The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  Dismounting, he smiled at her, and putting his hand in his fob pocket produced a gold half-sequin. He knew that neither of them would be able to understand one word the other said, but he also knew that his smiles and his money were worth a mint of talk. She returned his smile, then her eyes swiftly focused on the small piece of gold in his palm.

  Without more ado he gave it to her, hitched his grey to a post near the door, then beckoned her to follow him, and led the way with the rest of his string round to the yard. A man was working there and at a word from the woman he took over the animals. Roger watched him stable them, then he unloaded the panniers of the mule, and the two of them carried his various packages round to the house door for him.

  Inside, it was, as he had expected, a poor place, but the beaten earth floor of the living-room was moderately clean; and, undoing his sleeping-roll, he laid it out in one corner, indicating by gestures that he meant to sleep there. Next, he unpacked his new suit, and by the same means conveyed that he was about to change into it; upon which, with nods and smiles of understanding, the couple left him.

  When he had put on clean linen, he redressed his hair with the aid of his travelling-mirror, then wriggled into the red brocade coat; but before repacking his old one he slit the end of its stiff collar and drew out the tracing paper with the involved cypher into which he had transcribed the Queen’s letter.

  Calling the couple in he took out his watch, pointed to the figure ten upon it, shrugged his shoulders, and moved his finger-tip in a circle nearly twice round the dial to finish on seven. He meant to indicate that he would be back either that night or the following morning, but from their blank faces he concluded that they did not know how to tell the time by a watch. However, he thought it probable that they had made occasional visits to Florence, as the city lay within ten miles of the farm, so would have seen the clocks in the buildings there, and realise that he meant to return in the fairly near future. He then showed them two more half-sequins, put them back in his pocket, mounted his grey and, with a friendly wave of the hand, rode off towards Pontassieve.

  He had told Isabella not to expect him before midday, so that she should not be worried if his arrangements took him longer than he anticipated; but everything had gone so smoothly that when he dismounted in front of the solitary inn it was still a few minutes before eleven.

  Tired as she was from her sleepless night, her anxiety had kept her from going to bed until he rejoined her, and she was sitting in a chair dozing at an upper window. The sound of his horse’s hoofs roused her at once, and with a cry of delight she ran downstairs to welcome him.

  After he had assured her that all had gone well, and handed his grey over to the ostler, he accompanied her inside, and said:

  “My love, you look sadly in need of sleep, but I fear I must keep you up for yet a while, as I have much to say, and much to do before the day is out; so it is best that we should settle on our final plans without delay.”

  “In spite of the fine new coat you are wearing, you, too, look near exhausted,” she said solicitously. “Have you yet eaten, or shall I order something to be prepared for you?”

  “Nay. I pray you do not bother them to cook a roast for me; but I could do with a light repast if it be handy.”

  She took his arm. “Come up to my room then. There is a bowl of fresh fruit there and you can eat some of it while we talk.”

  When they reached her chamber Quetzal was playing there, but except for smiling at Roger he took no notice of them, and they settled themselves in chairs near the window.

  “What is the meaning of your new suit and your hair being done differently?” she asked, as she handed him the bowl of fruit.

  He smiled. “The coat does not fit me as well as I could wish, but ’tis a fine, rich piece of stuff. With my old one I put off my French identity and have become again Mr. Roger Brook. When compelled to play such a game as we are at the moment, ’tis a considerable asset to be able to pass at will for a man of either nationality.”

  “What do you hope to gain by this sudden metamorphosis?”

  Roger sighed; then on his old principle of taking the worst hurdle first, he said: “Should I chance to come into view of anyone who knows me, I hope to escape recognition unless they see me at close quarters. You see, my love, within the hour I have to return to Florence.”

  Isabella dropped her reticule with a thud; her heavy eyebrows drew together and tears started to her big brown eyes, but he hurried on:

  “You must surely realize that as yet I have had no opportunity to deliver this letter of the Queen’s that is proving such a millstone round our necks. And from your attitude this morning I know the last thing you would suggest is that I should abandon all attempt to do so.”

