The Stargazer (18 page)

“Your curiosity is so persuasive,” he sneered, “that I think I shall gratify it. It was commissioned by Giovanni. Giovanni Salva. Your brother.”

Ian had to compliment her again on her performance. Her look of surprise was very real, and her gasp added a nice touch. The hands flying to her face might have been too much, but he supposed she was stalling for time, trying to compose her next elaborate lie.

Apparently she could not think of anything adequate. Looking bewildered, she asked only, “Are you sure?”

“You mean, is there any way for you to wriggle out of this? No, there is not. I am sure. You had your brother commission this dagger, and you planted it on the body. I am still not certain whether you or your brother committed the actual murder, but I
am
certain you will soon tell me. Is that who you have been protecting all this time?”

The idea of Giovanni as a murderer rendered Bianca dumb. She and her brother were not particularly close, but she knew him well enough to know that he was not evil. At least she thought she did.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to say. I wish I had some way to explain Giovanni’s actions, but I really don’t. We are not that intimate.”

“
Ha-ha!
Just like a woman to worm out of it by letting the blame rest somewhere else. I tell you, the theory I favor is that you did the whole thing yourself, just using your brother for this one little chore. And I’ll tell you why I prefer it. Because I know about your other murder.”

This
would have been the appropriate moment for the flinging-of-hands-to-face maneuver, Ian thought, completely unimpressed by Bianca’s blank, puzzled look. He should have known she was too slick to confess, so he went on. “Enzo’s body has already been found. I am surprised you did not work harder to conceal it. Surely a few well placed rocks could have done the trick. We know you have no discomfort pawing the bodies of the dead.”

“Enzo? Isabella’s Enzo?”

“Very unoriginal to feign ignorance. Yes, Enzo, the man whom you pretended not to be bribing so generously yesterday. Now I understand why you were so willing to let him walk out of here with my money.”

“It was my money,” Bianca interjected.

“Yes, well, it probably is now, as I am sure you liberated it from him when you killed him.”

“The body was found naked.” Giorgio spoke from behind Bianca. Not caring to leave his master alone with a murderess, he had decided to linger through the conference.

“Easier than going through his pockets.” Ian nodded to himself. “I bet you are saving his clothes for the next time you decide to go gallivanting around dressed like a man. And I am sure you had no trouble enticing him out of them, probably inviting him to enact one of your perverted fantasies. What was it, whips? Animals? Oh, I know. You like to watch.”

Bianca let out a yelp. Until then she had been in a state of shock, but when Ian spoke his last words, she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Trembling and on the verge of tears, she tried to speak, but no words would come out.

“Don’t bother to speak unless you are planning to confess. I will not tolerate any more of your lies.”

“How dare you? How dare you, how dare you, how dare you?” Bianca was on her feet, moving to the desk where Ian sat, her hands balled into tight little fists. Before she got close enough to make him her next victim, Giorgio grabbed her from behind and held her, squirming, in his arms. It was then, with Bianca suspended in midair, that the door opened to admit Francesco and Roberto, who, finding her absent from her bed against doctor’s orders, had gone in search of their ward.

“Bravo, fine performance,” Ian was saying caustically when they entered the room. “Your ‘outrage’ is much better than your ‘surprise.’ I almost found myself believing it.”

As they regarded the sputtering figure still clasped in Giorgio’s arms, Francesco and Roberto were completely persuaded.

“Set her down at once!” Roberto commanded Giorgio, who reluctantly acceded but remained standing behind Bianca’s elbow, just in case.

“What under heaven is going on here?” Francesco demanded, deeply flushed.

“I was trying to kill him.” Bianca gestured at Ian.

“I see.” Francesco was nodding. “Certainly you are not the first to want to do that, he is very provoking. What exactly did he do to you?”

“I caught her in a web of lies too sticky to escape from.” Ian spoke before she could, sounding satisfied. “I now have proof of her guilt.”

“You have no such thing!” Bianca worked to control the rising tide of her anger. “You have a dagger that someone close to me ordered, and you have a dead body that someone in this neighborhood discarded. Neither of those point to me in any way.”

“Bosh! I know you and I know your cunning ways. Your signature on these crimes could not be clearer.”

Bianca was shaking her head in disbelief. This, this was the man she had bared her soul to. This was the man to whom, she feared, she had revealed the deepest secret of her heart. And he had misunderstood everything. Willfully. What had happened to him to make him so blind and so unyielding? And why did she have to be its innocent victim?

