Page 11 of Vengeance in Venice (Murder in Moonlight #6)

D elicious, tantalizing smells of cooking grew stronger as the lady of the house led them into the servants’ domain.

The servants displayed none of the horror of many large English households at being invaded from “upstairs.” There had been a hum of subdued chatter as they went about their tasks, and that broke off as they acknowledged their mistress’s presence.

Constance gathered that they were used to her frequent appearances, although a few curious, even suspicious glances were thrown at the strangers behind her.

Elena addressed them in rapid Italian that Constance had no hope of following. A couple of people began to detach themselves from the crowd, and someone else was summoned from another room. Elena turned to her visitors.

“How much Italian do you speak?” she asked in English.

“Very little,” said Constance honestly, “though Solomon understands more.”

“Perhaps not in Venetian, which can be quite different. I will translate for you.”

They murmured their thanks as several male servants began to crowd around them.

There was a middle-aged, well-dressed man, surely a valet, another younger man in sober clothes, and a boatman in white shirt and black breeches and waistcoat.

Among those trying to skulk behind, Constance spotted a black eye and a cut cheek. Those who had attacked Giusti, perhaps?

“This is Ricci, my husband’s valet,” Elena said, drawing Constance’s attention back to the first man. “What would you like to know?”

Solomon said, “First, please pass on our sympathy for the loss of their master.”

Elena spoke quickly, and several of them nodded. “I have also told them you are friends who wish to help find and punish the killer, and that they should cooperate with you.”

“Thank you. Would you ask Ricci about Signor Savelli’s mood in the days leading up to his death? Was there anything unusual in his manner or his behavior?”

Another exchange of Italian and Elena replied, “He behaved as normal, but seemed preoccupied the night before.”

“Did Signor Savelli confide his problem to him?”

Elena spoke, but the negative was clear enough without her translation.

Constance said, “How long has he worked for Signor Savelli?”

“Ten years,” the answer came back.

“Was he a good master, then? Did you like working for him?” Of course, with Elena and the other servants standing by, Ricci was unlikely to say anything but yes . Still, Constance hoped to learn something from his expression.

She didn’t, although she caught some sly grins among the less-reputable men behind. Her stomach tightened as she wondered if those were the men who had seized her in the street.

“When did you last see your master alive?” Solomon asked.

“About one in the morning,” Ricci replied, via Elena.

“Did you help prepare him for bed?”

“I set out his nightclothes and he sent me away. He often did. He would stay up later and work.”

“Is that what he did that night?” Solomon asked.

“I don’t know. I went to bed and I never saw him alive again.”

“What was he wearing when he died?” Constance asked.

Elena blinked at her in surprise but still asked the question.

“I mean,” Constance clarified, “did he wear the same clothes as on the night before? Was he fully dressed? Or in his night attire?”

“The same clothes except for the coat,” Ricci replied. “He wore no coat.”

“No coat?” Solomon pounced. “But it was surely cold at that time of the morning… Did you not say he took his purse with him?”

“It was in the pocket of his trousers,” Elena said, without referring to the valet.

“Who found the body?” Solomon asked.

The boatman stepped forward.

“He did,” Elena replied after a brief exchange. “When he went to make sure the gondola was in good order.”

“When did he last use the boat?” Solomon asked.

“The previous afternoon, when he came home from the lagoon.”

“Remind them, if you please, that I am not a policeman,” Solomon said, “but I want to speak to the men who attacked Signor Giusti.”

Four men shuffled forward, including the bruised ones Constance had noticed earlier.

“How did you travel to find Signor Giusti?” Solomon asked.

“By foot. We knew where to look, and it was not far.”

Solomon nodded and suddenly stepped forward, causing some of the men to leap aside and reveal the two slyly grinning men Constance had also seen before. “And yet those who abducted my wife brought her by dark alleyways and by boat. From more or less the same place. Why was that?”

The two men did not appear remotely intimidated. One spoke and looked directly at Constance as he did so. She had met his type often before. He liked to intimidate with his eyes and his words.

“Pellini,” Elena snapped at him, and he subsided. She did not translate, but then, she didn’t need to, for the man had spoken with deliberate clarity so that even Constance could understand. “She liked the company.”

“And you like to hurt women?” Solomon said softly, surprising everyone. Constance held her breath. “What a big, proud man you must be.”

