Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “Those people around Barsini are all evil,” Prince Sanzio said angrily. “I blame Raphael. It was he who introduced her to the scoundrel.”

  “I do not think he meant any harm by it.”

  “It was still stupid of him!”

  Della sighed. “I must agree. I went to see this Gregorio and he admitted Irma had been with him. But he said she left around dawn.”

  “She did not return here!” the old Prince said.

  “No. She left with a renegade from the Church named Brother Louis.”

  The Prince frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “I found this,” she said, taking the comb from her pocketbook.

  The old man examined the comb. “Yes, yes, I recognize it. The stones are of second quality but I bought it for her and paid a high price. There are seven diamonds in it.”

  “It was on the floor of the room where I found Brother Louis,” she said.

  “And did he tell you how it came to be there?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “By the time I reached him he was dead. Murdered!”

  The old man looked shattered. “Murdered?”

  “Yes,” she said. “So I found out nothing.”

  “So your day was wasted?”

  “Not quite,” she said. “As I was returning to the carriage I met an old friend, Father Anthony. We met on the train from Paris.”

  “Yes. You told me about him.”

  “I had asked him to help me in any way he could and told him about the thieves thinking I had the Madonna,” she said. “He had traced the theft to a man known as Brizzi and this Brother Louis. He was on his way to question Brother Louis when I encountered him.”

  “And told him of the murder?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He was shocked but he claimed to have some knowledge of where Brizzi might be found. He left me determined to try and locate him and find out about Irma. I’m to meet him later.”

  “Then there is some hope,” the old man said.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I have an appointment with Father Anthony at seven. Where are the others?”

  “Henry Clarkson is in the city doing some paperwork with my lawyers,” he said. “Your aunt is upstairs resting. And I have no idea where Prince Raphael is. He left here shortly after noon.”

  “I’d like to talk to him about all that has happened,” she said.

  “Beware of that young man,” the old Prince warned her. “I do not trust his ready charm. He has led Irma to ruin!”

  “Surely not by intention,” she said.

  “I’m not sure,” the old Prince said, his sallow face grim. “Count Barsini is a powerful man and very wealthy. I think Raphael would do almost anything to gain favor with him.”

  “Including betraying his fiancée?”

  “Perhaps,” the old man said bitterly. “History is filled with many more loathsome betrayals.”

  “I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt until he is proven guilty,” Della said.

  Prince Sanzio eyed her with some alarm. “He has cast his spell on you as well.”

  “No,” she said. “But he has never shown himself to be our enemy. With Barsini, it is different! He is the most vile of men!”

  She left the old Prince and went upstairs. Something impelled her to go by Irma’s room and, as she did, she tried the door and went inside. She was startled to find the room was not empty.

  The midget Guido had been standing by the candle before the carved Madonna, touching a taper to the wick in the giant glass bowl. Hearing her, he turned with a look of guilt on his small, wrinkled face.

  The little man said apologetically, “Forgive me, you gave me a bad start. For a moment I thought it was Princess Irma returned.”

  “Do you expect her return?”

  “No,” he said unhappily. “I came to her room to see that all was in order. I found the candle had somehow gone out. I lit it again. The Princess never wished this candle to be out.”

  Della said, “I did not think her so devout!”

  The midget crossed himself. “Bless her! She was! As a child the Church was all her world! She was educated by the nuns.”

  Della had memories of the naked Irma on the black velvet of the Satanist altar and contrasted this with what she was hearing about her missing sister now.

  “As an adult she has become less religious,” Della suggested.

  Guido sighed. “It is all too often the case. Yet I think much of her early training remains with her. And here in the privacy of her room the flame always burns before the Madonna’s shrine.”

  “Let us hope Irma will soon be found,” she said.

  “You are much like her,” Guido said, staring up at Della.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.” And she left him there in the room. He was a strange little man and she did not always understand him. But she was sure he was truly devoted to the old Prince and to Irma.

  She rested for a little and was dressing to go meet Father Anthony when a knock came on her door. It was Prince Raphael.

  He said, “I hear you are going to meet someone at the Mamertine prison in the hope of finding Irma. You’re not going alone. Prince Sanzio says I’m to accompany you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think I should go alone,” she protested.

  Prince Raphael, handsome in a dark brown suit, stepped into the room. He faced her seriously and said, “No. I cannot allow that. I heard the risk you took earlier today.”

  “Prince Sanzio told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want it known I was there or found the dead body.”

  “I realize that,” he said. “There will likely be an account of it in the morning papers. The police are bound to find that renegade by then.”

  “He had Irma’s comb!”

  “So the Prince told me,” Raphael said. “And you are to meet this Father Anthony at seven?”

  “Yes,” she said solemnly. “He might not come to me if he sees me with anyone else.”

  “When we get there I will remain a distance from you,” Prince Raphael promised. “But I’ll always stay within call.”

  “I was going to speak to Henry about coming along,” she said.