Half of her wanted to jump into a canal and keep company with Enzo’s corpse, but the other half of her told her to persevere—if only for the pleasure of vindicating herself and proving that horrible, hateful, stern, stony, implacable, unlovable, irresistible man wrong. Using cold, hard, reason she saw that the first option precluded the second, but the second did not preclude the first, therefore the most advisable course was to pursue the second until it was proven unfeasible and then implement the first. Thus, she decided to continue her search for the murderer and jump into the canal only when all hope was lost. Relieved to have found such a sound solution, she faced Ian with renewed vigor.

Francesco and Roberto were remonstrating with him when she broke in. “You gave me, my lord, one hundred and sixty-eight hours to prove my innocence. I still have ninety-one hours left. Have you so lost your sense of honor that you would break our agreement?”

Ian glared at her. “Given that I now have proof of your guilt beyond any shadow of a doubt, I see no reason to let you continue your investigations.” Bianca tried to interrupt, but Ian would not let her. “However, as long as you do not leave this house, I see no reason not to let you continue to try. It might be amusing to watch. I warn you, however, I am going to arm the staff. And don’t imagine you can seduce them into compliance like you did poor Enzo. My men will not be ruled by the dictates of their bodies.”

Bianca spoke reassuringly. “Don’t worry. If I have learned only one thing from you, it is that seduction is far more tedious than it is worth.” With that she turned on her heel and marched out under the astonished gazes of four sets of eyes.

Still restless, he decided a walk in the rain would be good for him, and he set out without any particular direction. He was surprised, or at least tried to be, when he found himself confronting the two street doors of Isabella’s house. He was shocked when he noticed that he was tinkering with the lock on the side door, and astonished when he felt himself entering.

Once inside he moved quietly and quickly, not wanting to disturb his conscience or anyone who might be there. Deciding that Isabella’s room was the likeliest place, he went there first, relying on the light from a small window. Miraculously, he had thought to bring candles and flint with him on his walk, you know, for eventualities, but he did not yet want to use them. He paused at the landing to listen, heard nothing but the beating of his heart, and proceeded to Isabella’s door. It opened soundlessly and he walked in.

Then someone broke his back. At least that seemed to be the goal of the man pinning Ian against the floor, where he had been thrown during the initial assault. That the rug needed to be shaken out was Ian’s first thought after he gratefully realized that his back was only severely contorted, not actually broken. Nonetheless he kept still, his mouth pressed into the dirty rug, as his adversary replaced the knee he had been using to hold Ian down with the barrel of a gun.

“What are you doing here?” the adversary demanded. Ian had an antagonizing comment ready on the tip of his tongue, it being his noted practice to provoke anyone and everyone, but he swallowed it when he recognized the unmistakable voice.

“Valdone! Damn it, man, you nearly killed me.”

The aggressor thought he also recognized a voice but was not sure. He scrambled to his feet, as quickly as his large size would allow, and held a lighted candle up to Ian’s face.

“D’Aosto! What are you doing here?”

“Investigating, at your request.” Ian’s tone was dry. He moved his head from side to side, testing to ensure that it was both still attached to his body and fully functional. “Were you waiting for me, or did something else bring you here?”

Valdo shook his head and dropped onto the bed, setting the candle next to him. He ran the fingers of one hand over the peach silk bedspread.

“She loves this color. It is her favorite. I had it specially dyed for her in England, and when she saw it the first time…” It looked as though the large man was going to cry, and less than a crying woman or a crying baby could Ian tolerate a crying mountain.

“It is very nice. But you still haven’t said what you are doing here.”

“I am waiting. Sunday night is the night she and I always spend together. We have dinner, then, you know. I thought maybe she would come back for it.” His voice suddenly lost its wistful edge. “You heard about Enzo?”

“Yes, most disturbing. That is part of why I am here. I want to check a theory which,
ah
, I am developing. You could give me a hand. It would help to pass the time.” Ian hated himself for perpetuating Valdo’s hope.

“I may as well.” Valdo shrugged and dismally lifted himself off the bed. “What are we looking for?”

“Peepholes.”

Working by the light of two candles, the two men covered every inch of the floor and found nothing. No loose boards, no prying holes, not a single sign of a secret place for listening or watching the dealings of those below. Then they moved to the next room, and the next. Ian’s back ached doubly, from Valdo’s attack and from leaning over to scour the floor, and his outlook was bleak. He stood to stretch, cursing himself for acting on the harebrained idea of a woman, when an idea of his own developed. Women were such petty creatures that their tolerance for discomfort was very low, and listening to hours of conversation bent over with your ear pressed to the floor would be very uncomfortable. Clearly they had been looking in the wrong place. The peephole or listening device would have to be located somewhere more commodious.

