Pursuit

by Felice Picano

  After his scanty breakfast the following morning, Addison paid her a visit accompanied by Luca. The Comtesse greeted him on the second level, the floor they called piano here. The rooms were too wide and too long, the furniture too large and very old, and, to his taste, quite ugly. But the weather had cleared to a sparkling blue sky, and the remains of the previous day’s rain lay in puddles on roofs and added to the general glitter of the foliage as they sat outside on a tiny balcony.

  “They call virtually everything with four walls and a roof a palazzo here,” the Comtesse assured him over a pot of Assam tea with an assortment of little sandwiches. “Including this monstrosity. But I suppose it was such a creature at one time or another.”

  “Why not ask its owner?”

  “I am its owner. Which I am reminded of whenever repairs are required, which is often enough.” She laughed.

  She was charming, he decided. Dressed in what was an up-to-the-throat frock of simple but surely expensive materials tailored for her. Perfectly appropriate for a lady to entertain a single gentleman, her chestnut hair tumbling out of its fixture in back, down and onto one shoulder. In London, she had seemed as artificial as any other socialite, with the usual excessive amount of ribbons, laces, furbelows, and cosmetics. But here, she scarcely wore a blush of colour around her sky-matching eyes or rouge on her perfectly delineatesd lips.

  “That being the case, Madame, should I accept your invitation to take up residence here, I’m afraid the neighbours would have much to say.”

  “They certainly would. I’m counting on them doing so. In hasty, ungrammatical telegrams flying back across the Alps.” And when he looked surprised, she added, “That is where my lover and my husband both are, and it would do them a world of good to remind them that I am here with another, younger, dashing young man like yourself.”

  “Should they arrive, Comtesse, I foresee scenes. Duels on abandoned islands.”

  “You see far more than I,” she said. “Knowing them as I do, it might take an assassin’s explosive to get them off their well-bred rears.” They sipped, they nibbled. “Now who is that mite you have deposited downstairs to bewitch my servant girls?”

  “My man, Luca.”

  “Your man! Aren’t you both adorable!” Before he could protest, she said in deeper tones. “So, who is this person you have crossed Europe to overtake?”

  “I’m not entirely certain I can reveal her name.”

  “Posh! It must be Lillian, Marchioness of R——, who has absconded and about time too, I say. Close your mouth, Mr. Grimmins. While your teeth are gratifyingly clean, it is still an unseemly posture in mixed company with no dental professional in view.”

  “How many know?”

  “More than Lord R. would like. Not that many, but it is better that some do know. How else will you find her? Certainly not by either of our mites’ gathered intelligence reports. She’s certain to show herself in society here, where she may believe she is safe.”

  “So you believe.”

  “I do. The lad downstairs doesn’t look very strong or very bad. Neither do you, Mr. Grimmins. Please forgive me. At least I hope not. Whereas Venice is filled with unsavoury and trustworthy bravos for hire.”

  “Well, then, actually locating the Marchioness will suffice. You will aid me in that?”

  “Why not? It’s a few larks more than I expected, coming here. But you must be my male companion while we are out of doors together.”

  “I’m not a gentleman.”

  “You’ll do, as I have no chaperone. For form’s sake. Your mite can linger after us.”

  “For form’s sake, then?”

  “Yes. I’m ever in need of discreet British company.”

  Agreed. With pleasure.

  16 October 188—

  Palazzo Di Moderi, Calle Guardi

  Venice, Italy

  My Lord,

  The Comtesse with whom I now reside in Venice bids me write to you of her plans to travel to England in a few months and wishes to be certain you will visit her at G—— House in Surrey when she does so. She kindly asked that I might attend you there, as she has come to “value your company, you rapscallion, you!”

  As you will doubtless assume, ever eager in your service, sir, I have divided my amatory efforts into the staff—the young Venetian lay-about and spy—and the distaff, Her Grace herself, “ever in need of discreet British company,” as she so delicately puts it. My only fear in this, although I am rigorous in my inspection of his parts, is that he poxes me, and I then all unaware shall pox her.

