The Dark Heart of Florence Tasha Alexander (novels for beginners .TXT) 📖

We continued on, past the Duomo and north to the monumental complex of San Lorenzo, the Medici family church. The library within held more than ten thousand priceless ancient manuscripts (among them the codex of Virgil); an extensive collection of books that had been owned by the Medici family; and countless historical documents, including Dante’s letters.

We introduced ourselves to a librarian called Renzo Tazzera, who stepped forward to assist us. He recognized the Vieri family name as soon as I mentioned it. “You are living in their palazzo? Marvelous,” he said, his English flawless, his lilting accent mesmerizing. “It is, to my mind, the finest example of medieval architecture in the city. I prefer the innovations of the Renaissance, but one must have a firm understanding of what came before to understand the accomplishments of men like Brunelleschi and Alberti.”

“You are quite right, monsieur,” Cécile said. “Brunelleschi would be the first to acknowledge it was the study of ancient buildings that made his own designs possible. Did he not visit the Pantheon in Rome before constructing the dome of the cathedral?”

“He did indeed. I should like to speak with you more about this, signora, but first, please, make yourselves comfortable. I will bring you all the records we have pertaining to both the family and the structure. Then, perhaps we may return to discussing architecture.”

The Reading Room was a glorious space, with sunlight streaming in from windows on both sides and an inlaid marble aisle dividing rows of carved walnut benches and lecterns. Cécile and I sat down and I pulled a notebook and pencil from my handbag.

“He is most attractive, this Monsieur Tazzera, is he not?” Cécile asked. “Far more interesting than that colleague of Colin’s. And his voice. A perfect tenor. There can be no doubt he sings. All Italians do. How else are they to effectively express their ardent natures? I should like to know him better.”

Judging from the way the librarian looked at Cécile when he brought our materials, it was obvious the attraction was mutual.

“If it is not too forward of me to make such a request, it would be my greatest honor to take you on a tour of the library, Signora du Lac,” he said. “Michelangelo designed it, you know, and it is arguably one of the most important examples of Renaissance architecture. Your earlier comments led me to believe this is a subject of interest to you.”

“I have a great passion for it,” Cécile said.

“If your friend would not object—”

She interrupted him. “Kallista would never be so tactless as to stand in the way of me continuing my studies.”

Continuing her studies? I might have rolled my eyes if anyone else had behaved in such a way, but not Cécile. She would never feign interest in a subject to gain the attention of a man, no matter how attractive he was. That heretofore I was unaware of her fascination with Renaissance architecture was irrelevant. I couldn’t claim to know everything about her.

“You are very kind, Lady Emily,” he said. “I do hope your research will not suffer without Signora du Lac’s assistance.”

“I shall do my best to soldier on without her,” I said.

“I am most grateful,” he said and then turned to Cécile. “Signora, if you will come with me, we will start at the staircase you climbed to reach this room. Michelangelo’s plans for it caused quite a stir. After we examine it, I will show you his original drawings.”

“Monsieur Tazzera, I am at your disposal.” She slid to the edge of the bench, offered her hand to him, and took her leave from me, a wicked grin on her face. Cécile never shied away from admiring a handsome man, but only those whose intellectual or artistic leanings interested her had a chance of becoming, shall we say, close to her. The librarian was well on his way to making a most favorable impression.

I turned to my books, starting with an overview of Florentine palazzos that gave the date of construction of Kat’s house as sometime in the mid-fourteenth century. The Vieris, wealthy merchants, built it, conducting business from the ground floor loggia. It stayed in their hands until 1838, when Bartolomeo di Vieri, the last member of the family, died without an heir, and it sat empty until the middle of the century, when a banker bought it and started renovations. The project fell to the wayside after he lost his fortune. There was no mention of what happened next, but I knew from the legal documents now in Kat’s possession that her mother had purchased it in 1886.

The next volume in my stack was a history of Florence written in the sixteenth century. In it, I found a reference to Agnolo di Vieri, a spectacularly wealthy silk merchant who was a confidante of Lorenzo the Magnificent. In a time when other rich Florentines were building new and bigger palazzi, Agnolo chose to stay in his family home. The author offered no explanation for this decision, but another work, written more than a hundred years later, mentioned a priceless treasure—still unfound at the time—hidden in its walls. Had Agnolo remained, searching in vain for it?

I came across one other mention of the treasure, in a letter written by Bartolomeo di Vieri two years before his death. It was the only pertinent piece of information in the large archival box of family correspondence Signore Tazzera had brought me; and while it was intriguing, even I could not argue it shed any light on Signore Spichio’s murder. Regardless of the secrets to which Tessa had referred, I had found nothing to suggest the palazzo had a nefarious history.

A quick glance at my watch told me I’d been buried in research for more than three hours, yet Cécile had not returned, and despite searching the public spaces of the library, I could not locate her. Perturbed, I went back to the main desk, where a librarian