She watched him display the torture weapon with true relish and began to wonder if he were mad. She turned her head away. “I don’t want to see it!”
“Nor I to use it on you,’“ the fat man said amiably. “Such delicate hands too! But if you refuse to tell me about the Madonna, you leave me no choice, do you?”
“You’re mad!” she declared, backing away from him.
He followed her, holding up the torture device. “I have only to call my friend back in and have him tie you in a chair. Then we can apply this little device to your thumbs.”
“I trusted you and you deceived me,” she protested, backed into a corner of the basement room. “But from the first I told you I knew nothing about the missing Madonna.”
He smiled madly. “Of course you were lying then and you are lying now. Most impractical of you, I fear.”
She stared at him in stunned amazement. “You cannot believe I do not have it?”
“That is quite correct,” he agreed in a friendly manner.
“So you are really insane!”
He chuckled. “Names will not upset me, dear girl. I happen to be a man of single purpose. You are standing in my way!”
She stared at him. “You’re really Brizzi, aren’t you?”
She never did get a reply from him for at that moment a shot rang outside. An expression of fear crossed Father Anthony’s fat face and he vanished into the shadows at the rear of the cellar. She stayed in the corner of the room, too terrified to move. Then the door was flung open and Father Walker appeared, pistol in hand.
“Miss Standish!” he called out.
“Here!” she cried in reply and ran to him.
“Where is the other one?” he asked.
“He went on out back,” she told him.
Father Walker hurried to the rear where the fat priest had vanished. After a moment he came back with a look of disgust on his scholarly face. He said, “Too late! There is a back exit. He managed to get away! Are you safe?”
“Just barely,” she said. “How did you know?”
“The Cardinal felt I should shadow you until you were safely home,” the young priest said grimly. “It seems his precaution was wise.”
“He was going to torture me,” she said.
“I have no doubt.” Father Walker eyed her gravely. “You are dealing with the most dangerous of criminals.” He kept his pistol ready in his hand. “Now let us get out of here before they come back with reinforcements.”
“Yes,” she agreed. As they climbed up to the street level, she asked, “What about the dark man acting as guard?”
“A shot scared him away,” Father Walker said. “I didn’t follow him. I was too interested in getting to you.”
“Not a moment too soon,” she said. “I think the man calling himself Father Anthony is really Brizzi.”
“He could be,” said the man walking beside her. “He may have murdered the real Father Anthony as he did Brother Louis. It would be easy for him to pose as our renegade friend. He is clever at disguising himself.”
Della shuddered. “He behaved insanely. He refused to accept that I knew nothing about the Madonna.”
“The general belief is that you do.”
“The Cardinal accepted my word.”
“The Cardinal is a man of faith. These others are rogues with no other thought but getting their hands on that stolen Madonna!”
They had reached a busier street and the young priest stood out with his hand raised until he managed to hail a passing carriage. He gave the driver some instructions in Italian and then helped her into the vehicle.
He told her, “You will be safe now. He will take you directly to the Palazzo Sanzio.”
“How can I thank you?” she asked.
Father Walker smiled grimly. “By trying to restore the Madonna to us.”
“I promise that I will,” she said. “And thank the Cardinal for me again.”
He nodded and then stepped back. The driver urged his horse on and the carriage started along the wide street. She sat back exhausted in the dark interior of the carriage.
Prince Raphael was at the palace to greet her. The young man was in a state of grim concern. He at once embraced her and said, “We have been on the point of calling in the police! I sent you no message!”
“I found that out,” she said with a rueful smile.
Aunt Isobel came to her along with Prince Sanzio in his wheelchair. Her aunt said, “I was imagining all sorts of dreadful things happening to you!”
Prince Sanzio told her, “The moment Raphael arrived and told me he knew nothing of the message, I realized you’d fallen into a trap.”
She said, “At least I’ve survived.”
“Tell us what happened,” Raphael said.
“I will,” she promised. “But first some strong coffee and give me just a few minutes to wash and change.”
A half-hour later she sat with the others in the living room and told them of her strange experience. She said, “I had no idea I was being followed as well.”
The old Prince studied her with his faded eyes and said, “Then it was actually someone within the Church who sent you the false message?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure the Cardinal arranged it. He struck me as a remarkably clever man.”
“But he had no intention of harming you,” Aunt Isobel said. She was seated on the divan with Della.
“I’m sure that is true,” she said. “But he had hoped I knew about the Madonna and would return it to the Church.”
Raphael frowned. “I’d like to know how they managed to get my notepaper.”
Della said, “Perhaps a servant.”
“It could be,” the handsome young Prince said.
Prince Sanzio said, “If the carriage had been there when the Cardinal let you go you would have had no problems.”
“That was when the so-called Father Anthony took over,” she observed with a sigh.
Aunt Isobel frowned. “I always wondered about him. I thought he was rather strange for a priest.”
“He has been defrocked,” Della said. “And I’m not sure the man we know as Father Anthony really is who he claims to be. It may be someone posing as him.”
