‘As you must remember, I have on several occasions urged you to place such information as you possess in the hands of the authorities. You have until now succeeded in convincing me that this would be a mistake. In the wake of recent events I am no longer convinced. You, of course, must do as your conscience directs. But please be clear that I shall henceforth disassociate myself entirely from any further private investigations into these crimes.’

Browning stood staring, his bottom lip hanging down, for all the world like a little boy trying not to cry. I almost felt sorry for him-until I recalled how he had treated me that day at the English Cemetery.

‘But why?’ he wailed. ‘You used to be so eager to help me! What has happened to change you? What are these “recent events” you speak of?’

This was too bad. I had thought he would be angry and stalk off, but by showing his hurt so plainly, Browning was managing to make me feel at fault. Was I never to be in the right with the man? There was, however, no turning back now.

Yes, I have changed,’ I told him. ‘We have been speaking of Dante. He said that his life began again the day he met the woman you have described as a vulgar merchant’s daughter. Well, I too have met Beatrice.’

Our looks met with an almost audible chink.

‘Very well, Mr Booth,’ Browning said-and his voice was hard and full of menace. ‘In that case I need detain you no longer.’

And now, at last, he turned on his heel and strode off-too late! My victory rang hollow, and I felt I had blundered badly, perhaps fatally.

20

I set off for home, only to get lost in a maze of alleys and paths of that over-elaborately calculated landscape. One spot in particular returned continually to haunt me: the path curved invitingly away downhill in what seemed the right direction, only to come to an abrupt end against a high stone wall in a close airless dead-end where I could hardly breathe.

As I found myself back there for the third or fourth time, and stopped to try and get my bearings, I heard laughter close behind me. I whirled round, but there was no one there. The air suddenly felt chilly, and I shivered as though someone had walked across my grave.

Then there was a rustle in the bushes, and I took to my heels! Had Browning been right, then? Was this garden hell itself, from which there was no escape? Would I always find myself back at that same spot where the path went wrong, listening to that mocking laughter, for all eternity?

Strangely, however, in my blind and stupid panic-for the gardens were now rapidly filling with people, and it had been some innocent laugh I must have heard, from another alley beyond the hedge-I somehow managed to find the exit which had eluded me before, and in a few minutes was out of the gardens of the Pitti Palace and back in the noise and turmoil of the streets.

When I had met Charles Nicholas Grant at Miss Chauncey’s ill-fated ‘seance’, he had told me that he was staying with the Ricasoli family, and urged me to call on him, and as my way home took me directly past the Ricasoli palace I took this opportunity of doing so. Mr Grant received me kindly, and sent the footman for a bottle of wine-which his firm imports, he informed me with a smile and a wink, to add substance to their claret in poor years.

Mr Grant proved to be a rather different quantity tete-a-tete than he had been in company. The urbanity and the polished charm were rather less in evidence, and a bluff boisterous high spirits considerably more. In particular I found him as thrilled as a schoolboy at the prospect of the poor old Florentine Carnival, which he evidently envisaged as a spanking new edition of the Roman Saturnalia, with all its original excesses intact and a variety of modern ones superadded. His manner became frankly conspiratorial as he intimated that one as long resident in the city as myself must surely know all those special places and times when the flame of Carnival burned most intensely, and a good time was to be had by all.

I agreed that I might possibly be able to furnish him with certain indications, and even offered to accompany him if he so desired. He said he could wish for nothing better. I then described some of the traditions of the Carnival, including the opportunity it presented to indulge in masquerade.

At this the staid merchant’s eyes lit up. Nothing would do but we must immediately repair to an outfitter who specialised in this kind of apparel, and look out something suitable-or rather unsuitable. After much reflection, Grant settled for a suit of jester’s motley, complete with cap and bells-and of course a mask to conceal his identity, lest his respectable acquaintances here catch him thus playing the fool. This costume was duly ordered to be made up in time for the Saturday, when the festivities commence in earnest, continuing without respite until the climax of the grand procession on Shrove Tuesday-on which day Grant and I made our arrangements to meet and sally forth together in quest of adventure.

Meanwhile I at last heard from Beatrice’s lips the news I had longed for-that Browning had been to visit her, and she had severed her relations with him.

‘I said that I was grateful for all he had done for me, but that his visits had become inconvenient, since I had lately been the subject of the attentions of another gentleman, who had proposed marriage to me. I thought it better to say so’-she went on quickly, having caught the look I gave her.

‘Did he ask who he was, this gentleman?’

‘No.’

What did he say?’ I asked in some exasperation. I had expected something more satisfying than this.

‘Nothing, at first. He just looked at me very long and very hard. Then he shrugged, like one who wishes to pretend that he does not care. “Very well,” he said. “But you’ll be sorry!” ‘

‘Was it a threat?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps. Or a prophecy.’

A dark cloud seemed to settle on her face, normally so serene, and I made haste to dissipate it with renewed demonstrations of affection.

‘At all events,’ I pursued, ‘the important thing is that he is out of your life-out of both our lives. Why should we mind what he says? He cannot harm us!’

But Beatrice remained doubtful.

‘For my sake, be careful!’ she urged. ‘He is clever, and has powerful friends. Such men are always dangerous.’

The rest of the weekend and the Monday passed without further incident, and shortly before ten o’clock on the morning of Shrove Tuesday, in accordance with our arrangement, I presented myself at Mr Grant’s suite. I found that former pillar of the City of London already fully attired in the costume he had ordered, and as excited as a girl on the eve of her first ball. We accordingly wasted no further time in joining the merry throng in the streets, where everyone in Florence-rich or poor, young or old, foreign or native-was out savouring the intoxicating atmosphere of light-hearted revelry.

It must be admitted that much of the entertainment on offer is of a distinctly juvenile variety: bags full of lime and flour are carried, and liberal quantities of both distributed indiscriminately in all directions, and dropped on to the heads of the passers-by from balconies and windows-all to the accompaniment of loud squeals and giggles. Missiles far more dangerous are the confetti. These were originally sweetmeats, but are now more usually plaster imitations, rock-hard, which are flung with merciless force at any unsuspecting or distracted bystander, the more venerable or respected the better. Indeed, this aspect of Carnival epitomises life in Italy, where there are no bystanders, and the highest possible tax is levied on anyone who allows his attention to be distracted for a single moment from his immediate surroundings.

My masked companion and I proceeded at a leisurely pace through the streets and piazzas, where Mr Grant attracted much attention. But the Florentines are above all an articulate race- from a jester they expect jests, and finding my companion unable to satisfy this want, despite his fetching costume, they soon deserted us to admire some other prodigy. But these fickle folk were immediately replaced by fresh admirers, so that upon the whole Mr

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