“The pope is always dying,” my brother said. “This is the primary occupation of popes. To die. And to take a long time about it . . . But I don’t see what that has to do with us.”

“There are political implications.”

“Such is the requirement for popes, to be half-dead. So that the cardinals might immediately begin lobbying as to who should replace him. But still—”

“As I said, there are political implications.”

“You mean Cardinal Whiting and his New Piety?”

My brother scoffed, but we all knew the situation. La Nuova Pietà, as it was called, decried the unwholesome links between politicians and the criminal element and sought a new activism among Church leaders. Such pleas were nothing new, but Orsini’s party was worried that the opposition might use the renewed fervor to launch further investigations. Fortunately, the opposition had its own secrets to hide. So they’d reached a compromise of sorts, with me at the center.

I would testify to satisfy the public sentiment, but it was to be pro forma only, nothing rigorous, and afterward the investigation would close.

“I don’t know if I trust this agreement,” said Johnny.

“It’s not for you to worry about.”

“It might be a trap.”

Such uneasiness was inevitable. The air frayed. I found my own loyalties torn back and forth, but we were bound, the three of us, at least for now.

“It’ll be all right,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

My brother lingered. He didn’t want the conversation to end. He wanted to be alone with me for just a little while, like we often used to be.

––––––––

I stood in the closet, half dressed. The cabinets smelled of cedar—a sweet-smelling cedar, scented with rose petals—and the bottom few drawers overflowed with antique scarves and silks and intimate attire. Among these I found a lace nightgown, handmade. Isabella had owned many items like this, pretty things, very fine and delicate. I put the gown on—meaning only to look at myself—but then Paolo called me to bed. He dimmed the overhead lamp. Because of the nature of the filament, how it glowed, the room was cast in shadows that seemed to move along the wall, on up to the animals in the frieze.

“When the investigation’s over, we’ll go someplace. We’ll get away.”

“That would be nice.”

“We’ll have our honeymoon,” he said.

“Where will we go?”

“Someplace away, out of the public stir.”

We’d discussed this before, but marriage hadn’t seemed wise with the investigation pending. And though we didn’t speak of it, there were suspicions between us, given the scandals and the rumors. Paolo touched me. The light quavered. For a moment it seemed I could see the shadows of those beasts, up there in the frieze, moving along the wall.

18.