“For what?”
“Placing you in danger for nothing!”
“You were in the same danger.”
“It was my idea,” she said.
He nodded. “Well, now you know one thing. You won’t be hearing from Father Anthony again.”
“I had come to like him a little in spite of his being so evil,” she said.
“You might have liked him less had he used that thumbscrew on you.”
She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
“Consider yourself lucky he’s dead.”
“I still see him stretched out there! That awful look on his face.”
“Strangulation is not the most pleasant of deaths,” the young Prince said in a return to his cynical good humor.
She glanced at him wryly. “At least that explodes one of my theories.”
“Which one?”
“That Father Anthony was a disguised Brizzi.”
“It was likely Brizzi who killed him.”
“You think so?”
“They were working closely. Then Father Anthony must have worked with Brother Louis to double-cross our superthief.”
“And so he settled with them both,” she said grimly.
“It would seem so,” Raphael agreed. “Brizzi has the reputation of being a coldblooded killer as well as a thief of great ability.”
“Now what?” she asked.
“New contest for the Madonna, I suppose. Between Brizzi and Barsini.”
“Don’t forget Gregorio,” she cautioned him.
He gave her a wary look. “Gregorio may be a giant in size but he is small in influence. He is merely a hired man for Barsini.”
“Rather wealthy to be a hired hand,” she said.
“Gregorio, like Barsini, isn’t in the game for money. It is the thrill he is seeking. That is typical of the Satanists. Of Irma as well, since she joined them.”
“Which brings us back to the question, is she being held by Barsini or is she merely hiding out with him?”
“That I would not venture to guess,” Raphael told her.
“I wish we knew,” she said thoughtfully.
They reached the palace and avoided direct questioning by either Count Sanzio or Della’s aunt. Raphael decided to go home but before he did, she reminded him they had a date for late that evening.
The young Prince looked at her aghast. “You’re not still planning to go to the opera?”
“Of course,” she said. “I want to see Gregorio and ask him some questions.”
“Can you honestly think he’ll answer?”
She said, “I’ll have you there to encourage him. You might bring some sort of pistol if you have one.”
He stared at her incredulously. “You’re inciting me to violence.”
“Would you call it that? I’d say it was an attempt at self-protection.”
“Haven’t you seen enough effects of violence for one day?”
“What happened this morning makes me all the more determined to bring that murderous crew to justice,” she said.
Raphael hesitated. “Perhaps we should turn things over to the police. This is beginning to get beyond us.”
“I will if you like.”
“You know Gregorio is violent. And he raped you that night at the villa!”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” she said grimly. “I mean to settle that debt.”
“And I suppose you’ll threaten to go after him on your own if I don’t agree to help you?”
“Yes, I think I may.”
“I’ll return for dinner,” he said with a resigned sigh. “And then on to the opera and maybe death!”
A day which had begun in a strange, melodramatic way was destined to continue in that mold. Della was still suffering from her experience in the catacombs. The murder of Father Anthony gave everything a new twist. She had hoped to learn something about the Madonna from the stout prelate. Now he had been silenced forever. The big problem was what to do next.
It was her belief that Gregorio could tell them whether Irma was a prisoner of Barsini. She had not seen her twin since that night when they’d both attended Barsini’s Satanist orgy. So she had every reason to think that Irma was still being held there. Not that she could ever expect Barsini to admit it.
The whole business seemed to revolve around the belief that the Madonna which had passed through so many hands must have reached her in London. Thus far the only person she felt she’d really convinced otherwise was the old cardinal and his underling, the serious Father Walker. But this did her little good with all the various villains greedy for the Madonna continuing to think she either had it or knew where it was hidden.
She finally went downstairs and discovered the elderly Prince Sanzio in his wheelchair in the drawing room. He was gazing into the remnants of the last log fire. As he stared at the ashes his wrinkled face betrayed his grim state of mind.
“You look ill!” Della told him.
He glanced at her and his thin hands clenched the arms of the chair. He said, “I do not think we should wait any longer. It is time to bring in the police.”
“They have threatened Irma’s life if we do,” was her reminder.
“That is all that has held me back,” he complained. “This is madness! None of us knows anything about this stolen Madonna!”
“I wish we could make them believe that,” she said.
The old man decided, “I cannot go on like this too much longer.”
“I know,” she sympathized, placing a hand on his shoulder to placate him.
He gave a deep sigh. “I had expected that reuniting you with your lost sister would give me the great happiness that has somehow always eluded me throughout my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I felt something was wrong even before you reached here,” he went on. “Irma changed after meeting that evil Barsini. I felt that he had somehow hypnotized her.”
“She was behaving in a tense manner when I first met her,” Della recalled.
“Raphael should have protected her from Barsini instead of putting her in that villain’s hands,” Prince Sanzio went on angrily.
“I’m sure he meant no harm. It just happened that way.”
