Suicide Kings (29 page)

Siobhan looked down with a slight nod. “Well at least you’ve still got Bernardo,” she observed brightly.

Diana rolled her eyes. “With all that’s going on, let’s see how long this will last. Come with me, won’t you? I’d like to introduce you to him.”

The three of them hurried downstairs. Their excitement wasn’t quite what it might have been in more pleasant times, but Diana still felt nervous for her friends to meet Bernardo. She wished her courtship, if that was even what she could call it, had come at a different time. Just as she had lost the interest of Niccolo, it would be easy to lose the attention of Bernardo.

They found Bernardo in the same study where she had first met Niccolo. Bernardo looked splendid as he always did, dressed formally in rich decorative clothes. The rapier at his side was gilded and shone in the flicking light of the fireplace. He smiled broadly when he saw Diana and held out his hands to her.

She took his offered hands and they exchanged kisses on the cheek.

Bernardo’s look turned concerned. “I wanted to come to see you to make sure that you were well. I heard about what happened last night at the Basilica.”

Diana nodded. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her for a detailed rehash of all that occurred. “Thank you, Bernardo. I appreciate your concern. It is comforting to have you here.” It occurred to her she would have to introduce him to her father. Having suitors arriving unannounced simply would push the limits of his patience, particularly after their last discussion. Diana stepped to the side and motioned toward her friends. “Bernardo, I would like you to meet two of my closest friends.”

Siobhan stepped forward and greeted him first, giving him a curtsey. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He took her hand and kissed it gently. He turned to Francesca, who shuffled forward with far greater hesitation than Siobhan. Her eyes remained downcast.

“This is Francesca di Lucca,” Diana explained, “a childhood friend with whom I’ve recently become reacquainted.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask for an elaboration, although apparently he’d already heard about everything that took place at the convent.

Bernardo reached out to take Francesca’s hand. The minute they touched, Francesca grabbed his hand in a tight grip. Her head snapped up and her eyes seemed to glaze over. Bernardo recoiled like he’d been slapped, but couldn’t let go of Francesca’s hand.

“Uh-oh,” Siobhan whispered.

Diana could only watch in horror.

Francesca swayed. “Pain courses through you, fire burning all about. Above you a cloaked figure, hand outstretched in menace.” Bernardo’s face turned white and he staggered. Francesca’s eyes rolled like a panicked horse, but onward she continued. “Someone who holds you in great affection stands above you, weapon leveled at your heart. And then…”

Bernardo fell backward, breaking their embrace. His head hit a bookshelf, sending several tomes spilling. Siobhan rushed in and caught his head before he hit the floor.

Francesca held her hand up to her head, steadying herself against one wall. “I’m sorry, Diana,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t see it coming.”

Diana put her hand on Francesca’s arm. “It’s all right, are you well?”

Francesca nodded, eyes averted.

Diana looked down at Bernardo. Siobhan tended to him.

He breathed, but his eyes were closed, clearly unconscious.

Siobhan looked up and frowned. “Well, I think we certainly made an impression.”

Chapter Seventeen

Matchmaker

Bernardo reclined on a couch, a cold rag across his forehead. His skin maintained a sickly pallor, but at least now he was awake and speaking. Francesca, mortified, sequestered herself away in an upstairs bedroom with Siobhan accompanying her, while Diana attended to their felled guest, bringing hot soup and wine.

Bernardo held the cloth to his head as if his brains might fall out. He managed a weak smile for Diana. “Your friends certainly are unique.”

Diana nodded. “I’ve been on the receiving end of Francesca’s visions myself. I know how it feels. You should recover quickly enough if your experience is like my last.”

Bernardo’s eyebrows rose. “She’s done this for you more than once then? Do the visions ever come true?”

Diana shrugged. “To some extent, I suppose some have. They don’t always make a lot of sense in the moment until you can look back at them. The visions would be a lot more useful if Francesca could just say, ‘I see exactly who murdered your mother and that person is…’” Diana held her arms out as if waiting for the answer.

Bernardo gave a cynical laugh, but then flinched, the effort apparently hurting his head. “The vision she gave me is frightening. I hope she is wrong about this one.”

