Della replied that all were well and that the Prince was managing nicely. Then she quickly left the carriage. But the ordeal was not yet over: Madame Guioni waved to her girlishly and blew kisses until the carriage was far up the street.
As a result Della entered the palace in a totally unstrung state only to be faced by Prince Sanzio in his wheelchair. The old man had a despairing look on his withered face which told her of new trouble.
Chapter Fourteen
Della asked the old man, “What is wrong?”
“Another message from those villains,” he said in an agitated voice and held up a sheet of notepaper.
She took it and read: “Time is short! Do you wish to see your daughter alive again?”
The white-haired Prince Sanzio was in a more distressed state than ever before. He moaned, “If I were not a cripple I would somehow settle with those people and rescue Irma.”
“I know how you feel,” she sympathized.
“As soon as Raphael returns we must settle on some new plan,” the old man said.
“Every attempt seems to wind up in a dead end.”
“We must persevere,” Prince Sanzio said. “How did you manage with Madame Guioni?”
Della shook her head in mock despair. “I hope she forgets all about me. Being with her was an ordeal. She is a loud, vulgar woman and talks incessantly.”
“And the Guioni Brothers wine is very bad!”
“I have no doubt,” she said. “When do you expect Prince Raphael?”
“In a half-hour,” the old man said. “This latest note came after he left. It has shattered me.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage something.” Della tried to bolster his courage although she knew the chances of recovering Irma were getting slimmer as the days passed. They had not been able to discover anything about the Madonna. And it was the key to the predicament.
She went upstairs and met Aunt Isobel on the landing. The old woman brightened on seeing her. “I’ve been worried all the time you were out.”
“I was perfectly safe,” she said. “Madame Guioni took me for a carriage ride.”
“Is she as obnoxious as ever?”
“Even more so,” Della said. “And she thinks only of herself and her problems.”
“A very strange person,” Aunt Isobel said with a grimace. “You know that the Prince received another message while you were gone.”
“Yes. He told me just now. He’s very upset.”
“Poor old man,” Aunt Isobel sighed. “And the worst of it is I think that poor girl is already dead.”
Della gave her a troubled look. “Please don’t keep on saying that!”
“I think it to be true,” her aunt confided. “Again last night I saw a ghostly figure resembling her. This time in the garden.”
“Are you sure?” Della asked tensely.
“Yes. It was very late. As usual, I was unable to sleep. I was pacing in my room and I happened to look out the window. And I saw her! I know it was Irma!”
Della felt it was useless to argue with the older woman. It appeared that every shadow had turned into a ghost as far as she was concerned. But she did warn her, “Don’t tell the old Prince about seeing the ghostly figure. It would only increase his despair.”
Aunt Isobel said, “I will be descreet. I have no wish to see him suffer.”
Della went on to her room and changed into a lovely pale-green gown which was one of her favorites. She kept thinking about what her aunt had said, and wondering if Irma might be dead. It seemed too tragic that this should happen so soon after she’d found her. When she had her auburn hair properly done in an upswept style she went back downstairs.
Prince Raphael was there in white tie and tails. He gave her an admiring look as he approached him. “I have never seen you look lovelier,” he said. “Your afternoon ride must have been good for you.”
She gave him a wry look. “I can promise you I won’t repeat that mistake. The next time Madame Guioni suggests I meet her I’m going to be busy.”
He smiled, “I take it she was as difficult as ever.”
“More so,” she said. “Where is Prince Sanzio?”
“He is feeling so unwell he has gone to his room,” the Prince said. “It seems we’ll have to excuse him from the dinner table. The note he received has been a bad blow.”
“He is terribly depressed.”
“Not much wonder.”
“Is there anything we can do?” she asked.
“I can think of one thing,” he said.
“What?”
“Go out somewhere to dinner,” the handsome man said. “In a different atmosphere perhaps we’ll pick up some fresh ideas.”
“It seems heartless to go out and leave him,” Della worried.
“He won’t mind,” the young Prince said. “Here we are beautifully dressed with no place to show ourselves off.”
“I’m not concerned with showing myself off at a time like this,” she said. “There is also Aunt Isobel.”
“Guido can serve her in her room, since he is going to give the Prince his dinner the same way,” Raphael said. “Perhaps we may meet someone who’ll be able to help us.”
She gave him a meaningful look. “I know who can best help us.”
“Whom?”
“The police!”
He looked startled. “But we have agreed not to call in the police. Otherwise they’ve promised to kill Irma right away.”
“There are not many days left,” she said. “If we don’t make some progress I’d say we have to risk it.”
“Prince Sanzio would have to be convinced there was no other course.”
“I think even he may agree that we are facing a crisis which we cannot seem to cope with. If we let the time go by without calling in the police it could be too late.”
“Wait another day or two,” the young Prince urged.
“We could then find ourselves with only twenty-four hours left. The police will not thank us for leaving it that late!”
Raphael looked grim. “I doubt if the police can do more than us.”