The old man in the wheelchair gazed up at her with some concern. “So Raphael has won you over?”
She blushed. “I think he is my friend. A friend to all of us.”
The old Prince eyed her bitterly and advised, “Do not ever be sure of anything. And do not desert your fine, young English lawyer for Raphael. It would be a bad move!”
She was startled that the old invalid would express himself so frankly. She said, “I have no intention of deserting anyone. But Henry is not in Rome at the moment and I need a companion in my search for Irma.”
“Do you feel Raphael is being completely honest with you?”
Astonished by the cynical note in the old man’s question, she faltered for a moment before replying, “Yes. I’m sure I do.”
“Well, I’m not,” was the old man’s grim reply. “I think he knows where Irma is and whether she is a prisoner or not. And it could be he has more knowledge of that stolen Madonna than he has revealed to us.”
She stared at him. “Are you saying that Raphael may also be playing Barsini’s game?”
“I think he could be one of Barsini’s Satanist slaves,” Prince Sanzio said.
She shook her head. “Never!”
“I’d like to see him prove his innocence.”
“I’m sure he will when we attend the Satanist gathering that is scheduled at Barsini’s tomorrow night. I think I will find Irma there.”
The old man frowned. “My advice to you would be not to go near his place.”
“I must,” she said. “And Raphael has promised to come with me.”
“I don’t like any of it!” Prince Sanzio said emphatically.
“What is it you don’t like?” Aunt Isobel had come into the drawing room.
Pri
nce Sanzio said, “Irma being missing and this business about the Madonna of St. Cecilia!”
“If I had my way Della and I would be starting our journey back to England. I feel nothing is to be gained by staying here and keeping ourselves in constant danger.”
Della said, “It’s not all that bad!”
“I say it is,” her aunt defied her. “In fact I’m sure it is actually worse than you guess.”
Prince Sanzio’s white head nodded in assent. “I do not think your niece is alert to the great evil which we are all battling.”
“I agree,” Aunt Isobel said. “My own nerves are in a dreadful state.”
“You’ve allowed yourself to imagine all sorts of nonsense,” Della lectured the older woman.
Isobel pursed her lips. “I have seen what I have seen,” she said tartly. “I have been tormented by the most amazing dreams and I have watched ghostly visitors in the corridors when I’ve been fully awake!”
“Please, Aunt Isobel,” she said, begging her for silence.
“I will have my say,” her aunt insisted. “It is time I told the Prince.”
“Told me what?” he demanded.
She looked at him sternly. “I have seen what I believe to be Irma’s ghost.”
Prince Sanzio returned her angry gaze and then said, “I would not be all that surprised. I think it is a distinct possibility that my dear Irma has been murdered. So you may well have seen her unhappy spirit!”
“I saw something moving about in the corridor again last night,” Aunt Isobel went on. “And I had the most awful nightmare. I dreamt that Father Anthony was murdered.”
Della gasped. “Your dream told you that?”
“Yes,” the prim Isobel went on. “I saw him fall and then come staggering toward me. His eyes were wide and frightened and he seemed to be gasping for breath. Then he collapsed at my feet and I woke up.”
The knowledge that Father Anthony had been murdered only a few hours earlier made it difficult for Della to try and react casually. “I do not think you should place too much importance on dreams,” she managed.
“I disagree,” her aunt replied. “All my life I’ve had a kind of second sight. Call it intuition or what you like, I have often dreamed things which have come true.”
“All of us have done that,” Della said in an effort to pass the awkward moment. “It’s only coincidence that such dreams turn out to be true.”
“No!” Prince Sanzio spoke up from his wheelchair. “I must place myself on the side of your aunt. I have many times had the same experience of predicting things in dreams. In my opinion it happens with many people. I often had the strange experience of entering some building and knowing I had been there before. Then I’d realize that I had dreamed every detail of the place before I ever actually encountered it.”
She shuddered. “With all this talk of second sight and ghosts you’re making me nervous.”
“It is time you were nervous,” Aunt Isobel said. “I say the moment that Henry Clarkson returns from Naples we must get away from here.”
“Only after I have my sister back safely,” Della said.
Aunt Isobel gave her a knowing look and in an even tone said, “I do not think you will ever see that poor girl alive again.”
She was startled but she merely replied, “I surely hope you are wrong.”
She had no thought of confiding the morning’s events to either of the older people, knowing well that if she did they would be in even a worse state and refuse to allow her to continue in her investigations. This must not happen. She excused herself after a while and went upstairs to her room to rest for the evening ahead.
As she stretched out on the canopied bed in the shadowed room her mind was reeling with various speculations. At last she managed to sleep briefly. She came awake with the feeling that someone was in the room with her. She had felt this several times before and had been proven wrong, but she had a sense of urgency this time.
Raising up, she stared about the room and at first thought she’d been in error. Then she saw a movement in one of the heavy, velvet drapes by the wide window. She carefully slid from the bed and crossed to the spot.