“She claims they are from God. If she is correct, I imagine they are quite accurate.”

“Do you believe her claims?”

Diana looked away. “I didn’t think much of them at first. More and more, I don’t know what to think. The Bible is full of prophets to whom God spoke directly. I never expected to meet one, but perhaps Francesca has better acuity to hear God than the rest of us. I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“As you say it would be helpful if her visions were clearer. Nonetheless, perhaps it is for the best. In light of all that has happened I have to ask if pursuing your mother’s death in the manner you have is the wisest course.”

A surge of resentment rose in her chest. “What are you trying to say?”

Bernardo looked down, apparently reading the tone in her voice. “Diana, I care about you, and I’m not trying to say investigating your mother’s death is an unworthy cause. There are others looking into it. Would it not be better to leave this investigation to the authorities of the Republic? I have no doubt Savonarola will have those responsible burning in the Piazza della Signoria before a fortnight is out.”

Diana felt her cheeks grow hot. “I am fond of you as well. But if it were your mother, what would you do?”

Bernardo’s features fell. “I agree, the urge to seek vengeance would be overwhelming but…” He stopped and gave her a weak smile. “Is there anything I can do to help at least?”

Diana took his hand. “Sweet Bernardo, I am touched you would think to offer, but I could never ask such a thing of you. I have already involved Siobhan and Francesca into my own travails far more than I had any right to do. I won’t be responsible for any harm coming to you. I must ask for patience. I wish that we had met under more pleasant circumstances. I hope that I will be able to resolve the matter of my mother’s death soon. Perhaps then I will be able to turn my attention to more positive matters?”

Bernardo nodded, squeezing her hand. “You are a most remarkable woman, Diana. I hope your father appreciates your efforts on your mother’s behalf.”

Diana’s eyes darted away from his. “I think my father would prefer a daughter in a more traditional mien. Still, he has not interfered, and for that I suppose I must be thankful.” Instead her father had become a recluse in his own home, and they barely crossed paths. In this time of her mother’s death, they only drew further apart. Perhaps by the time this was over, if she still lived, she’d have lost him too. Strangers living together under one roof…perhaps not even that if he grew angry enough with her.

She watched Bernardo, their eyes locked for a long silent moment. She wished their meeting had come at a different time. How much different things might have been. She hoped it would be possible to salvage something with him whenever her life returned to normal. “I can have one of the Swiss guards see you make it home,” she offered. She hoped he would accept, but knew he would not. Even sickened, it would not be masculine enough for a young man such as Bernardo to accept an escort, particularly at a lady’s behest. If only she could assure him she’d think no less of him; yet the more she insisted, she knew the more resistant he would become.

He didn’t surprise her, demurring on her offer. “I am feeling much better. I should be able to make my own way home.” He stood, brushing himself off as if he had been on campaign. “Perhaps once you have settled the matter of your mother’s death, you might have time to spare for a gentleman’s attention?” He grinned.

A smile widened across her cheeks. “I would like that very much.”

“Good. I will take my leave of you then, and wish you the very best of luck. You will be in my thoughts.” A moment later he was gone. From a second story window, Diana watched him walk away, heaviness in her heart. She wondered if ever she would see him again. She hoped she would, that fate would see fit to reunite them once again.

****

With heavy steps, Diana trudged upstairs to where she knew Francesca and Siobhan waited. With a sympathetic look Siobhan patted her arm. “Don’t worry overmuch so. If he’s worth much at all, he’ll desire you still once this business of ours is completed.”

Diana could only sigh. What could there be to say?

Francesca shuffled over, holding a little piece of paper in her hand. She kept her eyes averted and her manner remained subdued.

“Francesca, it’s not your fault,” Diana assured her.

Francesca looked up, long lashes nearly obscuring her sorrowful eyes. “My vision couldn’t have come at a worse time, nor been more worrisome in content.”

Diana agreed with Francesca’s assessment but remained silent.

Siobhan spoke up, ever the optimist. “Perhaps the meaning of the vision is different from what first appears. Was that not the case with the last vision?”

Both Diana and Francesca nodded, but neither added any more to the vain hope.

Francesca held out the note. “This arrived for you while you were with your suitor.”

