Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) (30 page)

Sir Charles bowed. “Have I your permission to use whatever methods of persuasion I deem necessary, my lady?”

Lady Rutherglen waved a dismissive hand. “After the hell she’s put George—us all—through? Send her with my good wishes in a box to Hades for all I care!”

Tam followed the sedan chair carrying Miranda all the way to Milsom Street. Here the chair set her down and she began to walk up the street, the chairmen following behind, as if she merely wanted to stretch her legs before climbing back within the confined space of the chair to continue on her way. Tam kept a discreet distance yet was close enough to run to her assistance should she, a young lady without a chaperone, be accosted by an unwelcome stranger. Enough heads turned in her direction, shoppers, ostlers, laborers upon scaffolding, that there had to be more to it than the fact she was heavily pregnant and unattended. It was no surprise her exceptional beauty was attracting attention in the street. Yet she seemed unselfconscious of the effect she had on those around her. Or if she noticed heads turn she ignored them. Tam would have supposed pregnancy an anathema to such waiflike beauty yet it suited her very well.

She halted abruptly on the opposite side of the street to a narrow townhouse squeezed between the Octagon Chapel and a wide-fronted building whose façade was covered in scaffolding. Outside the townhouse was a horse and cart piled with crates, large flat parcels wrapped up in cloth and pieces of furniture all a jumble and held in place by strong rope. Several chairs and an easel remained on the stone pavement waiting to be thrown up to the two strong-armed lads loading the cart; a third man stood by the wide open door. A short swarthy dark-haired young man wearing a gaily colored waistcoat came out of the premises on the heels of a man of business, gesticulating wildly from the townhouse to the laden cart and back again to the man of business who kept his head down as he called out loudly from a list of chattels to the two lads atop the cart to be heard over the traffic of carriage wheels.

Tam waited patiently for Miranda to continue on up the street or cross the busy road, as if the activity of an eviction (for that’s what it looked like to Tam) was a mere distraction to her real purpose. But she remained watching the comings and goings of the bailiff and his henchmen for a full five minutes before her hired sedan chair took her up again; the burly chairmen making an about face to retrace their steps down Milsom Street to disappear around a corner. Tam watched the sedan’s slow progress then chanced to glance across the street at the narrow-fronted townhouse that had held Miranda’s attention to the exclusion of all else going on about her. And there, standing on the pavement, talking to the bailiff and the gesticulating little man in the gaily-colored waistcoat was Lord Halsey.

By the time there was a break in the traffic of carriages, carts and horsemen, and Tam crossed Milsom Street, Alec had disappeared inside the narrow-fronted townhouse, and the bailiff was directing his men to unload the cart of its confiscated contents and return them within doors. Tam skipped in front of two men juggling a heavy mahogany lowboy and entered the building, taking the stairs to the first landing where two more men were carefully angling what looked like a table top wrapped in canvas through the open doorway. Giving them directions was the little man in the gaily-colored waistcoat, who waved his hands about and hopped on the balls of his feet. He rattled on in a tongue Tam suspected from his Latin training to be Italian, and thus was no help to the burdened men. Yet it was obvious from his expressions and the pitch of his voice that their cargo was precious.

Once the men had successfully negotiated the doorway, Tam followed the Italian into the room and found his master strolling about a painter’s studio. The room ran the entire length of the building, and was half its width. At the furthest end was an ornate screen partitioning a narrow bed from a small kitchen that was dominated by a large recessed hearth. Above the bed a circular iron staircase led up to a loft with a fireplace, large mahogany four-poster and several pieces of furniture. The rest of the cavernous space belonged to the serious business of painting. The once polished floorboards were thickly speckled with paint, the walls groaned under a large assortment of portraits and landscapes and a long workbench pushed under two sash windows was littered with an artist’s tools of trade. Rolled canvases were stacked higgledy-piggledy beside the workbench and several large finished canvases in ornate gilt frames were neatly displayed along the rest of this same wall. Here the two men, who had unwrapped the canvas, were placing three more framed pictures under the excitable direction of the Italian.

No sooner had these men departed than two of their fellows arrived with the heavy lowboy and, behind them, another carrying a spindle-legged upholstered chair and a couple of easels. The Italian gestured where to place the furniture and then shooed them out. At the end of these comings and goings Tam thought it time to make his presence known to his master, but the Italian got to him first.

Alec had his back to the activity and was casually flicking through a bundle of ink and charcoal sketches stacked on a chair by the workbench. One pencil sketch in particular caught his eye. It looked to be an early outline of the mother and daughter painting hideously attacked at the Oxford Street Exhibition, for he recognized the composition of figures and landscape. Taking up the lower third of the sketch was a larger, more detailed study of the mother’s face. That she possessed great beauty was indisputable, but there was something about her expression that reflected a goodness of purpose and heart, and said as much about the artist’s exceptional talents as it did about the sitter. He felt suddenly very sad for Talgarth at the loss of his painting but was shaken out of this momentary melancholy by the little Italian who fell to his knees at his feet and proceeded to cover his long white hand with kisses.

“
Grazie, Signore! Grazie!
You save Nico!
Grazie! Grazie!
”

“
Fermata!
Stop that at once and get up!” Alec ordered in Italian, disentangling his fingers as the little man’s grasp transferred to the embroidered short skirts of Alec’s dark blue velvet frockcoat. He smiled at Tam who stood in the middle of the vast space. “Good to see you, Tam. Do you understand the Italian tongue?”

