Death Among the Ruins (18 page)

 

 

O
n a wet, cold London night, a carriage, its lamps extinguished, and moving as silently as it is possible for such an equipage to move, pulled up to the Lustings gate. Its owner had attempted to trump the prevailing fashion in horseflesh by acquiring six beasts in not two, but three different colors, with lamentable results. Thus the carriage was drawn by just four horses—one each of two of the colors, and two of the third, creating a lopsided effect. In the dark, though, one didn’t notice this so much.

Presently, a figure with a closed basket on its arm stepped from the carriage. It was clad in a hooded black domino, of a style in vogue some twenty years previously, creating an effect both malevolent and ridiculous. The basket, which was emitting a series of bloodcurdling shrieks, was simply terrifying.

“There, there, my darling,” soothed Lady Ribbonhat. “Hush now, and Mama will give you something nice.”

In her sinister raiment, she might have been taken for a priestess of the dark forces, placating an angry imp in a pot. But in any case, she was not a persuasive priestess. The yelling continued, unabated.

“In a few moments, Rosaline my precious, your own William will smell your perfume, and come to have his way with you, like always. Be patient, darling; we’ll wait here whilst your scent carries on the wind.”

For several years past, the two cats, Rosaline and Rooney (aka William of Orange), had shared an illicit love, one that transcended all of Lady Ribbonhat’s attempts to thwart it. Rooney had managed to cover his lady love no fewer than seven times, and even when she was not in heat, he had been known to swim ditches and claw his way through hedges in order to be near her. Nor did she leave him unaffected this time. Rooney caught her scent from his promenade along the loggia railing, and quickly made his way to the front gate, which by that time had been closed and locked for several hours. But mere iron railings pose no barrier to a cat. He came right up to it . . . then paused. For he sensed, as cats will, that something was not quite right.

“There you are, William!” whispered Lady Ribbonhat from the other side of the gate. “Come on, then! Come to your own pussy!” She took Rosaline out of the basket and crouched down, manually lifting and lowering the cat’s tail in order to entice Rooney to venture through the bars.

And then, all at once and from four different directions, half a hundred enthusiastic tomcats hurled themselves onto the person of Lady Ribbonhat. Some of them even leapt down from the wall above, quite submerging the unfortunate dowager. Caught as she was in that awkward crouching position, La Ribbonhat was entirely unable to bear the sudden, extra weight and fell over. For she was not a very large person, except for her head, and in this instance that was more of a hindrance than otherwise. Rosaline sprang clear and ran off down the road, with her gang of admirers in close pursuit, whilst poor Lady Ribbonhat, hopelessly entangled in the voluminous cape, rolled to the brink of a nearby drainage ditch, teetered there for a moment, and then fell in with a splash. All the while, her despicable coachman, instead of coming to her aid, sat upon the box, hugging himself and roaring with laughter.

 

Once again, Professor Bergamini had been a godsend. And whilst he was finalizing their new accommodations in Ravello, Arabella and her entourage had had the hotel practically to themselves. Terranova and the others had now left for good. Only Osvaldo remained behind, and he was beginning to grow on them. But Renilde’s death and Arabella’s near poisoning still seemed to hang in the air like the suffocating smoke from a funeral pyre. Arabella had questioned the doctor neighbor, who had corroborated Osvaldo’s story as far as having been to the house to see Renilde on the night she died. He did not allude to any plague, however, and maintained that the girl had died of brain fever.

“It infuriates me,” said Arabella, “the way everyone colludes with Terranova! He is getting away with murder, simply because people are in awe of his rank!”

“Perhaps they are afraid of him,” said Belinda. “I mean, if he really did murder Renilde just because of what she told Mr. Kendrick, he might kill anyone who displeased him. Perhaps he has done this sort of thing before.”

It was a great relief to get away from the place. And probably the landlords were no less sorry to see the last of their English guests, although they waited politely upon the steps, preparing to wave their handkerchiefs as the procession of carriages passed down the drive. Osvaldo, on the other hand, his rotund paunch pressed against the carriage as though he would topple it, was beside himself.

“You must-a be brave, my dear,” he said, speaking to Belinda in an undertone, and attempting to take hold of her hand through the window. “We shall meet again, very soon. When two hearts beat as one, there is no keeping them . . . apart . . .
for long!
”

He had to shout this last bit, as the carriage was pulling away, and he was obliged to let go of the window.

“What was he saying to you just now?” Arabella asked.

“I could scarcely make him out,” Belinda replied. “I think it was something about his having twice the normal complement of vital organs.”

“O-ho! He was trying to impress you,” said Charles, assuming an air of superior knowledge. “Italians are like that, you know. They brag to the ladies about having extra bits, in order to appear more attractive.”

“Do you mean to say that the Pear-Head is typical?” asked Arabella.

“Yes, why not?”

“Is it typical for Italian men to creep into ladies’ bedrooms and leave semi-literate notes beneath their pillows?”

“Did Osvaldo do that?” he asked. “How wonderfully romantic of him! What did it say?”

“I can’t remember,” said Arabella. “It was some time ago.”

“No? Well, Belinda does, I’ll wager! What did he say, Bunny?”

“Here,” she said, plucking it perforce from her reticule and thrusting it at him. “Read it yourself, if you’ve a mind to. And then, please do me the favor of tossing it out of the window.”

 

“Well, isn’t that sentimental! I should never have thought the fellow capable of such delicate feelings.”

“Oh, do stop, Charles.”