  The Prince shook his head. “I will be of much greater use. I know the city and the Mamertine prison. I want to protect you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “I have always believed in you.”

  He was studying her and with great gentleness took her in his arms. “You look so like Irma tonight,” he said and kissed her.

  “Please!” she begged and at the same time pushed him away.

  As she did so she saw that Henry Clarkson had come to stand in the doorway of their room and was watching them crimson-faced. He had to have seen their embrace.

  Crossing to him, she said, “Henry! I was just going to look for you.”

  “Were you?” the young lawyer said coolly. “It seemed to me you were pretty busy here.”

  “Don’t misunderstand!” she protested. “Raphael is going with me for a special meeting. I hope to learn more about where Irma is.”

  “I see,” Henry said, unrelenting in his cool polite tone.

  Raphael came toward him. “It was my fault, old man! I gave way to an impulse and kissed her. Don’t blame her!”

  “Why should I?” Henry said. “It is I who should be blamed for intruding on her when she is entertaining a friend in her room. Forgive me!” He bowed stiffly and walked off down the corridor.

  “Henry!” she called out the door after him, but he paid no attention. She came back into the room and told Raphael, “We surely didn’t manage that well!”

  “I apologized and told him the truth!” Raphael said heatedly. “What more could he expect? What is so awful about a kiss between friends? I wished to comfort you.”

  She said, “Whatever you wished you made him jealous.”

  “It is his jealousy that is at fault,” the Prince said an
grily. “Does he not trust you?”

  Della smiled ruefully. “You’re defending yourself well. But in his place I doubt if you’d have acted better.”

  “I stepped aside when Irma made it clear that she preferred Count Barsini to me.”

  She said, “Was that because of your love for her or because you were willing to surrender her to the Count in exchange for his goodwill?”

  The handsome young man looked dismayed. “You cannot believe that about me!”

  “It was a question.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “And when Irma is found will you marry her?”

  He shrugged. “That depends on her. Yes, if she will have me. And if you refuse to consider me.”

  “Why should I come into it?”

  “I told you almost on our first meeting,” the Prince said “I have fallen in love with you.”

  “Please!” she raised a hand in protest. “I don’t want to hear that again. And especially when Irma is in danger because these thieves think I’m unwilling to part with their precious Madonna.”

  The Prince smiled. “You should take an advertisement in the newspaper. A whole page! Tell them you know nothing about it!”

  She said, “I think I would if I felt it would do any good.”

  The Prince reached into his vest pocket and produced his elegant gold watch. “If we are to reach the prison on time we’d better leave.”

  She said, “I wish I could explain to Henry before we go.”

  “Do not worry,” Raphael said. “Prince Sanzio will make it clear to him that he requested me to accompany you.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  She took his word for it and they left. They saw no one on the way out. The carriage was waiting and Raphael told the driver where they wished to go and the route they would take to get there.

  When they were on their way he turned to her on the seat beside him and asked, “Why did this Father Anthony choose this spot to meet?”

  “He said it was a tourist place. That it would be busy and we would not be noticed.”

  “In a way that is true,” the Prince agreed reluctantly. “But I could have thought of other places.”

  They drove on and passed the Palatine Hill. Raphael told her that in 753 B.C.. Romulus ordered the building of a great wall around it. The wall that was supposed to protect the citizens was constructed along the lines of those put up by the Etruscans, the first builders of Italy. And in time the wall grew to become a circle around the Capitol. Escaped slaves and criminals came to seek the safety of the asylum established on the adjoining Capitoline Hill.

  “You can see that even today part of this area remains bare,” Prince Raphael pointed out.

  “And it is of great elevation,” she said.

  “It rises at least sixty feet,” he agreed.

  This conversation did little to distract Della from thoughts about Irma. Her captors had promised they would let her live for a week. But she could not fully believe that And if anything happened she would never forgive herself. She would feel that Irma had died in her place.

  Raphael glanced at her and said,” You’re in a dark mood.”

  “I know. I’m truly fearful for Irma.”

  “I hate to think about it,” he admitted.

  “Why don’t you go see Barsini?” she urged him. “He might tell you more than he did me.”

  “I much doubt it,” Raphael said. “Barsini hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “There are many reasons. That is why he gloried in taking Irma from me.”

  She said, “I only hope nothing happened to Father Anthony. He is such a good old man.”

  “He is involving himself in a bad business when he tries to track down Brizzi.”

  “Only to help me,” she said. “What is this Brizzi like?”

  “Few people have ever seen him,” he said. “He is a Sicilian. Crime is his profession. And he is a master of disguise. So those few who have seen him generally are not able to recognize him when they meet again.”

  They arrived at a series of gardens and she said, “What a lovely setting!”