  Our quarry is definitely here. Quite of a sudden, I came upon her big blackguard outside a wine shop. I recognized him as the very fellow who bid me good day in Innsbruck in the snow. So, we have been moving parallel, it seems. I did write that I felt close to Her Ladyship, you may recall. If I only knew how near!

  This time, I slipped away unnoticed, but my “man” saw him and will thus know him for any future forays. My man once more saw the fellow and watched him carefully enough to see him standing guard one afternoon over an old, well-known, and extremely respectable palazzo, out of which our quarry herself, or so we believe the woman to be, exited, joining her fellow as he escorted her warily to another, far less exquisite, hotel.

  So I now have two possible addresses for her.

  I believe the blackguard to be dangerous and would much prefer managing him out of my direct way to her, whether temporarily or permanently, I am not yet decided. Have you any counsel for me in this matter, I shall of course undertake it.

  Yrs.

  Addison Grimmins

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Luca had only just obtained the second address entered by the lady and her guard when he was accosted by a foreigner, whether British or American he was not sure, but one or the other, he was certain.

  He reported the fellow was of middle age, dressed expensively but not gaudily so, high-browed, with a thick, full, brown beard and warm brown eyes, albeit not at all Mediterranean in feature. More importantly, Luca had seen him exit the palazzo and signal with a wave to the departing lady, who preceded him by half a minute. This foreigner had then immediately noted Luca’s presence not far away observing the scene. He followed Luca for some time, until Luca decided to test the extent of that interest.

  He slipped into a narrow alley which held but a bit of land and grass between two palazzi, and stood still. At which point the man had looked closely at Luca, looked about himself as though checking whether he himself were being observed, and deciding that was not so, he quickly entered the alley.

  Luca had pretended he was about to relieve himself, and the older man quickly took hold of Luca’s manhood and named a price for purchasing his personal services for not very many minutes. Luca said they haggled briefly over precisely which services. This, Luca said, he did in hopes of explaining in mime what he was doing there to begin with, should any curious neighbour actually be watching and require an explanation for Luca’s continued presence observing the lady’s residence. Also, Luca admitted, he did it to accommodate the fellow, who seemed especially eager. Unspoken was that Luca was already inured to doing that sort of thing for money.

  This act proposed and completed, lire changed hands, and Luca off-handedly asked the fellow if the woman he’d seen emerge just before the man was the Comtesse LaRoche-Debreville, whom he pretended a friend had told him was in Venice.

  “No, the Comtesse is much younger. This lady is older,” the man said. Luca thought he seemed amused. “She would be almost a Nonna to you. Does that sort intrigue you?”

  “No, no,” Luca had responded. His mistake. A misunderstanding. He’d only seen her briefly and from a distance.

  But then Luca did ask, “Who was that stalwart uomo who walked with her? Her son? Her grandson?”

  “Ah! So he is who interests you?” the man said, satisfied at last. “But I doubt you would interest him. That fellow is merely a countryman of hers. Among her countrymen, ladies of her age and her rank
never go about abroad without someone constantly on duty.”

  Having obtained that information, Luca then feigned indifference. He did however admit to being available on this and a few other calles and vias in the neighbourhood, in the case of the gentlemen wishing to see him again. And so they parted ways.

  Addison then probed Luca about her companion. From watching them together, Luca said he believed the blackguard to be strong and commanding toward her and her maid, and he was dictatorial and dangerously bad-tempered toward servants. Luca believed Addison should much prefer dealing with him away from the lady altogether, whether temporarily or permanently.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  “Don’t be shy,” the Comtesse said. “Come into the room. It’s only wardrobes and a few chests. We can’t go out to this afternoon’s luncheon with you dressed as you usually are. While it isn’t a formal affair, it is more or less what passes for daytime society in this dreary city. You’ll have to put on something more brilliant than what you have. Come and try on a few of these afternoon coats. The Comte is about your size, and they will only be a little bit loose on you.

