The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy (19 page)

The wretch, Titus said to himself when Bootle informed him that the young gentleman Mr. Hawkins and his valet were nowhere to be seen.

“Shall I make enquiries as to which way they went, sir?” Bootle asked. “Although I fear that in this city, with its warren of streets and waterways, it may be impossible to trace their path.”

“No, leave it,” said Titus. Bootle was looking alert and curious; he didn't want to seem over-interested in Hawkins, or Bootle would make it his business to find out why. “His man, Figgins, what do you think of him?”

“He kept himself to himself, for the most part, but has quite a good hand with a shirt and a boot.” Nowhere near my standards, his tone implied, but quite good enough for a young man of no particular importance. “I would say a shrewd head on his shoulders; a lad like him has to rely on his wits to keep himself out of trouble, for there's no brawn there to protect him.”

“Very true,” said Titus. “Call a gondolier.”

“Where are we going, sir?” Bootle's voice held the slightest note of aggrievement; he liked to know what was what, and his master had been vague about where they were to stay in Venice.

There was a reason for this, for Titus had been exercised in his own mind as to whether to make his stay in the serene city anonymous or if it were better to mingle with such of his friends and acquaintances who might be resident there at present. On balance, he thought it wisest to be open about his presence. He would be recognised sooner or later, if he were to make other than a short stay, and it might be easier to keep tabs on Warren that way. Warren wasn't going to hide himself away, however secretive his mission, Titus was sure of it. Warren enjoyed society too much not to be out and about in it.

“The gondolier can carry us to the Palazzo Borosini.”

“Mr. Hellifield is presently in Venice, I take it,” said Bootle with some satisfaction.

“Yes, and you may wipe that smirk off your face, I know you hanker after high living; well, you shall have your fill of it over the next few days, unless Hellifield has lost all his fortune at the gaming tables.”

Sitting in the bobbing discomfort of the gondola, Titus returned his thoughts to Alethea. He was sure she must be at Wytton's by now, in the safe hands of her sister and brother-in-law, able to put off her ridiculous imposture and resume her place in the world as a young woman of good family. He wondered how she was going to explain her presence in Venice to an irate husband, but that was no concern of his. The Darcys were well able to look after their own, as indeed was Wytton. Wytton had confided that he never liked the marriage, so perhaps the girl had shown some sense in flying to his protection.

How would she look, dressed again in feminine clothes? Her beauty was more marked than when he had first seen her with the traces of girlish plumpness about the face planed into a structure of bone and flesh that—

That nothing. He swore at a rowing boat that came perilously close, sending drops of water flinging across his face, told the gondolier to mind his steering in a few pithy Italian phrases, instructed Bootle to move his legs over to make more room, and sank down into the velvet cushions.

 

“Titus, by all that's wonderful! What a fellow you are, not to send word of your coming so that I might roll out the red carpet and slay the proverbial calf and so forth.”

“Harry, how glad I am to see you.”

The two men matched each other for height, but Harry Hellifield looked to be the taller, as he was of slimmer build, and had a lightness and quickness about him that was in stark contrast to the energy and vigour of his friend.

Titus was always astonished afresh at the sight of Harry's opulent surroundings. Harry had inherited a fortune and huge estates from his English father, and this palazzo and another great fortune from his maternal grandfather. He had been raised and educated in England, but the strain of Venetian blood inherited from his mother ran strong in his veins, and as soon as he could, he left the English estates in the capable hands of his steward and made his home in Venice.

“Another month, and I'd be gone, and then you'd have to find some humbler lodging, Titus.”

“Gone?”

“To England, for my annual visit; as you know, if you bend your mind to it, I spend July in the country at Milverley, dealing with my affairs; so tedious, I can't tell you. Then August I go to the mountains, for the air and to restore my system, so that I may return refreshed to my life in Venice.”

