And his voice, Ian soon learned. “I would never have presumed upon you, my lord, nor especially on a day like today, had I not thought it rather urgent.”
Ian nodded to him to continue, wondering if such loud noises could have a damaging effect on the structure of his house.
Valdo cleared his throat, a sound akin to the roar of a cannon. “I heard through several channels that you are making inquiries about Isabella Bellocchio. You know, looking for personal information.” The large man leaned forward in his chair and gave Ian an unfriendly look. “I demand to know why.”
Ian eyed him for a moment to give his inner ear time to stop vibrating, then turned up a palm. “I might tell you, but only if you first explain why you are so eager to know.”
Valdo turned his head around, scouring the room. “What I will tell you is very private. Is this a safe place to speak?”
“I vouch for the security of my home and staff,” Ian answered haughtily, pretending to feel insulted. Mainly what he was feeling was hungry, and the prospect of inviting his large guest to dine was so unappealing that he decided instead to hurry the interview to its conclusion by employing his famed coolness. It had no effect.
“Of course. I didn’t doubt it, you know, really it’s just that,” Valdo paused to clear his throat again, “well, where that girl is involved I just can’t think. I ask you plainly, my lord, are you courting her affections?”
Ian was surprised. When he did not respond, Valdo continued.
“You asked me to explain my interest. I love Isabella. More than I have ever loved anything, or anyone, even more than my poor departed mother.” He paused to cross himself. “I bought her a house, I give her clothes and presents. I had a perfume specially made for her. I won’t say that she loves me back, that would be too much to ask, but I will say that she has, you know, a certain affection for me.” He spoke with pride, and Ian wondered for the millionth time how men could be such fools where women were concerned.
“If you know she has affection for you, why worry about me?” Ian’s stomach rumbled impatiently.
“Ah, so you are courting her! Are you planning to marry her, take her out of my reach?”
Ian noticed for the first time that Valdo’s ears were disproportionally smaller than the rest of his body. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“But you implied… You suggested…”
Ian decided that he needed to hasten his lunch. There would be no real harm, Ian’s stomach rationalized, in speeding Valdo’s departure by telling him what he wanted to know. If Valdo Valdone was the murderer fishing for information, Ian’s stomach pointed out logically, he would get nothing from Ian’s explanation of his interest in Isabella. And if he was not the murderer, Ian might learn something important from him. While still getting to eat lunch.
“I have never met Signorina Bellocchio and feel no amorous desires toward her. My inquiries were initiated only to please my betrothed, who is, let us say, a demanding woman. It seems that she and Isabella had become friends or correspondents, and—”
“Why, that’s impossible! Isa can’t write a word.”
Ian brushed aside the objection, but made a mental note that Valdo knew of Isabella’s illiteracy. “Somehow, at any rate, they developed a certain degree of intimacy and, not hearing from Isabella for some time, my betrothed grew concerned. On her request, I spread the notice that I was collecting information about Isabella Bellocchio, presumably the notice you heard.”
“Then you were not going to marry her?”
“S’blood, do I need to repeat myself like a parrot?”
“No, no, I am sorry, my lord. I just wanted to get it straight. I told you, where Isa is concerned, I can’t think.”
Ian’s stomach told him that Valdo had no information nearly as important as that contained in the serving dishes on the floor below, and he decided to bring the meeting to a close.
Ian was rising from his seat. “I hope that sets your mind at rest. If—”
“Anything but,” Valdo boomed, propelling Ian back down by his sheer volume. “How can my mind rest when she has disappeared? I haven’t slept these five nights. And there is no one I could tell about it, no one I can trust. If my wife found out…” The large man shuddered. “Then I heard about you, and I was so relieved, but first I had to be sure. You know, sure that you were not trying to take Isa away from me. It’s not like Isa to go away without leaving word. Usually she will send a messenger or tell someone at my club or have Enzo tell me where she is going and for how long. But not this time, I have looked all over and asked everyone. I am beside myself with worry. I can’t even eat.”
On hearing that, Ian reconsidered inviting him to lunch, but decided against it. Instead he made a noise that he hoped sounded sympathetic and followed it up with, “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Of course!” Valdo looked puzzled, as if it were obvious. “You can find her. I can’t do it myself, you know, can’t let my wife find out, but you are already making inquiries for your betrothed, so why can’t you also make them for me? Do you know where she is?”
“To be frank,” Ian lied, “I have no idea where she is. My inquires have gotten nowhere. I was hoping you could help me. Do you have any idea?”
“I’ve been thinking and thinking but have come up with nothing. She sometimes goes to a little cottage I have near Lake Maggiore. In fact, it has quite a nice view of your lovely villa, my lord.” Valdo paused for Ian to thank him for the gratuitous compliment, realized it had been ignored, and rushed on. “But I sent my man there to look around, and it is deserted, no sign of anyone.”
“Does she have any relatives that might have taken ill? Any friends that might have required her assistance?”
“Not that she ever spoke of.” Valdo’s eyes lit up. “But here’s something! She told me once that if her father, a poor but religious cobbler, ever found out what she had done with her life, he would be less than pleased. Maybe he came and found her and took her away with him.”
