“If you’re thinking of the boat that dropped the house into the water, it would have been long gone,” she said, shaking her head. “Silva and his man must have rowed out from the city.”

The City Under the Sea was positioned out of the lanes of traffic, nearer the southern bank of the Douro River. It inhabited an area dredged out in the past decade, ostensibly to create harbor space for naval vessels, but the navy had chosen to dock their vessels at the unfinished Port of Leixões, north of the Golden City, instead. That dredging had created a perfect situation for the artwork. It was just past a curve in the river, so the river’s outward current didn’t pull too hard on the houses, and protected from the incoming tidal currents by the southern breakwater that kept the sea at bay. It was about a mile from the quays of the Golden City over to that spot, giving it privacy. One had to be going there to end up there, so Silva’s appearance could not have been an accident. “Did you believe Silva? About his vision, I mean?”

She walked on for a moment without answering, her heels clicking against the cobbles. “To be truthful,” she finally said, “I am not a believer in seers, Mr. Ferreira. I’ve always suspected they simply pretend to know what will transpire and only point out the times they happened to be correct. Anyone would be right half the time, don’t you think?”

Well, I’ve been put in my place. Duilio smiled ruefully. “Logic tells us that is the case, Miss Paredes. So what do you think led him there, then?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But he said we’d meet again. That does concern me.”

It worried him too. Silva was the showy sort who would create a great fanfare when he revealed that he’d saved a young woman from drowning. Miss Paredes did not need her likeness in the newspaper. He only hoped that it took Silva some time to locate her.

They’d reached Bainharia Street and she gestured toward the dark windows of a druggist’s shop in one of the first buildings. “This one. We’ll have to go upstairs.”

Beyond the wrought-iron guarding a narrow balcony, a light still burned in the second-floor window. Someone was waiting for Miss Paredes. She opened the door and slipped inside. A plain lantern hung from the ceiling, casting the yellow walls in a sickly light. Duilio followed, climbing the narrow stair behind her. She knocked on the door of the apartment above the store.

An elderly woman opened the door and peered out. “Ah, good. You’ve come. I’ve had word.” She caught sight of Duilio waiting a couple of steps down the stair. “Who is this?”

“My new employer—” Miss Paredes began.

The woman opened the door a bit wider and held up a wrinkled hand. “Don’t tell me, child. Heriberto came by this afternoon, trying to find out where you went, so I’d better not know any more. Give me a moment.” She closed the door, leaving them in the hallway.

Miss Paredes glanced at him, an apologetic expression drawing her brows together. Duilio shook his head. “I don’t need to know.”

The worry fled her features then. “Thank you.”

He didn’t need her to tell him. Heriberto was, without doubt, the name of Miss Paredes’ superior. That the man had visited the elderly inhabitant of this building hinted that the woman must also be a sereia, despite the evidence that Duilio hadn’t seen webbing between her fingers. That raised questions he would love to explore, but they could wait until Miss Parades trusted him more.

The door opened again, and the elderly woman passed out a square envelope. “She left this for you.”

Miss Paredes took it. “Thank you. I truly appreciate your help.”

The elderly woman waggled one finger at her, a finger that had an ugly scar running up each side. “Be careful out there, child.”

“I will,” Miss Paredes promised her.

The woman nodded and closed her door, an end to the interview.

Duilio heard the key turning in the lock. “Is that it, then?”

Miss Paredes chewed her lower lip for a second, cast a glance at his face, and then opened the envelope and withdrew a fine, deckle-edged card. She read the words, her dark eyes flicking across the page. “I’m supposed to meet her at the Carvalho ball Thursday night.” Her eyes lifted to his face. “Do you know a way I could sneak in?”

Duilio didn’t ask whom Miss Paredes was expected to meet. Not yet. But if she’d asked his help, then this meeting was important to her. “Sneak in? No, Miss Paredes. You and I will walk in the front door. I’m invited.”

“I can’t accompany you,” Miss Paredes protested, her spine straightening. “I’m not . . .”

When she trailed off, he realized that she’d misunderstood his intention. He could escort a young lady to that ball uninvited—he knew the Carvalho family well enough to get away with it—but that would attract more attention than he wanted at the moment. And it might prove awkward, since Mr. Carvalho had approached Duilio earlier in the year, hoping to arrange a marriage with his eldest daughter. But Duilio had a different plan in mind. “My mother is invited as well,” he clarified. “As her companion, your attendance would be unexceptional.”

“Ah. I see,” she said, her face lowering as if she might be blushing, although Duilio didn’t see any flush staining her cheeks. “Is she well enough to go?”

“Despite her distraction, my mother is made of steel, Miss Paredes,” he said. “She can do anything once she makes up her mind. Shall we discuss it with her in the morning?”

Miss Paredes slipped the card back into its envelope. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

Duilio offered her his arm. “Then let’s go home.”

CHAPTER 12

WEDNESDAY, 1 OCTOBER 1902

By the time Duilio made it downstairs in the morning, he’d already thought of a dozen things he needed to get done and about a hundred more questions he wanted to ask Miss Paredes. He found his mother and Miss Paredes in the dining room, already eating breakfast. His mother looked more alert than she had in some time, able to concentrate enough to greet him this morning. He went and kissed her cheek before sitting down. Having a companion might suit her after all.

For her part, Miss Paredes looked far more rested than she had the day before. She wore a white shirtwaist with a vest in royal blue that flattered her pale complexion. Her black skirt wasn’t the one she’d worn to make her late-night visit, but a finer woolen that looked well made, if not in the most current fashion. Recalling her statement that she’d hit her head against the boat that night, he noted the faint bruising on her temple. She looked serene despite the difficulties of the past several days. That might be a facade. He didn’t know her well enough yet to be sure.

Miss Paredes held one of the newspapers in her mitt-obscured hands, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the printed words. Duilio wondered if she was the sort of woman who read the gossip pages, but decided that if she did so, it was only as a part of her job. She seemed too serious. The paper she currently held was his mother’s trade daily. He would love to know whether Miss Paredes enjoyed reading that. Personally, he found it a dead bore.

While waiting for the footman to bring his customary breakfast, Duilio sipped at his coffee. “Are you settling in well, Miss Paredes?” he asked.

His mother actually appeared interested in her answer, a good sign.

Miss Paredes folded the paper and laid it down. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Duilio turned to his mother then. No time like the present. “Mother, do you recall that the Carvalhos are having a ball tomorrow night?”

She appeared to consider his query for long enough that he feared he’d lost her attention, but finally said, “Isn’t their youngest daughter turning seventeen?”