She gave him a sharp look. “What exactly have we done thus far?”
“We’ve tried to track down leads.”
“And wound up exposing ourselves to danger without gaining anything. We are as far from the truth about the Madonna as we were at the start.”
He said, “You at least know Father Anthony is in with the gang of thieves.”
“If he is truly Father Anthony,” she said bitterly. “And whether he is or not I don’t expect to see him again.”
Raphael said, “I still maintain that getting out of here and having a good dinner in a roomful of people is the best medicine for us.”
He finally convinced her and they took a carriage to an elegant restaurant named Mario’s. It was in the heart of the city and was filled with a fashionable crowd. The headwaiter knew Raphael and greeted him cordially before showing them to an excellent table in a raised section of the establishment. They were seated near a four-piece string ensemble that played pleasant background music for the diners.
Smiling at the young Prince across the table, she said, “I must admit I feel better.”
“You needed this and so did I,” he said.
When they had finished their meal they remained in the high-ceilinged, walnut-panneled room to talk in low tones. The lights had been dimmed and the music continued.
Della confessed, “I feel guilty here enjoying myself when I know my sister is a captive somewhere, threatened with murder. And surely badly treated.”
Raphael said, “She ought to have stayed away from Barsini. Even though I introduced them it did not necessarily follow that she would become his disciple.”
“Perhaps if the police raided his villa they would find her.”
The darkly handsome man shook his head. “Never. The place is a maze of secret passages and escape routes. Barsini would spirit her away under the nose of the police.”
“
I still say Barsini is the one,” she maintained. “And what I have learned bears it out.”
“He was out when I went by today, but I shall try him again,” Raphael said. They continued talking until they were interrupted by the arrival of a voluptuous young woman of twenty or so wearing a revealingly low-cut gown. The girl was blond and beautiful and she knew Raphael.
“My darling!” she said, standing by him.
His face crimson, Raphael at once stood up. “Sophia!” he said.
“I have not seen you for weeks,” the girl said with a teasing smile. “Where have you buried yourself?”
“I have been busy,” he said uneasily. And then he introduced her: “This is Miss Della Standish from England.”
The blond Sophia regarded her with amusement. “Of courre! I remember you! You were at Barsini’s last gathering.”
She said, “I have been told he does not admit to holding such affairs.”
The blonde laughed. “Admit it or not, I know you were there and so was I.”
“I think I remember you,” she said.
“Your twin was our Vestal Virgin that night,” Sophia went on. “How much alike you two are!”
Della quickly asked the girl, “Have you seen her since?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“At Gregorio’s after the gathering,” Sophia said. “She was making love with him when I left.”
Della said, “And you haven’t seen her since?”
“No,” the girl said. “Why should I? It was her night, wasn’t it. Having sex on the altar with the Count and winding up with Gregorio! I wouldn’t mind a night like that!”
Prince Raphael raised his eyebrows. “You would enjoy making a spectacle of yourself? Showing your naked body on the stage and going through the sexual act to titillate the group.”
“I will be the altar virgin at the next gathering,” she said seductively. “You must come and see what a performance I shall give.”
“When is it to be?” Della asked her.
“Night after next,” Sophia said. “Didn’t you get a message?”
“No,” she said.
“You will,” the blonde said, her eyes studying Della with a mocking light in them. “No doubt we’ll meet there.”
“Perhaps,” Rahpael said cautiously.
Sophia said, “Gregorio was boasting about taking both you and your twin in the same night!”
She blushed. “I’m sure he is capable of discussing it.”
“A giant of a man,” Sophia said, relishing the picture of him in her mind. “And wealthy as well. But what do you think he does in his spare time?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“He’s fascinated by the opera,” the blonde confided in a conspiratorial tone. “Can you imagine? He goes there every night he’s free and gives his services as an extra for the crowd scenes.”
“Are you sure?” Della asked.
“I’ve seen him there many times,” the girl said. “I find it hilarious! Think of Gregorio as a spear carrier!” And then she moved on.
Della stared at an unhappy Raphael and asked, “Well, what do you say to that?”
“She is one of Barsini’s girls.”
“Very much so if she’s going to do the altar orgy!”
Raphael looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry she spoke so frankly.”
“I’m not,” she said. “Now we know Barsini is having another of his revels night after tomorrow.”
“So?”
“We must somehow get in there with the other guests and try and find Irma.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You think that will be easy?”
“No. But I’m sure it can be done.”
“You expect me to help you in this mad stunt?”
“I do,” she said. “And I expect you to go with me to the opera tomorrow night and see if we can locate Gregorio there.”
“Suppose he’s not there?”
“At least we will have tried,” she said. “You claimed it might do us good to go out. It has. Now we have two new chances to learn something about where Irma is.”
“Even if we catch up with Gregorio I doubt that he will talk,” Raphael said.
“Are you afraid of him?”
The Prince looked irritated. “No. He may be a giant but I have the reputation of being able to look after myself.”
