Marjorie Bowen

by Marjorie Bowen

  She turned over the drawers in reckless haste; she found Visconti's seal and one of his signet rings, and slipped them both into her gown—still she could not find the keys. The Duke's pass-keys that unlocked every door.

  The seal and the parchment were much—but the keys would be everything. They were not within the bureau; she rifled it once again—no, they were not there.

  She turned away in vexation, and stood a second irresolute.

  These rooms, deserted, yet so full of their owner, were terrifying. Valentine was sick with fear—still, she must have those keys.

  Hastily she turned over every article in the room, left as Visconti had left them—books, papers, ornaments.

  There were no keys there.

  She looked into the antechamber, that was bare and empty; she knew it too well to suppose what she sought could be hidden there.

  In desperation she retraced her steps and stood again within the second room. An impulse made her lift the arras, and she beheld another door; and another still; they were either side Visconti's empty seat. She tried one: it opened immediately on a black marble stairway, and she closed it again with a thrill.

  Frantically, she opened the other door; held to her courage desperately, and crossed the threshold. The room was panelled in black and scarlet, floor and ceiling inlaid with gold and black.

  A great mirror hung opposite the door; either side a table, covered with a collection of articles left in utter confusion. Valentine turned them over in frantic haste; there were laces and rings, jewels and curios, gloves, and strangely carved bottles. She handled the last carefully—she knew not what they might' contain.

  Still there were no keys.

  Valentine, fast losing nerve, felt that she had been in these rooms for hours, the silence and suggestion oppressed her till she could have screamed—but she had risked too much to retreat.

  There was an inlaid bureau, and a coffer beneath it; she opened the bureau and sought again; rings, dagger, treasures from della Scala's collections, uncut gems, powders, scents, rosaries, charms, missals—only no hint of what she looked for.

  On top of the coffer was a roll of drawings, the plans of the new church, several parchments, petitions, specimens of marble from the new quarries, carvings, mail gauntlets—Valentine swept them off on to the floor, and then threw the coffer open.

  It was full of-clothes—upon the velvet of the topmost mantle lay the small bunch of master-keys.

  Valentine grasped it, and hid it in the little pocket at her side.

  She had all she needed now, and was turning in relief to go, when, struck by another thought, she bent again over the coffer, lifted the contents out on to the floor.

  Visconti's doublets were mostly too splendid for her purpose, but she seized the plainest, wrapped it in her mantle, snatched one of his daggers from the table. Then making rapidly through the rifled room, with a breathless prayer of gratitude for safety, she stealthily pushed open the door on to the balcony, and saw the sunlight and her page's eager face.

  'Shut the door,' she whispered. 'Climb up and shut the top bolt.'

  The boy obeyed.

  'No one has been?'

  'No, lady; you have been quick.'

  'Quick!' gasped Valentine. 'I thought I had been years.'

  She unclasped her mantle and gave it to the boy. 'Take that back to my room—say I was too hot—give it to Costanza—she alone is in my confidence, as thou knowest; let no one stop thee—and listen—by tomorrow we shall be outside the gates'

  The page turned away with her mantle on his arm, and Valentine leaned against the wall, and with her hand upon her heart, took a moment to steady herself; then with excited eyes, but even steps, she too walked slowly along the balcony toward the banqueting hall.

  'The Duke has not returned,' said de Lana.

  He spoke a little anxiously, arid looked around at the others who filled the council chamber, a few nobles, and the principal captains of the army and the mercenaries who defended Milan.

  'Meanwhile, from whom do I take my orders? Who commands in Milan?'

  'I cannot answer you, my lord,' said Giannotto. 'The Duke left no orders, at least with me.'

  'The Duke expected not to be gone so long,' said Martin della

  Torre. 'And ill it will be for him if he stays too long.'

  'Meanwhile,' cried de Lana again, 'to whom are we to look?' The two pages announced the Lady Valentine.

  The men glanced at one another.

  'The Lady Valentine,' repeated Giannotto to de Lana. 'She may tell us what to do.'

  Not that he did not well know what terms of jeopardy she stood on with the Duke—but it was a shifting of responsibility that he welcomed.

