CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mary was secreted into a great wingback in the corner of the private library of the residence. All of the other ladies staying at the villa had retired to the main drawing room or their personal parlors, leaving Mary with her diary and pen and a small drop of sherry. Clouds of cigar smoke hung above her, emanating from the gentlemen who congregated about the fire at the far end of the room. She surmised they had forgotten she was in the overstuffed chair, which faced toward the darkened window, for their conversation had moved to topics no lady should ever hear. She placed her pen in its well and listened intently.
“Evidently this atrocity has been ongoing for many months. Graves have been defiled, corpses pulled from their shrouds then thrown back into the ground to be r
