Sent to the Devil by Laura Lebow Page A

space more intimate. Two sofas colored the deep blue of the walls faced one another, while a large armchair sat under the window. An elegant, tall clock cabinet faced with blond wood and ivory marquetry stood alone on the farthest wall.
    The woman I had seen with Benda in the cathedral rose from the armchair. Her tall, slender frame still wore the black satin of mourning.
    â€œChristiane, this is Lorenzo Da Ponte. Da Ponte, my fiancée, Christiane Albrechts,” Benda said.
    She came to me and offered her hand. I bowed, and then looked up into large violet eyes full of sorrow. Her raven hair was pulled back into a chignon. Gone was the extraordinary emotion I had witnessed in the cathedral days ago. It was as if she were a balloon fallen to the ground, all of its roiling, hot air cooled, leaving just a limp cloth shell. “I am pleased to meet you, Signor Da Ponte,” she murmured. “Richard has explained that you will be assisting him with his investigation.”
    â€œIt is an honor to meet you, mademoiselle,” I said. “May I offer my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your father?”
    â€œAnd mine to you, for the loss of your friend,” she said.
    Benda sat on the nearest sofa. “Come, sit down, Da Ponte,” he said.
    â€œI’ll ring for some coffee,” Christiane said. I remained standing until she had rung the service bell and sat back in the armchair.
    â€œPlease make yourself comfortable, signore,” she said. I took a seat next to Benda.
    â€œI’m sure Richard has already explained to you that Count Pergen wishes to keep the true circumstances of my father’s death from the public,” she said.
    I nodded.
    â€œThat is also my wish. I do not want my father’s name involved in sordid gossip.” She leaned forward and studied me intently. “Can you think of any possible relationship your friend could have had with my father?”
    â€œCome, love, we have discussed this,” Benda said. “We believe Father Bayer was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer wanted to strike at the church by murdering a priest—any priest.”
    Christiane gazed at him. “I know that is what you believe, Richard, but I—” She looked over to the door as a servant entered the room. “Yes, what is it?”
    â€œExcuse me, mademoiselle. Baron von Gerl is downstairs. He wishes to present his condolences.”
    Her thin hand flew to her throat. “Von Gerl is here?” She looked over at Benda, who had stood. “I don’t think I’m ready to receive anyone yet.”
    â€œIt’s just von Gerl, my love,” Benda said. “He’s probably come to offer his assistance.”
    â€œNo, Richard, please. I don’t think I am able to see anyone else, not today.” She sat upright in the chair, her body stiff.
    â€œWe should receive him, Christiane. He is your neighbor. It would not be proper to send him away.” Benda addressed the servant. “Send the baron up.” The man glanced at his mistress, who sat wringing her hands together, then nodded at Benda and left the room, closing the door behind him.
    â€œBut Richard,” Christiane protested. “My hair, my dress, I am not prepared to receive guests—”
    â€œNonsense,” Benda answered. “You look beautiful. No one expects you to be dressed à la mode when you are in mourning.” He went to her, squeezed her hand, and moved to gaze out the window.
    A moment later the door opened once more. A tall, lissome man with short, curly black hair and a cropped dark beard bounded into the room.
    â€œBaron von Gerl, mademoiselle,” the servant announced.
    Von Gerl rushed to Christiane’s chair and bowed to her. “Mademoiselle Albrechts,” he said. “I have just this minute returned from taking the waters in Baden. My valet told me about your father’s unfortunate demise. No, no,