Chapter 6

S eeing Venice from a gondola on the Grand Canal was very different from walking its narrow and winding streets, which were interspersed with bridges spanning small canals. Even where the buildings were crumbling a little, paint flaking, there was a charm to the city that similar building conditions in London did not engender.

Holding tight to Rat's arm, Melody followed Xander, sure that, without him, they would have quickly become totally lost. She was reminded of Lucy Honeychurch's first day exploring Florence with Miss Lavish and getting lost. Miss Lavish had pronounced it a true adventure. Melody wondered if she were brave enough to venture out alone to follow in the footsteps of her heroine.

As they walked, Xander continued to spout facts and figures. Many of these were details of Venetian history, some of which were interesting. Others were mundane minutiae. Xander seemed unable to differentiate between all the information that his photographic memory had stored. Eventually, Melody found she could not be bothered to listen to the boring facts in the hope that the next item would be more interesting, and she tuned it all out and instead looked in the shop windows they passed.

Suddenly, she stopped and announced, "I would like to go into this bookshop for a few minutes."

Xander turned with a look of irritation on his face. He had been mid-sentence, explaining Venice's rise to power as a centre of commerce in the early 13th century, exemplified by one of its most famous merchants, Marco Polo. This apparent irritability was wiped away quickly and replaced with a look of slavish devotion; if Miss Chesterton wanted to look at books, of course, that was what they would do.

Melody would have been quite content to continue rereading A Room with a View. Still, it occurred to her that if she wished to have an adventure exploring Venice, she needed to have a bilingual dictionary in hand. Melody had learned Italian, German, and French but wasn't fluent in any of the three languages. She should have thought to buy such a book before she left London. Having failed to do so, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation and perhaps buy a novel in Italian to help her practice.

"If you do not mind, I will wait for you outside and smoke a cigarette," Xander said apologetically. Rat decided to take the opportunity to befriend the young man and indicated that he would also stay outside and smoke. He wasn't much of a smoker, but it seemed like the kind of bonding experience that might encourage confidences to be shared. He accepted a cigarette out of a colourful package with what looked like Egyptian imagery and deities on it. Taking his first puff, he did his best not to choke on it.

"They're not for everyone," Xander conceded. "A blend of Turkish and Egyptian tobacco, they're called Egyptian Deities."

Well, that explained the packaging, Rat thought.

"It took me a few tries to get used to them."

"If you didn't like them, why did you continue to smoke them?" Rat asked.

"Because they are the best. Did you know that the late king enjoyed these?"

Privately, Rat thought that the recently deceased King Edward VII's endorsement should be taken with a pinch of salt, given the man's well-known proclivities towards debauchery of all kinds. He took another couple of puffs before conceding defeat; they were just too vile.

Rat made good use of his time outside with Xander. He asked him some general questions about the consulate's activities. As he might have expected, much of it was the mundane work of supporting British nationals abroad with everything from medical to legal emergencies. There were also the diplomatic activities that all consuls routinely engaged in.

Finally, realising that he might not get what he was looking for unless he was more direct, Rat asked, "And what of intelligence work? Does that fall within the consulate's domain?"

"Spying and that sort of thing?" Xander had asked a little too loudly.

Indicating that he should lower his voice, Rat said, "Well, given how the situation is in Italy, it would only make sense if British diplomats who are already so embedded in local communities were a good source of information gathering." Rat had tried to make the comment as nonchalant as possible. He certainly didn't want to alert anyone to his role with the Secret Service Bureau.

Xander had looked at Rat with a rather confused look on his face, almost as if it was news to him that the continent was on the brink of war. Finally, he'd said, "Well, if anyone is spying, I certainly know nothing about it." Then he continued, "Why not come to the consulate one afternoon this week and see for yourself? I'm sure Mr Burrows would like to meet you. He's always interested in new dignitaries who visit Venice."

Rat laughed, "I would hardly call myself a dignitary."

"Are you not the ward of the Earl of Langley and your sister of the Earl of Pembroke? Two very powerful and well-respected men."