As he spoke, liveried servants were swooping to take Titus's coat, remove his bags, usher Bootle to what the valet knew would be excellent quarters; no dingy, stifling attics for visiting servants in Mr. Hellifield's houses.

“That coat, Titus,” Harry was saying as he led him up the sweeping marble staircase to the first floor. “Where had you that? So dull, so sombre.”

“It does for travelling, and we can't all prink ourselves out in brilliant colours, Harry. I'd look like something out of the circus if I wore a coat such as you have on.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder, and called for wine, refreshments, and hot towels to clean the hands. “Then you may go and take a bath and shift out of those clothes, my dear; you do look as though you had slept in them.”

“And so I have; I have travelled day and night since crossing the Alps. Yes, I shall like to bathe.”

Harry's habits of cleanliness always amused Titus. Even when they were on campaign together, Harry contrived to keep himself and his clothes far cleaner than anyone else in the regiment. He had travelled in Turkey, and loved the traditional steam baths of that country, and was a collector of basins and fountains, evidence of which passion was to be seen on all sides.

“Damn it, Harry, I believe you were a fish in a previous existence,” Titus exclaimed as he traced the sound of rippling water to a deep marble shell set into the far wall of the great room in which they sat. “What do the Venetians think of this fascination that water has for you?”

“Why, they live in a watery world themselves, so what's to say? Some purist fellow took exception to my fountains within doors, saying it was not in the Italian style, but it is my house, and I shall put fountains wherever I choose.”

Titus was not one to be wearied overmuch by a lengthy journey, but he felt an unusual comfort steal into his muscles as he bathed in a room set aside for that purpose, tiled in Venetian glass in sea greens and blues, with servants gliding to and fro with hot water, scented soaps, and, finally, enormous towels. He was shaved and barbered, then recommended to take a brief rest after the exertions of the bath. He had no intention of doing any such thing, but consented to put his feet up for a few minutes while Bootle finished choosing such garments from his wardrobe as he felt might do his master most credit.

Titus awoke with a start some two hours later, thoroughly refreshed, to find Harry laughing at him. “You are getting old, Titus, I never knew you to sleep during the day.”

“No, and I would not have done so, were it not for your infernal pampering bath, hot water, scented towels, and the rest of it. However, I feel the better for it, so you may make all the remarks you wish.”

“I must say, you look in fighting trim,” Harry observed as Titus pulled on a clean shirt. “You always were a restless person, I dare say you keep yourself in good form with striding about in that tiring way you have. Do you still go regularly to Angelo's?”

“I do.” Titus was not a remarkable swordsman, but he found that a few bouts with a tough opponent gave him great satisfaction as well as an opportunity to vent the built-up anger and aggression that had once served to send him flying into battle against a real enemy.

“Then I shall challenge you to a few sessions with the foils while you are here. By the way, do you care to tell me why you are here? I never knew you to travel anywhere without there being some purpose to your journey.”

Titus smiled. “I have come in search of a woman, Harry, and that is as much as I propose to tell you at present.”

“A woman!” Harry's eyebrows rose. “Never tell me so, you gave up pursuit of the fairer sex long ago, to my certain knowledge. What with Emily Thruxton and the inclination of certain women to seek your company, what need have you to go on the chase? Do not tell me you have fallen in love at last.”

“Certainly not.” Titus felt unreasonably annoyed at the suggestion. He had grown more cynical about women over the years, and now, with Emily's betrayal, he was in no danger of falling in love with any woman, however desirable or bewitching. Pleasure, yes; love, no. “Any nonsense of that kind lies back in my youth, I thank God for it. However, this beauty I must have, and when you see her, you will agree with me that she is worth the trouble.”

“I look forward to it with the liveliest expectation; she must be unusual indeed, to arouse such enthusiasm in such a hard-heart as you are become. Now, for this evening's entertainment, we shall dine at home, and then venture out into company. Let us see if some Venetian lady cannot tempt you with a flashing Oriental eye; there will be several entertaining possibilities.”