  All in the room rose to their feet to greet Valentine.

  She was leaning on Orleans' arm, Adrian and her women following.

  She looked regal, glorious. There was a fine colour in her cheeks.

  De Lana kissed her hand. She did not wait for him to speak, her eyes wandered over the assembled faces.

  'I have not come before, my lords,' she said, 'because I thought the Duke might at any moment be again among us; but now, hearing you were gathered here and that there was some question of the Duke's pleasure in his absence as to who should issue orders for him, I am come to answer it in person.'

  She drew nearer the head of the table, Orleans dropping a step behind.

  'My lords, the Duke left me in power; in any absence he may make, enforced or at his pleasure, I rule in Milan.'

  'You, lady!' cried Giannotto, the words forced from him in his great surprise.

  'I,' answered Valentine. 'Though I am no man—I am a Visconti. Has not the Duke left me in charge before, de Lana?' She turned to the captain as she spoke.

  'In the late war with Florence—yes, lady.'

  Valentine smiled.

  'Still, I need not ask you to believe me on that only—lest any should be doubtful, I have proofs.'

  'Methinks they are needed before we take the law from thee, lady,' said Martin della Torre, roughly.

  Valentine looked at him. 'What is this, Lord della Torre?' And she laid Visconti's signet ring and seal upon the table. Giannotto choked his wonder back.

  'Does the Duke give these to any save those he trusts—and these?' She showed the keys lying on her open hand: the key of the armoury, the treasury, the prisons: the master-keys of the whole palace.

  'He gave them to me—when, Adrian?'

  'Yesterday morning, lady.'

  'Yesterday morning. Had he not left too hastily even for speech, he would have made it public; doubtless he thought you would accept my word—and these proofs'

  There was silence.

  'Are you convinced, lords?' asked Valentine.

  'I am,' said Giannotto, bowing to hide the twinkle in his ugly eyes; and the others, each according to his fashion, murmured an assent.

  'And now I will take upon me my brother's duties,' continued Valentine. 'For you, de Lana, I have no commands; only look well to the arming of the walls, let not my brother say we were idle in his absence; I would have the soldiers in readiness to guard against a surprise—and meanwhile I ask your company.' De Lana bowed.

  'On a visit to della Scala's wife. She is a priceless hostage, and ill would it suit with our safety even if aught befell her.'

  'You would visit her yourself, lady?'

  'Aye, myself, since with me lies the power and so the responsibility, and I would not shirk it. Lords,' she continued generally, 'we can do little else but wait—only hold yourselves in readiness—for the Duke's sake and the honour and security of Milan!'

  She put her hand on Orleans' arm again and left the room, followed by de Lana and Giannotto.

  'Now, I had almost forgot, my lord,' she said, pausing with a smile. 'My page, his sister and his brother, would leave Milan tomorrow for Brescia—what for, Adrian? Indeed, I have forgot—but I have the Duke's permission, and would only ask your countersign upon this passport.'

>   She spread before the captain a parchment bearing Visconti's signature.

  'This is no time to be leaving Milan, boy,' said de Lana. 'Our father is sore sick at Brescia,' returned Adrian. 'Dying, my lord.'

  De Lana smiled.

  'A long and dangerous journey to make for a sick father.'

  'There is money in the matter for these children, and it is my pleasure,' said Valentine.

  De Lana bent over the parchment, and affixed his name, and in that second, Valentine glancing at Giannotto, their eyes met and the secretary understood. He had meant to hasten to Visconti's rooms; he meant not to now. De Lana gave the parchment back, and Valentine handed it to Adrian.

  'And now, Lord Orleans, will you come with us to Isotta's prison?'

  'Truly,' said de Lana, 'the lady is as firmly guarded as at any time. I have looked to that.'

  'Desperation is a great sharpener of the wits, my lord,' smiled Valentine Visconti. 'When life and liberty are at stake, the weakest will venture—and accomplish much.'

  'Indeed, I think with the lady,' put in Giannotto, 'that too much zeal cannot be shown for anything so near to the Duke's heart as this.'