That was interesting, Rat thought. He was quite certain he had never mentioned his relationship to Lord Langley when he had met Xander Ashby the previous evening. Clearly, the man had done his homework. Perhaps he wasn't quite as sweetly naive as he appeared.

Melody was more than happy to leave the men outside and peruse the store alone. The shop wasn't large, but every square inch was crammed with bookshelves that were stuffed with books. As she'd entered, a little bell had rung over the door. Nevertheless, if the bell was supposed to alert someone that there was a customer, it seemed ineffectual; there was no one around to help her. The stacks of books seemed organised with little rhyme or reason, and Melody wished there was someone to give her assistance.

Finally, after looking in vain through the bookshelves, she called out, "Scusi. Excuse me. Is there anyone here who could help me?"

There was no answer. Melody was about to give up and leave when she heard a noise coming from the back of the shop. A moment longer, and a gravelly voice called out, "Aspetta. Sto arrivando."

An old man came into view. He might have been quite tall once, but he was now stooped over and walked with a cane. Behind thick-lensed glasses, bright blue eyes twinkled as he peered at Melody and asked, "Sei inglese?"

"Yes, I am English."

"Bueno, bueno," the old man said, coming closer.

Melody hoped his English was better than her Italian because she wasn't sure how to say dictionary. In fact, she wasn't comfortable saying much in Italian, and she now wished she'd paid more attention to the Italian tutor Granny had insisted on. "While the Italians cannot be credited with much, many of the great operas and poetry are in their language, and it behoves an educated young woman of fortune to be able to enjoy these without the interference of translation," Granny had said on more than one occasion.

"How may I help you?" the old man asked to Melody's great relief. She quickly explained what she was looking for.

"Sì, I have what you want. Un dizionario; how do you call it?"

"A dictionary."

"Sì, a dictionary." The old man went to another bookshelf and, without even having to search, somehow pulled a book from the chaotic jumble which, when he handed it to Melody, was indeed a dictionary .

Remembering that she also wanted a novel, Melody considered whether she was better off getting an Italian book she didn't know or an Italian translation of a book with which she was familiar. She indicated to the old man that she would browse for a little while. He nodded his head, then went and sat at a rickety little desk by the window.

Melody was used to bookshops that sorted their books by clearly displayed genre. It was evident this was no such bookshop. That the old man had so quickly located the dictionary wasn't because there was any rational order to the shelves. Nevertheless, there was something delightful about perusing the shelves and being surprised by the literary gems she stumbled across. Melody could have happily spent all afternoon in the bookshop. As it was, she got so caught up in looking through the books that she lost track of time.

"Melody, will you please hurry up. Xander and I are cooling our heels out there and there are only so many of his disgusting cigarettes I can smoke," Rat said from behind her.

"I still have not found a book," she explained.

Noting the book in her hand, he asked, "Then what is that you have?"

"Well, I found a dictionary but not a novel."

"Then let us come back another day. Xander has a job you know. I'm sure he cannot spend the entire afternoon entertaining us."

Reluctantly, Melody pulled herself away from the books and went over to the old man to pay.

"Va tutto bene?" he asked.

"Sì. Grazie."

When Rat and Melody finally exited the bookshop, Xander stubbed out his latest cigarette. Melody found smoking to be a disgusting habit, which somewhat offset the progress Xander had made with his surprising affinity for Forster's books.

The rest of the walk back was uneventful and only took about ten minutes. Luckily, Xander seemed to have run out of facts to spout. Either that or he had finally picked up on his audience's lack of interest in hearing them. Melody was excited that they got to walk over the Academia Bridge. Having crossed it, Xander led them through the streets of the Dorsoduro sestieri, or district, until they turned right down the Calle dei Cerchieri and approached the palazzo from the rear.

Arriving back at the palazzo, Xander bent over Melody's hand and said, "The consulate is throwing its annual ball a week on Saturday. Is there any chance I could prevail upon you to join us, Miss Chesterton? And, of course, Mr Sandworth, as well," he hastily added.

