by John Jarvis
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Giannati and his two escorts left Richard and Simpson at the gates of Milan after much embracing hand shaking and vows of eternal friendship. Giannati had recommended a well-known hotel, but Richard decided to chart his own course when and if he had the opportunity. He chose an older, more discreet establishment in the area of the old city. Declining offers to show off their city by proud Milanese, they settled in to await events.
The event was a ball given by the Count of Coronno, who was visiting his estates that summer. The Count’s secretary had delivered a hand written invitation in person: the ball would be held in the Palazzo Visconti Di Grazzano.
Richard decided that he would wear his Captain’s uniform rather than clothes that were noticeably foreign, but found them a little too severe. A visit to a military tailor was called for.
Senor Gesinni agreed, producing an array of gold belts, lanyards, epaulettes and buttons. Richard tried to explain that his only official rank was Lieutenant and that a merchant Captain was not equal to a naval rank, but it was all to no avail: Senor Gesinni was not going to let any client of his go out the door looking less than an admiral. Richard tactfully pointed out that too much ostentation would only make his modest uniform look unworthy, and there was no time to tailor a new one. The Senor begrudgingly agreed and settled for a minimum of gilded accessories. Richard felt like an overdressed doll, but to the fashion-conscious Milanese he cut a fine and dashing figure. Richard ordered a coach for the evening and left a smiling Simpson at the hotel to protect their belongings and money.
Richard was well aware that his presence at the ball had been orchestrated, but he was unprepared for the artificialness of the occasion. The Count and Countess of Coronno greeted him at the gilded doors of the ballroom like a long-lost friend – then promptly ignored him. More than one beautiful senorita gave the handsome young Captain an adoring look before being fanned away by a protective mother. Richard wandered around, accepting a glass of wine and appraising the guests; he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. Surely Mario would contact him. He thought of checking the guest list but realized with a shock that he did not know Mario’s family name. Then he saw her – it must be her, the back of her neck under the tiered-up hair, and the two uncomfortable men escorting her and looking completely out of place could only be her cousins.
Richard thought hard and fast: there would only be this one opportunity of rescuing Rebecca from the social cage that her father had fashioned around her. The two cousins had never met Richard; he just might pull something off if they did not speak French. Richard took a deep breath and adopted the manner of a cocky French or Italian Captain.
“May you do me the honor of allowing me to introduce myself, Senorita, we both appear to be somewhat stranded,” said Richard in French. He was thankful that the two cousins were looking at him and did not see the look of shock and recognition on Rebecca’s face.
“You may, Sir – is it Captain?” Rebecca asked, and to Richard’s relief translated for her cousins.
“Capitan Ricardo Digardo of the San Juliette, Senorita”. Richard kept a straight face, but Rebecca had to place a glove over her mouth to suppress a giggle.
“Miss Rebecca Brownlow of London, Captain, and these two gentlemen are my cousins Edward and William,” replied Rebecca. Richard kissed her gloved hand and bowed deeply at the cousins who uneasily returned the compliment.
“What brings you to the beautiful city of Milano, Senorita – sightseeing or shopping perhaps?” Richard asked, noting looks of concern passing between the two cousins.
“Neither two, Captain: we were visiting Florence and met the Countess of Coronno who insisted we become her guests in Milan and attend their ball,” replied Rebecca. Richard decided not to push his luck.
“And I must insist you allow me to show you and your cousins the sights of Milano in the morning, Senorita,” requested Richard.
Rebecca translated, and the cousins decided that in agreeing it would give them time to check out this elegant Italian and be rid of him for the evening.
“Excellent, Senorita, Senors,” Richard kissed Rebecca’s hand and slipped his hotel’s card underneath; he felt her warm hand curl around it. He again bowed to the cousins and then, spotting a lone Italian officer, feigned recognition. “Ah, Colonel, there you are.” Richard linked his arm into the astonished Colonel’s and steered him out and onto the terrace. The Colonel did not speak French; he disengaged his arm with a tug, said something obviously rude in Italian and stormed off.
‘So much for French-Italian relationships,’ thought Richard.
The hastily written letter arrived, as Richard expected, early the next morning.
‘My dearest Richard,
Seeing you last night was like experiencing a bolt of light in the darkness of a prison.
I do not know how you arranged it and care not.
Nor do I care how you can or if you can arrange my escape from my open and expensive prison, but if it is to be, it must be tomorrow.
Edward is my older cousin and is deeply suspicious of you.
He intends to visit the Bank of Milano in the morning and enlist their aid in exposing you.
William is to be my chaperone in the morning and intends to keep you as far away from me as is possible.
I must finish and have a maid deliver this. I am sorry for the abruptness,
I love you,
Rebecca.’
Richard read the letter again, then quickly dressed and found the manager fussing about in the lobby.
“I need a pretty young woman,” Richard asked. The manager’s shrug suggested ‘do not we all’, but he answered.
“This is not a problem in Milano, Capitan.”
“A pretty young woman who speaks English,” added Richard.
“Even this can be arranged in Milano, Capitan,” said the manager confidently.
“And can be ready in two hours,” finished Richard, finally shaking the manager’s confidence.
“There is only one available at such short notice, Capitan, she is…” the manager paused to find the correct description“…a temptress of men.” ‘An expensive whore,’ thought Richard.
“Engage her, and her duties are to be …” Richard spoke softly into the manager’s ear, causing him to smile and accept a very large sum of money.
Sara Thompson swept into the foyer of the hotel promptly two hours later and was quickly swept back out into a waiting coach. Richard joined Sara in the cabin, and Simpson sat on top beside the coachman. Sara would have been in her late twenties but with her style of dress and clever make-up looked like a teenager.
