Henry said, “Did the paper say if there would be a police investigation of the Prince’s death?”
“No,” Madame Guioni replied with disdain. “In my opinion it will be hushed up. They do that for royalty, however impoverished.”
Della found her voice to ask, “You think he may have been on a yacht?”
“That is what the newspaper story suggested,” the ugly widow Guioni said. “Prince Raphael traveled with a racy set. He was often in company with the rich. Some of the newly rich like to have titles around them and pay for it. And the Tiber has a host of pleasure yachts.”
“It sounds likely,” Henry said, glancing at Della to see how she was taking it.
Della interpreted his gesture and said, “It’s all right. I’m over the worst of it now.” And to Madame Guioni she went on to explain, “Your news was shattering. I spent a good deal of time in Raphael’s company.”
“Of course! I’d forgotten,” the older woman said. “Do forgive me, my dear.”
“I’m over the shock,” she said. “And, of course, I’m grateful to you for telling us. It might have been more upsetting to learn of it some other way.”
Madame Guioni was sympathetic. “You mustn’t worry, my dear. People like Prince Raphael often do things like that. I’m sure no one in his social set will think anything of it.”
Henry said, “It will also be a shock to Prince Sanzio.”
“Ah, yes,” Madame Guioni said. “And he is such an old man now. With nothing but poverty in his background. Creditors constantly hound him, I’m told.”
Della wanted to hear no more. She got up and said, “We must get back to the palace.”
“So nice to see you again,” the gaudy Madame Guioni said. “Do you think you will remain in Rome much longer?”
“At this moment it is difficult to tell,” she said.
“If you do stay let me know,” Madame Guioni said. “I do want to have a party for you. Let you meet the right people. Everyone wants to attend my parties! Everyone!”
“Thank you,” she said, coolly polite and anxious to be rid of the woman. “You are very kind.”
Madame Guioni beamed on her. “Not at all, my dear. I simply delight in having parties. And do give my love to Prince Sanzio! The poor old thing!”
“Let us get away from here,” Della said between her gritted teeth as she tugged at Henry’s arm and started him walking away from the formidable woman.
Henry said, “I’ve never seen you so angry.”
“I detest that horrible old woman,” Della said in a rage. “How dare she talk about Raphael and Prince Sanzio in that manner?”
“She is completely without feeling,” Henry said. “You must have seen that from our first meeting with her in the train.”
“When she tried to bully poor Father Anthony! At least he was a match for her!” Della fumed on.
“He’s dead too,” Henry said. “We seem to be losing acquaintances at a fast rate.”
They slowed their pace when they were a safe distance from the arrogant woman. Della said bleakly, “Most of them have been murdered because of the Madonna.”
“Do you think Raphael was murdered?”
“I’m sure of it,” she said. “He probably had some sort of quarrel with Barsini.”
“And Barsini had his wrists slit and then threw him into the Tiber?”
“Raphael would never slit his own wrists. He had a horror of physical hurt.”
“So another of the thieves has been eliminated.”
“Yes,” she said. “Without Barsini being suspected.”
“Who next?” he wondered.
“A good question,” she said. “Maybe you or I.”
Henry nodded. “We are targets for them.”
“Maybe Irma.”
“Isn’t Barsini in love with her?”
“She has been his mistress,” Della said bitterly. “There is a difference. Especially when he’s probably had sexual relations with all the women in his group.”
“You tried to help her.”
“And it ended with her saving me.”
“What now? Does this change any of your plans?”
“I’m more anxious than ever to locate Pasquale Borgo if that is possible.”
“My latest word from the lawyers was to come by their office tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t want to wait that long,” she complained. “But I suppose I must.”
“You know these Italians,” Henry said. “They take their own time doing anything.”
“Except the Barsinis,” she said with a deep sigh. “We better get home and see if Prince Sanzio has heard the news.”
All the way back she remained silent, thinking of Raphael and finding it impossible to think of him as dead. She had every reason to hate him, he had betrayed her in the most reprehensible fashion. Because of him she had found herself standing naked on a stage before a group of Satanists. She would have been publicly raped had not Irma come to take her place!
Yet she found herself remembering the good times she’d had with the handsome young Prince. When he wished, Raphael could be charming. Yet he had been caught up in all of Barsini’s corrupt activities and he was too weak to get away from the group. It had been almost inevitable that he would come to some sort of violent end.
Her last glimpse of him had been in that room at the villa. He’d wound up looking shamefaced and talking utter nonsense. After that she would have found it impossible to have any respect for him. But she was sad to know he had met such a sordid end. He might have been salvaged.
When they arrived at the palace it was Guido who let them in and hurriedly showed them the newspaper. “A terrible business, Signorina Standish.”
“It is all of that,” she agreed.
“You see the story,” the midget said, excitedly pointing a finger to the paper.
All Della could make out were the words “Prince Raphael.” The rest of the article was lost on her. She said, “How is Prince Sanzio taking it?”
