Vintage Love (115 page)

“So I’m to threaten Barsini with a pistol,” he said. “You know what will happen to me if Barsini manages to get the upper hand some way. I’ll be murdered.”

“And so will I,” she said. “But I’m willing to take the risk to find out about Irma. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Did you bring the black robes with the cowls similar to those worn by the Satanists?” Della asked him.

He nodded. “Yes. I have them with me.”

“All we have to do is put them on and we should be fairly safe,” she said. “We can mingle with the others and move about.”

“They are only given the privilege of certain parts of the villa,” he reminded her.

She gave him a grim smile. “We shall have to do better.”

So she set out on the dangerous mission with Raphael an almost unwilling accomplice. She could not help but remember what the young priest had told her. His warning about Raphael seemed to be based on a accurate appraisal of the handsome, young man’s character. Raphael’s brush with death the previous night had left him uneasy.

They reached the Barsini’s villa after darkness and watched it from the vantage point of a dark alley directly across the street. Carriages were arriving and many people were approaching the villa on foot. A single torch flamed at the main doorway and a man in footman’s livery was there to check the invitations of each of the guests before allowing them in.

Raphael said glumly. “I’ve never known him to be so strict about admitting his people.”

“He likely is afraid of someone like us getting in there for information.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

She was watching the movement of people at the door and told Raphael, “I’m sure there are enough in there now so that we won’t be noticed.”

“Does that mean you want to go in?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ll go down to the river bank, get in one of the rowboats that are always tied there and take it to the entrance of the villa at the water’s edge. It’s there for the convenience of anyone arriving by boat.”

“And it isn’t likely to be guarded?”

“I have never known it to be,” he said.

“When will we put on the robes?”

“After we are in the boat,” Raphael said. “It will only take us a moment or two to row to the villa’s river entrance.”

They moved on down the street and hurried to the river’s edge. Raphael took the first rowboat tied there. He helped her into it and then they both donned the black robes and pulled the cowls over their heads and most of their faces so they would not be easily recognized.

Raphael took the oars and guided the boat to the wooden door by the river. He stood up when they reached it and tried the door. It was unlocked. He gave her a signal that all was well and then opened the door and stood to help her out of the boat. She grasped his hands and he drew her up to join him. Then they stepped into the cellar and he closed the door after them.

Della’s previous misadventures at the sprawling Barsini villa had given her a fear of the place. And she found the gloomy cellar no different from the rest of the house—indeed it was more frightening. Having Raphael at her side gave her some courage, but she knew that his own fears made it chancy to rely on him.

At least she did not have to face the horror of another encounter with Gregorio. The giant was dead and would do her no more harm. If they were lucky they would locate Irma and get her out of the evil house. But she knew the vicious Count Barsini was no mean adversary.

Raphael led the way looking weird in his black robe and cowl, and she followed him closely. They would be safe as soon as they reached the area where the other Satanists gathered. The others would be an additional cloak to protect them from discovery.

They reached a wide stone stairway and went up to double wooden doors. Raphael listened at the doors and then motioned her to come along. He opened the doors and they found they were in a cooridor of the main house.

The walls were white and a brown carpet covered the broad corridor. At intervals there were examples of sculpture, most of them reflecting the weird character of the house and the man who owned it. On pedestals there were heads of ugly tormented men, snakes coiled in their hair, wanton sirens with daggers in their hands, and various strange figures which seemed to be a combination of human and animal elements. The pieces were all unpleasant to look at.

From above them came murmuring voices. Della supposed that the meeting rooms must be almost directly above them. She followed Raphael along the corridor and they came to an open door. The room looked like a study with a desk and chairs, but the walls were covered with paintings of couples in the act of love.

Even in this moment of danger Della reacted with shame to the shocking scenes depicted on the walls. She turned to make a comment to Raphael and to her utter consternation he was no longer at her side. In just a moment he had silently vanished!

She couldn’t believe it. She started for the door to the corridor and found that it was now closed. She ran to the door and tried the knob. It would not open!

“Raphael!” she cried out unhappily, leaning against the door for support.

There was no reply, just as she had feared. She left the door and went to the window. It was high above the Tiber with no balcony on which she might make an escape. Raphael had somehow been whisked away and she was a prisoner in this shocking room!

She went back to the door and tried it without any success. Then she pounded on it and cried out for help. She kept at this until her hands were sore and her throat ached. She was still bewildered by the suddenness of it all. What had happened to Raphael?

She realized the danger had greatly increased. Her presence in the villa was known and Raphael had in some way been removed! She had spent a long moment staring at the erotic drawings on the walls. In that stunned moment when her attention had been concentrated on the erotica this thing had happened!

Now she was a prisoner and separated from Raphael, who was also in custody of their enemies. If they were still convinced she knew where the Madonna was she could expect a fresh round of torture. That could also mean Raphael would be tortured to make her talk.

She paced back and forth trying to think what she might do. Then, without warning, the door opened and a suave Count Barsini entered in his black robe with the cowl folded back to show his head.

The evil Count bowed to her and smiled. “It seems you are unable to resist us!”

“Where is Raphael?” she asked tensely.

Barsini looked amused. “Not far away.”

“What have you done to him?”

“Nothing as yet.”

“You dare not hold us here,” she said. “I order you to fetch him here and let us both go free.”

He said, “You had your freedom until you intruded in my home.”

“We came for Irma. You must let her go!”

He continued to mock her. “What makes you think I’m keeping her here?”

“She has to be here!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Merely because you say so?”

“Because you think by threatening her you can make me tell you where the Madonna is!”

“Will you tell me?”

“No. I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know where it is myself. I suspect you or one of your henchmen has it.”

He strolled over to stand behind his desk. Giving her a look of appraisal, he said, “I don’t know what to do with you exactly. You have made things awkward by coming here.”

