Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “So Brother Louis turned the Madonna he and Brizzi had stolen over to Father Anthony.”

  “Exactly. Father Anthony promised him a larger share of the proceeds when it was broken into pieces and sold. It had been their plan to sell the precious stones and the gold separately. The Madonna is of pure gold decorated with a treasure in precious stones. Fabulous enough to attract the most jaded.”

  “Then Brother Anthony turned the Madonna over to Barsini and his group.”

  “Which includes Gregorio and your sister,” the priest said. “Somehow, after Barsini got hold of it and decided to send it to you in London, the Madonna was stolen by someone else. The question is who.”

  “And that someone left the impression that I had actually received it.”

  “To throw the jackals off his trail,” Father Walker said. “With Gregorio finished, it could easily be Barsini’s turn next. Brizzi is vindictive; whether he gets the Madonna back or not he will murder them all!”

  She gave a tiny shudder. “I think I have met him.”

  “Brizzi?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s an old man, sallow with a wispy gray beard.”

  The priest looked grim. “That’s one of his disguises. Actually he is not old but middle-aged. He is a most ordinary-looking person. No one ever notices him when he is not in one of his disguises.”

  She said, “I want to ask you something. This old man told me I should find someone called Pasquale Borgo. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Father Walker showed interest. “I have.”

  “This man I think is Brizzi told me I should find Pasquale Borgo.”

  “Excellent advice,” the priest said. “The unfortunate thing is that nobody has been able to find him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The messenger.”

  “The messenger?” she repeated.

  The priest said, “Yes. The one hired to take the Madonna to you in England.”

  “So he was the one!”

  “Yes. Unhappily he seems to have decided to skip and keep the Madonna.”

  “That must be what happened,” she exclaimed.

  Father Walker studied her with keen eyes from behind his glasses. “Unless the Cardinal is wrong. That you do have it. That Borgo delivered it to you and then something happened to him.”

  “You mean that I arranged for something to happen to him?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Possible but not the truth!” she protested. “I never saw or heard from this Borgo. As far as I know he never came to London.”

  “Barsini still thinks that he did. Which is why he is holding your sister.”

  “But he is wrong!”

  “Do not be upset,” the friendly priest said. “I believe you as much as the Cardinal does. I was only testing you just now.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Please don’t do it again. I have so few friends. I can’t afford to lose them.”

  “Prince Raphael is your friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you mention Pasquale Borgo to him?”

  “I decided not to until I talked it over with you,” she said.

  “That was very wise,” Father Walker said. “Please do not tell him about Borgo.”

  “Why?”

  The young priest shrugged. “Shall we say I have a few reservations about handsome Prince Raphael.” There was irony in his voice as he said this.

  She wrinkled her brow. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Barsini and Raphael have known each other for a long period of time. Raphael introduced your sister to Barsini.”

  “He openly regrets that.”

  “I wonder if he doesn’t protest too much,” the priest said quietly.

  “Are you telling me not to trust Raphael? He has fought this battle with me! Saved my life on occasion.”

  “I merely suggest discretion,” he said. “Assuming that Raphael is truly opposed to Barsini. He still could find himself a captive of that evil man. And he might be tortured into telling anything he knows. Raphael would break easily under torture.”

  “You do not have a good opinion of him, I fear.”

  “I believe I have his measure,” Father Walker said. “So I think it in all our interest that he not be told everything.”

  She pondered on this. Then she said, “How can I work with him if I don’t trust him?”

  “Trust him. But only to a point.”

  “We have a plan to try and get inside Barsini’s villa tonight,” she said. “He is having one of his Satanist gatherings.”

  “Orgies is the proper term.”

  “I agree,” she said. “You know that everyone dons black, cowled robes. Raphael has access to robes. He thinks we can get in.”

  “And?”

  “Then break away from the crowd and try to find my sister,” Della said. “She is bound to be locked up there somewhere.”

  “It sounds likely,” he agreed.

  “Then we hope to escape with her and perhaps she will be able to tell us if Barsini has the Madonna and where he has it hidden.”

  “I do not think he has it,” Father Walker told her. “Unless he intercepted the messenger and killed him and then took the treasure. All the while pretending he knows nothing about it.”

  Della said, “Then there would be no dividing. He would have it alone.”

  “Exactly,” Father Walker said. “Greed for wealth is at the bottom of all this. All have been tainted by it. The only one who cares truly for the Madonna itself is my Cardinal.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “He will be badly upset if it falls into evil hands to be broken and sold in bits.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not sure I like your plan of attempting to get into Barsini’s villa,” the priest said. “There could be great danger in it for you.”

  “And for Raphael if we’re caught.”

  “I think only of you,” the priest said. “I cannot prevent you from doing this. But I can warn you against it.”

  “Our plans are pretty well made.”

  “Think carefully before you go ahead with them.”

  “I will,” she promised. But she knew that she would make the attempt however foolhardy it might be.