“Why do you say that?” Raphael asked, puzzled.
“Father Walker suggested it. He pointed out that the real Father Anthony worked with Brizzi. And Brizzi is a master of disguise and impersonation. It is possible the man we accepted as Father Anthony is really the key figure in the theft, Brizzi!”
“That does complicate things,” Raphael said. “I’m surprised. I felt the fellow was genuine enough.”
“He showed himself in his true colors tonight,” Della said. “He was ready to torture me when I was fortunately rescued by the arrival of Father Walker.”
“And he managed to escape?” Aunt Isobel worried.
“Yes,” Della said. “He had been careful to have an escape avenue ready. He is clever enough.”
Prince Sanzio said, “At least he will not be able to deceive you as he did in the past.”
She said, “I know him for what he is now, just another criminal after the Madonna.”
“I wish we had never heard of it!” Aunt Isobel said in a vexed tone.
After a little both her aunt and Prince Sanzio retired for the evening. She and Raphael decided to take a stroll in the gardens, for it was a pleasant night.
As they walked slowly along the gravel path, he said, “I died a thousand deaths tonight waiting for you to return. I would have blamed myself if you hadn’t.”
“How could you do that?”
“Because my name and notepaper were used to entice you to the Sistine Chapel.”
“That was not your doing.”
“But you went because you had faith in me.”
“That is true,” she said, smiling up at him as they halted by a tall marble figure of a gladiator on a pedestal near the vine-covered garden wall.
“Dearest Della!” th
e handsome dark man said, taking her in his arms.
She gave him a reproving look. “Thanks to your kissing me in my room I’ve lost Henry!”
“He’ll come back.”
“You never can tell,” she said. “He’s very proud and I know he must have been badly hurt.”
Raphael gazed down at her lovely face with an adoring expression. He said, “Why must you worry about him? You know that I’m in love with you.”
Still in his arms, she told him, “It happens I love Henry. And even if that were not so, aren’t you betrothed to my sister?”
“Irma and I were about to break up before you arrived,” he said.
“You don’t plan to marry her?”
“No,” he said. “Not now. If I can’t have you I will marry no one.”
Della said, “I find that hard to believe. And I think we are two cold, heartless people. Talking about Irma in this fashion when she is still a hostage and may lose her life.”
“I pray that doesn’t happen,” Raphael said, releasing her.
They began the stroll back to the palace and she told him, “Has it ever occurred to you she may already be dead?”
He looked startled. “Why do you say that?”
She gave a tiny shudder. “It’s an eerie feeling I have that she will never return here alive.”
“Don’t say such things!”
“It’s true,” she told him. “And my Aunt Isobel has the same opionion. In fact she thinks she has seen Irma’s ghost moving down one of the hallways.”
He halted. “What?”
“She asked me if I had been in the hall and I said no. And it was then she decided that the figure she had seen must have been my twin sister’s ghost.”
“We Italians are said to be superstitious, but I’m beginning to think you English outdo us!”
They returned to the palace and said their goodnights. The Prince left promising to return the following afternoon. Della was left to go up to bed and review all the events of a thrilling day. She also thought of Henry Clarkson and worried that the estrangement between her and the nice young lawyer might develop into a permanent thing.
They had gone through several quarrels in the past. The worst one had been patched up just prior to their coming to Italy. Now they were back again where they had started. She could only hope that, after consideration, Henry would come to understand that the embrace he’d seen between her and Raphael had been a casual thing.
Of course Raphael was proving a problem in his own right. He had brought about this embarrassing situation and he was continuing to insist on his love for her. She liked him but she did not love him. And she was distressed that he seemed to have so little feeling for the kidnapped Irma. Raphael was a difficult young man to understand and to cope with.
She could not sleep for a long while. And when she slept it was only to dream of being tortured by Father Anthony. In her nightmare she was tied in a chair, her hands and feet bound. Then the cruel old priest released one of her hands and placed it in the heavy metal apparatus which he had called a thumbscrew. He turned a lever on the outside and she was at once tormented with a searing pain as her thumb was twisted almost from her hand. She screamed for aid, then woke out of the dream feeling stupid.
She was in her bedroom writing a letter the following morning when the midget Guido came with an envelope for her. He said, “This came just a few minutes ago.”
She thanked him and, full of excitement that the note might be from Henry, she glanced at the address on the envelope. It was not in Henry’s handwriting. So that was that! Disappointed, she tore open the envelope and withdrew the scented notepaper.
She read it quickly. It was a message from Madame Guioni, filled with apologies for having neglected her, and suggesting that they take a ride in her open carriage if the afternoon should be fine. The strong-minded woman ended the note by saying she would call for her around four and so have an hour or two to drive before it was time to dress for dinner.
She took the letter downstairs to consult with Prince Sanzio. He read the brief note and handed it back to her, saying, “I don’t know the woman but her offer seems friendly enough.”
Della sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I dislike leaving the palace for any other wild goose chase. I’m only interested in seeing Irma back here, alive and safe.”