  “There! Either of those will do. We must work from the boots up, because there you are different sizes. Please stand still. Let me loosen and unbutton your shirt and put this lovely handkerchief around your neck. It was a gift. Italian silk. You need not wear a cravat. Move away. Now turn about a bit. Yes, I like how the starry midnight blue of the handkerchief plays with your own blue eyes.”

  “I am your doll, then. To be clad as you wish,” Addison said.

  “If only you were, I could do wonders with you! But no, Mr. Grimmins, you are too much your own man. You are merely my daytime chaperone today. If I am to look my best, you must look…well, you must look at least as good as you do now. Go on. Look in the mirror. It won’t bite you.”

  He had looked into enough mirrors and seen enough of himself in mirrors for various reasons and at various times in his life that he was able to affect being utterly casual about it. But he had to admit he’d never seen this Addison Grimmins before. Gone his former incarnation as the deft London city gentleman, although in reality he’d been far more city than he’d been a gentleman. Still, he’d worn that figure adroitly. But this tanned young man, his inky hair unshorn longer than usual and therefore wavy and curling up at its tips in the humid atmosphere, his posture upright and lean yet soigne, his clothing careful yet playful—who was this fellow?

  He had Luca call for a larger than usual gondola, one with a little shade over its poler’s end. The three of them rode in it together, Addison and the Comtesse under the awning, Luca in the open. As they approached the house they were to be at, Luca looked all around and suddenly said in Italian, “Right here, the man in brown and I!” pointing to another building with a narrow alleyway between it and its neighbour.

  “And there,” he added, pointing to a yellow façade ahead, punctuated by third-level balconies with flowers trailing from windowsills and gratings. “Where they visited.”

  “Unsurprisingly,” the Comtesse allowed. “Since that is the Palazzo Inginieri, where the unofficial British hostess of Venice resides. And where our luncheon party lies. Lucky you.”

  Luca was supposed to remain on the first floor with the other servants but, always original, he waited outside the building, lounging here and sunning himself there, visible to Addison whenever he happened to chance to glance out. This he did seldom enough at first. From the minute he and the Comtesse arrived at the piano level and were greeted by their hostess and host, he felt himself on the alert in a way he seldom felt unless he was reporting to Lord R. in person. After all, he was playing a new role today.

  Today he was Diane’s cousine, Addison.

  “Isn’t he pretty, Christina?” she said. “And he’s entirely housebroken. Well, almost entirely.”

  For her part, Christina, the Principessa Pardolini, was thrilled. “This is not the Prince,” she said to Addison with a clear Somerset accent, indicating the slightly younger man next to her. “That creature is off somewhere hunting other creatures only a little less mythological than himself. Instead. this is my cousin, Brian Rudolf Hetch.”

  “Of the Highland Hetches,” Hetch said, as though Addison would have a clue what that entailed.

  Tall, blond, and expressionless, Hetch kept a grip on Addison’s hand and turned him aside deftly, speaking in what Addison interpreted as an authentic Scots accent. “We all adore the Comtesse.”

  “I can understand why you do,” Addison said, wondering if that was a warning.

  “And a few more new faces. Just up the stairs. Thank you, Mr. Addison, for coming!” the Principessa said. He took the cue and Diane’s hand, and they swept up the wide, green and grey swirled marble staircase to the next higher level where the luncheon party was slowly coming together.

  More introductions flew fast and furious as he joined the Comtesse in meeting one after another wealthy-looking, titled woman, along with her cousin or nephew or childhood friend. Most if not all the latter were physically attractive and dressed informally yet richly in tartans, tweeds, and soft Italian woollens. He’d barely met half of them when the Principessa and her co-host ascended and all followed them into another large chamber, which was set up for lunch.

  Once they were all seated at the glittering table with its setting of four plates, four glasses, and a small armoury of silverware, Diane turned to him and said, “If you are unsure, follow my lead.” But he wasn’t at all unsure, having been taught table manners and more by others even before he’d been in Lord R.’s service. A bell was tinkled and four servants with large tureens of soup appeared as though by magic.