“Badly,” the little man said. “I’m sure he is terribly worried about the Princess Irma. After all, she has not yet returned.”
Della said, “She is with Barsini.”
“They think Prince Raphael fell in the river from a yacht,” the midget said. “Barsini owns a yacht! It is well known!” His wizened face was a study in misery.
She said, “I must go to the Prince.” She left Guido in his upset state and Henry followed her. They found the old Prince seated in his wheelchair staring disconsolately out the front window of the great living room. He did not turn or show any other emotion as they approached.
Della knelt before him. “We heard the news and came hurrying back!”
Prince Sanzio had the pallor of a man about to collapse. He stared at her with tormented eyes. “I shall never see my lovely Irma again!”
“You must not give up hope,” Della told him.
“That is wrong,” Henry agreed, standing behind her.
Prince Sanzio looked dreadfully old and weary. He said, “She is with Barsini. I have no question in my mind he had Raphael murdered.”
She said, “The papers term it a suicide.”
“Never!” the old Prince said. “You know as well as I do Raphael would never do that.”
“I would not expect it of him,” she admitted. “But no matter what has happened to him it doesn’t follow that Irma will meet a similar fate.”
“Anyone close to Barsini is in great danger!”
“I know that,” she said. “Henry and I are still trying to discover certain things. If we are successful we may be able to rescue Irma and end this nightmare.”
“What sort of things?”
“They have to do with the stolen Madonna,” Henry said.
The old Prince looked angry. “I do not care about the Madonna. I only care about the beautiful girl I raised as my own daughter.”
“We understand,” she said. “And we will try to help.”
Th
e old man looked at her and said, “All this began with the discovery of that letter! The letter which told of Irma’s family! We would have been better off if we had never received that information! If you had never come to Rome!”
Della was taken back. “I’m sorry you feel that way!”
The old man’s manner changed at once. He reached out a thin hand and gently caressed her auburn hair. “Please, it is not I who am saying such things! I’m half mad with fear for my darling. I did not mean it. I take pleasure in just looking at you, so much do you look like her.”
“It is all right, Prince,” she said quietly. “We know what a strain you are under.”
“I’m debating whether to call the police and see if they can bring her back,” he said.
Henry frowned. “That might be dangerous. If Barsini thinks she knows too much about his evil doings he’d arrange to have her die in some convenient accident before the police could make her talk.”
The old man in the wheelchair looked stunned. “You are right,” he said. “Barsini will not stop at anything now. He is a desperate man!”
“He is,” Della said. “And a greedy one! We hope to trap him through his greed!”
“Only bring my daughter safely back to me,” Prince Sanzio said.
They left him still filled with bleak despair. It was then she decided she wanted to return to the Vatican again and ask Father Walker’s opinion of what had happened. She was also anxious to have the priest meet Henry.
But before they went out again she had to placate Aunt Isobel. The old woman was in bed in her room with smelling salts in her hand. When Della came in to see her the old woman said, “We are all doomed!”
“Nonsense!”
Aunt Isobel glared at her. “Tell that to your close friend Prince Raphael!”
Della said, “I know his death has been a blow to you. We are all of us shocked.”
“I’m a good deal more than shocked,” the old woman said. “I’m terrified. I hate this old house. We have had only bad luck since we’ve been in it.”
Soothingly she promised, “We shall soon be leaving for home.”
“I have heard that before,” Aunt Isobel said. “You have Henry Clarkson to console you! I have no one!”
“We are both ready to help you!”
Her aunt touched the smelling salts to her nose and then demanded, “Where are you off to now?”
“I want to see Father Walker at the Vatican Museum.”
“And so you’re both running off to leave me alone with that mad old Prince and that wretched little Guido. He is insane also. All morning he’s been puttering about in the back garden. A fine time to plant flowers when all this is happening!”
Della said, “He probably went out to try and keep busy and not think about it.”
“As for that Irma, I know she is dead, I have seen her ghost many times,” Aunt Isobel said defiantly.
Della kissed the irate old woman good-bye and made no attempt to calm her further. As she was on her way out Aunt Isobel called after her, “I refuse to be murdered! I’m not going to leave this bed until we leave for England.”
“Yes, Aunt Isobel,” Della said patiently and went on out.
• • •
In the carriage taking them to the Vatican, Henry asked, “What did your aunt have to say?”
“A little of everything,” she sighed. “She’s terribly afraid.”
“I can understand that,” he said.
She gave him a knowing look. “And from what she said I guess she’s aware that we are sleeping together.”
Henry crimsoned. “I don’t care! I’m not leaving you in there alone.”
She gave him a wan smile. “I wasn’t complaining, just letting you know in case she says something to you.”
When they reached the Vatican she went straight to the museum where Father Walker was employed. She found the same elderly brother at the reception desk.
She told the old man, “I have come again to speak with Father Walker.”