Color suffused the man’s face. He tried to outstare Solomon, who smiled at him so encouragingly that he might as well have said the words, Please, try to hit me, just give me a reason .

Elena snapped again, and the man dropped his eyes. Here was one woman he did not choose to frighten. Which was interesting.

“Did you use Signor Savelli’s gondola?” Constance asked them.

Pellini and the man next to him did not look at her, but at Elena as she translated and brought back the answer. “No, they used one of the smaller boats that the servants use for supplies.”

“Were you looking for a particular woman?” Constance asked. “Or did you just grasp what you thought was an opportunity?”

Elena spoke without expression and returned the slightly sheepish answer of the thugs. “They took the opportunity because Pellini had heard that Giusti had a mistress. They misunderstood, thinking you were with him. My husband was angry with them.”

To Constance’s relief, Solomon turned to another subject. “Did anyone see or hear Signor Savelli go outside during the night he died?”

There was a lot of shuffling and head shaking. The younger of the upper servants said, “After the lady left before midnight, everyone came back inside, including Signor Savelli, and I locked the back door. When Stefano, the boatman, went out, he found the door unlocked.”

“Why would Signor Savelli have gone out at that time, in the dark?” Constance asked. “Had he done such things before?”

“Not without his coat,” Stefano the boatman said, and the valet nodded.

“Had his bed been slept in?” Solomon asked the valet suddenly.

The man shrugged and Elena translated his torrent of speech. “He might have lain on it. The bedding was disturbed, but he did not appear to have changed into his nightclothes or slept between the sheets.”

Elena turned away. Impossible to tell if it was because she was bored or upset or hiding something she knew to be important.

*

“Well?” Elena asked as she led them out of the maze of kitchens toward the big entrance hall. “Did you learn anything of use?”

Solomon was wondering the same thing. “I believe we learned much.” Though its use to their inquiry was another matter. “Thank you for your help. It can’t have been easy for you.”

“Easier than sitting alone and waiting for the police to return my husband’s body.”

A surge of sympathy took him by surprise.

Did she really have no friends, no family she could turn to in her hour of need?

Perhaps she was too proud to ask, but a true friend, a sister, a cousin, would surely come anyway.

Savelli’s death could not be a secret in the city or beyond.

Had she burned her boats so badly by marrying Savelli?

Without making new friends? If so, her life must have been lonely enough before her husband’s horrific death.

Was that enough of a reason to do away with him?

“Did we ask the same questions as the police?” Constance said.

“Some.” Elena shrugged. “Foscolo is no fool. He will do his duty, whatever the cost.”

“You know Foscolo?” Solomon said in surprise.

“Of course. He comes from an old family, if not a particularly distinguished branch of it. He was a nationalist, in the revolution. Like me, he has made his peace with reality.”

“Do you know Lampl as well?” Constance asked.

“Yes, ever since he came to Venice three years ago. Angelo knew him before. He liked him. He is not…” She paused, clearly looking for the words. “He is not a policeman. He is an administrator. An official of government with responsibilities that cover police inquiries of a particular kind.”

“The kind that involves important people?” Solomon suggested. “When he came to interview us, we gathered his presence irritated Foscolo.”

“Foscolo is an irritable man.” She turned, giving her hand to Constance. “You will feel free to call again? I will help all I can.”

“Thank you,” Solomon said, bowing over her proffered hand in turn. “It is much appreciated.”

Alvise was in shouted conversation with another boatman close by, though he quickly broke off to help Constance into the gondola. It struck Solomon suddenly that they had not made full use of the man’s knowledge.

“Do you know the Savelli gondolier, Stefano?” he asked him.

“Of course. We are both members of the guild.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“He is older than me. Not a friend. I respect him.”

“Would he have approved, do you think, of his master employing his so-called bodyguards who attacked Signor Giusti and abducted my wife?”

“No.”

A man of few words, Alvise.

“Why would Savelli have hired such men?” Constance pressed. “Is it normal?”

“Not usual, no.” Alvise shrugged. “He must have felt threatened. His position on the council, his friendship with the Austrians… Feelings still run high.”

“Then it wasn’t a personal threat that inspired this…protection? For example, Signor Giusti?”

“Perhaps both. I don’t know. Perhaps Giusti is part of the same problem.”