  “Only in these modern times,” the Prince told her. “In early days this was the execution spot of Rome. Here stood the gallows with their rotting corpses for all to see. Here were the machines for stretching, decapitation, ripping, cracking, disemboweling—all the most sophisticated torture devices of the time. Any unfortunate punished here died in dreadful agony. Eventually the executioners moved to the riverside, by the bridge of Sant’Angelo, but they left behind them, deep inside this Capitoline Hill, a last grim reminder of evil Rome, the Mamertine prison.”

  “I don’t look forward to it,” she said with a shudder.

  He checked his watch again. “You are just in time.”

  They descended from the carriage and mixed with the sizable number of tourists. Raphael pointed out that the prison was now a chapel consecrated to St. Peter, who was said to have once been imprisoned there by Nero. They went to read the notice boards commending the faithful for visiting the shrine.

  She looked around. “I do not see him.”

  “Probably he will be somewhere inside,” the Prince said.

  They entered the little church and Raphael knelt and crossed himself and she bowed her head. Then they moved on with the tourists and began a descent into the cells below. It was at this moment that fear began to crowd in on Della. She could almost sense the grim horror of history as they descended farther into the earth. Raphael, true to his promise, followed her at a short distance, so that he would not seem to be with her.

  An old man with a straggly, gray beard appeared at her side so mysteriously that it seemed he might have come fully formed out of the shadows. He was bowing and shaking his head in awe, making Della even more nervous. She glanced back but could not see Raphael; others had come between them. For the moment her only company was to be this weird old man.

  He sniffled and said, “I’m very devout. My sister is a nun.”

  “How nice,” she said as distantly as possible.

  They were descending another flight of worn stone steps and she wished she had not asked Raphael to keep a distance from her. She was so frightened and feeling worse every minute.

  Seeming anxious to be helpful, the old man wheezed, “The dungeons lie one above the other and now are connected by these stairs.”

  “I see,” she said tensely.

  Still at her side, he rambled on, “We will finally reach the Apostle’s cell.”

  She found herself in a long corridor of stone so silently menacing she felt she was in a tomb. There were openings to the dungeons on either side of the corridor. The bearded old man came close to her and she was alarmed to see that they had moved ahead of the others and were alone in this section of the dark, underground place.

  “Used to take the bodies up from here and toss them in the sewers,” the old man wheezed.

  It was not the sort of talk she wished to hear. She turned away from him as they passed another dungeon opening. Suddenly a terrifying and unexpected thing took place. She was given a vicious shove by the old man which sent her stumbling into the dungeon.

  She cried out as he came in after and slammed the rusty iron door shut on the corridor. From the rear of the musty dungeon there rose a huge figure which she belatedly recognized as Gregorio.

  “You!” she cried.

  The giant smiled cruelly at her, his face visible in the narrow streams of light which seeped in from the torchlit corridor.

  Behind her the old man hissed, “Make her talk!” Then he opened the rusty door a fraction and eased himself out, apparently to stand guard outside.

  Gregorio came slowly toward her, saying, “Why don’t you be intelligent and tell us where it is?”

  “I don’t know!” she protested.

  “You have it,” he said grimly. “Either here or in England!”

  “No!”

  “Don’t
lie!” he snarled, then seized her by the arms, pressing so tightly that she cried out in pain. “We know it was sent to you.”

  “I didn’t get it! Believe me! I didn’t!”

  “Keep that up and you’ll never see your sister alive again,” Gregorio warned her. And he tightened his grip on her arms so she screamed with pain again.

  Her scream had not entirely died when the rusty door was burst open by an angry Raphael. The Prince’s eyes were blazing with fury as he leapt for the giant. Gregorio let her go and moved back to receive the attack. She fell onto the dungeon floor and crawled to the side to be away from their struggling.

  In a moment they were on the floor. The battle now attracted some of the other tourists, who gathered by the dungeon door frantically to ask the two assailants to halt their battle. It seemed destined to be a struggle to the death.

  Then Gregorio managed to get astride Raphael and deliver a punishing blow to the Prince’s face. He lay still. Gregorio gave her an evil look and jumped up and rushed out of the dungeon and past the spectators as he raced to make his escape before the police came.

  Della went over to Raphael just as he was stirring and raising himself up. She said, “He’s gone! Made a run for it! Are you all right?”

  “Hardly!” the Prince said with irony, standing up and ruefully surveying his dirtied and torn clothing. He pushed back his hair and she saw the bruise on his jaw and a cut above his left eye that was bleeding a little.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Let us get out of here,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to have to answer police questions either.” And he took her by the arm and led her out into the corridor where a group of the other visitors to the prison were gathered.

  An old woman asked, “Was it a quarrel over the girl?”

  “Animals!” a thin young man said with disgust.

  “More like criminals,” a big Englishwoman voiced her contempt.

  “And in a sacred place,” another woman said. “You would expect them to know better!” There were other annoyed murmurings as Della and Raphael made their way back up to the chapel and then outside.

  In the sunshine she halted and took a deep breath of fresh air. “I feel as if I had returned from the tomb!”