In his last letters, it was apparent that father and daughter had been meeting and that the reason for his change toward her was Bella’s decision to leave an occupation he loathed. Serafina read his letters a second and third time, was struck by the frequency of words like ‘love,’ ‘sweet,’ ‘tender,’ phrases such as ‘your joyous face,’ his hope for the future. He signed all of these, ‘Your loving father, Nittù.’
The contessa’s were fewer. They alluded to Bella’s plans with phrases like, ‘I go to Paris next month to visit Worth amp; Bobergh,’ and ‘I trust the monzù will honor his intention to let me visit his great house,’ and ‘My trip proved all that I hoped it would and more. I cannot wait to talk. We have so much to prepare.’ It was clear that the two women were engaged in an economic venture. Bella’s need for capital explained her work at Rosa’s and supported the madam’s contention that the prostitute planned to quit the house.
Serafina wrote a summary of what she’d learned from the pile of letters-character impressions of Baldassare, Bella, and the contessa, plus a corroboration of what she’d already known. No fresh information. No leads. She fingered her brooch, lost to her surroundings.
The Brazen Serpent
“Giulia, sweetness, I need you to look at something,” Serafina said, entering the kitchen.
Her middle daughter, the one born with a needle and thread, took the Godey’s from Serafina and made a face. “Where did you get this?”
“At Rosa’s. Tell me what the words say.”
Giulia hunched over the pictures, scanned the type with her fingers. “It’s about a church in the north, their vestments and cups and such. And,” her finger paused over a phrase, “it talks about a bronze serpent. I didn’t know Rosa embroidered.”
“You’d be surprised what Rosa gets into. And by the way, who’s been using Papa’s English dictionary?”
Giulia’s smile lit her face.
“So industrious, my best designer of high fashion. Just remember to put his books back when you’ve finished with them. I noticed some of his shelves were disordered.”
Giulia nodded.
Serafina kissed her daughter’s forehead.
Bronze serpents? ‘Cups and such’? Serafina wanted more information. She decided to visit the Duomo’s priests.
As she hitched her trap to a post, she saw a group of children on their way to school, some running, others walking backward or skipping. The streets were full of people heading to the straw market or to the more expensive shops facing the piazza. Mules with jingling headgear pulled painted carts. Serafina caught the scent of warm bread and waved to the baker, greeted Arazzudda, a peasant whose thirteenth child she delivered last week.
She plowed up the rectory’s stoop. Misjudging the depth of the last step, she tripped and snagged the hem of her skirt.
While she waited for the priest, Serafina ran a palm over her scuffed boots, wiped her hand on the side of her dress. She was sick of wearing black, certain she could grieve for her husband just as well in a fine watered silk of alizarin crimson or jade.
The door opened.
“I’m investigating three murders. Perhaps you can help.”
When he sat, she smelled tobacco and grappa.
She handed him the Godey’s Lady’s Book, open to a colored plate of the brazen serpent on a cross. “What can you tell me about these drawings?”
He glanced at the pictures, stabbed a dirty fingernail at one. “Of these I know nothing, except that they’re very beautiful, especially this chalice. We could use it here.” He put a finger to his lips. “But we have a visiting priest, a scholar. He might know.” He rang the bell.
Soon a tall man entered, tonsured and wearing a hooded cassock. He had a large set of rosary beads hanging from his belt. Serafina wondered what possessed monks to wear sandals. His feet were yellow and blue.
After introductions and a brief explanation of her murder investigation, she asked, “What can you tell me about the symbols on these pages?”
He examined the plates. “The brazen serpent. Where did you get these?”
“In the room of a seamstress, one of the victims,” she said.
“Beautiful, this magazine. I’d like to study it some more. May I?”
“Sorry, not mine to lend, I’m afraid,” she said, and continued. “Each of the murdered women had a spiral carved into her forehead, not unlike this,” she said, tapping the embroidery detail of a serpent. “The mark was a spiral of some sort, starting from the bridge of the nose winding to the top of the forehead.”
He shrugged. “But the brazen serpent is a symbol of salvation, not of destruction, of eternal life, not death. In some form it appears in most cultures. Michelangelo painted Moses with the brazen serpent on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”
In her mind she was with Giorgio on their honeymoon in Rome, what, some twenty years ago? He was explaining the meaning of one of those writhing depictions on a frescoed ceiling, probably the same chapel mentioned by the monk. Was it the fresco with Moses and his staff? She wished she’d paid more attention, wanted to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder instead of listening to Fra Yellow Feet.
The priest shook his head. “The carvings you saw were something else entirely. The marks of a deranged soul.”
Serafina didn’t think so. She considered telling him about the serpent’s tongue she saw yesterday morning on Bella’s forehead, but rejected the idea.
“I need to know more about the plates in this Godey’s. It belonged to one of the murdered women. Odd that she would have such a magazine in her possession, but there it is. I need to find out why. And the bent corner indicates she read the article, perhaps studied it. But at least she saw it, was curious enough to mark its place.” She showed him the crease in the page. “Before he died, I would have asked my husband about the brazen serpent. He knew everything.” Serafina blinked hard. “But now I must ask others. And since you’re a church scholar, I’ve come to you.”
He ran the end of his crucifix back and forth through his beard and began. “In the Book of Numbers we find the reference to a bronze serpent, a powerful creature who drew his strength from the God of Moses and saved the Israelites from a plague of fiery serpents. The symbol of the brazen serpent continues in the New Testament where it is linked to Christ. St. John said, ‘As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.’”
Her head swam as she tried to digest his words. “I’ve never seen vestments like these in Oltramari, not that I pay close attention to what priests wear in church.”
He shook his head. “You won’t see them here. Only in churches where they practice the Ambrosian Rite. They use the image of a serpent winding itself around a cross as the symbol of a healer. Their chalices are carved with it, their vestments embroidered with it, their croziers bear the brazen serpent. It is a symbol of Christ. Has nothing to do with murder, I’m afraid.”
“Not in the keep of a sane man. But this killer does not murder for pleasure or for coins. He is lunatic, bent on twisting meaning to suit his own ends. His mind is riddled with phantoms.”
In the Conservatory
Thursday, October 11, 1866
Not available, the madam, so Serafina headed outside, glad for the prickly sea air on her skin. She followed the path to the conservatory and opened the door. A humid blast hit her.
There was a bench underneath large palm trees where she sat for a moment looking out at the park before beginning the search for Bella’s reticule. A parrot squawked. Another large-winged creature flew over to a wide palm tree and perched on one of its fronds. Her curls frizzed.