Diana took the note. “I don’t think we can think of Bernardo as my suitor, not for the moment.” She held the note up where she could read the address. Her name in flowing script crossed the front of the parchment. The handwriting looked familiar, but she could not place it. She opened the note and read aloud from it.

“Dearest Diana:

We must speak at once. Your efforts have brought you closer than you might think to the identities of your mother’s murderers. In their fear of you they plot your undoing. Even now they conspire with one of your household for your final ruin. Let us meet in person, so I can tell you more. Meet me early this evening at the Church of Santa Trinita. Come as a penitent to the confessional booth and we will be able to speak there in privacy.

Yours always,

Pietro Benedetto”

“Is it his script?” Siobhan asked.

“I’m not sure,” Diana admitted. “Let us check.” The three of them retired to Diana’s bedchambers and found Pietro’s previous note. Comparing the handwriting, they found it to be similar to the recent note. “I can see little difference between the two. I must assume this is Pietro’s handwriting.” Nonetheless a stitch of apprehension remained in her chest. “Last time he brought the note to me personally, slipping past guard and servant to leave it beside my sleeping form. How was this note delivered?”

Francesca told her, “Agathi brought it to us while you spoke to Bernardo. She told us only that it was delivered to the door, not by whom.”

“She would have mentioned the Boar,” Siobhan added. “So it must have been on some other personage.”

Diana frowned. “I have difficulty imagining Pietro hiring the services of a courier.”

Siobhan raised an eyebrow. “You took away his key and exacted a promise that he would no longer burgle your home. Do you expect foul play with this missive?”

“I do,” Diana nodded. “The note speaks at once about mysterious danger within my own home and simultaneously draws me from its safety. At the destination I could not confirm that Pietro summoned me until I am sequestered in the privacy of the confessional. I see the hand of Mancini in this and suspect the most vile ambush.”

“What shall we do then?” Francesca asked.

Diana smiled at her friend. “You must stay here for certain in order to rest and return to your full health. For now, it will be for myself and Siobhan to attend to these matters. An ambush may be afoot, yet a treachery discovered can be turned against those who lay the trap, can it not, Siobhan?”

The Irish girl answered with a wry smile. The die had been cast.

****

The last embers of the setting sun played across the horizon spilling rays of pink and orange against a tapestry of clouds. The harshest of the cold had eased somewhat, a relative burst of warmth moving through the streets, turning snow and ice into streams of running water. The people of Firenze were also out in great numbers, enjoying the turn in the weather and perhaps also sensing that the worst excesses of Savonarola’s bonfire were over, at least for now.

Diana and Siobhan picked their way through the unexpected masses, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. They could not help but obtain some strange looks for, underneath Siobhan’s heavy coat a rapier blade in its scabbard protruded like a leathery tail. Siobhan did her best to keep the weapon as obscured under her coat as possible, but some sightings were inevitable and the spectacle of a woman with such a weapon was enough to entice more than a few stares. Diana had no similar sword, only her usual pistol which could be easily concealed under a heavy fleece. She displayed no skill or training in swordplay, unlike Siobhan whose talents in military matters continued to amaze Diana, and so bringing along such a weapon of her own would be a waste of time.

Diana thought over their plan, which didn’t extend much beyond the obvious. The main assassin would most likely be found in the confessional, whom Diana would confront with the pistol. Siobhan would keep any other assassins at bay with the rapier, and both hoped that the throng of congregants in the church would keep the confrontation from spilling beyond a brief altercation.

With a look passed between them, the two women crossed the threshold into the church. Inside, its confines were as dark and gray as any other, the musty precincts broken by great columns of stone and lit only by the flickering efforts of a multitude of candles. As expected, though no priest currently said mass, a considerable crowd of penitents assembled in the wooden pews, seeking healing, solace, absolution, and whatever else. To Diana, people seemed at their least human in moments such as these, chanting, swaying, mimicking one another like a herd of insane beasts. To follow along with a mass was one thing, but this primal worship felt like a hopeless desperation to her, the devotion of these masses filling otherwise empty holes in the lives of these people. Diana felt compassion for them and at the same time guilt for looking down on them so.