“The baroness is addressed as Lady Vittozzi,” Caroline advised Mrs. McKinley. “She doesn’t speak English, so I will translate for you. Given the number of people calling on her today, our visit should last no longer than ten minutes.”

“Excellent,” the first lady said with a brief nod of her regal head. Mrs. McKinley’s steel-gray hair was woven like a coronet around her head. She’d once been a beautiful woman, but illness had marred her face into a permanently sour look.

Carriages lined the street for blocks near the ornate Italian embassy, where every window was already covered in black mourning crepe. A dozen visitors filled the lavish drawing room, all waiting their turn to offer their condolences to the baroness in her private receiving room. Caroline guided Mrs. McKinley to a padded sofa to await their turn. It wouldn’t be long, for protocol would move the first lady to the front of the line.

The gilt-encrusted door at the far end of the drawing room opened, and the archbishop of Washington left the baroness’s parlor, his audience concluded. He walked slowly, his black and scarlet robes swaying majestically as he moved through the crowd of mourners. The usher nodded to Caroline, and she leaned over to help Mrs. McKinley rise. Ida McKinley was only fifty-three, but her prematurely gray hair and the cane she used to compensate for a nerve-damaged leg made her seem older.

The baroness was dressed in full mourning, her black silk gown spread artfully across a bench and her face covered with a transparent black veil. She nodded in greeting.

“Avete le nostre più sentite condoglianze,” Caroline said with a deep curtsy as she entered.

The baroness murmured a response, and Caroline provided the translation for Mrs. McKinley.

“Lady Vittozzi appreciates your sympathy. All the people of the city have been so kind since the terrible news arrived last night.”

Mrs. McKinley nodded and took a seat. “Tell her that if there is anything our nation can do to assist during Italy’s time of need, she need only ask.”

Caroline translated as the first lady continued to offer perfectly appropriate generalities about the mysteries of God’s ways and praise for the fallen King Umberto. All was proceeding smoothly, something that could never be taken for granted with Mrs. McKinley.

Then the first lady began recounting the one time she had visited Italy during a grand tour of Europe several years earlier. “We enjoyed Rome, especially the ancient ruins and the opera house. Sicily, on the other hand, was terrible. No electricity, leaky roofs, and the only plumbing dated all the way back to the Renaissance. It was mind-boggling.”