“You can believe I’m telling the truth when I say I don’t know where the Madonna is and end this mad charade!”

Barsini said, “Suppose I tell you that I know the messenger took the Madonna to you in London.”

“You mean Pasquale Borgo?”

Barsini stared at her. “So you know his name?”

“I have found out who your messenger was,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I met him.”

“I rather believe that it does!”

“Because you want to,” she said. “I can tell you that Pasquale Borgo never arrived in London. He must have been killed somewhere along the way.”

“By whom? No one but a trusted few knew his mission.”

“Then one of the trusted few must be to blame!” she cried.

Barsini was studying her with a cruel gleam in his eyes. “You have arrived here at a most unfortunate time. Just as we are about to have our Black Mass.”

“Then let me go!”

“I cannot do that,” he sighed. “But I think I should let you know the facts.”

“What facts?”

“That you are in this alone!”

She echoed, “Alone?”

He was smiling nastily now. “You asked me about your good friend Raphael? What happened to him?”

“Yes!”

“Nothing happened to him,” Barsini said with silky hatred in his tone. “He deserted you!”

She clasped her hands at her side and told herself not to lose courage. Defiantly she said, “I don’t believe you!”

“I will have him come in here shortly and let him tell you.”

She faltered a little as she groped for something to say. “I don’t understand.”

“The handsome Prince Raphael is mine,” Count Barsini said. “I own him.”

“No!”

“Sad but true,” Barsini purred on, his evil face crowned by the halo of his shining bald head.

“It can’t be!” she protested, sinking into a nearby chair. “He has been helping me from the start.”

“Pretending to help you,” Barsini corrected her. “Part of my plan to keep you under surveillance.”

She was now thinking of Father Walker and the priest’s warning. In a dull voice, she said, “What other facts don’t I know?”

“That Raphael and your twin sister have been in on this business of the stolen Madonna from the start!”

She stared up at him. “Irma also!”

He smiled grimly and nodded. “Yes. It was Irma who hit on the idea of making you an agent for us. She gave the Madonna to Pasquale Borgo with passage money and a note asking you to keep the piece in London. I was to go there later and get it from you.”

“I never saw Pasquale Borgo,” she insisted again.

“I fear that is not possible,” Barsini said. “I must leave you now. But I shall have Raphael and Irma sent to talk with you.”

“None of what you’re saying is true. You’re trying to terrify me,” she cried.

He spread his hands and said blandly, “Whatever you like to think? Just remember one thing! I’m not finished with you until I get the Madonna!”

With that he marched past her and out the door. She heard a key turn in it and the lock click into place and knew that he intended to keep her in the room, a prisoner. Whether the rest of what he’d told her was true she found it difficult to decide.

She felt weak and ill. Sitting in the chair again, she knew that she should have listened to Father Walker’s advice. He must have known more than she did. He had warned her about Raphael, but his warning had not been strong enough. If he suspected that Raphael was one of the thieves, he should have told her that outright.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the key turning in the door again. She jumped up to face the door, tense and waiting. It opened to reveal her sister.

Irma was wearing one of the Satanist’s robes and she looked well enough, except for a strange pallor, which might have been accentuated by the grim, black robe. She entered the room and the door was closed and the lock turned again.

Her sister’s first words were, “I’m sorry.”

She stared at her in disbelief. “You have not been a captive here?”

“No.”

“You stayed here to play along with Barsini’s rotten scheme to get the Madonna?”

Irma nodded, looking like a sad, lovely reflection of Della. “I know you must hate me,” she said. “I was in this before I knew about being your sister. That I would have money. After all the years of poverty I was mad to have wealth!”

Della said, “I’m sure you never suffered as Prince Sanzio’s foster daughter. He is a good man. I’m sure he was a fine father to you.”

Irma took a few steps away and with a grimace said, “I never starved. But we were genteel poor in a city of wealth!”

“You could look forward to your marriage to Raphael,” she reminded her.

Irma gave a bitter laugh. “That meant trading a girlhood of poverty for a womanhood of the same. Raphael is as poor as my unhappy father except for his title. He is a penniless prince.”

“So both you and he threw your lot in with Barsini?” she said, at last beginning to believe the nightmare.

“We are bound to Barsini by closer ties than that,” her sister said. “We are his disciples. He is leading us into a new existence!”

“Leading you to destroy yourselves,” she said with contempt.

Irma said, “I’m not interested in your opinions of our leader. I want to hear all you know about the Madonna.”

“Nothing!”

“That is impossible!” Irma said, showing anger. “I sent Pasquale to you. He was a trusted agent.”

“Then where is he now?” Della asked, hoping she had found something on which to reason with her enemies.

Irma said, “It was part of the agreement that he was to go underground for a few months. He had some trouble with the police here in Italy. An attack on a young girl. He needed to get out of the country and lose himself. We supplied him with the means to get away in exchange for his handling the Madonna.”

Della felt despair at hearing this. So the absence of Pasquale Borgo from the scene could be this easily explained. She made another attempt to talk her way out of her plight, saying, “In my opinion he ran off to Paris with the Madonna.”

“You’re saying he stole it from us?”

“Yes.”

Irma shook her head. “He wouldn’t dare! Not with the police after him already. He would be caught between Brizzi, the law and us. He’d never escape!”

Clutching on a last straw, she said, “Brizzi! He must have taken the Madonna back to Brizzi and thrown his lot in with the original thief!”

“Brizzi is still searching for the Madonna,” Irma said. “So that rules out your last alibi. You must be reasonable. Dreadful things will happen to you if you don’t tell us where the Madonna is.”

She backed away from her. “You’re mad!”

“You are the mad one! Why do you not tell us? You do not need the money! What can the Madonna mean to you?”