  She nodded unhappily, and he continued:

  “This, then, is what I propose to do. On our first arrival in Florence Pisani told me that the Grand Duke sups with the opera singer Donna Livia most nights of the week except Fridays and Sundays. As today is Thursday, and his religious scruples will cause him to observe tomorrow’s fast in his amours, as well as other matters, the odds are all upon him seeking the embraces of his favourite mistress tonight. By hook or by crook I mean to gain admission to her presence, disclose to her the secret reason for my journey to Florence, and beg her aid in delivering the letter.”

  “How long, think you, will it be before you can get back?” Isabella asked, with an effort to keep out of her voice her distress at the thought of him leaving her again.

  “It depends upon the hour at which His Highness goes to Donna Livia’s house. Now that we are in the long days of the year he may do so before sunset. If that proves the case I may be able to get back tonight. But I greatly doubt it. ’Tis hardly likely that he would sup with her till eight o’clock, and the gates of the city are closed at sundown; so ’tis much more probable that I shall be compelled to remain within its walls till morning. If so, I shall leave at dawn and should be back soon after seven. But either way my plan precludes my seeing you again until tomorrow.”

  “Why so, if you get back tonight?” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “Because on my return I do not propose to come to the inn. I mean to go to the lemon-coloured farmhouse with the red roof, that lies to the right of the road some half mile further on after having passed through Pontassieve. You may have noticed that I arrived from that direction.”

  “I did; and wondered at it.”

  “Well, I have already made certain arrangements with the owners of the place. If my business in Florence is concluded before sundown I shall sleep at the farm tonight. If not they will give me breakfast when I arrive in the morning. Then, at let us say half-past eight, I want you to join me there.”

  “I do not yet see the object of all this mystification.”

  Roger bit into his second plum. “Believe me, dear one, our best chance of escaping further trouble lies in our playing out our piece in this way. I should not have come here at all today had you not had to leave Florence so hurriedly, thus denying us the opportunity for a full concerting of our plans. If de Roubec has told his story to your aunt, by this time she will believe me to be your lover. The odds are that she is now enquiring about us in the city. We dare not ignore the possibility that she may send someone after you. ’Tis for that reason I must make myself scarce as soon as possible.”

  Isabella gave him a scared glance. “Think you then that she will have me pursued?”

  He took her hand and pressed it reassuringly. “I am in hopes that, believing you to be on your way to Naples, she will think it pointless to do so; but she may wish to assure herself that I have not rejoined you,”

  “If she despatches riders along the road to Naples, ’tis certain they will enquire here, learn that I am within, and also that you have been with me.”

  “I know it, and am not unduly perturbed at such a possibility. For me to have snatched this apparently last chance of being with you for a few hours is quite understandable. The imp
ortant thing is that if they do make enquiries here they should also learn that I have returned to Florence. If they find you alone they can have no excuse for making trouble, and I feel that we can count on them returning to your aunt with a report that she no longer has cause to be concerned for your reputation. But, lest some spy is left to loiter near this inn, I think it essential to the completion of the deception that you should give the appearance of resuming your journey to Naples tomorrow morning.”

  “And what then?”

  “I shall be awaiting you at the farmhouse. There I already have a horse for you, a pony for Quetzal and two baggage-mules to carry your treasure-chests and other most valuable possessions. I also bought a lad’s clothes for you and a boy’s for Quetzal. When you have changed into them, we will send your coach on its way and ourselves, by a devious route so as to avoid Florence, ride to Leghorn.”

  “But Rojé!” she gasped. “Do you mean that I must part with all my servants?”