“Do you know that scrub Warren?” Titus asked a little while later, when he had dined extremely well and was feeling much more mellow than usual.

“George Warren? I should hardly call him a scrub; he spends a lot of time in Italy and has many friends in this country.”

“Including you?”

Harry considered. “No. An acquaintance, merely. I don't find him so very amusing, and we do not move in precisely the same circles. There are doors that are closed to him, but some of our circles overlap. I do not think he is in Venice if you want to look him up. Although if you call him a scrub, I suppose he has done you some disservice, and you have no wish to seek him out.” He sat up, suddenly alert. “Unless you seek him for another purpose; do you intend to run him through at dawn? Is he a rival for your fair beauty?”

Not for the first time, Titus was taken aback by the extraordinary way his friend had of coming in a flash, and without any obvious thought or reasoning, close to the truth of a matter.

“In a way I suppose you may say he is, but I assure you, I don't intend to call him out, I have no time for that kind of nonsense.”

“A pity,” said Harry with a sigh. “I dearly love a duel, and it is some while since I was called upon to play the part of a second. Once, you were more of a fire-eater, when I consider how often I was there to hold your pistols or mop up after one of your bloodthirsty affrays.”

“Those days are long gone,” said Titus.

“Like love.”

“Oh, the devil with you, Harry. What we did back then, when we were soldiers together, that belongs to a different world, and one I am very glad to turn my back on. Grown men have better things to do than take shots at one another or cross swords in earnest.”

“Not here in Venice, they don't.”

“I am no Venetian.”

An enquiry of the obliging neighbour to the Wyttons' had led Alethea and Figgins to modest lodgings in the nearby Pensione Donata, where a heavy-browed landlady with suspicious eyes agreed that they might rent two rooms on the second floor for a night or so.

“It seems clean enough,” Figgins said, after an inspection of dark corners and a quick peer behind the huge cupboard that stood between the two deep windows of the room they had been shown up to. “Only what are you going to do until Mrs. Wytton returns? Do we stay here in Venice?”

Alethea sighed. In truth, she felt as downhearted as she ever had. Arriving in Venice, at her journey's end, she had felt a flush of pride and achievement and a great deal of relief. Now, instead of finding herself in the safety of her family, able to shift out of her men's clothes and become herself again, she was faced with no very certain date for Camilla's return and decisions to be made.

“I do not want to stay here for some weeks, idling our time, perhaps running the danger of my husband coming to look for me. I think we had best set off tomorrow for Rome, or even think of going on to Vienna, to my parents.”

Figgins pursed her lips. “It seems to me, Miss Alethea, that Vienna is more than likely where Mr. Napier will go hunting for you, if he suspects you are gone abroad. It is what you have said all along.”

“As to that, I do not think it likely that he will have any idea of my being on the Continent,” Alethea said. She spoke the truth, for over the last few days, she had persuaded herself that there was little likelihood of Napier following her across the Channel. He might consider the possibility of her going to her sister in Paris, but was most likely to search for her in England, and would not venture to look further until he was sure that she was not in Yorkshire or London or Derbyshire.

She did not really want to go to Vienna. To appear on her parents' doorstep there was going to be much more difficult than explaining to Camilla and Wytton what she had been driven to do. However, once they reached Vienna, she could change back into women's clothes and pretend, perhaps, that she and Figgins had travelled in the company of some respectable woman friend.

Mrs. Vineham, for example, and she laughed out loud at the thought. She had a very good idea that Mrs. V would certainly not count as respectable company, and as for Lord Lucius—well, it was a good joke, and one that might be shared with Camilla, but not, she thought, with Papa and Mama.

“I am quite starving,” she said. “Let's go and find somewhere to eat, and then we can find out about how best to travel to Rome.”

“You'll never set off this evening!” cried Figgins. “Haven't we been jolted to bits for long enough, can't we take a night's sleep like Christians in our beds?”