In Ian’s experience, even the most religious of men had been known to adjust their morals where money was concerned. If Isabella had been in a position to make her father’s life comfortable, it seemed unlikely that he would do anything to disturb that. Ian said as much to Valdo and had the satisfaction of seeing that the large man’s enthusiasm was visibly dampened, but by no means extinguished. After a moment of quiet thought, Valdo boomed his next suggestion. “She might have gone off with one of her other clients for a brief span, mightn’t she? You know, to one of their houses or something?”
“Has she done that before?”
“No, never.” Valdo shook his massive head slowly. “But what if someone forced her to go away? What if her father or one of her lovers coerced her into departing and would not let her leave word? You know, someone jealous or deranged. Someone who wanted her all for himself.” He paused and then added in a different voice, “Or someone who wanted her away from me.”
Ian had been about to say something, but stopped before the words left his mouth and adjusted them. “How do you think your wife found out about your arrangement with Isabella?”
“W-w-w-w,” Valdo stuttered, then got control of himself. “I did not say anything about my wife. Did I?”
“This is patently ridiculous.” Ian slapped the top of his desk with his palm, a gesture he knew to be particularly awful, and for the second time rose to leave. “You cannot enter my house, uninvited, ask me to do you a favor, and then lie to me. Do you take me for a fool, man?”
“Wait, wait, don’t go,” the large man pleaded piteously. “I just need a moment to collect myself.” Valdo lowered his head and put his hands over his eyes. After a few minutes, he righted himself and began nodding vigorously.
“You are right, my lord. I do suspect my wife. Our marriage is not an unusual one. You know, we
married very young, when we still lived in Thiene. She was the most desirable girl in the town, easy on the eyes, nice to hold. But the years passed; we moved to Venice. You know, the eye wanders, the appetite craves younger morsels.”
Ian nodded for the sake of doing something, wondering why, if Ian already “knew” all this, Valdo was taking up his lunchtime retelling it.
“It would never have occurred to me to suspect Lucretia, that is, my wife, except that two weeks ago she began acting strangely. Very strangely. I can’t explain it, but something changed. She became very aloof and distant. Sometimes when I came upon her, she would be smiling to herself, as if she knew a secret, a secret about me and she was plotting ways to use it. She is a very crafty woman, my lord, much more clever than I am. It was her idea to make the perfumes in the first place, you know, the ones I have made my fortune off of. If she put her mind to it, she could do anything.”
“Anything? Do you think her capable of violence?”
Valdo looked shocked. “No, certainly! She would not harm Isa. She would just, you know, put her out of my reach. Send her somewhere I could not find her.”
“Why? What could that achieve?”
“I don’t know.” Despair again filled Valdo’s baritone. “That is what I want you to find out. And where. You know, where she sent Isabella.”
The task was infinitely distasteful to Ian. Given his certainty—well, partial certainty—of Bianca’s guilt, he wagered that time spent talking to this Lucretia would be time wasted unpleasantly for nothing. On the other hand, she might be able to tell him something that would help him force a confession out of Bianca. And, he reasoned finally, the means of meeting her were easily at hand.
“Very well, I will speak with your wife. You have heard, no doubt, about the betrothal ball we are throwing here in two days’ time.”
Valdo nodded. Everyone had heard about the special lifting of the sumptuary laws and the elaborate preparations hastily under way. There had not been a gala event like that at the Foscari palace in years, and the excitement it caused was feverish. The whole city had been turned upside down upon news of it, goldsmiths, glassblowers, cooks, and bakers working day and night to be ready on such short notice. His own wife had been forced to send for five different dressmakers before she found one not already too busy with other orders for extravagant gowns to be worn that Monday night.
“I thought perhaps, on account of the fire, it would be canceled.”
“Nonsense.” Ian sounded positive, although he had just made the decision that moment. “The fire was a tragedy, especially to those who live in the arsenal, but it has scarcely damaged me or my interests. Besides, it has nothing to do with my betrothal. Your wife will attend you, I presume?” When Valdo nodded his large head, Ian continued. “Very well. I shall speak to her then.”
He was rising for the third time, hoping at last to be on the way to his lunch, when Valdo spoke again.
“I have another idea.”
Ian gave up hope and collapsed back into his chair. By now all the caramelized fennel and wine-braised beef stew would be gone. He would hazard his fortune that Bianca had gleefully fed his portion to that baby, that Caesar or whatever he was called.
“I was thinking that maybe it would be easier to get information, you know, to get people talking, if you offered some kind of reward. A thousand ducats or something. Of course, I would put forward the money, but you would have to be in charge of distributing it. I could not have it known that I had any part in it.”
As Ian, picturing the trail of indigents lining up before his door when word of such a reward got out, was figuring out how to refuse the commission, there was a knock on the door of the library.
Bianca entered and strode up to Ian’s desk, pretending not to see the enormous man in the chair before it.
“My lord, we have been waiting lunch this eternity, and I for one am quite near death. Do you intend to eat, ever?”
