CHAPTER XIII
IL DUCA
Beth's prediction, however, did not come true. The morning discoverednothing commonplace about Taormina. Their hotel was outside the walls,but a brief walk took them to the Messina Gate, a quaint archway throughwhich they passed into the narrow streets of one of the oldest towns inSicily. Doorways and windows of Saracen or Norman construction facedthem on every side, and every inch of the ancient buildings waspicturesque and charming.
Some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale ofcurios. Uncle John and his nieces had scarcely passed a hundred yardsinto the town when one of these shops arrested their attention. It wasfull of antique jewelry, antique furniture, antique laces and antiquepottery--all of the most fascinating description. The jewelry wastarnished and broken, the lace had holes in it and the furniture wasdecrepit and unsteady; but the proprietor cared nothing for suchdefects. All was very old, and he knew the tourist was eager to buy. Sohe scattered his wares inside and outside his salesroom, much as thespider spreads his web for the unwary, and waited for the inevitabletourist with a desire to acquire something ancient and useless.
The girls could not be induced to pass the shop. They entered thesquare, low room and flooded the shopman with eager questions.Notwithstanding Frascatti's assertion that few in Taormina could speakEnglish, this man was quite intelligible and fixed his prices accordingto the impression his wares made upon the artistic sense of the youngAmerican ladies.
It was while they were intently inspecting some laces that theproprietor suddenly paused in his chatter, removed his hat and bowedalmost to the floor, his face assuming at the same time a serious andmost humble expression.
Turning around they saw standing outside the door a man whom theyrecognized at once as their fellow passenger aboard the "PrincessIrene."
"Oh, Signor Valdi!" cried Patsy, running toward him, "how strange tofind you again in this out-of-the-way place."
The Italian frowned, but in a dignified manner took the hand of allthree girls in turn and then bowed a greeting to Mr. Merrick.
Uncle John thought the fellow had improved in appearance. Instead of theflannel shirt and Prince Albert coat he had affected on shipboard he nowwore a native costume of faded velvet, while a cloak of thin butvoluminous cloth swung from his shoulders, and a soft felt hat shadedhis dark eyes.
His appearance was entirely in keeping with the place, and the Americannoticed that the villagers who passed doffed their hats mostrespectfully to this seemingly well-known individual. But mingled withtheir polite deference was a shyness half fearful, and none stopped tospeak but hurried silently on.
"And how do we happen to find you here, Signor Valdi?" Patsy wassaying. "Do you live in Taormina?"
"I am of this district, but not of Taormina," he replied. "It is chancethat you see me here. Eh, Signor Bruggi, is it not so?" casting one ofhis characteristic fierce glances at the shopkeeper.
"It is so, your excellency."
"But I am glad you have come to the shadow of Etna," he continued,addressing the Americans with slow deliberation. "Here the grandeur ofthe world centers, and life keeps time with Nature. You will like it?You will stay?"
"Oh, for a time, anyway," said Patsy.
"We expect to meet some friends here," explained Uncle John. "They arecoming down from Palermo, but must have been delayed somewhere on theway."
"Who are they?" asked Valdi, brusquely.
"Americans, of course; Silas Watson and Kenneth Forbes. Do you know ofthem?"
"No," said the other. He cast an uneasy glance up and down the street."I will meet you again, signorini," he added. "Which is your hotel?"
"The Castello-a-Mare. It is delightful," said Beth.
He nodded, as if pleased. Then, folding his cloak about him, he murmured"adios!" and stalked away without another word or look.
"Queer fellow," remarked Uncle John.
The shopkeeper drew a long breath and seemed relieved.
"Il Duca is unusual, signore," he replied.
"Duke!" cried the girls, in one voice.
The man seemed startled.
"I--I thought you knew him; you seemed friends," he stammered.
"We met Signor Valdi on shipboard," said Uncle John.
"Valdi? Ah, yes; of course; the duke has been to America."
"Isn't his name Valdi?" asked Beth, looking the man straight in theeyes. "Has he another name here, where he lives?"
The shopman hesitated.
"Who knows?" was the evasive reply. "Il Duca has many names, but we donot speak them. When it is necessary to mention him we use histitle--the duke."
"Why?" asked the girl.
"Why, signorina? Why? Perhaps because he does not like to be talkedabout. Yes; that is it, I am sure."
"Where does he live?" asked Patsy.
The man seemed uneasy under so much questioning.
