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

Darius’s rooms were in the Oltrarno, in the same building in which the Brownings had lived, across from the Pitti Palace. I had not questioned his intention to stay on his own rather than with us in the palazzo. A bachelor is in need of a certain amount of privacy, particularly a bachelor whose sensitive work might include documents his partner’s wife could not be allowed to see. Colin wouldn’t have been able to hide anything from me in the palazzo, but that would be of no concern if they kept everything at Darius’s. I hesitated. I couldn’t let Signore Bastieri know that my husband and his friend were agents of the Crown, and anything I found in Darius’s rooms would require explanation.

“Signore, I need you to return to the palazzo. Search every inch of the cellar for evidence of old tunnels or passageways. While you do that, I’m going to revisit each of the buildings with our coats of arms. I’m certain I’m missing something.”

“I don’t like to leave you alone, signora,” he said, frowning.

“I’ll be perfectly safe. No one’s going to snatch me off the street in broad daylight.”

“I don’t like it.”

“It will be fine.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” he said. There was so much pain in his eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to cause him more worry.

“All right, we’ll go back to the house together. I’m not sure looking at the arms again is a productive use of time. On the way, I need to pop in and leave a message for a friend who lives nearby. It will only take a moment.” When we reached Darius’s building, I asked Signore Bastieri to wait for me outside. “Make sure no one is following us.”

Unsure of where, specifically, Darius’s rooms were, I climbed the interior stairs in the courtyard up one flight and knocked on the first door on the landing. I told the woman who answered that I had just arrived from England to visit my brother.

“He won’t be home at the moment, but do you know if there’s a concierge or someone who might be able to let me in?” I asked. “I hate to wait in the corridor for hours.”

“Go two doors down the hall. The landlord lives there. He will help you.”

Fortunately, the man did not doubt my story. He took me up to the third floor and unlocked the door. “Signore Benton-Smith will be happy to see you, I am sure,” he said. “He rarely has visitors and often looks lonely, so very lonely. I did not even know he had a sister.”

“Our family is not so close as I would like,” I said. “I’ve come here to try to change that.”

He nodded. “Bene. There is nothing more important than family. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.” He went back downstairs and I stepped into Darius’s rooms.

His accommodations were shockingly small: a poky sitting room and a minuscule bedroom. The space was clean but had little else to recommend it. Now I understood why his dinner jacket was so badly mended. He couldn’t afford a valet, let alone a tailor. I felt a prickle of guilt, knowing he would be embarrassed that I had seen how he was living.

An empty bookshelf, two threadbare chairs, and an unsteady table stood in the sitting room. There were no letters, no papers, nothing personal. The bedroom contained a narrow bed and a table with a lamp. I found a battered valise shoved under the bed. It was locked, but a hairpin made a fine substitute for its key. It was empty. I felt along its lining, looking for anything that might be hidden, but to no avail.

All that was left was the wardrobe. A row of shirts and two perfectly pressed suits—their pockets empty—hung from its bar, two pairs of shoes below. On the top shelf was a sponge bag and shaving kit, along with a hat box. Inside the latter was an elegant top hat with a green paisley scarf tucked into it.

My heart was racing. I returned the hat and scarf to the box and took it with me, glad that Signore Bastieri was waiting for me downstairs. “Do you recognize this?” I showed him the scarf.

“Sì, sì, it looks like the one worn by the man who lent us his carriage. You have found him! I must thank him—” He stopped. “How did you get it? You were not leaving a message for a friend, were you?”

“No,” I admitted, “but this was the last thing I expected to find. We need to go back to the palazzo.”

“What does this mean?”

“I think the man with the carriage killed Lena,” I said.

“Who is he?”

I swallowed hard. It had to be Darius, unless he and Colin had tracked down the man and taken his scarf. But why would they have done that? “I can’t prove anything yet,” I said. “You will know the instant I can.”

“Tell me his name.”

“Not until I’m sure. I don’t want to give you false hope.”

He accepted this.

Cécile and Signore Tazzera were in the dining room at the palazzo when we arrived, poring over a heap of documents that covered nearly the entire surface of the table.

“So far, we have nothing concrete,” the librarian said. “These are all to do with people arrested when Savonarola controlled Florence. We are looking for any prisoner who has a connection to this house.”

“Can I help?” Signore Bastieri said.

“Please,” Cécile replied. “I do not read Italian so well as I speak it.”

“Might I have a word with you, Cécile?” I asked. We stepped out of the room as Signore Bastieri took a seat.

“What’s going on, Kallista?”

I showed her the hat box and its contents. “I found this in Darius’s rooms. Signore Bastieri identified it as the one worn by the man at Marzo’s funeral who lent his carriage to Lena and her father. It’s exactly as Tessa described it.”

She beetled her brows. “Mon dieu. What