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Chapter 21

M elody always enjoyed walking around museums and art galleries. There was something so peaceful and soothing about the stillness and quiet one found in them. Even if the artefacts in a museum were not particularly interesting, wandering through rooms, occasionally glancing at exhibits, and reading a description now and again made for a lovely afternoon.

She particularly enjoyed going to the National Gallery, sitting on a bench, and letting the paintings' beauty casually wash over her without trying too hard to understand the meaning of the pieces. Whenever she did so, she was reminded of Mr Eager, who ministered to the English community in A Room with a View , leading his flock through the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence. She thought about him pompously lecturing his pious audience on the Giotto frescoes only to have his pretentious interpretation poohpoohed by the down-to-earth Mr Emerson.

As he was in the Basilica, Xander was a wealth of information in the Gallerie dell'Accademia. Some of his great store of knowledge about the paintings they saw was interesting, but much of it was quite tedious. Melody longed to just linger in front of some of the paintings, not thinking too much about what the artist may have meant or what art historians had written books on. Instead, Xander might have been Mr Eager, except there were no Emersons to rescue her. Melody tried to tune out most of what Xander was droning on about. Luckily, he seemed rarely to need a response from her.

When Melody could take no more of Xander Ashby ruining her experience of a museum she had looked forward to visiting, she suggested that they find a place where they could sit and have a drink. Xander was all too eager to continue their outing and led her out of the museum and down a fondamenta to a small bar called Enoteca Schiavi. There were only two small, round tables outside. Inside, it appeared to be a wine store; bottles lined the crowded shelves. On the bar was a case with what looked like little sandwiches and other snacks.

Despite her late lunch, Melody found she was peckish. Pointing inside the store at the snacks, she asked, "Would it be possible to get a couple of those? Whichever you think best."

"Yes! Cicchetti," Xander exclaimed. "Venetians eat these in the late afternoon with a glass of wine. Take a seat out here. I need to order inside and will get you a variety to try. Is there anything in particular you do not like?"

"I am not a fan of oily fish," Melody said. "However, I do love that salty cod spread that they put on rounds of toast."

Xander disappeared inside and soon came out with two glasses of white wine, followed by a waiter with a large plate with far too many cicchetti for the pair of them to finish. The wine was light, crisp and chilled. Melody took a few cicchetti off the large plate and put them on the smaller plate the waiter had put in front of her. Everything was delicious and it was a lot of fun to have the small bites interspersed with sips of wine. As they sat there, Venetians began to arrive. Most either leaned on the bar as they ate and drank, but some sat on the steps of the nearby bridge, laughing and enjoying the late afternoon's cool breeze.

When her initial hunger was satiated, Melody patted her mouth with her serviette and said, "It was very kind of you to accompany my brother yesterday."

"It was my pleasure to be of assistance. Mr Sandworth said that he was monitoring radical thinkers in Europe on behalf of his mentor, Lord Langley." Xander said this casually, and Melody assumed that Rat had told the story they had agreed upon.

Xander continued, "Are there other journalists he needs to research? I would be happy to return with him and help translate if there are."

"Thank you, Xander," Melody said gratefully. "As much as I am enjoying travelling, it means a lot to have someone from home who is willing to help." Xander gave her his puppy-dog look of devotion in return for her kind words. Melody considered the young man's evident desire to be of service to her and asked, "Might I ask you something more personal, Xander?"

"Of course, Miss Chesterton."

"The night we met at Lady Bainbridge's party, it was clear that you and the Conte Foscari do not care for each other. May I ask why?"

Now, Xander looked more like a bulldog, his face scrunched up with displeasure at the mention of Alessandro's name. "He is a cad. A half-breed, insolent cad. He believes that his father's money and an Italian title permit him to swan around both England and Italy, satisfying his appetites with whatever and whomever he pleases."

Realising how angry he had sounded, Xander relaxed his face back to its normal appearance, but he said in a lowered voice of caution, "Please be careful around Foscari, Miss Chesterton. He is not all he appears, and he certainly is no gentleman."

It was all very vague and yet sinister sounding. Melody thought about the previous evening when Alessandro almost certainly could have taken what he pleased and yet did not. That seemed to be the action of a gentleman rather than the cur that Xander was portraying.

Of course, Melody could hardly defend Alessandro using that example. Instead, she said gingerly, "My experience of Conte Foscari has been quite counter to your description."

Xander's unhappiness with her words could not have been more apparent. Nevertheless, he answered in a measured tone, "Please, Miss Chesterton, do not take my warning lightly. I would never forgive myself if Foscari were to take advantage of your sweet, innocent nature in any way."

Sweet and innocent? Is that how Xander saw her? Just an airheaded, naive debutante? It was a good thing he didn't know about her passionate response to Alessandro in the gondola. Whatever would he make of that?

The conversation was making Melody increasingly uncomfortable. Drinking the last of her wine, she said, "It has been a lovely afternoon, Xander, but I believe I should be returning to the palazzo."

Sensing a change in the tone of their conversation, Xander said in a concerned voice, "I hope I have not offended you in some way, Miss Chesterton. I merely wished to warn you."

"You did not offend me. However, I find myself quite fatigued all of a sudden. Would you mind walking me back?"

Xander paid for their wine and cicchetti, and they began walking back to the palazzo. Arriving at the rear door to the building, Xander turned towards Melody and took her hand. Raising it to his lips, he said very gently, "Miss Chesterton, you must know that I admire you excessively."