  “We all of us wondered,” the elderly bejewelled diner to Addison’s right said, “when Diane would settle down.” As though having a husband and lover was not enough to be settled, Addison thought.

  He allowed himself a smile. “Alas, I am merely a cousin, and unfortunately for us both, I will be moving on soon.”

  He thought she looked surprised at that. “Should you ever find yourself returned to Venice and without a cousin, I insist you come to Ca’ Zufanelli. I’m always at home.”

  He was still wondering how much he had revealed to her for that offer to be made, when she added, “What do you think of this soup? Heavenly, isn’t it? They use those honeyed Tuscan cantaloupes.”

  Ah, that’s what it was! A cold broth of melon. Who would have thought it?

  For the second course, there was a seafood salad. For the third, medallions of veal. Little dishes to wash one’s hands. Then a dessert of black, blue, and raspberries soaked in brandy atop little planks of yellow stuff Diane said was a kind of meal made of maize called polenta.

  He’d been careful to take only a few sips of each wine served, and so when the Principessa stood up and announced that the ladies were stepping into the adjoining parlour, he also stood, and asked, “Do I join you?” To which Diane shook her head.

  He allowed himself to chat with several of the men, then went over to the window, although he wasn’t, like some of them, smoking.

  At first, he didn’t see Luca. Then he did, almost directly below and munching on what looked like a dishful of maccheroni. However, he was alert. Luca looked up, saw him, put down the food, and pointed to the building with both index fingers, signifying inside. Someone had arrived. Luca then made a curved figure with his hands, covering his face—a veiled woman. Then he put his hands out facing each other and moving them up and down, signifying a man. In turn, Addison gestured as to where, and Luca counted to two. On the second, or piano floor.

  Suddenly, a fellow from the luncheon party was at Addison’s side. “Tell me, young sir, from where do we know each other? You seem so familiar, and yet I can’t for the life of me place you.”

  “I’m sorry but I don’t recall your name. Were we introduced?”

  “No, but you were introduced to my wife, Lady Etheridge, as you and the Comtesse came in.” Addison did recall the man, one whose be
droom he’d frequented at a house party in Sussex.

  “Not Tony Ducliffe, Lord Etheridge?” Addison asked, already knowing the answer. “Addison Grimmins. Lately employed in the office of Milord the Marquis of R——.”

  Tony began to blush, and Addison knew he’d remembered exactly where they’d met. “I see we have both prospered since that time.”

  “Haven’t we ever?” Addison said, remembering how, after their pairing, Tony told him how badly his finances were and how he needed to be “caught” by one of the heiresses that weekend. Clever Tony. He had been caught.

  He suspected Tony was about to ask for an encore of that night, so he quickly excused himself, went to the parlour door, found Diane, and managed to get her attention and point downstairs.

  “Her?” the clever woman asked in mime.

  “Maybe?” he gestured back.

  She finished her conversation à trois, excused herself, and, finding him, said, “Where?”

  “The next level down.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course not. But I must go look.”

  “Of course you must. Here’s what we’ll do.” She outlined a simple plan in which she would wander around, allegedly looking for a water closet. If she didn’t return in a certain time, he would come after her. She’d been in this palazzo before, and with a Prosecco-dipped finger upon a banquette, she outlined the floor plan for him and which rooms to follow in what order. “There is a water closet down there,” she assured him. “But, if I linger more than a few minutes, you come after me.”

  Not ten minutes later, Addison excused himself from further conversation with the bejewelled older woman who’d been at his right at dinner, saying, “I believe the washroom is down here?” But before going back down, he asked if he might take a look through the pince-nez she had hanging by a thin gold chain.

  “It looks perfect on you,” she declared. “Can you see anything at all through the glass?”

  “Surprisingly, I can see very well.”

  “My eyes are not so bad. And only the left one is off.”