected with the counterfeiting than he had supposed. The counterfeit coins were so good that he was sure they’d been made in a mold from real coins. The first step would be to take plaster imprints....

Elvira had given him a very knowing smile when he made that ambiguous joke about stealing her painting and putting it in his pocket. She knew exactly what he was referring to, and the knowledge amused her. He paced the room, wishing Réal would come back.

It was much later that evening when Réal returned. Dinner was over, and a long evening in the saloon with the Ginnasis and their guests had followed. Carlotta had spoken of having a masquerade ball to honor her English friends. Belami fully expected this cost would be laid in his dish, but Deirdre had been excited at the idea. He liked masquerade parties himself.

It was after eleven when Réal came tapping at his door and stepped in. Réal wasn’t swaggering, which was a hint of failure. “There is nothing amiss with the Sutton ladies,” Réal told him. “No large quantity of coins, no letters, no names or addresses. No things of any interest to us. Me, I find it strange there is nothing at all.”

“People only bring the essentials along when they travel,” Belami said doubtfully.

“Only one small thing is all I find,” Réal said.

Belami looked up eagerly, hoping Réal had been teasing him. “Well, what was it?”

“A razor, all new and sharp, by the water pitcher.”

Belami blinked. “A man’s razor?”

“The ladies, they don’t use the razors,
non
?”

“They don’t—usually, though I have a few aunts who have been known to shave their upper lips and chins as they advance into middle age. Mrs. Sutton isn’t particularly hirsute, however. I wish I could ask Deirdre if Mrs. Sutton ever used it. There was nothing else indicating a man’s visit? No boots, no neckcloths—no pipe?” he asked hopefully.

Réal shook his head. “Just the razor.”

“I’m going to tap on Deirdre’s door and see if she’s still up and about. Thanks, Réal. The lookout is still on. Night is the likeliest time for a clandestine visit. Send Nick during the day, and you take the night shift.”

Réal nodded and left. It grieved him that he had brought home such a paltry clue. He would exceed his orders in eagerness if not in finding clues. He went back to the Léon Bianco and took up a position that gave him a view of the door.

Belami tapped on Deirdre’s door. She was in her dressing gown and couldn’t ask him in.

“You’ll think I’m unhinged,” he said, “but would you happen to know if Mrs. Sutton had any reason to use a man’s razor?”

“She uses it all the time,” Deirdre told him. “She uses Elvira’s razor for a fruit knife. Elvira keeps one in her paint box, you know. She uses it to sharpen quills and cut pieces of canvas—all sorts of things. It came in handy when we were traveling. I’ve used it myself to peel an orange. Why are you asking?”

“Merely curious,” he said evasively. The razor wasn’t in Elvira’s paint box—it was by the water pitcher.

“Has this something to do with the Jalberts?”

“With Elvira. She’s involved with them. It was just a hunch—till she stole my counterfeit guinea this morning.”

“Dick, she didn’t!”

“It’s missing. I’ve looked high and low for it.” He went over his other suspicions in some detail. “You didn’t see anything of my suspicious sea captain on the trip?” he asked.

“Not a glimpse. They all behaved in a perfectly normal way.”

“I’m keeping an open mind, and an open eye. I’d best let you get to bed now. You look very fetching in that dressing gown,” he added, touching a wisp of lace at her collar.

His fingers moved to her throat, caressing it. Belami peered up and down the darkened hallway, and when he saw the coast was clear, he drew her into his arms. He was about to kiss her when he heard some sound from the next door—the duchess’s room. Without waiting to hear her abuse, he hastened along the hall to his room.

Belami made a mental list of his various clues. More than ever he regretted that he knew so little about the Jalbert gang. He had no idea how many people were involved, where they were from, or what they looked liked. He’d ask Hoppner if he knew anything tomorrow when he went to inquire about the wedding.

The interval till he and Deirdre could get married would be busily filled with catching the Jalberts... and of course trimming the duchess back into line... and making sure Pronto didn’t propose to Elvira... and evading Carlotta... and courting Deirdre. On this happy thought, he extinguished the lamp and went to bed.

Chapter Eight

When the duchess heard Belami’s errand the next morning was an innocent trip to see the British consul, she had no objection to Deirdre’s accompanying him. Upon learning that the duchess already had Hoppner’s acquaintance, Belami made his inquiries regarding a wedding in Italy on behalf of a “friend.”

“Would it be difficult for two English people to marry in Venice?” Belami asked.

“I would advise them to avoid the technicalities and find an English minister to tie the knot. I could recommend one, if that would be of any assistance to your friend.”

Deirdre and Belami exchanged a relieved smile that didn’t fool Mr. Hoppner for a minute. Then Belami asked the consul if he had any news on the Jalbert gang.

“Is that why you’re here?” Hoppner asked. “I wondered when I heard you were in the city.”

“My visit isn’t official,” Belami said.

Hoppner gave a wise wink. “Mum’s the word, but if I can be of any help, don’t hesitate to call. You might find these interesting,” he said, and handed him a few newspapers.

They parted on the best of terms. Belami and Deirdre strolled to a cafe to peruse the papers. As she sipped her coffee, Deirdre looked more at her partner than the papers. She loved Belami in any of his guises, but this was her favorite. His dark eyes flashed with intelligence and an eagerness to get solving the case. She was eager, too. Helping Dick added zest to her humdrum life.

“You’re famous, Dick,” she said proudly. “Imagine, Mr. Hoppner way over here in Venice knows your reputation. Did the government send you?”

“No, but if I’d had my wits about me I’d have approached them and got my trip gratis. Here it is,” he exclaimed, and read the headline. “ ‘Jalbert Gang Elude Capture at Dover.’ “

He scanned the article and described the gang to Deirdre. “Two men, Alfred Jalbert and son Claude. Both married. It doesn’t say whether the spouses were at Dover, but they aren’t at their home in London. The counterfeiting equipment was there, but they got away with the molds and could set up shop elsewhere. Alfred sounds remarkably like my Captain Styger—it even mentions the pipe. Claude’s described as slight of frame, fair-complexioned, handsome. Did you see anyone like that during your trip?”