“I should hope so,” she said. “I only wish Henry Clarkson were here.”
“You think he’d be more help?”
“Perhaps.”
“We shall see,” he said. “So we have our work cut out for us tomorrow night and the one following.”
“You must think up a way for us to get to the orgy,” she said. “You know the house and some of its secret passages.”
“I’ll try,” he said carefully. “I’ll make no giant promises.”
He saw her home and she went to bed that night in a happier frame of mind than on the previous several nights. At least she had some plan now. First they would try to close in on Gregorio and get him to talk, and failing that, they would get to the orgy and explore Barsini’s villa.
She slept lightly and was wakened by what she thought was the door opening. But when she raised herself up in bed to study it with frightened eyes she saw that it was closed. At the same time she was sure she heard a floorboard creak on the other side of the door.
Unable to restrain her curiosity, she quickly got up and, throwing a robe around her, went to the door and flung it open. She was just in time to see a ghostly female figure enter Irma’s room. The sight of the phantom creature made her gasp and remember what Aunt Isobel had told her.
She rushed down the hallway and opened the door to Irma’s room just in time to see a hidden door in the opposite wall of the room closing. She noted that the candle in the wide glass container was burning before the plaster Madonna. She went to the spot where she was sure she had seen motion and began feeling the wood paneling which covered the wall halfway to the ceiling.
She had no luck until she pressed both hands on a section of the walnut paneling and suddenly the secret door swung back, revealing a dark corridor.
She felt the chill, damp air of the dark corridor and found herself trembling. She’d been told that the house had its share of secret passages, yet she had never found one before. Her good judgment told her to venture no farther but her curiosity overwhelmed any caution. She went to the dresser and found a taper. She lit it and went back to the secret entrance.
She knew she had seen someone or something in the hall. And whoever it was had certainly vanished by means of this hidden passage. She did not wish to believe she was stalking the supernatural, that it was the ghost of her sister she had seen. But she knew there was some eerie truth behind the facts.
Slowly she moved into the dark secret passage and found it was of the same stone as the old palace’s exterior. It was much damper than the interior of the palace and it smelled of being shut off for ages. She came to a turn and a stone stairway which twisted around as she descended it. The walls of the stairway were wet. She held the candle, fiercely not wanting to be left in the dark in this terrifying place.
She came to the bottom of the winding stone steps and was again in a low corridor of stone. This led her to a door. She hesitated and then cautiously opened the door and found herself in still another passage. She closed the door behind her and stood there a moment.
As she hesitated she suddenly heard a click behind her. She was certain that someone had turned a key in the door and made her a prisoner. She turned and tried the iron door handle. It would not turn now. She knew she had been right. She was trapped!
Ahead lay dark shadows and no promise of any exit. If she were in a dead-end tunnel she could picture herself dying of thirst and hunger while whoever had turned that key would wait silently, knowing that time was his aide.
Sick with fear and shivering from the cool of the deep, dark place, she moved along. The tiny candle flame flickered
several times and threatened to go out. In spite of her fear she pressed on. And when she least expected it the tunnel turned again and she came to a set of stone steps rising up six or seven feet.
There was no escape; she had to mount the steps. And when she had gone halfway up she saw a trapdoor above her. With the candle still in one hand she used all her strength to lift the door. The first time it would only go so far, then she pushed a bit harder and swung it back all the way.
A musty storage room was revealed to her. She came up the rest of the steps and used the candle to inspect the room. It was filled with ancient furniture and paintings thick with dust lay against the walls. Flung across a broken chair was a brilliant red cloak. She lifted it and smelled it and recognized the perfume Irma had habitually worn still clung to the cloak.
It was a strange find and she did not know what it meant or what to do about it. She decided to close the trapdoor after her, keep the cloak as evidence of her discovery, and attempt to get out of the storage room by some other means.
After she’d lowered the trap door she went to the room’s windows and saw that they were shuttered on the inside. The shutters were locked. She went to the single door and she was not too surprised when on opening it she found herself in a hall at the rear of the ground floor of the palace.
She had covered all this area of the house by means of secret stairways and passages. And the ghostly creature who had sent her on this strange trail must have used the same path of escape. But there had been someone else involved! Someone who had locked that door shut after her. Who? Had it been a human hand or had the ghost been responsible. Irma’s ghost!
Della preferred to believe this was all part of the dark business of the stolen Madonna. That there were members of the criminal gang at work in the old palace. The house was deathly still as she made her way back up the main stairway to her bedroom. Now she knew that Aunt Isobel had not been all that wrong. She had really seen a mysterious figure.
She waited until Prince Raphael arrived the next morning and then took him up to her room to show him the cloak. She said, “What do you make of that?”
He took it with a scowl on his handsome face. “It is surely one of Irma’s,” he agreed.
“I found it in a storage room. Her perfume is still noticeable on it. As if she’d just flung it aside.”
Vintage Love Page 86