"Somewhere in the mountains," he said, briefly. "His estates are there.He is said to be very rich and powerful. I know nothing more,signorini."
Realizing that little additional information could be gleaned from thissource they soon left the shop and wandered into the Piazzo VittorioEmanuele, and from thence by the narrow lane to the famous Teatro Greco.
For a time they admired this fascinating ruin, which has the bestpreserved stage of any Greek theatre now in existence. From the top ofthe hill is one of the most magnificent views in Sicily, and here ourtravellers sat in contemplative awe until Uncle John declared it wastime to return to their hotel for luncheon.
As they passed the portiere's desk Mr. Merrick paused to ask thatimportant official:
"Tell me, if you please, who is Signor Victor Valdi?"
"Valdi, signore?"
"Yes; the Duke di Valdi, I suppose you call him."
"I have never heard of him," replied the man.
"But every one seems to know him in Taormina."
"Is it so? We have but one duke near to us, and he--. But never mind. Ido not know this Valdi."
"A thin faced man, with black eyes. We met him on the steamer comingfrom America."
The portiere dropped his eyes and turned toward his desk.
"Luncheon is served, signore," he remarked. "Also, here is a letter foryou, which arrived this morning."
Uncle John took the letter and walked on to rejoin the girls.
"It seems hard work to find out anything about this Valdi," he said."Either the folks here do not know him, or they won't acknowledge hisacquaintance. We may as well follow suit, and avoid him."
"I don't like his looks a bit," observed Beth. "He seems afraid anddefiant at the same time, and his temper is dreadful. It was only withgreat difficulty he could bring himself to be polite to us."
"Oh, I always got along with him all right," said Patsy. "I'm sureSignor Valdi isn't as bad as he appears. And he's a duke, too, girls--areal duke!"
"So it seems," Uncle John rejoined; "yet there is something queer aboutthe fellow, I agree with Beth; I don't like him."
"Did Mr. Watson say when he would join us here?" enquired Louise, whenthey were seated at the little round table.
"No; but here's a letter from him. I'd quite forgotten it."
He tore open the envelope and carefully read the enclosure.
"Too bad," said he. "We might have stayed a few days in Messina. Watsonsays he and Kenneth have stopped at Girgenti--wherever that is--to studythe temples. Wonder if they're Solomon's? They won't get to Taorminabefore Saturday."
"It won't matter," declared Patsy, "so long as they arrive then. And I'da good deal rather be here than in Messina, or any other place. Ofcourse we'll all be glad to see Kenneth."
"Mr. Watson wants us to be very careful while we are in Sicily,"continued Uncle John, referring to the letter. "Listen to this: 'Don'tlet the girls wear jewelry in public places, or display their watchesopenly; and take care, all of you, not to show much money. If you buyanything, have it sent to your hotel to be paid for by the hall porter.And it is wise not to
let anyone know who you are or how long you intendto remain in any one place. This may strike you as an absurd precaution;but you must remember that you are not in America, but in an isolatedItalian province, where government control is inefficient. The truth isthat the terrible Mafia is still all powerful on this island, andbrigandage is by no means confined to the neighborhood ofCastrogiovanni, as the guide books would have you believe. The peopleseem simple and harmless enough, but Kenneth and I always keep ourrevolvers handy, and believe it is a reasonable precaution. I don't wantto frighten you, John; merely to warn you. Sicily is full of tourists,and few are ever molested; but if you are aware of the conditionsunderlying the public serenity you are not so liable to run yourself andyour nieces into needless dangers.' How's that for a hair-curler,girls?"
"It sounds very romantic," said Louise, smiling. "Mr. Watson is such acautious man!"
"But it's all rubbish about there being danger in Taormina," declaredPatsy, indignantly. "Mr. Watson has been in the wilds of the interior,which Baedecker admits is infested with brigands. Here everyone smilesat us in the friendliest way possible."
"Except the duke," added Beth, with a laugh.
"Oh, the duke is sour by nature," Patsy answered; "but if there reallywas danger, I'm sure he'd protect us, for he lives here and knows thecountry."
"You are sure of a lot of things, dear," said her cousin, smiling. "Butit will do no harm to heed the advice, and be careful."
They all agreed to that, and Uncle John was glad to remember he had twobrand new revolvers in the bottom of his trunk, which he could use in anemergency if he could manage to find the cartridges to load them with.