  “We come back to Pasquale Borgo,” the priest said. “He is the key to it all. Your strange friend was right.”

  “What sort of man is Borgo?”

  “A failed artist,” Father Walker said with a hint of disgust. “He has wound up being somewhat notorious in Rome for his pen-and-ink studies of erotic nudes. I understand his pornography sells well at modest prices. That is how he became a member of the Satanist group. He is their official artist.”

  “I have seen some of his murals on their meetingplace walls,” she said. “Not pretty!”

  “Pasquale is the sort of man easily bought,” the priest went on. “Barsini selected him as messenger to take the Madonna to you in London. What took place after that is anyone’s guess?”

  She said, “What does this Pasquale Borgo look like?”

  Father Walker gave her a glance of grim amusement. “You gave me an excellent description of him earlier. He is an elderly, sallow man with a wispy gray beard.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wide-eyed, Della gasped, “Are you saying that I have seen Pasquale Borgo. That he is the man who came to my aid more than once?”

  Father Walker shook his head. “No. The man you have seen is Brizzi disguised to resemble the man he murdered.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Part of his clever game to confuse,” the priest said. “Now I fear I must return to the museum. I hope I have been of some help.”

  “You have,” she said earnestly as she rose from the table. “I will remember all you told me.”

  He was on his feet and facing her. “Please remember my warning about your plans for tonight.”

  “I shall,” she said.

  “And be cautio
us about Prince Raphael. Do not place too much dependence on him.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” she promised.

  Father Walker sighed. “I wish I could do more to help. But since I represent the Church I must be extremely discreet.”

  “I understand. It was good of you to talk with me.”

  The priest smiled. “I have my Cardinal’s approval. He has shown great interest in you.”

  “He seems a fine old man, though his dog did terrify me.”

  “Bruno?” Father Walker said with amusement. “The Cardinal has to interview many kinds of people. Bruno is his loyal protector.”

  Della said, “You are enjoying your time in Rome.”

  “Very much,” the earnest priest said. “I had been working in the library. Would you believe that one day I actually touched the manuscript of Dante’s Divine Comedy. Now I’m being transferred to the Pinacoteca, the gallery of art. It is the newest building and it is filled with priceless paintings.”

  Della said, “I wish I were under less pressure and had more chance to enjoy all the wonders of this city.”

  “Perhaps the Madonna will soon be found and this grim business of murders and double-crossing will be at an end,” Father Walker said.

  He saw her to a carriage and then left her as he made his way on foot to the Vatican. She sat back in the open carriage so besieged by troubling thoughts she paid scarcely any attention to the busy streets and the volatile people. She was lost in consideration of what the priest had told her. The most disturbing thing of all was his seeming lack of faith in Prince Raphael.

  She knew Father Walker to be fair and if he were suspicious of Raphael, there must be a sound reason. He did not condemn the handsome young man completely but suggested there was a wide swath of weakness in him. And she realized that she had come to understand this and allow for it. The most severe test of Raphael would come tonight when they attempted to enter Barsini’s villa in search of Irma.

  When Della reached the palace of Prince Sanzio both the old man and Aunt Isobel were following the Roman custom of taking an afternoon siesta. So there was no one to bother her with questions. She went up the broad stairway to the second floor and then some impulse sent her to investigate Irma’s room.

  The old house was strangely still as she went along the shadowy corridor and tried the door. It was not locked and she stepped inside. The first thing she noted was that the candle in the great glass bowl before the Madonna was still burning. Guido was showing his devotion to his mistress by seeing the candle flame was kept alive.

  Della looked around and saw no change, no indication that anyone but Guido had entered the room. Then she went over to the paneled wall to seek out the hidden door to the maze of secret passages which filled the palace. The last time it had been locked against her. But when she pressed on the panel today it swung back. She cautiously entered the dark, cold passage and then made her way down the stone steps to the level where she had wandered through earlier.

  Though the day was warm and sunny it was cold and damp in the hidden passage. She groped her way along and soon found a new corridor and followed it. This led to a short flight of stone steps. She mounted the steps and found herself coming out to a low arched entry to the garden. This was a different part of the garden and there was no walk leading to it directly.

  She could see the other section of the well-kept garden from where she stood. In this section the garden had gone mostly to weeds. But she saw evidence of some fresh flower beds being prepared. The new mounds of earth suggested that additional flowers had been planted and were shortly to increase the beauty of the garden.

  She stared lazily at the adjoining garden with its row of tall, dark green trees. Then she started back. This time when she came to the place where the passage wound about and broke into two directions, she was unable to find the familiar passage which had led her into the concealed area.

  This maze of passages had been installed in more violent days so that no one would be caught in the palace without some means of escape. Raphael had told her that the majority of the majestic palaces of Rome were built with these dark, hidden corridors.

