with quite a bit in Venice, but the State Inquisitors take a dim view of alchemists and freethinkers.”
We replaced the books and turned our attention to a chest of drawers. The first two contained a generous quantity of underclothes, frayed neckbands, and stockings with darned toes and heels. These, together with the coats and breeches hanging in the wardrobe and the traveling cases stacked above, argued against Luca having set out on a planned journey.
I opened the last drawer to find a stack of curious scarves or kerchiefs. “What do you suppose these are?” I asked, handing one to Gussie.
The cloths were fashioned of delicate, age-mottled silk, a rich cream the color of old parchment. They were all rectangles of varying sizes. Hemmed along one long edge, the others lightly fringed, the largest couldn’t have measured over fifteen by eighteen inches.
Gussie was holding his up to the window. “There’s an image drawn or painted here, but I can’t quite make it out.”
I picked one out, held it at arm’s length, and turned it this way and that. Suddenly, the mingled strokes of faded brown resolved into a recognizable pattern. “Don’t look straight at it. Hold it like this, at an angle. See the swelling cheek and the flowing hair. It’s the face of a woman.”
“I see it now,” Gussie cried. “She’s done in profile, barely sketched in. Her eyes are closed. Here the lashes lay on her cheek. Are these tears?” He indicated russet flecks tracking down the curved cheek.
I shrugged and began to fold the cloths back into the drawer. Fighting mounting exasperation, I said, “This is all very interesting, but not likely to help us find Luca. What we need are letters, diaries, invitations. Anything that would tell us where he’s been spending his time.”
“With company like that,” said Gussie, jerking his head toward the easel, “why would he want to spend time anywhere else?” The Englishman smiled as he handed me his cloth. On impulse, I slipped it into my waistcoat pocket.
The apartment had little else to tell us. I opened the windows and stepped onto a narrow balcony where a row of flowerpots filled with dirt awaited the blooming of spring flowers. Gussie found a few tradesmen’s bills tucked under a blotter on the writing table, but no other personal papers. We both turned our noses up at a pot of mold-skimmed coffee sitting on the corner stove. Feeling a little foolish, like a couple of amateur spies playing at intrigue, we finally decided to give the puzzle of Luca’s disappearance a rest and repair to my house for a much delayed dinner.
***
“So Luca has taken a fancy to a Jewess. Doesn’t he care what people will say?” My sister Annetta toyed with her empty wine glass.
“Apparently he does. At the theater, I have seen him walk right by Liya without so much as a smile of recognition. I would never have guessed they were in the midst of an amorous dalliance.” I poured more wine for Gussie. My sister shook her head as I stretched my arm toward her glass.
I’d invited Gussie home to dine, and we were still at table, picking at some fruit and cheese. The candles in their branched holders were burning low. Their flames illuminated my sister’s soft brown eyes and coronet of chestnut hair. Her wide mouth had settled into an uncommonly relaxed smile. Gussie had tucked into her simple meal of risotto and grilled perch with a gusto that had charmed her almost as much as his ready smile and eager, often ingenuous, questions. My new friend showed particular interest in the customs of the city he had made his temporary home.
“What would people say if they knew Luca and Liya were romantically involved?” Gussie asked, nibbling at a cube of blue-veined cheese.
Annetta leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. “A Jewess from the ghetto and a Christian man? Such an outrageous relationship simply would not be tolerated. The Jewess’ family would disown her in disgrace. Even if she
We replaced the books and turned our attention to a chest of drawers. The first two contained a generous quantity of underclothes, frayed neckbands, and stockings with darned toes and heels. These, together with the coats and breeches hanging in the wardrobe and the traveling cases stacked above, argued against Luca having set out on a planned journey.
I opened the last drawer to find a stack of curious scarves or kerchiefs. “What do you suppose these are?” I asked, handing one to Gussie.
The cloths were fashioned of delicate, age-mottled silk, a rich cream the color of old parchment. They were all rectangles of varying sizes. Hemmed along one long edge, the others lightly fringed, the largest couldn’t have measured over fifteen by eighteen inches.
Gussie was holding his up to the window. “There’s an image drawn or painted here, but I can’t quite make it out.”
I picked one out, held it at arm’s length, and turned it this way and that. Suddenly, the mingled strokes of faded brown resolved into a recognizable pattern. “Don’t look straight at it. Hold it like this, at an angle. See the swelling cheek and the flowing hair. It’s the face of a woman.”
“I see it now,” Gussie cried. “She’s done in profile, barely sketched in. Her eyes are closed. Here the lashes lay on her cheek. Are these tears?” He indicated russet flecks tracking down the curved cheek.
I shrugged and began to fold the cloths back into the drawer. Fighting mounting exasperation, I said, “This is all very interesting, but not likely to help us find Luca. What we need are letters, diaries, invitations. Anything that would tell us where he’s been spending his time.”
“With company like that,” said Gussie, jerking his head toward the easel, “why would he want to spend time anywhere else?” The Englishman smiled as he handed me his cloth. On impulse, I slipped it into my waistcoat pocket.
The apartment had little else to tell us. I opened the windows and stepped onto a narrow balcony where a row of flowerpots filled with dirt awaited the blooming of spring flowers. Gussie found a few tradesmen’s bills tucked under a blotter on the writing table, but no other personal papers. We both turned our noses up at a pot of mold-skimmed coffee sitting on the corner stove. Feeling a little foolish, like a couple of amateur spies playing at intrigue, we finally decided to give the puzzle of Luca’s disappearance a rest and repair to my house for a much delayed dinner.
***
“So Luca has taken a fancy to a Jewess. Doesn’t he care what people will say?” My sister Annetta toyed with her empty wine glass.
“Apparently he does. At the theater, I have seen him walk right by Liya without so much as a smile of recognition. I would never have guessed they were in the midst of an amorous dalliance.” I poured more wine for Gussie. My sister shook her head as I stretched my arm toward her glass.
I’d invited Gussie home to dine, and we were still at table, picking at some fruit and cheese. The candles in their branched holders were burning low. Their flames illuminated my sister’s soft brown eyes and coronet of chestnut hair. Her wide mouth had settled into an uncommonly relaxed smile. Gussie had tucked into her simple meal of risotto and grilled perch with a gusto that had charmed her almost as much as his ready smile and eager, often ingenuous, questions. My new friend showed particular interest in the customs of the city he had made his temporary home.
“What would people say if they knew Luca and Liya were romantically involved?” Gussie asked, nibbling at a cube of blue-veined cheese.
Annetta leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. “A Jewess from the ghetto and a Christian man? Such an outrageous relationship simply would not be tolerated. The Jewess’ family would disown her in disgrace. Even if she
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