  De Lana shrugged.

  We will go, lady.'

  Half an hour later Giannotto and the captain waited in the guard-room of Isotta's prison.

  Valentine, one of her women, and the page, had entered the prison itself. The Duke's signet had passed through all the formidable barriers. It was late, almost dark.

  'This shows a malice in the lady I do not like,' said de Lana. 'What need she to triumph over her brother's victim?'

  'She is a Visconti,' returned the secretary. 'She has something of the Duke's temper and his strangeness—there may be in it curiosity also.'

  'Curiosity?'

  'To behold for herself if Isotta d'Este be as fair as she is—to spy into her brother's treatment of his prisoners.'

  'Have you seen the lady, my lord?'

  'I? Never,' replied de Lana. 'Nor do I greatly care to.' Giannotto made no reply; he felt unusually placid and content. He saw plainly enough that Valentine was outwitting her brother, and as he hated the Duke and admired his sister, he would help her with all his power as long as he ran no risks. Visconti had not left him in charge—and for asking no untimely questions, Valentine would reward him well.

  With some excitement he awaited her return.

  'She is a long time,' said de Lana impatiently.

  'She has her brother's daring,' thought Giannotto. 'And yet—she would hardly dare that—hardly.'

  The door of Isotta's prison was opened and Valentine came out, followed by her attendants—dark-cloaked figures keeping in the shadow. Adrian closed and bolted the door behind them as she slowly stepped down into the room.

  'The prisoner is sick,' said Valentine. 'Not dangerously so, I hope; we would not have her die in my brother's absence. She has fallen asleep and must not be disturbed. Where is her woman?'

  Luisa shuffled forward.

  'You will not rouse your prisoner until my return with a physician,' she continued. 'She sleeps. I will return or send; till then let no one pass those doors, nor you yourself.'

  The page and Valentine's two women still stood on the steps in the shadow.

  'Come,' said Valentine suddenly. 'Much as I am relieved to see my brother's hostage in such security, this is gloomy, dark—come, Costanza.'

  The two ladies moved forward, one weeping sadly, keeping her hands to her face.

  The poor lady hath unnerved her,' said Valentine with a sharp word of reproof, and she crossed to Orleans.

  'Now it seems to me,' said de Lana to Giannotto, 'that only one lady entered with the Princess.'

  'Your eyes deceived you,' smiled Giannotto. 'I am trained to watch; I saw two enter.' De Lana was silent. The two ladies had joined the few others left by the outer door, the soldier kept his eyes upon the one who wept.

  Valentine was talking gaily to Orleans, and led the way across the garden. 'On your life I charge you to guard the prisoner,' she said to the captain and the soldiers. 'She means more to the Duke than his own life almost—more certainly than any other,' she added meaningly.

  De Lana, watching keenly, still kept his eyes, as they crossed the garden, upon that second lady, who puzzled him, and with a soldier's indiscretion he whispered his fears to Giannotto.

  'My Lady Valentine,' said the secretary smiling, 'my lord here thinks you entered the prison with one lady and came out with two!'

  Valentine laughed.

  'And who, think you, was my second woman, then, lord? Isotta d'Este? Nay, I will satisfy you.'

  'Indeed, lady,' began de Lana hastily, but Valentine cut him short.

  'Come here, Costanza.'

  The girl came forward.

  'Now hold the torch higher, Adrian,' laughed Valentine. The light fell on Costanza's face.

  'Is that Isotta d'Este, Giannotto?' she asked.

  'Nay,' smiled the secretary.

  'Now, Giulietta, come hither thou,' said Valentine.

  The other lady stepped forward and threw back her hood. 'Now, my lord, Giannotto shall satisfy you—is this Isotta d'Este?'

  The secretary did not flinch.

  'My lord,' he said, 'you must know della Scala's wife well enough, if by hearsay only. Look yourself. This is not she.' They moved on again, de Lana uneasily convinced.

  'Ma foi,' said the silent Orleans suddenly. 'It is growing very damp. These Italian nights are most unhealthy.' And so they passed into the palace.

