The Golden City (26 page)

FRIDAY, 3 OCTOBER 1902

D
uilio liked to believe that he made his own de
st
iny. He walked along Clérigos Street, heading toward Joaquim’s office in Massarelos, fru
st
rated at the tangle his mind was in. He suspe
ct
ed that Inspe
ct
or Gaspar was somewhere nearby. He had that feeling of being watched again, but his sense of it was benign, so he doubted it was the man who’d murdered Alessio, Donato Mata. He had his favorite revolver clipped to his wai
st
band, though, ju
st
in case.

At the moment, though, his main worry was
himself
. When he’d fir
st
laid eyes on Oriana Paredes, he’d felt she would be a pivotal fa
ct
or in his life. Otherwise he might not have done any more than glance at her that spring day on the banks of the Douro. In
st
ead he had watched her, bribed servants to learn her name, and sought her out when Isabel Amaral disappeared. He’d brought her into his household because she was a witness who might have valuable information, but also because he simply wanted her safe.

He liked her. He enjoyed talking to her. She was . . . challenging.

La
st
night he’d nearly kissed her. He had
st
ood there in the hallway, his fingers cradling her chin, and the desire to kiss her—no, in all hone
st
y, the desire to bed her—had almo
st
overwhelmed his good sense. Part of that was simply the
st
ress of the previous few days. Sex would have been a release, more than ju
st
literally. But somewhere in his mind had been a wish to simply lie in his bed with her afterward and discuss the confusing evening they’d had.

He
could
ask her to become his mi
st
ress, but he’d meant what he’d said to Rodrigo Pimental. He would never demean her that way. Beyond the impropriety of such a notion, he simply liked her too much. And given their talk the previous morning, he suspe
ct
ed her response to such a proposition would involve her sharp teeth.

Her people had always had a tense relationship with the Portuguese, one balanced on the edge of a sword. The violent introdu
ct
ion by rape—no matter how Camões had interpreted the event, it wasn’t logical to believe that women who ran away were inviting courtship—had wrought terrible changes on their society. Several decades later, King Seba
st
ião I
had
sent ships to help the sereia keep the Spanish from invading their islands. It had saved them from the slavery reportedly suffered by the sereia on the Canary Islands, but that hadn’t been enough to wipe away the
st
ain. The current banishment of her people from the Golden City had likely spoiled any progress in relations made since then. Duilio could well under
st
and the antipathy Miss Paredes showed toward his people.

But ye
st
erday Duilio had held her long-fingered hand in his. Staring down at that delicate, veined webbing, he had thought of more than tracking down one more killer. He had wanted all of this over with, because he wanted to take up his own life again. He wanted to see what de
st
iny he could make for himself. Holding her hand, he’d asked himself if Oriana Paredes might play a part in it.

Surely that was impossible. She would be gone soon, returned to her own life on the islands . . . or maybe to some new assignment spying in the city. Unlike mo
st
of the noblemen’s daughters and well-bred city girls he met at soirees and balls, Oriana Paredes—
Is that even her name?
Duilio wondered—had some purpose in her life other than waiting about for a man to claim her. He had no idea if her future plans included a man at all.

Yet
st
anding in the dim hallway outside her bedroom, his fingers touching the softness of her throat, he’d believed she felt the same yearning he did. This morning he’d left the house before either she or his mother had risen, hoping to trade information with Joaquim before Joaquim’s side inve
st
igation was shut down. If he’d gotten the chance to talk to Miss Paredes, he might have a better idea of her expe
ct
ations. Now he could only wonder. There was someone out there who might want to kill her, which would render everything else moot.

He’d spent too much time
st
ewing over this. He was at the Massarelos
st
ation already, so he worked his way back to Joaquim’s office and in
st
alled himself in his regular chair, inordinately grumpy about everything.

“Silva showed up at the ball la
st
night,” he said before Joaquim could even manage a greeting. “He was unusually forthcoming.”

Joaquim groaned. “Odd that you should
st
art with that. You know better than to dwell on anything he says.”

Duilio
st
retched out his legs and kicked at the desk. He didn’t need Joaquim to remind him of that. “Fine. Did the Amaral servants have anything pertinent to tell you?”

“Did you enjoy nearly being burned to death?” Joaquim asked. “If I were picking, I would have
st
arted with that, Duilio. For God’s sake . . .”

“What?” Duilio snapped. “Did you come by and have dinner with Cardenas?”

“No, I
st
opped by and chatted with Gu
st
avo Mendes this morning.” Joaquim peered at him narrowly. “Have you had breakfa
st
? You’re normally only this cranky if you haven’t eaten.”

Duilio sighed.
Cranky
wasn’t the image he wished to portray. “No, I left before Mother and Miss Paredes woke, and I didn’t want Mrs. Cardoza to prepare breakfa
st
twice.”

Joaquim shook his head, pushed a notebook over to Duilio, and rose. “Read. I’ll ask one of the officers to go get you some food.”

