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

“Lady Emily Hargreaves?”

I nodded.

“Your friend has left a message for you. She will be indisposed for the rest of the afternoon and says she will see you for dinner this evening.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve a rather large stack of materials Signore Tazzera fetched for me. Shall I bring them back to him?”

“Signore Tazzera has left for the day—he fell suddenly ill—but you can leave it to me. I’ll return them to the stacks. I do hope you found what you were looking for.”

I may have made a small bit of progress, but it was clear that Cécile had found exactly what she sought. I didn’t begrudge her the distraction. Signore Tazzera was rather handsome, not to mention an educated, interesting man. Beyond that, he had to be at least forty-five, so well within the bounds of potentially fascinating. I didn’t believe for a second that he was ill.

I exited the library and returned to the palazzo, heading straight to the room on the third floor near the kitchen, which I’d decided to use as my study. I asked Tessa to bring tea there for us both. She had coffee instead, into which she dipped a long, hard biscuit.

“I have not learned much, Lady Emily,” she said, “but I hope what I tell you proves to be of some use. Marzo Spichio lived with his parents and brother near the church of Santa Croce. I can direct you to the house. He was thirty-two years old, not married but engaged, and had a reputation for having a short temper. He worked doing repairs to buildings.”

She’d abandoned all pretense of not being fluent. If anything, her English was even better than the last time I’d talked to her. “How did you find this out?”

“I went to the Mercato Nuovo. Do you know it? It is the market very near this house. I know many of the merchants who sell their wares there, and two in particular are always acquainted with the latest gossip. They both knew that a man plummeted to his death from your roof, and one knew his family.”

“How had they heard anything about it?” I asked.

“This morning, your husband notified Signora Spichio of her son’s death. The unusual nature of the circumstances made the story spread like fire.” That Colin couldn’t share with me these details infuriated me. It was so inefficient, my having to have a maid poke around for half a day to learn something he could have told me in an instant.

“Do you know the family?” I asked.

“I do not,” she replied and then stopped speaking, glancing at the door. A moment later it opened, and Signora Orlandi entered.

“Tessa, you must get back to work.”

“I’m afraid I must keep her for a bit longer,” I said. “Her English is much better than you led me to believe.”

“We all have our secrets,” she said. “Please don’t keep her too long, Lady Emily.”

When she’d retreated, I turned back to the maid. “I will visit the family tomorrow. Before you go, I wanted to ask you about the secrets you mentioned yesterday. Those hidden by the house. You promised to explain.”

“There are many stories about this palazzo. It is older than most in Florence, and hence full of ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” I like a good ghost story as much as the next person, but had hoped for something more concrete than ethereal spirits unlikely to have murdered a man.

“Not the souls of the dead, but the memory of what has happened here. Do you know about the little friar, Savonarola?”

“Some, though I cannot claim extensive knowledge,” I said.

“He hated the excessive luxury of the Florentine people and preached doom and judgment, claiming that Florence was to be the next Jerusalem and that Our Lord Jesus Christ would soon return to earth. Within two years of Lorenzo il Magnifico’s death, Savonarola controlled the government. The Medici fled, and the city once again became a republic. The details are unimportant. As is so often the case, what is critical in one moment is irrelevant later.”

“What has Savonarola to do with this house?”

“The family who lived here opposed him. There are stories that they were tormented by his Bands of Hope—boys who roamed the streets in search of people ignoring the friar’s newly imposed rules. They stripped women who dressed in luxurious fashion, confiscated items they deemed to be sinful possessions, and generally caused trouble. They were thugs. Violent thugs.”

“How did that lead to this house keeping secrets?”

“Many things happened here that shouldn’t have, but no one, not even Savonarola himself could prove any of it,” she said.

“What sort of things?”

“That I do not know. It was many centuries ago. My great-grandmother also worked here, for the last surviving member of the family who built the house. She told me that her master was plagued by trying to uncover something hidden in the palazzo. Every time he came close to finding it, something happened to stop him. A shutter fell off its hinges and nearly killed him when it hit his head. The well flooded. A fire broke out in his bedroom. It nearly drove him to madness.”

“For what was he searching?”

“That I cannot say.”

She might not say, but neither did she deny knowing. “What did Signore di Vieri think caused all of this?”

“You know his name?” she asked.

“Was it meant to be a secret?” She obviously knew it.

“No, of course not. You just surprised me, that’s all. To answer your question, Signore di Vieri said the house caused all of his ills. Not a ghost, the house.”

“Do you believe that?” I asked.

“No, signora, I do not. A house is not alive. But Signora Orlandi told me a story about the countess who lived here. She, too, believed the house protected its secrets. That is why she wanted it for her daughter. I must go now and help Cook with your dinner. We will talk more later.”

Grateful though I was for the information she provided about Signore Spichio, the rest