Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson Page A

it is too beautiful for words, and Paris, as you know, was filthy at the time, so full of dirt and dust because the Emperor and Haussmann, they were tearing down whole neighborhoods. They carved up our city like merciless invaders. Without warning, my street disappeared under their blades, and we lost our family home, you see. We were forced to stay with relatives in a distant suburb. I longed for peace and beauty and warmth, so the offer from the baroness came at the right time for me, I tell you.”
    “But if you go back now, I fear there will soon be more upheaval in Paris. We hear talk of war.”
    “Just so, and with the Prussians, nasty beasts. As a precaution, I told my brother, who sees to my affairs, to take an accommodation for me in the south of France as well as preparing my new home in Paris.”
    Serafina was silent for a moment, listening to the hum of the house and the way the wind had of blowing through the eaves. She heard the faint sounds of workers on the grounds below. “You began working for the baroness here?”
    She shook her head. “Wherever she went, I was with her—in Prizzi for much of the year when I first arrived and here in Bagheria in the spring and summer only, but in later years, here in Bagheria for special times, too, because you know it is now fashionable to be here at Christmas, and the baroness loved this villa so and being close to the sea. When she became ill, she preferred to stay here all the year, so we did. And now, with the baron and his business demanding that he stays here because it is so close to the harbor, I stay here, too. Wherever the main household is, you see, that is my place.”
    “But I thought you were a lady’s maid.”
    She canted her eyes to the window and paused. “Yes, to the baroness when she was alive, I was her lady’s maid, but after the baroness died, I became the housekeeper.”
    “And the housekeeper who was here when the baroness was alive, where is she now?”
    Doucette appeared to think. “She stays in Prizzi.”
    “And when you are in Prizzi?”
    Doucette began tapping her foot. “She has many years, the Prizzi housekeeper, poor soul, so we share the job.”
    “Forgive me, Doucette. I’m asking too many questions, I do apologize.”
    “Do not trouble yourself, Madame.”
    “But bear with me, please. I need to ask you about Lady Caterina’s final years and her illness.”
    “Of course.”
    “You were with her as her lady’s maid?”
    She nodded.
    “You brought her meals to her when she was bedridden?”
    “You misunderstand my role, Madame. I was her lady’s maid. As such, I gave direction to the cook, who fixed the tray and arranged for a maid to bring up her meals. I watched in the room as she ate. I was with her night and day when she was very ill, even when her daughter was here.”
    “And when Genoveffa was not here?”
    “I was with her, Madame.”
    “Eve ry day?”
    “Yes, Madame.”
    “No one else?”
    The housekeeper slid her eyes to the side. “Every day, except of course, on my days off.”
    “And who took your place?”
    “I believe one of the chambermaids.”
    “And the doctor who treated the baroness, you must know him as well.”
    “Of course, Madame. Doctor Marcello Noce.”
    “From?”
    “A physician from Prizzi.” Doucette drew down the corners of her mouth and elevated her nose. If possible, she sat even straighter, her back not touching her chair. “A country doctor.”
    “A what?”
    “A country doctor, Madame. Someone who seemed …”
    “Out of his depth?”
    “Just so. In Paris we have enlightened physicians and teaching hospitals. For women’s ailments, femmes savantes and midwives such as yourself practice at La Maternité, known in all the world as the finest of lying-in hospitals. But outside of Paris, the physicians are different. We refer to them as country doctors.” Then she added, “But he was the family’s physician, you see. And the baron wished to keep her illness private.