  That night a light tap was heard by Giannotto, sitting in his room, and Adrian entered and put two emerald earrings and a bag of ducats on the table.

  'For a lapse of memory,' he whispered, and went as softly and as swiftly as he had come.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 21. — The Duke's Return

  Having succeeded so far, Valentine had little fear; it was now an almost easy matter for her to accomplish the remainder of her plan.

  She had the palace keys in her possession, and they unlocked secret doors, and more than one hidden entry and private way, entries and ways she knew well, and yet otherwise could not have used.

  Soon after the dawn that saw Carrara fall by the wayside, Isotta d'Este and Valentine slipped from the palace; aided by Costanza, and joined by Adrian in the long gallery, they passed through the secret door that led through winding passages to the old part of the building, and thence by another entrance almost beneath the walls themselves.

  Valentine wore a page's suit, her upper lip darkened, a heavy cloak, with a hood such as was worn in travelling, drawn about her, and by her side Visconti's dagger.

  Despite her anxiety, her passionate desire to frustrate her brother's tyranny, her wild eagerness to be free and outside Milan, Valentine almost enjoyed the part that she was playing; she swaggered more than Adrian, and looked with some scorn on the weakness of Mastino's wife, who wept with her happiness.

  The thought of Gian's rage and discomfiture was very sweet to Valentine, almost as sweet as the thought of Conrad in della Scala's camp, and the happy life of freedom coming.

  Rapidly they traversed the narrow street that led to the gate, Valentine erect and joyful, Isotta leaning on her arm, happy too, with a deeper happiness, but faint and bewildered from her long imprisonment, nervous and fearful of every sound.

  Behind them strode Adrian, with eager eyes and swelling heart—the Lady Valentine had smiled on him!

  But the lady's thoughts were not on the page. With every step to freedom, Count Conrad's blue eyes and merry laugh rose before her the more clearly, and she remembered that last time she had essayed escape, and he had near given her, for all he knew, his life. He was in della Scala's camp.

  But, hasten as she might, Isotta dragged her on yet faster. Her eagerness was pitiful to see; Valentine looked down at her white face and trembling lips, and with a sudden impulse stooped and kissed her.

  It was still so early that the streets wer
e empty, save at the gate where the soldiers clustered, but they took small heed, for the three looked no unusual figures.

  'Now the passports,' whispered Valentine. 'Adrian must show them, but do ye stand ready, Isotta, to answer if they question. I dare not, lest they know my face. Remember, Adrian, an escort meets us half a league away, and 'tis a quiet village that we travel to.'

  Isotta d'Este steadied herself against the wall, and grasping Valentine's hand, followed Adrian toward the soldiers on guard.

  'Stand to thy part now, Adrian,' said Valentine; 'remember 'tis our lives.'

  A growing knot of men stood outside the guard-room; there seemed to be some great excitement; ringing orders, loud talk, increasing bustle. No one took heed of the three, nor even noticed them, and only after a delay at which Isotta's heart sickened could Adrian find an officer to whom to show the passports.

  He glanced them over hastily. 'They seem to be in order,' he said, then suddenly turned to the woman of the three: 'What do ye do leaving Milan, mistress, when the country is in arms, with no escort save two boys?'

  She hesitated, and Valentine stepped forward quietly.

  'Our father is sick,' she said, 'and 'tis a pressing question of inheritance. Our kinsfolk promise us an escort.'

  The officer shrugged his shoulders.

  ''Tis your own lives,' he said. 'Later in the day ye can go. Not now. There is an army coming, and the Duke in front of it.' Valentine stood still and calm.

  'Our father is very ill,' she said; 'if we are not in time, we may be beggared. Our passports were signed by the Duke himself. We demand to go.'

  But the officer had hardly heard her. A fresh detachment, of soldiers had ridden up, and the man's thoughts and eyes were engaged in half a dozen places.

  Half mad, Isotta sprang forward, shaking off Valentine's restraining hand.

  'We must pass, we must through this moment,' she cried. 'Let us through, and we'll make it worth thy while.'

  At the eagerness of her tone the officer turned, surprised. 'Ye are very anxious,' he said.