“I know how you feel,” the old man sympathized. “I feel the same way. But life goes on. It is possible that a late-afternoon drive with the woman might restore your spirits.”
She continued to ponder over the message, telling the old Prince, “If I wished to answer this I could not. She gave me no return address.”
“Not likely she expected a reply,” Prince Sanzio said.
Della smiled and said, “I shall also be breaking my word. I promised I wouldn’t accept invitations or go anywhere until Irma was rescued.”
“I know,” said the old man in the wheelchair. “But this invitation is somewhat different. You are not being asked to a rendezvous anywhere. The carriage will pick you up here, you and this lady will be driven about, and then you’ll be returned.”
She smiled sadly. “As simple as that! I only hope you are right.” And so she planned on the drive.
• • •
Promptly at four Madame Guioni arrived in a large brown carriage that was most impressive. Della was helped up into the carriage by an attractive, young liveried coachman and Madame Guioni showed a smile on her ugly face and kissed her on the forehead. She smelled too strongly of heavy perfume and, as always, her facial makeup was so overdone as to be a caricature of what cosmetics should be. The older woman made room for Della and fussed over her.
“I have so neglected you,” Madame Guioni said with regret on her rather monstrous face. The hat she was wearing matched her ugly features and she had on a high-necked brown dress with white gloves. Della felt that beige or brown gloves would have been more desirable.
“No at all,” Della said. “Time has passed very quickly since I arrived in Rome.”
“I’m sure it has!” Madame Guioni gushed. “But this is a busy social season and I’m so much in demand that I have not had time to plan any parties of my own! Every night I’m invited somewhere!”
“You mustn’t worry about it!” Della said as the carriage rolled slowly through the streets. She was sure the ugly old woman beside her was attracting the amused glances of many of those whom they passed. It was not only her loud dress, but she also spoke in an exaggerated way and made a lot of outlandish gestures.
“Notice my carriage!” the vulgar woman said. “Rubber-tired wheels, my dear child! See how easy we ride along! Have you ever been in a more luxurious carriage since you’ve been in this city?”
Della was forced to say, “No. I surely have not.”
“Of course you haven’t,” the old woman at her side insisted. “This is a magnificent carriage! People plead with me to take them riding in my carriage! But I say no, it is only for me and my firends! Am I not right?”
“You are surely right,” Della said wearily. “It is a superior carriage.”
Madame Guioni was not listening to her, her attention having been drawn by two young men in the street who had hooted at her and made some obscene remarks. She was gasping with indignation and she waved her umbrella at them angrily.
Turning to Della, she exclaimed, “Did you hear them?”
“Not too well.”
“I’m happy that you didn’t,” the old woman said. “They were saying the most disgusting things! The young! What are they coming to!”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Della said, meekly wondering why she’d exposed herself to this experience and how soon it would end.
Madame Guioni was in a mood to reminise. “When my beloved late husband was alive no one dared say a nasty word to me! No one! He was always on the alert to defend me! Poor dear! Now he is gone and his brother also! There is only the label left, Guioni Brothers, and what comfort is a wine
label to a sorrowing widow.”
Della felt prompted to comfort her. “You have built yourself a good new life, madam.”
The ugly, overdressed woman touched a hanky to her eyes. “You are right. Now I must not talk about myself continually but let you enjoy some of the beauty of the things we’re driving by.”
They came to the Via delle Quattro which Della enjoyed because of its four fountains. And she told Madame Guioni, “Rome has so many fine squares and fountains!”
“True,” Madame Guioni growled. She seemed to be tiring as the drive wore on. She pointed to one of a reclining woman which they were passing. “That is said to be nearly four hundred years old. The figure is called ‘Fidelity.’ “
“Four hundred years is not really ancient in Rome,” Della said.
“It is rather new,” Madame Guioni agreed. “We have fountains here nearly two thousand years old. So many of them! The Italians love to see water flowing, spraying or just filling a fountain. At the Villa Borghese there is a rabbit’s nose which spouts water, at another place water pours out of the muzzle of a bronze wolf. And let us not forget outside the Pantheon, where water flows from a number of grotesque masks!”
“You are right,” she said. “I had not noticed it before.”
“An obsession,” Madame Guioni said. “If only they all spouted Guioni wine I should be richer than I am. But then one must not complain!”
“Certainly not,” she said.
Madame Guioni stared at her. “You look pale, my dear. Are you not well?”
Apologetically, she said, “I usually sleep in the afternoon. I fear I’m tired.”
“So am I,” the ugly woman said at once. She called to the driver and said, “The Palazzo Sanzio at once.” Then she slumped back in her seat.
Della was grateful when the carriage pulled up before the palace. She thanked the older woman extravagantly. “It was such a nice treat,” she said.
Madame Guioni smiled modestly. “I felt you might like it. I forgot to enquire about your peculiar aunt, and that darling young British lawyer, and that nice Prince I saw you with the other evening, and of course dear Prince Sanzio. Is the poor old man managing to pay his bills?”
Vintage Love Page 85