Chapter 10

Author's Notes: Thank you to Haley Macrae and sailor-fussion for reviewing. If any of my anonymous readers will review, I promise to immortalise your names in print, here in the lucrative Author's Notes. I still don't own anything, and in case you were wondering, details from the last chapter, including descriptions of the Gabinetto, are taken with gratitude from the Italian Strand Magazine. I was reading another fanfic today, and the author wrote something that I found very applicable to my own situation: "I know the beginning and I know the end; it's the middle that is the hard part." This chapter is heavy on dialogue. I hope it's not too confusing. Extra points for guessing the significance of Miss Bassano's name.

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Miss Bassano suggested leaving the carriage and walking a few blocks. She was no longer visibly angry, but her shifting eyes told him of her inner agitation. As they strolled down the Via Tuornabuoni, Holmes noticed her exchanging polite nods and smiles with several passerby, but he was relieved when they entered the relative seclusion of the Caffe Giacosa. The cafe had the eerie silence of one whose noon-hour patrons had already abandoned it. They were seated, and their drinks were quickly placed in front of them on immaculate linen tablecloth. Glancing down into her small steaming cup of coffee, Miss Bassano began with a question.

"Are you aware of what your brother does for the government, Mr Holmes?"

"You said you knew him," Holmes replied, with some impatience.

"Indeed I do; but you may not. I do not say this to shock you, Mr Holmes, and I ask you to play along. What does your brother do when he goes to his office?"

A little annoyed, Holmes replied, "I believe he audits the books of some Government departments. He has always had an extraordinary faculty for numbers."

"That is partially correct. He is, indeed, paid to do just that. But your brother has for some time assisted the Foreign Office with cases of the utmost delicacy."

"I am aware of that, too. He is used sometimes as a sort of shortcut to determine the outcomes of difficult international problems."

Pleased, Miss Bassano leaned back and smiled. "Your brother," said she, "is a central part of the great web of diplomacy the British Empire has spread throughout the world. He is the oracle of foreign policy. When he speaks," she leaned in and whispered," Spies follow his orders."

Holmes waved his hand impatiently. "My brother has no ambitions of any kind and remains a subordinate in a cramped little office in Whitehall."

"And yet he remains the most indispensable man in the country. His mind is so filled with the essential information gathered by every department, his logic so orderly, that his advice is like a pronouncement from the gods."

"I am his brother, Mrs Bassano, and I am not aware of his divine importance. I fail to see how you could be. For that matter, I fail to see what this has to do with you. "

"Very well. I can tell you. You have just met my uncle. He has been knighted for his services to the Crown, yet you will not find him if you ask for him at Whitehall. He is essential to the success of England's politics abroad. He has many times relied on the advice of your brother, and they are well-acquainted."

"So you know my brother through your uncle."

"Yes. No. Not exactly. I know your brother through my husband."

"Mr Bassano?"

Miss Bassano smiled ruefully. "No. His name was Stamford."

Holmes grasped the connection immediately. "Archie Stamford, the young forger! I had no idea he was married."

"My uncle thought him a very promising young man. He rose through the ranks quickly – he showed a capacity not unlike that of your brother to store facts and trivia. My uncle was set on arranging a match for me with him, and so he gave Archie opportunities, opened doors for him. Your brother was even asked to take him on in his department.

He was always a very nervous young man. And I was just a girl, barely twenty. My uncle pressured him... Well, soon after the wedding, I found him in his study, a needle in his vein. He was taken to the hospital, but he was barely conscious. His family was shocked; they couldn't believe their own son would do such a thing.

Mycroft went through his papers at work. It turned out he had been forging documents, impersonating Ministers... There was a scandal. Worst of all, no one had known.

My uncle knew he would be held responsible. He had helped Archie, after all. So, to lessen the inevitable blow, my marriage was annulled and I was packed off to Italy. His family were kind. They arranged for an allowance for me. My uncle supports me here, in exchange for keeping him informed of any relevant gossip a minister might let slip to an innocent Englishwoman." She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. It had gone cold.

"You've chosen a bad time to come to Florence, Mr Holmes. The Italians want to renew the Triple Alliance. The workers of the city rioted on the first of May. There was terror in the streets and the police couldn't stop it. The leader here, Galileo Palla, has been arrested, but the trial can only bring more unrest. In Rome there has been an explosion, and a hundred people were arrested. My uncle is here, working to save English interests." She reached across the table and looked him in the eye. "No good can come out of this, Mr Holmes."

Holmes chose to ignore her dire prediction for the moment, for his mind was occupied in determining the precise relationships between the empire and the woman in front of him. "And your parents?" he asked.

"My mother died of consumption when I was young. My father was a physician, and he opened a sanatorium, only to succumb himself. I was sent to stay with my uncle, my mother's brother, in London."

"So Bassano is not you married name?"

"No, I was born Beatrice Regina Bassano. It seemed to make sense to go back to my maiden name after the annulment."

"But Bassano is an Italian name."

She smiled, and the grief was suddenly dispelled from her eyes. "That was a coincidence. My ancestors were from Venice. They came to England in the sixteenth century, under Queen Elizabeth. They were artists and musicians, although sadly, I have not been imbued with any of their talents. It is said that one of the women in the family was William Shakespeare's lover. He wrote his sonnets to her." Miss Bassano's eyes sparkled with the mystery.

Holmes looked at her, and a memory floated to the surface. "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun," he recited.

"Neither are mine," she grinned. Holmes was compelled to agree.