Chapter 12

"T o the garden, my lovelies!" Luisa exclaimed in English, which perhaps said more than anything else about the diverse nationalities of her friends. As she said this, servants gently shepherded the guests through a pair of highly ornate, wrought iron gates, up stone steps, and into the palazzo's marble-floor vestibule. Melody had barely a moment to glance around before being swept through glass doors covered with more wrought iron that had been thrown open onto the garden.

Melody stood on the steps, looking into the garden in wonder.

"It is quite something, isn't it?" Alessandro said. Melody turned; she had almost forgotten about his presence in the frantic push of the crowd into and then out of the palazzo. He continued, "Luisa calls this her sanctuary. Despite her flair for the dramatic, she is quite a shy, awkward person, and the peace and tranquillity of this space are where she withdraws to when she feels overwhelmed."

Peaceful and tranquil were not two words Melody would have used to describe the setting that evening. A band was playing in one corner, and laughter and talking rang out over the melodic clinking of champagne flutes and popping of corks throughout the expansive garden.

Melody wasn't sure what the region's native plants might be. Nevertheless, she guessed that at least some of the more exotic-looking blooms reflected Luisa's penchant for the unusual. Colourful flowers with long, trailing vines were wound around tree trunks, giving an almost jungle-like feeling - or what Melody at least imagined a jungle must be like. Statues and sculptures were scattered throughout the garden, lining meandering pathways that seemed laid out to encourage wandering and contemplation. Lanterns were placed strategically throughout the garden to illuminate some areas while throwing others into mysterious gloom.

The entire effect was one of enchantment and alluring possibility as if the garden itself was beckoning young lovers to get lost within it. As if sensing Melody's thoughts, Alessandro whispered in her ear, "Perhaps we will find a dark corner later, Miss Chesterton."

The suggestion was so outrageous and yet so tempting that Melody didn't know how to answer. Instead, she used Rat's emergence from the vestibule to dip her head and say, "A presto, Conte Foscari."

"Oh, you will indeed see me soon," he chuckled.

Rat wasn't sure what he had interrupted, but he didn't like Foscari's tone, and his sister's demeanour discombobulated him. Unwilling to show the conte how much he disturbed him, Rat took Melody's arm and said, "I see a refreshment table over by the wall."

Melody let herself be led away, unsure if she was irritated at Rat's presumption or grateful for the rescue.

"Why do you allow that man to importune you?" he asked petulantly.

"I would hardly say that the Conte Foscari was importuning me," Melody answered with a smile. "He is a little flirtatious, I will admit. However, I am sure that is just how he is with women."

"Well, that's not how I expect him to be with my sister!"

Melody's natural inclination to stand up for herself and not let her brother try to swaddle her in cotton was tempered by a realisation that he was merely being protective. Rather than snapping a reply, she felt grateful for the genuine love from which the impulse stemmed. Instead, she turned her attention to the refreshment tables weighed down with savoury and sweet treats.

Even after only a partial London season, Melody had become bored by the comestibles that seemed so similar, whether she was attending the Duchess of Cambridgeshire's ball or the Viscountess Wilslow's violin quartet recital. By contrast, there was something so intriguing about the food that Luisa had provided for her guests. Platters of cured meats abutted boards of soft and hard cheeses. There were bowls of marinated olives, artichokes, and sundried tomatoes and plates of little round toasts with various appetising-looking toppings. Selecting a toast with a white, creamy-looking spread on it, Melody bit into it tentatively at first and then with gusto.

"This is delicious, though I am not sure what it is."

Behind her, a heavily German-accented reply came: "It is Baccalà Mantecato: whipped salt cod. A reminder of Venice's storied naval and mercantile past."

Melody turned towards the owner of the voice, who turned out to be a small, round man, perhaps in his mid-sixties. What was left of the white hair surrounding his bald, shiny pate stood up and out and gave the impression that he had a halo of puffy, white clouds. A beaked nose and small, beady eyes that were a little too close together gave the man an unfortunately devious air. Unfortunate because, at least so far, his words were benign and his demeanour almost avuncular.

However friendly his tone, all that Rat heard was the Teutonic accent. Should he be even more suspicious of Luisa Casati, knowing that she invited Germans to her parties? Of course, Europe was not at war, at least officially, and there were plenty of Germans and Austro-Hungarians mixing in the best circles in London. So why not in Italy? Nevertheless, given Rat's mission, he felt it would be foolish to ignore the first German he encountered.

Realising that he would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, he forced himself to smile, put out his hand and said, "Mr Matthew Sandworth and this is my sister, Miss Melody Chesterton." There was usually a moment's confusion at their different last names, and this time was no exception.