“But look, Belinda; are you not moved? He says he will marry you if you’re ‘pignent.’ Imagine, living in wedded bliss with Osvaldo, in Holborn or someplace, and raising the results of his ‘need’!”

“Speaking of that,” said Arabella, “I have been meaning to talk to you for some time on the subject of your own progeny, Charles.”

“Whatever for? I’m doing the best I can for them!”

“You are!”

“Yes. I’m staying out of their lives completely.”

“That has been the saving of Eddie. She has a wonderful stepfather in Constable Dysart, and I shouldn’t imagine she needs you in the least. But Neddy doesn’t get on with his new father. He’s going to the bad, I am afraid.”

“Just like his sire!” said Charles proudly, turning to Kendrick for validation.

“It’s nothing to boast about, Beaumont,” said the rector severely. “I know it is none of my business, but when did you last see the boy?”

“I have only ever seen him one time in his life. At least, I presume it was he. About a year ago I noticed Polly, on the other side of Curzon Street, holding a peevish-looking brat by the hand. She was pointing at me and explaining something to him. So I straightened me shoulders, stuck out me chest, and stepped off the kerb . . . right into a human turd the size of a potato!”

“Life imitates art,” murmured Belinda.

Kendrick grinned, in spite of himself.

“I screamed so loudly that people complained as far away as Spitalfields. Then I swore a blue streak and tried to dislodge the thing, but it had enveloped my shoe on both sides, to say nothing of the stirrup strap on my trouser! Gad, what a morning!”

“All right,” said Arabella, “I suppose Neddy
is
better off without you, at that. But I do wish somebody would take an interest in him, though he is such a loathsome little stoat, that I cannot imagine who it would be.”

“He wants a puppy,” said Kendrick. “Perhaps I’ll give him one from Dogma’s next litter.”

“He’s had a puppy,” said Arabella. “It ran out in the street, probably to get away from Neddy, and was crushed by a cart wheel. He does
not
require a dog unless we can find one that will teach him morals, manners, and a useful trade.”

“Yes,” said Charles, “and perhaps when this prodigy pup finishes with my boy, it can start teaching
you
a few things, as well.”

This hostile remark having seemingly sprung from nowhere, Arabella assumed it would be simple to deal with.

“Don’t presume to lecture me,” she said, her voice flat, her manner calm. A cobra that has suddenly received the gift of English speech might sound like this. The tone was light, the import heavy. Generally, such a voice was all that was necessary to effectively quash revolts amongst the lower orders. But not this time.

“I am afraid I must,” said Charles. “Kendrick is besotted and Bunny isn’t strong enough to stand up to you. Ever since we left England you’ve been growing steadily more high-handed. You fly into rages, insult people, use them, and take their good offices towards yourself for granted. We have all begun to find your company deuced difficult to bear, of late, and I wish to God that you would either come to your senses, or shut up!”

Bitter truth is hard on the digestion, and persons with upset stomachs are seldom inclined to be talkative. Thus, the ride to Ravello, begun on a note of such promising high spirits, ended in silence. But it was a silence with a certain meditative quality. Once her resentment cooled, Arabella considered the import of Charles’s words. As for her companions, theirs was the watchful silence of witnesses to a just reprimand. They were all observing Arabella, though they did not appear to be doing so, in order to ascertain her response. Thus the party proceeded, mile after mile, with not a word spoken, whilst all four brains were as busy as could be.

 

When Bergamini had announced that they would be staying at a temporarily vacant house belonging to some friends of his, everyone expected to find a comfortable but slightly shabby residence, in keeping with the slightly impoverished circumstances common to academics and the circles in which they orbit. So, when the carriage pulled up before a glittering palace overlooking the sea, its occupants were speechless with amazement.

The Villa Belvedere had been constructed in high Renaissance style, and was surrounded by terraces and lawns. Below the sea cliff, studded with bell towers and dark pine trees, lay a small beach with a dock, where brightly painted local boats bobbed at their moorings. It was beyond picturesque.

Bergamini himself met them at the door, and an exhaustive tour of the villa and grounds ensued. Charles and Mr. Kendrick soon peeled off from the group in order to try out the billiard room, though. Belinda hung happily on the arm of her aged admirer, listening, or not, according to her heart rate. But Arabella drank it all in: the fluted columns, the gilded furnishings piled with silken cushions, the painted ceilings, the grand staircases, the sea views and chandeliers. She had seen palaces aplenty in her lifetime, but possibly never one so beautifully situated, or whose situation represented such a welcome escape. The three survivors finished the tour in a romantic little sitting room overlooking the garden.

“So,” said Bergamini. “Do you think this will suit you?”

“Amply,” Arabella replied. “It is magnificent, Professor! You must permit me to recompense your friends for allowing us to stay here.”

He was horrified. “Please! Speak no more of it! You and your party are honored guests! I do my level best, you know, but if the owners were at home, you would be treated like royalty!”

“But why? We have never met them!”

“Because you are friends of mine,” he said simply, “and they are friends of mine, also. The owners and I are very close. As close as, as . . .
this!
” He seized Belinda around the waist and pulled her up against him, eliciting a little scream of joy.

“Will you be stopping here with us, Teofilo?” Belinda asked, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.

“I wish I could,
cara mia,
but I have commitments elsewhere. I shall visit often, though, while you are here.” He kissed her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. “I go now, to dream of your sweet, scented limbs, and the darkly furred sections pertaining thereto.”

After he had gone, Belinda held the curtain aside to watch his figure retreating down the garden path.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Did you ever hear such a wonderful remark? Why is it that Englishmen never say such things?”