Page 31 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“Did he need to inform you?” Oscar asked.

Brother Eduardo lifted his shoulders in a shrug so typical of the Italians. “No, but it is a kindness to mention he would not keep them. You told me where you would take them, Mr. Barratt, and for that I was grateful. It is a courtesy.” He seemed suddenly self-conscious and collected himself. He bowed his head to Miss Wheeler. “I am sorry for my outburst. Please, forgive me.”

She smiled one of her warm smiles that I’d grown to find comforting. “There is nothing to forgive, Brother. Those books have been in this abbey for centuries, so it’s entirely understandable you’d feel a sense of ownership toward them.”

He indicated the cart, being unhitched from the donkey. “We have just come from Monteoro. We sell our honey, olives and lemons at the market. I saw Signore Scala there, with his friend.”

“He didn’t tell you he’d sold the books?” I asked.

“We did not speak.” Brother Eduardo lowered his head and mumbled into his chest. “He does not like us here at the abbey.”

“Probably because your abbot calls him greedy and depraved,” Oscar muttered.

I shot him a glare, but Oscar merely took a leaf out of the Italians’ book and shrugged.

“Do you think Signore Scala is the devil?” he pressed.

Brother Eduardo’s mouth opened and shut without any words coming out, and his cheeks flushed. The composed, self-assured man I’d met in the abbey library was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the monk was at his most comfortable when surrounded by books and felt anxious in other situations. I sympathized. I felt the same.

Brother Eduardo looked away, clearly wanting to leave, but Miss Wheeler addressed him again. “What friend?” she asked.

He blinked, uncomprehending. “Pardon?”

“You mentioned Signore Scala was with a friend at the market. Do you know the name of the friend?”

I wasn’t sure of the relevance to anything, but I stayed quiet and watched as Brother Eduardo’s face went even redder.

“I do not know the man’s name. He is the very good friend of Signore Scala.”

Understanding dawned on Miss Wheeler’s face, but I still didn’t follow. “What does he look like?”

“Young, dark hair, handsome. He dresses with more elegance than most men.” Brother Eduado bit his lower lip and took a step back. “I do not know him. We have not met.”

It wasn’t De Angelis. The heavyset fellows we saw in the boatshed didn’t match the description of Scala’s friend.

Brother Eduardo removed his straw hat and fanned his face. “It is hot, yes? Excuse me, I must help unload the cart.”

We watched him cross the forecourt and join the other monk removing unsold goods from the back of the cart. Brother Eduardo received a large basket from his colleague, only to wince and arch his back.

“That was enlightening,” Miss Wheeler said. “But not in any meaningful way that will help us solve the murder.”

I pushed my glasses up my nose and peered at her. “Do you mean because Signore Scala’s friend is clearly not De Angelis?”

“I do. Did anyone else get the impression that Signore Scala and his friend are more than mere friends, and Brother Eduardo knows it? It’s no wonder Scala avoided the monks at the market. If his tendencies go against the teachings of the church, he must feel unwelcome here at the abbey.”

“Brother Eduardo not only knows they’re more than friends,” Oscar said, “I’d say he’s as much of an aesthete as Scala when it comes to handsome men.”

“Oscar!” I hissed. “You must stop speculating about these things out loud.”

“It’s not speculation, Gavin. I can tell the brother is of that particular persuasion.”

I scoffed. “You can’t possibly tell. He doesn’t sport a sign.”

“Not one with words on it, but he does show signs. I’m very good at identifying these things. Better than you, anyway.”

I rounded on him, my fists clenched at my sides. I wasn’t sure why, but I was furious. “Mistaking me for an aesthete was one thing, but you shouldn’t suggest Brother Eduardo is without proof. It’s grossly unfair on the poor man. At least I had the chance to deny it to your face and set you straight. Honestly, Oscar, you believe you can identify men like that, but you can’t. I know you’re going to suggest he looked at you in a certain way, as if he—” I lowered my voice. “As if he desired you. But I didn’t notice anything like that. In fact, it’s quite arrogant of you to think you’re always the center of attention. Perhaps you ought to have a closer look in the mirror. You are not as handsome as you think you are.”

Miss Wheeler made a noise, part choke, part laugh. She covered her mouth with her hand, her wide-eyed stare on me.