“Not fluently, my lord,” Tam replied, coming forward with a suspicious glance at the groveling Italian.

“Then Nico will have to do his best with what little English he does speak.
Si
? And do get up.
Pronto!
”

“
Si, Signore
,” Nico replied obediently, getting up off his knees. “Nico cannot thank you enough,
Signore
. I tell
Signore
Vesey about demands for payment but he ignore them always. Always! I tell him he cannot ignore accounts and expect that we eat. But he too proud to seek help from family. So, the bailiff he come.”

“How are Mr. Vesey’s accounts usually settled?”

“Ah! The bills they are collected every other month by a servant of
Signora
Jamison-Lewis, the beautiful sister of
Signore
Vesey. And accounts she settle. This time,
Signore
Vesey he decide to take accounts with him to London. I said to him you will forget to give to
Signora
Jamison-Lewis. And this, it happens!”

“Mr. Vesey’s sister settles his accounts? And you, do you read and write for Mr. Vesey?” Alec asked smoothly, as he flipped through the pile of charcoal sketches. When there was no response he looked up and saw Nico regarding Tam with suspicion. “Tam is my
servitore
—my
valletto
.
Capisce
?” When Nico nodded, he added, “I know Mr. Vesey cannot read and write.”

“
Si
,
monsignore
, but
Signore
Vesey he not like for people to know this. He say only peasants not read and write and he,
Signore
Vesey he not a peasant. But I say to him, let me, Nico, write the English letters. My writing in the English,” he added proudly, “it is better than the speech. When I read the letters to
Signore
Vesey I translate to the Italian. It makes it easier for both of us.
Signore
Vesey he speak my language beautifully.”

Alec held up a corner of the parchment he was admiring. “Do you know this lady?” he asked Nico, and when he saw Tam give a start, eyes widening in recognition, looked to him for a response.

“Mrs. Bourdon, sir,” Tam replied just as Nico began to shake his head.

“Yes, of course,” Alec answered placidly, and before he could repeat his question to the little Italian Tam added,

“Mr. Halsey and I made her acquaintance on the stairs at Barr’s. Mr. Halsey’s been invited to dine with her this evening.”

“I see that bump to his head hasn’t dulled his charm,” quipped Alec and repeated his question.

“Nico he never met this
signora
. But men, they want,” Nico replied in his broken English. “She very beautiful so is natural
Signore
Vesey he sketch her. But
Signore
Vesey, he tell me I never to sell her likeness.
Never
.”

“
Signore
Vesey has had offers for her pictures?”

Nico made a face of resignation. “
Signore
Vesey he make her a promise. He sketch her but he never to paint her. And he never to sell her likeness.
Never
.
Signore
Vesey he keep promise about the selling but he not able to resist to paint her from sketches. She not know this. But me I never make her such a promise.
Never
.”

“Are
Signore
Vesey and this woman lovers?” Alec asked bluntly in Italian.

The little man grinned and made an exaggerated gesture of embarrassment with a lift of his shoulders, as if not comprehending his native tongue. When Alec repeated the question Nico answered him in his native tongue, saying with a little knowing smile, “
Signore
Vesey makes love to her many, many times but only with his brush. You understand,
Monsignore
,
si
?”

Alec pretended not to understand.

“Because she repelled his advances or because your master’s addiction to opiates has made him impotent?”

Nico looked momentarily stunned but when Alec held his gaze he turned down his mouth and shrugged. “He is in love with the beautiful
signora
, that is true, but the situation you have hit with the nail,
Monsignore.
”

“Did your master have you write letters to a Lord George Stanton on behalf of the beautiful
signora
?”

“Stanton? No. I do not know that name,” Nico replied, though Alec noted he could not meet his gaze. “Why should I write letters for her when she can write for herself? I have the letters she wrote from her farm to
Signore
Vesey.”

“Did her letters mention a Lord George Stanton?”

“I told you: Nico has never heard that name before. And I tell you this for nothing,” he added, pulling a face, “the
Signora’s
letters are full of female trivialities about jam and the weather and her little
bambina
. Very boring, I assure you,
Monsignore
. So it is as well she is beautiful because her likenesses they fetch a good price for Nico.”

Alec smiled at the Italian’s obvious disgust for female matters of importance but asked him seriously, “Why did you sell her likeness?”

“Because
Signore
Vesey and I, we need food and to be warm,” Nico responded in angry defense. “My master’s mind is on his art or on nothing at all. Food it is not important to him but to Nico, it is very important. One of us must be practical.
Si
?”

“Yes, of course,” Alec replied placidly, adding in English for Tam’s benefit, “Who bought the sketches?”

“A gentleman; he very persistent. He come here two, three, maybe five times,” said Nico in English. “He want all pictures of this beautiful lady. He say very important. I tell him no pictures of her here. I do not tell him about large canvas that
Signore
Vesey he taking to London for important exhibition. Everything else I say is
immondizia
; not important. Just sketches like this one, on scraps of blotter.”

“But this gentleman still wanted them?”

Nico grinned and opened wide his arms. “
Molto! Molto!
He want to buy up
all
her likenesses! I think Signore Vesey he not mind when he realize Nico he get enough of your English guineas to pay for food and wine and new coats! This one,” he added with a pout, giving the parchment Alec still held a casual flick with his thumb, “I not know it here or it too I sell.”

“Did the gentleman give you a name?” asked Alec, moving away from the bench to inspect the row of framed portraits stacked against the wall, Nico and Tam following; the little Italian rudely shouldering past Tam to be one step behind Alec.