  He had overlooked the possibility that, never having been without several people to do her bidding, she might take the loss of her retinue hard; but he restrained his impatience and said gently:

  “My love. Your coach cannot go by bridle-paths or across fields as can mules and horses; so since it must remain on the road there is no alternative to its going forward. Were it to turn back and any agent of either your aunt or the Grand Orient chance to see it and your liveried servants passing through Florence, that would give away the fact that you are not on the road to Naples after all; just as surely as it would if anyone who knows Quetzal to be your page saw him with us in his Indian costume. Besides, as I have told you, when we are married we shall not be able to afford to keep several men-servants, so it would be no bad thing if you begin to accustom yourself to doing without them now. I pray you, in order to make more certain our escape to happiness, to give them each a handsome present tomorrow morning and send them back to your father.”

  “I’ll do so with the men, since you desire it,” she said after a moment. “But I must keep Maria. I could not even dress myself without her.”

  Again he had to restrain his impatience. But, having on numerous occasions indulged in the fascinating pastime of assisting young women to undress themselves, he knew quite a lot about the complicated systems of hooks and eyes that fastened their dresses at the back, and of the efforts required to tight-lace them again into their corsets. So he said:

  “Take her if you must, then; but it will mean the sacrifice of a certain amount of your baggage, as she will have to ride on one of the mules.”

  For a further twenty minutes they discussed details of their projected journey to Leghorn; then he went to the stairs and called for his horse. While it was being saddled they took another fond but temporary farewell of one another. After urging her to go to bed and get some of the sleep that she needed so badly, he went down to the street, mounted his grey and set off back to Florence.

  In spite of his fatigue, now that he no longer had a string to lead he made better time than he had on the outward journey; and at a quarter-past one he pulled up outside Meggot’s English hotel.

  The porter there said that he did not think they had a room vacant, but that if Roger would be pleased to wait for a moment he would find out from Mr. Meggot.

  Having arrived unattended by a servant, Roger had expected some such reception, as he had learned in casual conversation with Pisani that Mr. Meggot always had rooms to spare, but was the greatest snob on earth, and kept them empty rather than admit to his hotel anyone who was not of the first quality. He had even been known to turn away a Countess, because she had been divorced. But Roger felt quite capable of dealing with such a situation; so he threw the reins of his grey to a groom, told the porter to take his valise, and followed him inside.

  The portly Mr. Meggot emerged from a small office, cast a swift eye over Roger, noted the imperfect fit of his coat, and said coldly: “I fear that we are very full just now, sir; but my porter omitted to tell me your name.”

  “My name is Brook,” replied Roger with extreme hauteur.

  “Brook,” repeated Mr. Meggot a little dubiously; but, evidently impressed by Roger’s manner, he added: “Would you by chance happen to be one of the Shropshire Brooks?”

  “No,” said Roger, assuming a tone of bored indifference. “I am of the Hampshire branch. My father is Admiral Brook, and my mother, Lady Marie, is sister to the Earl of Kildonan. Since his lordship travels much in Italy it is possible that he has honoured your establishment from time to time. But why do you ask?”

  Immediately Mr. Meggot became all smiles and obsequiousness, “Only, sir, because I feel it my duty to have a care who mingles with my other guests. Our Ambassador, Lord Hervey, does me the honour to dine here quite frequently, and I should not like to put His Excellency in the position of having to meet anyone who—er—well, anyone who was not quite—you understand. At the moment we have with us the Earl Fitzwilliam, who is no doubt known to you, Lord Hume and his charming sister the Honourable Mrs.…”

  “Quite, quite!” Roger interrupted. “But have you a room for me?”

  “Of course, Mr. Brook. Of course. Come this way, if you please. I know your uncle well. He often spent a night here on his way to attend King James in Rome. He was not truly King, of course; but many of the Scots nobility like your uncle continued to regard him as such until his death last year. I always found Lord Kildonan a most gracious nobleman—most gracious. He once said to me_________”

  Again Roger cut the garrulous Mr. Meggot short. “In the last twenty-four hours I have ridden far, and I have to wait upon His Highness the Grand Duke this evening. So I wish to go to bed at once and be called at five this afternoon. Kindly arrange for that.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Brook, certainly. No doubt, then, you would like a bath. I will have the maids bring you up cans of hot water while you undress.”