Almost tripping on Valdo, who was sprawled in the middle of a floor testing the floorboards for looseness, Ian rushed back to Isabella’s room. He stood in the middle and took it in, slowly. He went first to the bed and lay down, using his hands to search the wall behind him. Though he did not know exactly what he was looking for, he was sure he would recognize it when he found it.

Whatever it was, though, it was not behind the bed. Not ready to give up, he went and sat at Isabella’s vanity table. He opened all the drawers, one by one, then the cabinets. Nothing. He uncorked all the perfumes, unscrewed all the unguents. Still nothing. The mirror was hinged so that it could be angled in a variety of ways, so Ian began adjusting it, folding each piece along its hinge. That was how he saw it.

Behind the third and fourth sections of the mirror was a wide tube with a cork in it. Ian removed the cork and looked into it. All he saw was darkness, but a tingling in his body told him he was right.

“Valdone!” he called, and waited for the large man to lumber over. “You sit here while I go to the parlor. Keep your eyes on the tube, and if you hear or see anything, shout.”

Ian had taken his candle and was rushing down the stairs before Valdo could question him. Based on the position of Isabella’s room, Ian guessed which of the three doors went to the parlor, found it unlocked, and entered. He put the candle in the middle of the large table and began to recite poetry.

“
Nel mezzo del camin della nostra vita…
” Before he reached the end of the first line, he heard Valdo shouting.

“I hear you. I see you. Perfectly, clearly. This is amazing.”

Ian concurred when he had his turn at the tube. He studied the ingenious system, making mental notes so he could duplicate it at home.

“What I don’t understand is how you knew about it. You know, I spent all my free time here and never had any suspicion of such a thing.” Valdo was speaking from the parlor to Ian in the bedroom.

“It is long story, and I would rather not explain it until I have everything figured out.”

The large man was now too in awe of Ian’s cognitive powers to press him, willingly abiding by the adage that geniuses must be given space to work. Though he did not understand what it had to do with restoring his Isa to him, Valdo was sure that the listening tube was an important clue. He was still congratulating the count on the find when the two men left together a little later. He had given up on Isabella for the night, but his adventure with Ian had left him slightly less dejected than usual.

Ian declined Valdo’s offer to ferry him home, hoping the slight drizzle and the walk would ease the pain in his back and help clear his head. The existence of the listening tube validated, at least partially, Bianca’s theory about the murder. That was hardly surprising if she herself was the murderer, though it was not clear why she would willingly spell out her motive. Perhaps she figured that if she suggested it, Ian would never believe her, since he always assumed she was lying. That had to be it, she was counting on him taking it as a lie. Obviously Enzo had to die because he could have confirmed it as true.

And yet he could not rid himself of a nagging feeling of doubt. Unwilling though he was to admit it, part of him, a large part, could still not believe Bianca capable of such horrible deeds. He cursed himself again, this time for his softness, for being taken in by her feminine wiles, for letting his heart beat faster when she spoke his name, and even faster when she said…when she said she loved him. Even if it was not part of a plot to weaken him, he knew that words said in the heat of passion carried little weight. So he was a fool to be thinking about it, about her, at all. Reason told him it was more likely now than ever that she was a cunning murderer. She had even admitted today, before witnesses, that she wanted to kill him.

Come now, the voice in his head said, she did not really mean it and she was roundly provoked. Ian shook his head like a lion shooing off a bothersome fly, trying to dislodge the annoying voice that was growing increasingly familiar. He noted for the first time that this new voice seemed to have replaced Mora’s abusive critiques, and he wondered if he was not happier, or at least less confused, before the switch. Mora had never instructed him to trust a murderer. Only
maybe
a murderer, the voice said. Ian growled at it.

By the time he got home, the voice had convinced him that he owed Bianca an apology. Not for his repeated accusations of murder, those would stand, but for some of his more personal attacks. His sense of honor told him he had been needlessly provocative to her. Besides, it would be easier for her to reveal herself to him if they were on speaking terms. Most minor of all was his ongoing curiosity about whether her attractions had yet abated. That day in the library he had not felt anything in her presence, which he took as an auspicious development.

