Page 31 of Vengeance in Venice
“Is he your only servant?” Constance asked.
“Practically, yes. He and his father, who is really too old. Most of the servants died during the siege. Cholera was our enemy within.”
“You have much tragedy in your life,” she said. “Much to resent.”
“And I do, of course. But I cannot change the past, not by blaming myself or others. And I am alive. Was there a particular reason you chose to visit me this afternoon?”
“We have set about proving our joint innocence,” Constance said lightly. “And we need your knowledge.”
“Of what in particular?”
“Of the people and the motives,” Solomon said. “We need to know about the jewels, which were such a bone of contention between you and Savelli. Signora Savelli told us she gave them to you, implying they were for the revolutionary cause, but that you did not sell them all.”
“I couldn’t,” he said simply. “I thought she might need them. I chose to beggar myself. I could not do the same to her.”
“And yet you did not give them back to her.”
“I gave her back what was left of the jewels we had agreed I should sell. The others were a gift.”
“Didyou sell them?” Solomon asked.
“I am not a thief. I can show you them if you like.” He gave an open, careless smile, and Constance understood.
“You kept them because they were hers,” she said.
A flush came to Giusti’s face. “Her father’s ring was a personal gift.”
“Which you wore to annoy Savelli.”
He looked at his hands twisting together and forced them to stillness. “It was the only fun I could find for a while.”
“And the other pieces?” Solomon asked.
“I had seen her wearing them.” Giusti drew a breath and looked up to meet Solomon’s gaze. “And perhaps I hoped shewould come and ask for them. I would have returned them then. Even her father’s ring.”
“But it was Savelli who asked.”
Giusti’s lips twisted. “Commanded. And then tried to steal. I’m only surprised he didn’t try to break in here.”
“Why was he so determined?” Constance asked. “He did not need the money. He could have bought her other jewels, his own gifts, untainted by you.”
Giusti shrugged. “Greed. Maybe.” His eyes fell again. “I don’t think he wanted me to have anything of hers. He feared he was second best. But he wasn’t, was he? She chose him. And she never came near me.”
“You still love her,” Constance said softly.
He leapt up and swung to the window, as though her words were unbearable. “What can I say?” he flung over his shoulder. “My nature is damnably loyal.”
To a cause. To a woman he would always love. And yet… “There is a rumor you have a mistress,” Constance said. “That is why I was abducted.”
“I know.” There was self-deprecation as well as defiance in his voice. “But believe me, in recent years, none of my brief passages with women could justify the title of mistress.”
“Giusti,” Solomon said, “did you ever go there? To Savelli’s house?”
Giusti shook his head, but he did not turn back. Constance and Solomon exchanged glances. Was it Giusti who had drawn the wakeful Savelli from his house the night of his death? Was the idiocy of love responsible for this tragedy from which none of them could return?
Constance changed the subject. “Are you acquainted with Domenico Rossi?”
Giusti turned in clear surprise. “The painter? I’ve come across him once or twice. Quite the character. Larger than life,you might say, but too fond of the drink. He churns out souvenir paintings by the dozen, but in among them are gems. He has talent.”