“I don't think we can make arrangements so quickly. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Besides, it is so interesting here that I should like to spend a day or two exploring the city. Who knows when we may get another chance?”

“Never, I hope and pray,” Figgins said. “Damp and dirty is what I call it, and say what you may, God never intended us to live in a lagoon, or He would have made us water rats, not human beings.”

“Where's your spirit of adventure?” said Alethea, her own spirits rising at the prospect of dinner and a night's sleep, for which, although she didn't care to admit it, she was quite as eager as Figgins.

The food was delicious, in Alethea's opinion, less so as far as Figgins was concerned; she picked at this and that with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

Ironically, it was she, not Alethea, who awoke in the morning with vile stomach cramps and not the least inclination to venture out.

That settled it; they would not be on their way to Rome today. Alethea knew that Figgins was sometimes prone to bilious attacks, and hoped that this would prove to be no more than one of those. If she were taken really ill, then she must find a physician, but she wasn't going to think about that for the moment. Figgins assured her that although she felt mortal poorly, she would soon be on her feet again.

The landlady perked up when she heard that Figgins was unwell; she was obviously the kind of woman who liked illness and misfortune. She promised to take her up some herbal decoction of her own, a certain remedy for any disturbance of the stomach, she assured Alethea. Relieved that Figgins would be taken good care of, Alethea set off with a light heart and a great sense of freedom, to explore this strange and fascinating city.

It was a city, she rapidly discovered, that was full of music. Voices came from churches, the sound of a flute or a fiddle wafted over the water from open upstairs windows, there was a
quartetto
rehearsing in a room beside yet another church, and, as she crossed the square, she heard the sound of a soprano about her scales. All this was a great joy to her, and she spent a happy day, ending up standing under the dome of San Marco to listen to the sung mass. She was entranced by the music, dazzled by the gleaming, glittering mosaics above her head, fascinated by the popish ritual, and horrified by the overt religious enthusiasm demonstrated by the congregation, which seemed to consist largely of elderly women in black, who crossed themselves at frequent intervals and broke into a kind of wailing chant during the prayers.

Much refreshed in mind, body, and spirit, Alethea made her way back to their lodgings, to find Figgins looking pale and thin, but assuring Alethea that she felt much, much better, and would travel instantly to Rome, to China, to anywhere that was out of reach of the landlady's kind ministrations.

“I do not think there is a question of instantly,” Alethea said. “I am glad to see you recovered, but you are still quite weak and tired, and after all, there is no great hurry. How say you to a visit to the opera? I have found a theatre where there is a performance this very evening, and I long to hear an Italian opera here in the very country of its composition, with Italian singers and musicians.”

Figgins didn't share Alethea's love of music, but she liked a spectacle well enough, and Alethea could see that she would rather not be left in the care of the landlady for the whole evening. “Only if you feel well enough,” she said. “We need not stay for the whole performance.”

 

Her head abuzz with tunes from the opera, Alethea paid little heed to Figgins or to her surroundings, and they had walked for a little while in the hot, water-scented air before Figgins enquired if this was the right way, for although all those bridges and canals looked the same, she didn't remember that they had come through these very narrow streets, hardly more than passages, on their way to the theatre.

Alethea blinked, and came out of her musical reverie. “I believe you are right. We shall have to retrace our steps.”

An hour later, they were thoroughly lost. This part of the city was darker and quieter than where they had been, with only the sound of a rat slipping into the canal close to where they stood and the distant sound of a voice carrying over the water.

“If we can come to where there are gondolas,” Alethea said, “then we can ask to be taken back to our lodgings.”

Figgins, her London-bred senses all alert to city dangers, nodded. “I think we'd best be away from here as soon as may be.”

They came out of the narrow maze of streets on a wider canal, where light spilled out from behind open shutters and there were one or two people walking along the canals and over the bridges.

“Surely—” Alethea began, and then she felt a savage pain on the back of her head, and her eyes were dazzled with stars before her world went dark.