A Lady Never Lies by Juliana Gray

devil-woman . . .
    “I say, there,” Finn called out, “could you perhaps tilt the lamp in this direction? I’d be much obliged.”
    A pause. “
Che cosa?
”
    “Never mind,” sighed Finn. “Carry on.” He struggled out from beneath the machine and reached for the kerosene lamp on a nearby table. Hardly what he was used to, of course—his workshop in England was equipped with electricity and hot running water and central heat and a telephone—but he’d adjusted quickly. The Castel sant’Agata’s distressing lack of modern conveniences was the least of his misery.
    Giacomo’s constant interruptions, for example, ranked considerably higher.
    “Is impossible!” The man threw his hands in the air and looked heavenward, though his view to the Almighty was presently obstructed by a series of cobwebs and roof beams, and quite possibly a barn owl, though as the creature kept nocturnal habits Finn couldn’t quite be sure. He’d meant to take a sample of the droppings back to the castle with him and consult an ornithological book in the library, but it kept slipping his mind.
    For some damned reason.
    “
What
is impossible?” Finn inquired, because it seemed the polite thing to do.
    “The cheeses! In the stables!”
    “What cheeses?”
    “You no listening! Not a word!
Nome di Dio!
” Aloft went the arms again, and the imploring gaze followed them upward to the deity in question. “I begin again.”
    Finn gave the lampshade a last adjustment, frowned at it critically, and then set the device on the floor. “I’d rather you didn’t, frankly.”
    “Is the women. All the day, they make the cheese, the
pecorino
, in the . . . what is the word?”
    “The kitchen?” Finn hazarded.
    “Yes! The kitchen! And in all the great big castle, they say they find no room, no room for the cheese to . . . what is the word? To put the cheese to become old.”
    “Ripen, I believe.” Finn settled himself back on the floor and began to wriggle gratefully out of range.
    “Wait, signore! You must listen! The duke, he does not care, and his brother . . .” Giacomo rolled his eyes and circled his finger about his ear.
    “Mad as a hatter, at the moment. I quite agree. But you see, my good man . . .”
    “Is that
woman
!” Giacomo spat earnestly. “The devil-woman, who keeps the house . . .”
    “I haven’t the least idea who you mean. The housekeeper? I can’t tell them apart.” Finn tried to shrug from his position on the floor, half submerged beneath the axle.
    “Tell the ladies, the English! Tell them about the cheese! She will stop, if the English say to her, stop!”
    “Look here, old chap. You really must endeavor to make yourself clearer.”
    “
Che cosa?
”
    “I don’t understand you. See?
No comprendo.
”
    Giacomo’s body slumped into a sigh. “The
cheeses
, signore. The so-great wheels of the cheese, the
pecorino
.” His hands shaped the air before him into a circle of impressive dimensions. “They put them—to ripe—in the
stables
!” He drew a large breath and hissed out the word again. “The
stables
, signore!”
    Finn gave his lower lip a thoughtful chew. “And the horses object?”
    “Not the
horses
, signore!
I
object! I, Giacomo!” Giacomo beat his chest with a gnarled rebellious fist against the tyranny of cheese-wielding housekeepers. “La Morini, she has all the attics of the
castel
for her
pecorino
, and she sends the cheeses to the stables! Is an insult! To me!”
    “And the smell, of course,” Finn said, not without sympathy.
    “And the smell!
Si!
You see, you understand!” Giacomo’s mouth bent out a smile. “Is good. You speak to the ladies. I am happy. I say to you, good day and good luck.” He turned to go.
    “Now look here! I
can’t
speak to the women!”
    Giacomo looked back over his shoulder. “What is this?”
    “Can’t speak to them.” Finn picked up his discarded wrench and pointed it at the man’s chest for emphasis. “It’s an