She spoke like a woman of the world.
“Is he well off?” she asked.
“His uncle is one of the richest men in London,” answered Richard.
“Leave him to me, luv,” Sara sat back and smiled.
William was no match for Sara; from the time his mouth gaped open when she insisted he sit by her and tell of his adventures until the tour ended, he remained infatuated.
The only person who saw the sights of Milan that day was Simpson, and he could not understand a word of the Italian driver’s graphic descriptions. It mattered little: a shared blanket and flask of grappa made for a pleasant outing.
William had only eyes for Sara and Rebecca had only eyes for Richard, who maintained the farce by pretending to point out the sights in French.
It was after a lunch of dry white wine cheeses and cold cuts that Sara dared William to race her to the river and back. That gave Richard and Rebecca time to formulate a plan.
“Come with me now, Rebecca, aboard Juliet to America where we can marry and start a new life free from the social structures and restrictions of Old England,” Richard pleaded.
“What, Sir, before you have pleaded your love for me?” Rebecca teased.
Richard responded by taking her into his arms and kissing her welcoming mouth. He could feel her heart fluttering next to his chest, and when they f
inally broke apart her shining eyes gave Richard the answer he needed.
“Hello!” came the warning call from Sara as she appeared from behind a distant crop of flowering bushes. William followed, red-faced and clothing disheveled; he had obviously engaged in more than a race to the river.
“William, you are maculated young man,” said Rebecca, compounding his embarrassment.
“I think we must return to our hotel this minute,” said William, trying to regain his composure.
“Wonderful – I am just dying to meet your brother,” said Sara.
There was no meeting: it was more of a confrontation.
“You, Sir, are Richard Digby, and my uncle has refused to have you meet his daughter,” fumed Edward.
“I am, Sir, and your uncle has little influence here: Italy is or usually is a free country,” replied Richard.
“We are leaving in the morning to return to Florence, and you, Sir, should return to your ship,” ordered Edward.
“No!” Rebecca’s exclamation silenced Edward.
“Captain Digby has kindly offered me a passage to New York to extend my tour, so to speak, and I have accepted,” Rebecca’s voice faded into a stunned silence
“But but you do not have your father’s permission,” spluttered Edward
“I do not need it, Edward: I am of age, as I am sure you are aware,” answered Rebecca.
“But you do not have the money – Uncle only allows a suitable amount to cover expenses at each city’s bank,” pointed out William.
“I have independent means thanks to a bequest from my mother; it is not a lot but it will be sufficient, William – now are you two coming as well, or will you return to face the wrath of my father?” Rebecca asked.
In the end it was decided that William would remain with Rebecca, as a token escort while Edward would return to London where he was sure he would face a certain horsewhipping.
Rebecca looked elegant in her riding clothes as she allowed Richard to assist her into a ladies’ saddle. William looked sour as he mounted the coach containing their luggage; the escort had become the escorted. Simpson had been eager to allow Rebecca the use of his horse and joined William in the coach that would make its way independently to Genoa.
“Is that the Juliet?” Rebecca asked as they walked to the end of the mole in Genoa’s harbor.
“It is, my love, ugly old sister is she not?” Richard answered.
“She is not – she is beautiful,” replied Rebecca forcefully.
“Well, in that case I will change her name to Rebecca,” said Richard and received a push that almost sent him into the sea.
They had been spotted by Juliet’s watch and within minutes a longboat had been lowered, crewed and began to row towards the end of the mole. Richard had previously explained why Juliet had to be moored in isolation.
Rebecca’s riding apparel proved ideal in allowing her to climb down into the boat and later up onto Juliet’s deck.
“Welcome back, Sir,” Andrew almost saluted. “The ladies’ cabin has been prepared,” he said with a smirk. Richard gave him a ‘watch it’ look, and the crew looked elsewhere and found other tasks to complete.
Two days later Richard still paced the deck. The coach had arrived and its contents taken aboard. William had surprised Richard by refusing to take the passengers’ cabin or charity and had asked for crew’s quarters.
“Let him bunk in my mess, Captain: he is an apprentice cabinet maker and can help me assemble the firearms, Sir,” suggested Simpson, and Richard agreed.
“Thank God,” said Richard when he saw a wagon appear on the mole with Gianotti sitting by the driver. It appeared they shared Richard’s impatience by quickly loading the provided longboat and hastening the rowers into a faster stroke. The reason became apparent when Gianotti puffed on board.
“A message from the Assistant Customs Officer, Capitan: he advises you that a certain English called Edward has a warrant from a judge well known to live above his income to detain you and the Juliet on a charge of abduction. He further advises you that he will not be able to act in haste and wishes you a speedy voyage,” Gianotti looked towards the Customs House and Richard did likewise. The armed longboat was making an erratic course towards Juliet with several rowers catching crabs or missing their strokes. A furious Edward sat in the stern.
“Fare thee well, Capitan,” said Gianotti as the last of the gun barrels was hauled aboard, “and Senor Beretta sends you a gift,” he said, pushing a box into Richard’s hands and clambering back down into a dingy.
The noise of a shot echoed across the harbor and Richard looked up to see smoke dissipating over the Customs boat. A crewmember had discharged a musket into the air and Edward shook his fist in rage.
“Answer their salute will, you, First Officer, and have the colors dipped in respect,” ordered Richard. A smiling Andrew fetched a musket loaded it without shot and fired it into the air. Juliet completed weighing anchor and fell off her mooring, heading southwest.