Pulling the drape aside, she revealed the tiny figure of Guido standing there. The little man looked more afraid than herself. His wizened face was a picture of misery.
In his shrill, childish voice he protested, “You must not think I mean you any harm!”
Calming a little, she told the little man, “You have to admit your behavior is peculiar. What are you doing in my room?”
“I came here to speak with you!”
Guido made a singular figure in his servant’s livery, his small hands clasping and unclasping feverishly in his misery.
She said, “Why didn’t you knock on the door rather than come in and hide yourself?”
“I did knock on the door and received no reply.”
“So?”
“So I decided to see if the door was open. It was. I came in and saw you on the bed. I thought you were waking and I became confused. I felt you would be angry with me for intruding on you, so I hid behind the drape.”
It sounded logical enough but she didn’t think he had told her the entire truth. She said, “Have you ever come in here before without my knowledge?”
“Certainly not!” Guido said with dignity, his tiny head held high. “I have long been a trusted servant in this house. You may be sure I have in no way abused my privileges.”
“And yet I find you hiding here and spying on me?”
“I have explained that,” he said.
She stared at his wizened little face and felt some compassion for him. She said, “I don’t know what to think of you, Guido.”
“Please do not doubt me,” he begged. “I’m not myself these days. I was very devoted to Princess Irma. I am in agony because of her kidnapping. I feel that I may never see her again!”
She said, “We all share that same agony, Guido.”
“Yes, signorina,” the little man said, gazing up at her with sad eyes. “You resemble her so much I sometimes think I’m seeing her when it is you.”
“Why did you come to speak with me?” she asked.
The little man looked frightened again. He said tensely, “You must not tell the Prince.”
“Tell him what?”
“What I’m about to confide in you,” the little man said. “I found another message this morning. Slipped under the front door.”
She frowned. “What sort of message?”
“I meant to show it to you, signorina,” the little man said unhappily. He searched in his inner pocket until he found it. “It is written in Italian and it says ‘All who are guilty will pay!’ It is unsigned of course!” He handed her the note.
She stared at the plainly scrawled note. She said, “What does it mean?”
Guido was very pale. “I say it is a notice that any of us living here in the palace might be the next victim of an attack. Probably they will strike at Price Sanzio first!”
“But why? He knows nothing about the stolen Madonna.”
“It is the way they work,” Guido fretted. “They will take their toll of all of us until they get what they want.”
She said, “Surely you have no need to fear.”
The midget shook his head. “You do not know them! I have been devoted to the Princess. That will count against me!”
“Let us trust this will soon be settled and you will have no more reason to fear,” she said.
“I cannot believe that,” the little man said in a despondent tone.
“You do not want me to tell the Prince about this?” she asked.
“No. I think it would only needlessly upset him. And after all it was not addressed to him,” Guido pointed out.
“Nor to anyone in particular.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Let it be our secret for the moment. I stop by the room of the Princess every day to make sure the candle before the Madonna is kept burning.”
>
“You have been faithful,” Della told him. “When my sister returns she will thank you.”
“Yes, signorina,” the little man said sadly. “When she returns.” But he said it as if he didn’t expect this to happen.
Guido left the room and she still could not decide whether to fully believe his story or not. She was sure much of it was true. But she wondered that his knock on the door had not wakened her? Or had he knocked. The second message was a disturbing complication. Guido had made her promise not to reveal it to Prince Sanzio but he had said nothing about keeping the news from Prince Raphael.
So she decided to discuss this new development with Raphael when he arrived to escort her to the opera. She did not get an opportunity at dinner, indeed she was not able to confide in him until they were in the carriage on their way to the Opera House.
She told him about the message and Guido’s fears, concluding with, “He feels all the household are in danger.”
Raphael frowned. “It seems that the old Prince ought to be informed.”
“Why? I agree with Guido. It would only worry him needlessly.”
“He would at least be prepared should they move against him.”
She gave him a rueful glance. “How can that helpless old man defend himself? Telling him will only make him feel more frustrated.”
The handsome Raphael sighed. “Perhaps you are right.”
“I know I am about this,” she said. She had been careful to wear a gown of dark gray which would not be too conspicuous. Prince Raphael was in his usual evening dress of white tie and tails. She wished he had worn something more practical.
He said, “I think this plan of tracking down Gregorio is both dangerous and pointless since we plan to lay siege to Barsini’s Satanist meeting tomorrow night.”
“Any information we can get from Gregorio may better prepare us for tomorrow,” she pointed out.
“I do not like it,” the man at her side grumbled as they rode through the dark streets.
“I think it an ideal opportunity to corner him,” she said. “Did you bring a weapon?”
He nodded. “My pearl-handled pistol. I felt it more suitable for the opera than a revolver.”
“A revolver might have been more useful.”
“I know this weapon,” he said.
“Gregorio will be dangerous,” was her warning.
Vintage Love Page 88