Their new German friend pushed whatever questions he might have aside and returned the handshake accompanied by a very Germanic heel click and bow, "I am Herr Dieter Peetz. Are you new to Venice? I do not believe I have seen you before at one of mein Engel Luisa's soirées."

Now, wasn't that interesting? Rat thought. This German was not merely a guest but apparently a close friend. Rat's German was minimal, but it was sufficient to realise that Herr Peetz was using the affectionate term, my angel, to refer to their host. If Rat's suspicions about the marchesa had been insubstantial previously, suddenly, they had real heft to them.

Rat was so caught up in his suspicions that he had failed to answer Herr Peetz, and it was left to Melody to reply, "We have been here less than a week. I wished to tour Europe, and my brother was kind enough to offer to chaperone."

"Jawohl! The Grand Tour so beloved of the British. And where else have you seen so far?"

"Our first stop was Venice. My mother, Lady Pembroke, has an old friend here who we are staying with, Lady Bainbridge." Melody commonly referred to Tabby Cat as her mother and Wolfie as her father, if only because the terms guardians felt far too cold and formal for the couple who had never treated her as anything less than their natural daughter.

"Ja, Lady Bainbridge, I have heard of the lady but have not had the pleasure of meeting her."

Rat thought about this answer. Despite her absence that evening, his impression of Lady Bainbridge was that she was hardly a hermit, and Venice's society was tiny compared to London's. It seemed unlikely that a man of any standing would have been in the city long without their paths crossing. So, either Herr Peetz was new to Venice, or he was not a man of standing.

As if intuiting Rat's thoughts, Herr Peetz continued, "I was first here in 1863, and it has been many years since I was last in Venice. I have only been back here for a short time. I travelled here with my daughter." The man pointed to a young woman, perhaps a year or so older than Melody, standing under a tree, deep in conversation. He continued, "Luckily, Venice, she never changes."

Picking up on the significance of the date, Rat asked, "When Venice was still under Austrian rule. Are you Austrian, Herr Peetz, or German?"

"Very observant, Mr Sandworth. I am indeed Austrian, from Vienna in fact. My father was a merchant, and much of his trade came in and out of Venice. He had great hopes that I would join him in his work and brought me with him on one of his trips to introduce me to the business."

"So, you are a merchant?" Melody asked.

"Sadly, at least for my father, no. I never had any interest in the family business and only wanted to read books and to dream of one day writing one."

"And did you?" Melody asked.

"I wrote one, but it was not very good. However, I did become a publisher of books; quite a successful one, some might say. I also publish a popular newspaper in Vienna."

Rat never enjoyed small talk at the best of times. Now, he was impatient to discover whether the old Austrian man might have a hidden agenda for his trip to Venice. "What brings you back here now, Herr Peetz?" Rat asked in what he hoped was a casual, disinterested voice.

"I think the better question, young man, is why did I stay away so long? And now, I can even have an Austrian home away from home at the Hotel Bauer-Grünwald." And with that evasive answer, Herr Peetz repeated his bow, made his excuses, and moved away to sample some of the pasta and risottos laid out further up the table.

"You were rather rude to that lovely old man, you know, Rat?" Melody said critically.

"No, I wasn't," he countered. "What did I say that was rude?"

"It was less what you said and rather the accusatory tone in which you said it. It was almost as if you believed that he was not telling us the truth about who he was and why he is here."

Given that was exactly what Rat suspected, he wasn't sure how to counter the charge. He was irritated that he had been so transparent. Perhaps only Melody, who knew him so well, had sensed an underlying tone to his words. Even then, he would not go far in the world of espionage if he couldn't do a better job of masking his feelings, whatever they were.

Over the years, Rat had witnessed Lord Langley handle situations with cold detachment. Indeed, Wolf had once confessed that this coolness had led him and Tabitha, particularly Tabitha, to view Lord Langley as quite reptilian when they had first met him. Their relationship with his mentor had eventually become warm and trusting, which spoke to how effective a mask Lord Langley could wear until he chose to drop it.

Irritated by his sister's comment, Rat wanted to observe the Austrian man alone. Just as he wondered how he might shake his sister off without arousing even more suspicions, he was saved by Marchesa Casati swooping in, feathers gently fluttering as she moved.

"Melody, have you seen my bambinos yet?" Luisa asked.

For a moment, Melody wondered if Luisa's daughter, Cristina, had joined her in Venice. However, it quickly became apparent who her babies were as Luisa swept Melody away from Rat and towards a part of the garden dominated by a small, pretty marble ivy-covered rotunda with built-in seats. Strutting around the rotunda, occasionally pecking at the grass, were two glorious peacocks.

It seemed these were not the only birds who inhabited the garden. As Luisa approached the rotunda, she called out, "Chicci, la mamma sta arrivando."