To lose no time in commencing his test, or his apology, Ian went directly to Bianca’s room. He anticipated seeing her there as she had been the night before, peacefully stretched out and inviting. He would apologize quickly, she would accept, then he would climb into bed for the test. He sighed a manly sigh, admitting that he would have to force himself to perform if he wanted to regain her trust, and reminded himself of his patriotic duties.

But his efforts were wasted, because Bianca was not there. Nor was she in the adjacent sitting room. Nor the library. Nor even the dining room, small dining room, blue reception room, green reception room, gold reception room, wood reception room, meeting room, sewing room, Ian’s room, Roberto and Francesco’s rooms, Crispin’s rooms, any of the ballrooms, servants’ rooms, storage rooms, or kitchens. Ian was desperate, terrified that she had left him. Or, rather, escaped. If she was going to escape, he surmised, she would do it by boat because it would be too easy to trace her traversing the deserted streets of Venice on foot. Before sounding a general alarm or rousing the household, he counted the gondolas. They were all there.

Finding her was suddenly the most important thing, indeed the only thing, that mattered. He took the stairs four at a time and then thundered down the hall toward her laboratory. Ian flung the door open with so much force that he ripped it off its hinges. He would gladly have had a hundred hinges replaced for the sight that greeted him when he stepped into the room.

She was there on a stool before the gaping space that had once been a window. She had taken one of the large woolen rugs that covered the floor and draped it around herself for warmth. When Ian burst in, she turned, though not with surprise, since nothing could surprise her anymore.

The rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to clear. In the silvery moonlight her face looked ethereal, like that of a mountain nymph or a particularly sensual Madonna. Ian tried to suppress these romantic thoughts by sternly reminding himself of his two-pronged mission, and approached her.

Bianca had turned back to her contemplation of the sky. She had nothing to say to Ian, or nothing she should say. Seated on that stool for nearly two hours, she had been trying to sort through the complicated emotions that were coursing through her. She had begun by trying to focus on her ineffectual investigation, running her mind over everything she knew, hoping for a crack, but her brain had other plans and had returned again and again to Ian.

“I came to apologize.” His voice at her ear broke through her thoughts, and Bianca found that she did still possess the capacity to be surprised. “I said some things today that were not strictly necessary.”

Bianca did not want to face him because she did not want him to see the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, my lord.” Her voice sounded small, then got stronger as her mouth asked of its own accord, “Why did you say them, then?”

Ian, shook his head and responded to her profile. “I don’t know. When I am with you, sometimes, I find I get,” he cleared his throat, stalling as he sought the right phrase, “carried away.”

Bianca suddenly had the urge to laugh but stifled it. She turned to face him. “I think it is because someone hurt you once, and now you want to hurt someone.”

Ian’s eyes grew hard. “An interesting theory,
carissima
.”

“I think it was a woman.”

Ian’s whole body stiffened. The right thing to do was to storm out of the room in anger, slamming the door and punishing her for bringing it up. But the door was broken. And curiously, Ian did not want to leave.

Instead, he changed the subject. “What are you doing up here? It is freezing.”

Bianca was still studying him. “Looking at the stars. Or actually, looking for my father’s star.”

Ian was skeptical. “What do you mean? Is it different from other stars?”

“It is indistinguishable, except when he gives me the sign. He will notice me watching for him and something will happen, it will flicker or get bigger or something.”

“Have you observed this phenomenon before?”

“No. That is just it. I have been looking since he died and I have never found it.” Ian noticed that there was a slight tremor in her voice. “I know he would not forget about me, would not abandon me, but still, it would be nice to see it. It would make it easier to keep believing in him. And not to feel alone.”

Ian considered sweeping her into his arms and telling her she was not alone. He thought about kissing her gently and filling her with his warmth. He contemplated promising to protect her and care for her. The idea of explaining to her how utterly unforgettable she was crossed his mind.

He opened his mouth to speak. “From everything I have read about them, it seems unlikely that stars are actually the souls of the dead.”

With alarm Ian saw that Bianca’s lower lip had begun to quiver, and he knew what that meant. He racked his brain, trying to decide what Crispin would do in this situation, realized that Crispin would never be in this situation, and then rushed on, saying the first things that occurred to him. “What I mean is, perhaps you are looking in the wrong place. Perhaps your father has been giving you signs every day, many of them, but because they were unexpected, you did not notice them.”

Her lip had almost completely stopped quivering, and she was regarding him with an expression he did not recognize. It made him ecstatic. And nervous.