He suited a
ct
ions to words, shutting the door behind him as he went off to procure food. Duilio picked up the notebook and found the marked page. Joaquim’s notes were tidy, with a conclusion at the end of each interview of the Amaral servants. He’d spent the mo
st
time with the fir
st
footman, Carlos, and the lady’s maid, Adela, shared by Lady Isabel and her mother. Then Joaquim’s notes took a side
st
ep, moving to interviews with a few of the workers at a tavern frequented by servants up and down the Street of Flowers, The White Rose. Both Carlos and Adela, when asked if anyone had been inquiring about the a
ct
ivities of the Amaral
st
aff, mentioned a woman who’d approached them at the tavern, offering positions in a more lucrative household. When Joaquim returned to his office a few minutes later, Duilio snatched one of the egg-cu
st
ard pa
st
ries his cousin offered and asked, “What led you to ask these two—Carlos and Adela, I mean—about this woman at the tavern?”

Joaquim left the remaining pair of pa
st
ries on the desk near the notebook and went back to his side. “Both of them volunteered that information. They
wanted
to talk. The maid was genuinely di
st
ressed over her mi
st
ress’ absence. She believed Miss Paredes’
st
ory about the bandits grabbing Miss Amaral, and said the bandits mu
st
have taken the missing jewelry—that Miss Paredes was above such things. She tried to think of anything that might have been related to the girl’s disappearance, which took me to that point. Now, the footman is
not
grief-
st
ricken over Miss Amaral’s absence, but he seems to feel guilty over something regarding Miss Paredes and wanted to help clear her name. He might be responsible for the missing jewelry himself.”

Duilio scowled down at the notes. According to the tavern keeper, the woman who had spoken with both Adela and Carlos—named Maria Melo, a name so commonplace that it meant nothing—had been visiting the tavern for almo
st
a year, befriending servants from various households along the Street of Flowers. When pressed, the tavern keeper said he suspe
ct
ed she was hiring them away to Espinho or some other nearby town, as many of them
st
opped frequenting his tavern afterward. Duilio had a different interpretation of that coincidence. “She’s been sele
ct
ing the vi
ct
ims, hasn’t she? So, Carlos and Adela might have been the two members of the Amaral household originally targeted,” he told Joaquim. “But our killers changed their minds at the la
st
moment and picked Lady Isabel in
st
ead.”

Joaquim sat back and propped his feet up on his desk. “I don’t think so. Both servants said Mrs. Melo fir
st
approached them about a month ago, and specifically asked about Miss Paredes. The maid had an impression that they were cousins, although this Mrs. Melo was much older than your Miss Paredes. Ju
st
checking up on a younger kinswoman, so to speak.”

Duilio finished off the second pa
st
ry. This much sugar was going to sit heavily in his
st
omach later, even if that revelation didn’t make his gut twi
st
on its own. Miss Paredes felt guilty enough while only
suspe
ct
ing
she’d been the target of the abdu
ct
ion. This confirmed that suspicion, and increased the likelihood that she was
st
ill being hunted.

“Gu
st
avo told me you’d already asked him to keep an eye on Miss Paredes,” Joaquim continued, “so you mu
st
believe she’s not out of danger.”

Duilio sighed and launched into as concise a retelling of the previous evening’s revelations as he could manage, as well as outlining what he’d found at the apartment that had belonged to the arti
st
Espinoza, and his fir
st
meeting with Inspe
ct
or Gaspar afterward. “Miss Paredes might have some time this morning to
st
art reading the journal,” he added, “since Mother was very tired la
st
night, from what Felis tells me.”

“You gave it to
her
to read?”

“She has time to do so,” Duilio pointed out.

“And I don’t?” Joaquim shook his head and pointed to the pa
st
ry
st
ill on his desk. “Eat that la
st
one before I give in to temptation. You mu
st
tru
st
your Miss Paredes a great deal.”

Duilio picked up the la
st
tart. How could he respond to that? His in
st
in
ct
s told him to tru
st
her. And he
wanted
to tru
st
her. Neither was a
ct
ual proof that she was tru
st
worthy.

“Are you bedding her?” Joaquim asked when he didn’t respond immediately.

“Excuse me?” Duilio found it hard to believe that Joaquim had asked such a thing. He expe
ct
ed that sort of que
st
ion from Erdano. Erdano didn’t often think of females in terms other than bedding them. But Joaquim? “She’s Mother’s companion, for heaven’s sake, Joaquim.”

Joaquim shrugged. “Ju
st
asking. Gu
st
avo thinks you’re sweet on her, to use his phrase.”

This would be a good moment to say something snide about Gu
st
avo’s dedu
ct
ive abilities, but Duilio didn’t want to defame him unfairly. “She needs prote
ct
ion,” Duilio said. “That doesn’t extend to her bed.”

Is she even sleeping in that bed?
He hadn’t heard any more scandalized whispers from his valet, so, if not, Miss Paredes mu
st
be dutifully rumpling her covers.

Joaquim nodded slowly. “I see.”

Now he’d prote
st
ed too much over the matter. Duilio sighed and took a bite of the la
st
pa
st
ry.

“I prepared a li
st
of the missing items,” Joaquim added, “and I sent it over to your man of business so he can negotiate with Lady Amaral about compensation. . . .” A brisk knock at the office door prompted Joaquim to go open it.

“Are you going to let us in?” a now-familiar voice asked.

Duilio craned his neck about to see Inspe
ct
or Gaspar
st
anding in the doorway, Captain Santiago behind him. He
st
uffed the remainder of the pa
st
ry into his mouth and swallowed it with unseemly ha
st
e as he rose, brushing some pa
st
ry flakes off his frock coat as he did so. “Captain Santiago,” Joaquim said,
st
epping back to allow the newcomers in. “What can I do for you?”