Whatever potential romantic interest had flickered briefly in Melody's heart had been snuffed out by the time she had spent three full hours in Xander's company. As much as she wanted to attend the ball, she was worried that Xander's invitation would mean attending on his arm. The very last thing she wanted was to announce to Venetian society that she and Mr Ashby had any kind of understanding.

Conflicted over what she wanted to answer, Melody paused long enough before answering that perhaps Xander intuited something of her hesitation, even if he perhaps falsely put it down to an overly well-developed sense of propriety.

"Of course, I hope it goes without saying that you and Mr Sandworth would be guests of Mr Burrows and the consulate. I am extending an invitation on his behalf, which I am sure he would thoroughly endorse," Xander stammered.

Rat almost felt sorry for the awkward young man. He glanced at his sister, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Correctly identifying this as her assent, he answered for them both, "We would be honoured to attend, Mr Ashby. Please relay our gratitude to His Majesty's Consul." This piece of absurd polite pantomime over, they bid Xander farewell.

On entering the palazzo, Rossi informed them that Lady Bainbridge was taking her afternoon nap but that she had asked him to inform them that a guest would join them for dinner.

Melody's heart leapt; was it possible it was Alessandro? These hopes were quickly dashed when Rossi continued, "It is the Marchesa Luisa Casati." Neither Rat nor Melody had any clue who this marchesa was, and Rossi did not seem inclined to illuminate them any further. They retired to their rooms to wash the city's grime off them and to dress for dinner.

Melody found Mary in her room finishing up the last of the unpacking.

"How was the basilica?"

"It is quite beautiful, Mary. You must make sure that you go and see it one day." She then added in a teasing tone, "It is quite possible to walk there. In fact, we walked home."

Mary was shocked to her core. "You walked through the city? And your brother allowed that? What would your grandmother say?"

Mary had absorbed more of the dowager's dictates than just the importance of using a parasol when out in the sun. Mary had been an impressionable young woman when she had been plucked from her life as a housemaid and given charge of four-year-old Melody. The sixteen-year-old Mary couldn't quite believe her luck at the time and spent the first two years sure that she would make a mistake and be demoted. She then spent the next few years equally sure that she was not educated or sophisticated enough to raise the highly intelligent ward of a countess and an earl. To mitigate these fears, Mary became the dowager's most ardent pupil, sure that if she could learn all that the old woman cared to share on social etiquette, she might prove herself worthy of caring for the little girl she quickly came to love.

Melody laughed. "You are so silly sometimes, Mary. This is not London. There are no carriages. I am sure that there are plenty of places that cannot be reached by gondola."

"And I am equally sure that well-bred young ladies don't visit wherever such places might be."

Despite her censorious tone, Mary had no real expectations that Melody would pay any attention. It had been many years since the young woman had paid her much mind. Not that Melody didn't care for Mary. Quite the opposite; she considered the older woman more a beloved aunt than a servant. Still, her affection for Mary did not extend to respect for the woman's opinions about much more than which evening dress she should wear.

Indeed, sometimes Melody didn't even heed Mary's advice on that topic, and this evening was one such time. Looking at the blue silk dress that was laid out on the bed for that evening, Melody shook her head and said, "That dress will never do. There is to be a guest for dinner, and I must look my best."

"As you do in the blue silk," Mary said, defending her choice.

"I look adequate in that dress," Melody insisted. "In fact, I am not even sure why we brought it with us. Adequate might do for dinner with Wolfie and Tabby Cat, but it hardly suffices for Venice. I will wear the pale green."

Mary shook her head, but any argument she might have with the choice was kept to herself. Instead, she returned the blue silk dress to the wardrobe and pulled out the requested pale green dress. Mary's real issue with this dress was that it made Miss Melody look too grown-up. She wasn't ready for her to be out in the world, flirting, maybe marrying soon enough. To Mary, Melody was still the delightful little girl with red-gold ringlets who stole her heart from the first moment she entered Chesterton House.