  For Roger that lovely English touch outweighed all Mr. Meggot’s pomposity, and dropping his curt, supercilious manner he accepted the offer with alacrity. Half an hour later, still rosy from his warm ablutions, he slipped between a pair of Mr. Meggot’s fine Irish linen sheets, and almost instantly was sound asleep.

  When he was called he got up reluctantly, but nevertheless felt much refreshed. While he had slept one of the hotel valets had made some slight alterations to his new coat, so that it should fit better, and now came to assist him to dress. He put on white silk stockings and his best silk breeches, had his hair freshly dressed and powdered, scented himself lavishly, stuck a beauty patch on his cheek and hung his quizzing glass round his neck. So when he went downstairs at six o’clock with his hat under his arm he presented a sight guaranteed to gladden the heart of any young woman, and received a glance of deferential approval from Mr. Meggot.

  Having asked that worthy for writing materials he then sat down and wrote the following note in careful copperplate, so that the English in which it was written should be easily legible to a foreigner who might know only a little of that language:

  Mr. Gilbert Courtnay, director of His Majesty’s Opera House, Haymarket, London, presents his compliments to the Lady Livia Gallichini.

  To Mr. Courtnay’s regret his present journey permits him to stay for only one night in Florence, but, even on passing through this illustrious city, he cannot deny himself the pleasure of laying his homage at the feet of the talented lady who now, more than any other, perpetuates its ancient lustre.

  If the Lady Livia would deign to receive Mr. Courtnay for a few moments he would count that the most distinguished honour of his passage through Italy.

  On his ten-mile ride back from Pontassieve earlier in the day Roger had given his whole mind to the problem of how he might most easily gain swift access to Donna Livia, and the note he had just written was the result of his cogitations. He thought it very unlikely that the prima donna would refuse to receive a director of the London Opera, and that even if the Grand Duke were already with her she would ask his permissi
on to have such a visitor sent up.

  All the same, he was by no means happy about the identity he had decided to assume. For one thing, while it was not uncommon for men of his age to be Members of Parliament or hold field-officer’s rank in the Army, he greatly doubted if anyone as young as himself had ever been the director of a Royal Opera Company. For another, although like every educated person of his time he spent a fair portion of his leisure listening to music, it had never been a passion with him, and he knew practically nothing of its technicalities. If he found Donna Livia alone that would not matter, but if circumstances compelled him to put up a bluff that he was conversant with the works of all the leading composers, it might prove extremely awkward. But, with his usual optimism, he thrust such misgivings into the back of his mind, had a carozza summoned, and drove in it to Donna Livia’s house.

  As he knew that one of the fashionable recreations of Florentine ladies was holding conversazioni, he thought it quite possible that he would find her so engaged. But, on enquiring, he learned that she was not receiving, so he gave his note and a silver ducat to the footman who had answered the door to him.

  For a few minutes he waited in a hall floored with chequered squares of black and white marble; then the footman returned and ushered him through a pair of fine wrought-iron gates, beyond which were heavily brocaded curtains, into a spacious salon.

  There were five people in it, but there was no mistaking which one of them was Donna Livia. She was reclining on a lion-headed day-bed in a loose white robe with a silver, key pattern border, and in the first glance Roger decided that he had rarely seen a more beautiful woman. Evidently she was proud of her luxuriant Titian hair, as she wore it unpowdered. Her cheeks and jowl were just a shade on the heavy side, but her green eyes were magnificent, her forehead broad, her nose straight, her mouth a full-lipped cupid’s bow and her teeth, as she smiled a welcome at him, two perfectly even rows of dazzling whiteness.

  Her companions were two middle-aged ladies of aristocratic mien, a very old one who sat dozing in a rocking-chair in a far corner of the room, and an elderly cherub-faced man. The latter was holding Roger’s note and immediately addressed him in indifferent English.