In response, a loud, squawking voice replied, "La mamma sta arrivando."

Looking in the direction of the voice, Melody saw a large, multi-coloured bird on a wooden perch, one leg attached to a thin chain .

"This is my baby, Chicci. He is a macaw," Luisa explained, going up to the bird and stroking its head lovingly.

Looking at Luisa's birds, Melody said, "Is what you said to Lady Bainbridge true? Do you have a cheetah?"

"Sì. Shaitan is my great love." Anticipating Melody's next question, Luisa said, "He is a very good boy and behaves himself very well in public, but people, they are often silly, are they not? So, to be a good hostess and not subject my bambino to the absurd performance that so many feel they must go through in his presence, he is resting in my bedroom, away from the crowds."

Melody was a little disappointed that she wouldn't get to see the infamous feline, but also thought that his absence from such a crowded party was probably a good thing.

With his sister opportunely escorted off by the marchesa, Rat considered how to watch Herr Peetz stealthily. He decided to follow the other man's actions and make his way up the table that was overloaded with nibbles, heavier dishes like pasta, succulent-looking and smelling roast meats, and ended with an abundance of sinfully good-looking desserts.

Rat attempted to keep a sufficient distance from the other man while not losing sight of him in the crowd. At least filling his plate with food gave him a good reason not to be in a group socialising. From what Rat could see, the portly Herr Peetz had filled his plate with a little bit of almost every savoury dish on offer. While many people daintily picked at small portions of food that could be held in one hand, there were tables and chairs scattered around the garden for those who were looking to enjoy a more substantial meal. Herr Peetz made his way to one of these tables and sat down.

As he followed at a discreet distance, Rat wondered how he could observe the man while he ate. Having just introduced himself, it would be odd for Rat then to choose to sit at another table, particularly as Herr Peetz was sitting alone. He was considering this dilemma when the choice was taken out of his hands; Conte Foscari sidled up to the table, whispered something to Herr Peetz, who looked sorrowfully at his plate of mostly uneaten food, then rose and followed the other man into a dark corner of the garden.

There was an unholy alliance if there ever was one, Rat thought. The two men he found most suspicious in Venice had disappeared together for an illicit meeting. Of course, Rat reminded himself, he didn't know for sure that the meeting was about anything illicit. However, if the conversation was entirely innocent, why did Foscari not just sit at the table to talk to Herr Peetz? No, the entire exchange had all the marks of some kind of conspiracy.

Rat thought about what he had witnessed; he certainly didn't want to act like Melody and jump to all sorts of fanciful conclusions. What had he seen? It was evident that Foscari wanted to talk to the Austrian and that, whatever it was, it was urgent enough that Dieter Peetz left the plate of food he had so eagerly amassed. He replayed how their interaction seemed when the conte had first approached the table; they hadn't greeted each other in any visible way. It was clear that they knew each other already, and it also appeared as if this wasn't their first time running into each other that evening or that, if it was, they had been expecting to meet.

Whatever Foscari wished to discuss needed privacy, but even then, why choose a party? If they knew each other and had something to discuss, why not do so another time? There was clearly an urgency to this conversation; whatever it was, it couldn't wait.

As Rat considered all this, he watched the two men disappear into the shadows of one of the few unlit corners of the garden. How close could he get to them without being discovered? He decided to find out. After all, this was a party; if they realised they were not alone, surely they would merely assume their company was an amorous couple seeking the privacy of a dark nook.

While it was hard to see much in this part of the garden, as Rat's eyes became accustomed to the sudden gloom, he saw two figures sitting on a bench. Not far from where they sat, there was a large statue of a horse, its base surrounded by shrubs. If he went around and then stayed low as he approached, he thought that he could come upon them and hide behind the statue while being close enough to hear their conversation.

Rat's plan had not taken his costume into consideration. While it might have been easy enough to slither silently wearing trousers, the tunic and breastplate made the endeavour twice as hard and significantly slower than it would have been. Rat considered taking the breastplate off and discarding it but then realised he would have to explain why he had done so when he met up with Melody. Instead, he crawled along as best he could. While the two men had found the quietest part of the garden, there was still enough noise emanating from the rest of the guests that whatever noise Rat made didn't alert the conspirators. Or at least, that was his hope.

Rat also hoped that he didn't miss the main thrust of their conversation because of his snail's pace. When he finally was close enough to hear their conversation, Rat stopped, lying in the grass and trying to catch the whispered words.

"Graziano is a huge loss for us," Herr Peetz said.

"Indeed," Foscari answered. "And more than that, it indicates that our plan may have been discovered."

Plan? Rat thought, feeling thoroughly vindicated in his mistrust of Herr Peetz and dislike of Conte Foscari.