The gray-haired brother smiled at her in friendly fashion. “Ah, yes, the English lady.”
“Miss Standish,” she said.
The brother nodded. “I forgot the name, forgive me, I’m an old man.”
“It is all right,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” the old man said. “You will not be able to see Father Walker today.”
“Oh?” She was disappointed.
“He is not here,” the elderly brother explained.
“Is he in Rome?” she asked.
The brother nodded. “Yes. In fact he is confined to his room. I understand he suffered a slight accident and will need a little time to recover.”
She felt the familiar fear rising up in her. “What sort of accident?”
“I really have no idea,” the elderly brother apologized. “But be sure he will be at his post again as soon as he is well enough.”
She stood there frustrated. Then she asked, “There is no chance of visiting him at his room?”
“I fear not,” the brother apologized. “That would not be permitted.”
“I see,” she said. “If you should see him or know anyone who will be visiting him, tell him Miss Standish called and she wishes him a speedy recovery.”
The brother bowed politely. “I shall most surely do that,” he said.
They went outside again and Henry asked, “What did you make of that?”
“I’m frightened,” Della said candidly.
“You think something may have happened to him? I mean some violence.”
“I’m afraid so,” she worried. “The Church can be most discreet.”
“You mean there might be more to it than that old brother was willing to reveal?”
“Yes.”
Henry stared off across the square. “You could be right.”
“I’m sure of it,” she said. “After all, he has been working at finding the Madonna. Taking the same chances as we.”
Henry eyed her with concern. “You think he may have gotten himself murdered?”
“I pray not,” she said. “Raphael was one thing, losing a man like Father Walker would be another.”
“I know what you mean.”
Her eyes were filled with tears. “He saved my life more than once.”
Henry took her by the arm. “Let us stroll in one of the gardens a little.”
“All right,” she said. “Gardens seem to be a universal answer to stress. Aunt Isobel said that Guido went out to putter around in the back garden after he read about Raphael in the newspaper. She thought it mad of him.”
“On the contrary,” Henry said. “I think it a wise thing to do.”
They sat on a bench in a deserted garden with a lovely fountain protected by a wall of tall, dark green trees. There were times when neither of them said anything for a long interval. Della felt they had reached a point close to mental and physical exhaustion.
Suddenly she turned to him and said, “Let us have dinner somewhere by ourselves. I can’t face going back to the palace.”
“If you wish,” Henry said.
“Prince Sanzio and Aunt Isobel are both bound to be taking dinner in their rooms. We won’t be missed!”
‘Then there’s no reason why we shouldn’t find a good restaurant and enjoy the evening.”
She sighed. “Too many memories of dinners with Raphael. And the Prince mourning as if my sister were already dead.”
“I agree, it is depressing,” Henry said.
“Perhaps after we hear from the lawyers tomorrow we can make some headway,” she said, searching for something to be optimistic about.
They left the Vatican gardens and went back to the commercial section of the old city. They had. drinks at a hotel frequented mostly by tourists and then moved on to the magnificent Restaurant Palazzi. It was a huge place much like the older, more sedate London eating places of renown. Many of the patrons were in evening dress so the headwaiter placed them in a suitably r
emote table where they would not be much noticed.
They were on a balcony above the main restaurant and almost immediately below them a string orchestra played pleasant dinner music on a small stage. They had arrived at eight, early by Roman standards, and by the time they were finishing an excellent meal of roast lamb at ten, the place had become crowded.
The music and the excitement of the place made her feel a little less depressed. Henry, aware of her unhappy frame of mind, worked hard to keep the conversation pleasant. She was grateful for this and felt guilty that she wasn’t a better dinner partner.
The orchestra began a favorite waltz and she smiled at Henry across the table and said, “Let us dance! I adore that music!”
They went down below and, feeling slightly self-conscious among the more elegantly clad dancers, thoroughly enjoyed a long waltz. Della found herself wishing that life might always be like this, a pattern of measured beauty in which one could submerge oneself.
The dance ended and they went back up the narrow flight of stairs to the balcony. They were barely seated at their table when Della happened to glance across at the opposite balcony and saw a familiar face which at once made her uneasy.
Turning to Henry, she said, “Across from us in the balcony and standing in the background there is a man!”
He glanced across the room and then said, “You mean the thin fellow with the wispy gray beard?”
“Yes!” she said. “That’s the man I believe to be Brizzi!”
“The one who stole the Madonna in the first place?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “He rescued me from Barsini’s henchman. He thinks I’ll lead him to the Madonna.”
“Apparently he’s been following us today,” Henry decided.
“He must have seen us at the Vatican Museum,” she said. “And the fact he was there makes me worry all the more about Father Walker.”
“What do we do?”
“Get out of here as quickly as we can and try and lose him!”
Henry glanced across at the other balcony again. “He seems to have gone.”
Still agitated, Della said, “He likely saw that we were staring at him and has moved somewhere else. But I’d be willing to wager he is still watching us.”
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