It was a ridiculously flimsy pretext, and Ian saw through it in a flash. Not only was it impossible that she had not seen the immense being in front of his desk, but calling the master of the house to table was the type of errand for which Ian employed any one of thirty servingmen. No doubt, he guessed correctly, she had heard of the arrival of Valdo Valdone and wanted to know what was being said. He wondered briefly how she knew Valdo, discarded the possibility that he might be her accomplice because the vision of him skating over the rooftops of Venice was too ludicrous, and decided that out of gratitude for her timely intrusion he would give her a little satisfaction.
“Ah, my charming betrothed. This, carissima, is Signore Valdo Valdone.”
Bianca turned and feigned surprise to see another person in the room. Then she curtsied gracefully and held out her hand to be kissed.
“Piacere.” She smiled politely, quickly taking in every detail of Isabella’s beloved. He was not a horrible-looking man, she tried to make herself believe; it was just that his ears were too small. “I am so sorry to have disturbed your conference. If I had known, I never would have burst in like this.”
“No doubt.” Ian spoke wryly, since she made no move to leave. He was sorry that he had not been able to watch Bianca’s face as she curtsied, to look for signs of recognition, but Valdo seemed appropriately overwhelmed by her beauty, despite the small bandage over her right temple, which suggested he had never met her before. Ian was curious, however, about the effect of his next piece of information on her. “Signore Valdone has just offered to put forward a reward of one thousand ducats for information about the whereabouts of your friend Signorina Bellocchio.”
Valdo’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “B-b-but, no one is to know that. You said you would keep it private.”
“My dear sir, my betrothed is to be trusted in all things. Man and wife are one, no?”
Bianca made a small choking sound as Valdo uneasily nodded in agreement. “I suppose, yes, well, if you trust her.”
“Implicitly.” Ian spoke emphatically, but the irony in his voice was not lost on Bianca.
Finally having stifled her laughter, she spoke. “That is a fine idea, Signore Valdone, and one I have already implemented myself. I let it be known Thursday that I had three thousand gold ducats for anyone with information about our dear Isabella, and already I have had appreciable results.” Or at least, she hoped to have by the end of the afternoon. “Why don’t you withhold your reward money until mine has been exhausted? That way we will not be unnecessarily doubling our efforts.”
Both Valdo and Ian were surprised by her revelation, but Valdo recovered first. He was all gratitude as he rose, with difficulty, from the small chair.
“Madam, only your goodness can match your beauty. I am glad to know that Isa, ah, Signorina Bellocchio, has a friend such as you.” Valdo turned to Ian, still standing rigid by his desk. “You are a fortunate man, d’Aosto, and I envy you. Thank you for your assistance. I look forward to seeing you on Monday.” Bowing deeply, he walked toward the door of the library and was escorted out by one of Ian’s servants.
“Do you think he learned that from a book?” Bianca asked to cut through the uncomfortable silence that had descended on the room.
“What?”
“ ‘Only your goodness can match your beauty.’ I feel that I’ve read it somewhere. Unless it is familiar because it is one of the lovely sentiments that drips like honey from your lips.”
It was not he, it was she that was mad, Ian realized all at once, mad as the south wind from the Africs. But if he wasn’t careful, he would soon share the malady. Escape was the safest policy, he decided, and made for his lunch.
“My lord,” Bianca called after him, following in his wake. “I did not really come to call you to lunch, you know. We were waiting, yes, but I actually came because I needed to tell, ah, ask you something.”
Ian eyed
her narrowly as they descended the steps. “Where did you meet Valdo Valdone?”
“Santa Barbara’s fingers, my lord, you were there. Is your memory that flimsy that you can’t remember two minutes ago in your library?” What about last night, Bianca wondered to herself. Can you remember that, as I do?
“Damn your impertinence! You mean to tell me you’ve never met him before? Why did you then rush in like that with your fabricated errand?”
“I was about to tell you!” Bianca huffed. “I had never met Valdo Valdone, but I had heard of him, as Isabella’s patron, and I was curious to see him. He seems to me a very likely suspect, although he wouldn’t to you, since you already know who the murderer is.”
“If he killed her, why offer a reward for information about her whereabouts, which could eventually lead me straight to him?” Ian countered.
“Bravo, my lord! Shall we use the same logic on me? Why, if I killed her, would I likewise offer a reward?”
Ian was only momentarily stymied. “He asked me to administer the reward, whereas you are administering yours yourself. Any information you get will be tidily dealt with by you alone, using the reward money to bribe others into silence. Nor have I any proof that you really have offered a reward. It would not be the first time you lied about your actions.” He regarded her with triumph.
“How is it that with your broad forehead and ample skull there is only enough room in your brain for a single thought?”
“Is that the best defense you can invent? Insulting my cognitive powers?”
“You do that yourself, my lord, when you fail to employ them.” Bianca returned Ian’s glare.
Then she chastised herself. Why must she completely lose control of her tongue when she was around him? She had no time for sallies of wit and games of words. She should be using every minute of every day she had left to prove her innocence to Ian, not to antagonize him beyond endurance.
On the threshold of the dining room, Bianca touched Ian’s arm to stop him. “I apologize for my remarks, my lord. They were uncalled for.”