“Perhaps we shall be gone before you return, if you are very late into the evening,” Lady Melly said. “The party…er…meeting begins at eight o’clock.”
“Party? But it’s Lent,” Victoria replied, trying to keep her lips from twitching. Yet she was relieved to hear of their plans. Anything to keep the ladies occupied, and from worrying over Aunt Eustacia’s personal effects, was fine in her book.
“It’s not a party,” Lady Nilly squeaked, her bright blue eyes wide with innocence and sparse lashes. “No, we wouldn’t go if it were a party. Of course not.”
“It’s a meeting,” the duchess added, nodding vigorously. “Definitely a meeting. With dinner. But no music or dancing.”
“How unfortunate that I couldn’t join you at your meeting,” Victoria replied, dropping her grip from the chair and taking that all-important first step away from the table. “But it’s probably best if I rest again tonight. You ladies have a wonderful time.”
“I’m certain we will,” Lady Melly said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. “I haven’t any idea why the Palombaras chose to have their par—meeting on Ash Wednesday, but—What is it, darling? Your head again? Benedicto, some tea for the young madam, please.”
“Palombara?” Victoria had swiveled from the door so quickly it was, indeed, partly her head that spun. Her mind was the other part. “Tell me about this party, Mama.”
“It isn’t a party at all,” Lady Winnie remonstrated. “Dear me, Victoria, have you not heard what we’ve been saying?”
“Never mind, Winnie. The pope hasn’t been here in Rome since the war, so you needn’t worry that he can hear you,” Lady Nilly returned, one charcoaled eyebrow arching.
“What’s this about the Palombaras?” Victoria asked again, a bit more insistently. And she sat back down. The Consilium would have to wait.
“To be sure, it may not be the Palombaras themselves who are hosting the…meeting,” Lady Melly said primly. She was twining one of the wispy curls that dangled along her cheek around her left index finger. “It’s quite exciting, really, Victoria. What a shame it is that you cannot attend. I’m not certain how many people will be there, though I doubt it will be such a crush as we might have seen back home, you know. After all, it is Ash Wednesday. Even though it isn’t a party.”
“But perhaps I won’t want to miss it, if you would please tell me what this meeting is.” Victoria noticed that her jaw was beginning to hurt, and she eased off before she cracked something. The strength of a Venator’s gritting teeth could have lasting effects.
“It would be delightful for you to attend,” Lady Winnie crowed, sounding rather unlike a duchess in that moment. “The family villa that has been closed off for decades is being opened tonight for a pa—meeting. It shall be an adventure, for the Palombara villa hasn’t been occupied for years, and the family has been gone and—”
“It will be rather like a treasure hunt,” Lady Nilly chirped. “They’ve invited only a select group of friends to help in the search, and the Tarruscellis insisted we join them.”
“A treasure hunt?” Victoria felt a shiver across her shoulders. “Whatever would you be searching for in an old, empty house?” But she had a sneaking suspicion she might know.
“A scavenger hunt,” Lady Melly interrupted. “And we don’t know exactly how to find what we’re looking for, but it should be frightfully amusing. Well, perhaps not so amusing,” she added, looking abashed. “It will be nothing more than a good deed, helping the family find a key that has been missing for more than a century. I’m certain even the pope would approve. If he were here.”
Indeed.
“It does sound intriguing,” Victoria said. “I have decided I will attend after all.”
It took her another several minutes to extricate herself from the ladies’ enthusiasm, and then nearly forty minutes in the barouche with Oliver driving a roundabout path from the Gardella villa to the small church of Santo Quirinus.
Thus it was past five o’clock when she entered the small, unassuming church where a bowl of ashes sat in the vestibule. Victoria crossed herself with the gritty soot, leaving a dark smudge on her forehead and bits of dust floating down to catch in her lashes.
There were several penitents in the church, and she paused to kneel in prayer before slipping past the rail at the altar to the confessional.
Inside the small confessional, she closed the door behind her as if to meet with the priest. But instead of kneeling, Victoria felt for the small latch to the hidden door next to her seat. It slid silently open to reveal three steps that led down to a long, narrow hall studded with icons.
Victoria closed the door behind her and entered the passageway, taking care not to step on the middle stair as she did so. That middle stair was connected to an alarm in the Consilium below, warning when an unauthorized presence approached.
The hall in which she stood appeared to be nothing but a gallery of images that dead-ended in a brick wall. However, if one knew that the last icon on the left, the one depicting Jesus with the angels Gabriel and Uriel, concealed a subtle pattern of bricks that must be pushed in the proper order, one could release the rope-and-pulley mechanism that opened the dead-end wall and reveal the spiral staircase that led to the chambers below. After she’d opened the hidden door, Victoria started down the curling steps that were lit by several sconces.
She walked through the marble archway into the main chamber of the Consilium, where the fountain of holy water splashed and sparkled, and she stopped.
On the other side of the circular font was gathered a group of Venators: Ilias, Zavier, Michalas, Stanislaus. They were all talking in earnest. One tall, dark head rose above the rest, attached to a set of broad, black-clad shoulders facing slightly away from Victoria, and that man seemed to be at the center of the conversation.
Zavier saw her first, and retreated slightly from the little group to hail her toward them. “Victoria! At last you’ve arrived. I couldn’t help but be a wee worried after we were separated last night.” He gestured toward her, his face bright with pleasure, nearly matching his hair. “And see who’s returned.”
Max turned, and their eyes met briefly until she focused her attention back on Zavier, who, for all of his muscular bulk, looked as excited as a child with a new toy.
“Hello, Max,” Victoria said, walking toward the group. For some reason she wasn’t certain whether she should acknowledge that they’d spoken the night before. The expression on his face was devoid of the soberness he’d worn then and instead held the aloof, almost annoyed expression she was more accustomed to seeing. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she added, smiling at them all. The other Venators responded with nods and warm smiles, making her feel as if she were a long-lost sister returning to their midst.
But when Max arched a brow in that way of his and nodded in casual greeting, Victoria couldn’t help but feel a spike of annoyance. Why did his face seem to blank and sharpen now that she’d arrived when, before he saw her, even from behind, she could see that he’d been relaxed and engaged in conversation?
“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said, then was irritated with herself for apologizing, because she felt as though it was only for Max’s benefit that she’d done so. “But there’s a problem that has arisen, which delayed me, and it must be dealt with. Ilias, do you know where Wayren is? I should speak with both of you.”
“She is in her library, of course, and was waiting for your arrival,” Ilias replied.
Victoria had reached the group of Venators by now and found herself next to Zavier, who’d taken her arm and drawn her into the group. “Max,” she said, looking at him again, “welcome back. Are you indeed back?”