He got them out next morning, and warned his nieces not to touch thedangerous things when they entered his room. But Patsy laughed at him,saying:
"You are behind the times, Uncle. Beth has carried a revolver ever sincewe started."
"Beth!" he cried, horrified.
"Just as a precaution," said that young lady, demurely.
"But you're only a child!"
"Even so, Uncle, I have been taught to shoot in Cloverton, as a part ofmy education. Once I won a medal--think of that! So I brought my petrevolver along, although I may never have need to use it."
Uncle John looked thoughtful.
"It doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment, exactly," he mused."When I was young and went into the West, the times were a bitunsettled, and I used to carry a popgun myself. But I never shot at ahuman being in my life. There were women in the camps that could shoot,too; but the safest place was always in front of them. If Beth has won amedal, though, she might hit something."
"Don't try, Beth," said Louise; "you ought to make a hit withoutshooting."
"Thank you, dear."
As they left their hotel for a walk they came upon Count Ferralti, whowas standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette. His right hand wasstill in a sling.
No one was greatly surprised at his appearance, but Uncle John utteredan exclamation of impatience. It annoyed him that this fellow, whoseantecedents were decidedly cloudy, should be "chasing around" after oneof his nieces, Beth and Patsy smiled at each other significantly as theyoung man was discovered, but Louise, with a slight blush, advanced togreet Ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way.
There was no use resenting the intrusion. They owed a certainconsideration to this boyish Italian for his assistance on the Amalfiroad. But Uncle John almost wished he had left them to escape as bestthey might, for the obligation was getting to be decidedly onerous.
While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly"meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their Englishspeaking cocchiere, Frascatti Vietri, lolling half asleep on the box ofhis victoria.
"Would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked.
"It is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply.
"Then you are engaged. Come, girls; hop in, if you want to ride."
The three nieces and Uncle John just filled the victoria. The count wasdisconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party, but couldonly flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive.
They descended the winding road to the coast, where Frascatti took thehighway to Sant' Alessio, a charming drive leading to the Taormina Pass.
"By the way," Uncle John asked the driver, "do you know of a duke thatlives in this neighborhood?"
The laughing face of the Sicilian suddenly turned grave.
"No, signore. There is the Prince di Scaletta; but no duke on this sidethe town."
"But on the other side?"
"Oh; in the mountains? To be sure there are noblemen there; old estatesalmost forgotten in our great civilization of to-day. We are veryprogressive in Taormina, signore. There will be a fountain of the icecream soda established next summer. Quite metropolitan, _ne c'e_?"
"Quite. But, tell me, Frascatti, have you a duke in the mountains backof Taormina?"
"Signore, I beg you to pay no attention to the foolish stories you mayhear from our peasants. There has been no brigandage here forcenturies. I assure you the country is perfectionly safe--especial ifyou stay within the town or take me on your drives. They know me,signore, and even Il Duca dares not trifle with my friends."
"Why should he, Frascatti, if there is no brigandage? Is it the Mafia?"
"Ah, I have heard that Mafia spoken of, but mostly when I lived inAmerica, which is Chicago. Here we do not know of the Mafia."
"But you advise us to be careful?"
"Everywhere, illustrissimo signore, it is well to be what you call thecircumspection. I remember that in the State street of Chicago, which isAmerica, peaceful citizens were often killed by bandits. Eh, is it notso?"
"Quite probable," said Uncle John, soberly.
"Then, what will you? Are we worse than Americans, that you fear us?Never mind Il Duca, or the tales they foolishly whisper of him. Here youmay be as safe and happy as in Chicago--which is America."
He turned to his horses and urged them up a slope. The girls and UncleJohn eyed one another enquiringly.
"Our duke seems to bear no good reputation," said Beth, in a tone so lowthat Frascatti could not overhear. "Everyone fears to speak of him."
"Singular," said Uncle John, "that Patsy's friend turns out to be amystery, even in his own home. I wonder if he is a leader of the Mafia,or just a common brigand?"
"In either case," said Patsy, "he will not care to injure us, I am sure.We all treated him very nicely, and I just made him talk and besociable, whether he wanted to or not. That ought to count for somethingin our favor. But my opinion is that he's just a gruff old nobleman wholives in the hills and makes few friends."
"And hasn't a name, any more than Louise's count has. Is it customary,my dear, for all Italian noblemen to conceal their identity?"
"I do not know, Uncle," answered Louise, casting down her eyes.
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