Melody looked at his sweet, hopeful face. What would it be like to kiss Xander? Deciding that she would like to find out, she leant forward and touched her lips gently to his. Initially surprised by her bold gesture, Xander pulled away slightly.

"I am sorry, Xander. I have shocked you with my forwardness," Melody said in embarrassment. What on earth had come over her?

Xander quickly recovered from his shock, put his arm around Melody's waist and pulled her in towards him. Xander's lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle but insistent.

Just as Melody felt the kiss start to deepen, Xander pulled away again and let her go. "Miss Chesterton, Melody, I must apologise. I do not know what came over me. That was not the behaviour of a gentleman," Xander said in a flustered voice. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"Xander, I kissed you. There is nothing to forgive, except perhaps my brazenness."

"You are perfection, Miss Chesterton." And with that, Melody opened the door to the outer courtyard, leaving Xander staring at her with adoring eyes.

Dear Diary, I kissed Xander Ashby. I felt that it was a matter of scientific investigation as much as anything else. I do not believe that the two other kisses in my life were a sufficient basis for comparison with Alessandro's. But Xander is a handsome, charming, if rather verbose at times, young man. His adoration of me is evident, and so I felt he would make an excellent point of reference.

I am sure you are eager to learn what I learned from this study. Xander's kiss was very nice. Very nice, indeed. I am sure if he had kissed me prior to my trip to Venice, I would have swooned and been sure I was in love. Well, perhaps not in love. However, I am sure that I would have been quite taken with Mr Ashby. Unfortunately, compared to kissing Alessandro, this was quite pleasant but stirred nothing deep within me. Cook's rice pudding is very tasty and comforting, and I am happy to have it once a week. Still, it does not rouse me to the heights of delirious pleasure that Lady Bainbridge's chef's Zabaione did when it was served the other day.

Melody had intended to visit Luisa that afternoon, but those plans had been thrown into disarray with Xander's visit. Having given up the notion of talking with her new friend that day, Melody was delighted to find an invitation to dine with the marchesa for that evening.

"Chère amie, je suis inconsolable. I know that this is very short notice, but amongst dear friends, such things do not matter. Please join me for dinner at eight tonight."

Melody was curious about the cause of the marchesa's ennui and eager to discuss Alessandro with her. She made her way up to Rat's bedroom to tell him about the invitation.

He opened the door with a sour look on his face. "What on earth is the matter with you?" Melody asked.

Rat moved aside to let her in and then, closing the door, replied, "Oh, it's nothing new. I am just frustrated by this investigation. Besides now having two dead bodies on our hands, I am not sure what progress we've made. Perhaps I am not cut out for international intrigue after all. "

"Poppycock!" Melody said in a tone that was so like the dowager's that Rat had to smile. "I have seen Tabby Cat and Wolfie manage situations like this a hundred times. They feel they are getting somewhere and then come to a dead end and must try a different path. Uncle Maxi once told me that he felt that the trait that Tabby Cat and Wolfie shared that, more than perhaps anything, made them such good investigators was tenacity; they do not give up. No matter what, they keep going until they are sure they have found out the truth. And that is what we will do."

Rat smiled at Melody's words; she was right, of course. "Then what do you suggest we do next?" he asked.

"I think that we must talk to Antonio Graziano's sons. I know that they are in their mourning period, but we have no choice. Perhaps, if we go early enough in the day, we can catch them before their prayers start or whatever it is they do. Honestly, if we tell them that we are investigating their father's murder, I find it hard to believe they will refuse to talk to us. And if they do, we are no worse off than we are now."

Rat nodded; his little sister was right. That was exactly what they would do the following day. "Thank you, Melody."

"What for?"

Walking towards his sister, he took her hand and then pulled her into a warm embrace. "Thank you for being here. I was so nervous about this first mission and so sure that I had to keep it all a secret from you. It never occurred to me that Little Miss Melly, the precocious know-it-all who I used to view as needing my protection, would reveal herself to be my best chance to succeed."

With tears sparkling in her eyes, Melody hugged her brother tightly. "It was always Rat and Melly, remember? Nothing's changed about that. We may speak like toffs, and we may never need to worry where our next meal is coming from again, but a part of us will always be Whitechapel street rats who only have each other."

Finally, pulling out of his embrace, she informed her brother that she would be dining with Luisa that evening. "Don't you find her a little odd?" Rat asked with genuine curiosity. From her bizarre outfits to her extreme menagerie, the marchesa seemed a curious choice of companion for his sister.

"Luisa is an original. She lives her life as a performance. But not the kind of fake show of manners that so many in aristocratic circles do, at least in London. Instead, she lives it as a vibrant, colourful extravaganza of a performance. Yet, underneath it all, I believe that she is a very sensitive, quite shy soul. I find this juxtaposition to be fascinating," Melody admitted. "However, it is more than that; she inspires me."

"Inspires you? Whatever do you mean?"

"It is inspiring to find a high-born woman living as she does: apart from her husband and child and uncaring about the judgement of society."

"Surely you don't mean to emulate the marchesa?" Rat asked, horrified at the thought.

Melody placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Of course not, you silly thing. However, I believe there are lessons I might learn that might help me determine how to carve out a path for myself that is more than a woman of my class, in this age, might be expected to walk."

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