  She was now in deep darkness and began to get a feeling of claustrophobia. Suppose she couldn’t find her way back, that she was to be trapped down here! The mere thought of it increased her fears and she realized her heart had taken on a quicker beat. She halted and tried to recall where she might have made a wrong turn. It did not seem possible that she had, yet here she was in a tunnel unfamiliar to her.

  Then she heard soft footsteps! Footsteps behind her and coming nearer. A chill ran through her as she speculated whose footsteps they might be!

  The footsteps came closer and she drew back against the damp wall waiting for she knew not what. She could still see no one in the near darkness but the sound of footsteps was strangely close!

  Then a familiar voice asked querulously, “Is there someone down here?”

  With a great feeling of relief she recognized the voice as belonging to the midget Guido. And a moment later he came into view with a candle in his tiny hand highlighting his wizened face.

  He stared at her with some annoyance. “Signorina Standish! What are you doing here?”

  She said, “I knew about the secret panel and the passage. I decided to investigate it.”

  Guido glared at her. “Prince Sanzio does not wish anyone to be in these passages.”

  “Why not?”

  “They are far too dangerous,” he said. “Many of them are in poor repair. The brick roofs could cave in and kill you.”

  She had not thought of this before; it was a chilling possibility. She said, “The arch overhead seems solid enough.”

  “Appearance means nothing,” the little man said. “It is the dampness which plays havoc with the lime. There is no warning before the bricks come down.”

  “I had no idea of the danger,” she apologized. “Also it is good you came along. I have lost my way.”

  “That is also easy to do,” Guido said. “And there are openings in the corridor floors at some points, put there by the first builders to trap enemies who might come after them when they were escaping from the house. I know the locations of these drops. But a stranger like yourself could step in one and suffer a six-or seven-foot fall to a sort of dungeon without any avenue of escape.”

  “You frighten me more!”

  “One man at least fell into one of these holes and it was only years later that his skeleton was found. He was identified by jewelry he’d been wearing.”

  “So the secret corrdiors are not in use any longer.”

  “They are supposed to be kept locked,” Guido said, his tone still showing a trace of annoyance. “It was through some mistake you were able to enter.”

  “I shall not do so again,” she promised. “You have told me enough to be sure of that.”

  “Very well,” Guido said sharply. “Follow me and I will get you out of this place.”

  She followed the little man, helped by the light from the candle he was carrying. Within a few minutes they had returned to the main passage and the steps which led up to Irma’s room. When they emerged into the missing girl’s bedroom, Della noted that Guido snapped a lock on the panel as he closed it.

  Later, when she went down for dinner, Prince Sanzio was waiting in his wheelchair at the foot of the stairway. He at once reprimanded her for her audacity in trying to find her way about in the secret passages. “You were most ill-advised,” he said in his old man’s querulous tones.

  “I did not realize the danger,” she told him.

  “You could lose your life in there,” he said.

  “Guido explained it to me,” she told him.

  “Irma used to tease me occasionally by using the secret passages to make a surprise appearance in the gardens. That was long ago when I was able to move about and she was a mere child. I was always upset and gave her many warnings.”

  “I will not attempt such a thing aga
in,” Della said.

  He sighed. “I hope not. The entrances are supposed to be kept locked. I cannot imagine how you managed to open the panel in Irma’s room.”

  “Perhaps someone had used it and neglected to lock it,” she said.

  Prince Sanzio stared at her. “But who? Only a few people know about the existence of that secret doorway.”

  “Irma does,” she said.

  The old man frowned. “We know all too well that Irma has been kidnapped and is in the hands of that villainous Count Barsini!”

  “I sometimes wonder,” she said.

  “Wonder about what?” the old man in the wheelchair demanded.

  “If my sister was kidnapped.”

  “She’s not here!” the old man exclaimed. “We have the ransom note. They want the Madonna!”

  “Could it be some sort of trick?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow your thinking,” Prince Sanzio said testily.

  “I wonder if she might have vanished voluntarily.”

  “Never!”

  “I’m not all that sure,” Della said. “Perhaps Barsini and his crowd have won her over. They all think I know where the Madonna is. And this is their means of getting it from me.”

  “By pretending to hold Irma and threaten her life if the Madonna isn’t turned over to them?” the old Prince said.

  “Yes. That is what I’ve been thinking.”

  “However much Irma has fallen under that evil fellow’s power I do not think she would be a party to anything like that.”

  “But none of us can be sure.”

  The man in the wheelchair reminded her, “There is a time limit. According to their message, she has only about forty-eight hours more to live unless the Madonna is turned over to those Satanist rogues.”

  “I’m aware of the time limit.”

  “And yet we have accomplished little in finding her,” the old man worried. “Perhaps I should have turned to the police.”

  “Part of their threat was that Irma would die at once if you dared do that.”

  Aunt Isobel had apparently overheard them, for she now came down the stairway to stand between Della and the man in the wheelchair. Dressed in somber brown, the old woman was in a mood as gloomy as her dress. She said, “For my part I think Irma is already dead.”