Vintage Love (99 page)

Brother Louis eyed her expectantly. “It is time!”

“So?”

He went to a closet and brought out a dark robe much like that of the woman who had just left. He said, “There is a dressing room over there.” He pointed to the reception hall. “Strip your clothes and put on this robe.”

Alarmed, she said, “Must I?”

“If you wish to join the gathering.”

She took the robe. “Why not let me slip it on over my own clothing. No one need know.”

“That is impossible!” Brother Louis said stonily. “I have been ordered to take you to the gathering. You must lose no time. Strip!”

Almost ready to run for freedom again, she turned and crossed to the door of what he said was a dressing room. It turned out that it was. Hooks had been installed all along four sides of the room and clothing hung from the hooks. She was not alone in being told to strip naked before donning the robe of the cult. Relaxed by the drug she’d inhaled, she began to strip, a thing she might not have done otherwise. She carefully hung her things on a hook and hastily donned the robe. She returned to Brother Louis in her bare feet, her shoes and stockings left behind with her other clothing.

She said, “I am ready.”

He eyed her hungrily, noticing her bare feet. He asked, “You are fully stripped beneath the robe?”

“Even to my shoes.”

He nodded. “Now I must blindfold you.”

“Why?”

“It is the rule,” he said firmly. And he produced a dark band of cloth and tied it about her eyes so that she could not see anything.

“What now?” she asked.

“Come along,” he said, taking her arm. “I shall guide you.”

He led her across the reception hall and then down a winding stone stairway which seemed to twist about for an interminable time. And as she descended the smell of the incense grew stronger. She found herself coughing from its sweet fumes. Then they reached a level area, and in the distance she heard a monotonous chanting of male and female voices.

The noise grew louder and she felt the chanting worshippers must be all around her. All at once Brother Louis removed the blindfold and she saw that she was truly in the middle of a room filled with the Devil’s followers. The walls were painted with views of Satan ascendant and other scenes so erotic she couldn’t let her eyes remain on them.

All about her were the cowled heads of the brown-robed men and women of the cult. On a raised stage a few yards before her stood High Priest Barsini in a red robe! Beside him sat a black velvet altar with black candles burning. The walls of the stage bore murals of men and women in every sort of erotic position.

The altar’s front was decorated with the image of a goat trampling on a crucifix. Barsini smiled down at the group and she was almost sure he was directing the smile solely at her.

Now two members of the cult brought a naked, young woman from the side of the stage. The nude girl was Irma! Della felt her cheeks burn at the sight of her flesh and blood naked before this assemblage of males and females. It seemed that Irma was more deeply drugged than anyone else, for she moved as if in a trance and her lovely face and eyes were blank of expression.

The two men turned the naked Irma over to the red-robed Count Barsini. He led her gently to the altar and saw her stretched out on it. Then he gave the group a signal and they began to sing a mournful dirge in some weird tongue. A gibberish of a mass was said by Barsini, his face and hands uplifted over the outstretched nude body of Irma on the altar.

Black hosts were passed to be eaten and Barsini placed one between Irma’s breasts and spilled wine over her body from a silver chalice. As he finished this he removed his robe to reveal his own naked figure and shocked Della by placing his body over that of the prostrate Irma to indulge in intercourse with her on the altar! The sight of this ignited the worshippers. On all sides the men and women flung off their robes and naked bodies of males and females mingled in a bare-faced sexual exhibition!

Della stood there, her hands pressed to her temples and terror on her lovely face, as the naked couples dropped to the floor on all sides of her to twist and squirm in the mass fornication. Blindly she turned and started toward the doorway at the rear, picking her way amid the moaning pairs, until suddenly she was confronted by a young blond giant!

The face of the young man showed a lascivious grin as he confronted her in his total nudity. His great chest heaved with excitement and he reached out with his large hands and in a single motion tore the robe from her.

“Lovely!” he said, staring at her unashamedly.

She crossed her hands over her breasts and begged him, “Let me go!”

His answer was to laugh wildly and catch her and pick her up in his arms as if she were a child. He carried her sobbing and screaming to another, smaller room which was deserted. She clawed at him and pounded him with her fists, but none of it seemed to bother him. He threw her on the hard floor and as she crouched there panting, he slowly descended upon her.

The giant’s lips pressed to hers, his hands pinned her to the floor, and as he painfully penetrated her she passed out. When she opened her eyes again he had vanished and she lay there aching and miserable from her battle with him.

She struggled to a sitting position and looked for something to protect herself but could find nothing. With a moan she got to her feet, feeling soiled and abused. She staggered to the doorway only to be met by Barsini, wearing his red robe again. He carried a black robe which he carefully draped over her.

She gasped, “You—you animal!”

“Easy,” he said. “I could give you back to some of those hungry males out there!”

“You tricked me into coming here! Told me it would be safe!”

He smiled. “No harm has come to you.”

“I was raped by that giant!” she sobbed.

“Some women would not complain,” Barsini told her. “I took you to be more sophisticated!”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “I’m not used to being defiled! Nor did I enjoy watching you violate my sister before all those people!”

“Irma knew what was going to happen,” he said. “It is part of our ritual.”

“Your signal for them to break into an orgy!” she exclaimed.

The bald man chuckled. “But orgies always accompany Satanist gatherings. You could not be so much a child as not to expect that.”

She wanted to tell him how throughly rotten she believed him, but realized that any protection she might get must come from him. He had threatened to turn her over to the depraved, drug-sodden males in the next room and he had meant it. So she must be discreet for the moment.

Pushing back her hair from her face, she said, “I want to leave here at once and I intend to take Irma with me.”

“I’m sorry, that is not possible,” he said urbanely.

“Why not?”

“She has left with someone else. A young noble who took a great fancy to her. As a priestess she is free to bestow her favors on any member of our group. I would imagine they are back at his house by now, enjoying each other!”

She eyed him with suspicion. “You could be lying to me.”

“I’m not,” he promised. “She left with him only a few minutes ago. Before I came to you. It was she who asked that I look after you.”

“If any harm comes to her you will pay for it,” Della warned him.

“I’m not worried about that at all,” the Count said genially. “I expect you’d like to dress.”

“I would,” she said grimly.

“It would be wise to leave this area of the villa. Come with me to my private apartment. You can wash up there and dress. Then we can talk.”

“No!” she said, drawing back from him.

He spread his hands in a plea to be heard. “Why be more difficult than you need to be? You cannot stay down here. These revels will go on until dawn!”

“Sexual orgies!” she said with disgust.

“Whatever you wish to call them,” he said, dismissing her scorn. “I’m trying to carry out Irma’s wish to protect you.”

“A little late,” she reminded him.

“Why harp on it? You suffered no serious physical harm,” Barsini said. “Now be sensible, come along with me!”

She knew that she truly had no other choice. So she let him escort her back up the winding stairs to the ground floor. Then they picked up her clothing from the dressing room and continued on to his private apartment. It was away from the rest of the house. The sound of the revels could no longer be heard.

She washed and dressed in the privacy of the small antechamber adjoining the Count’s bedroom. When she came out fully dressed she found that he had also changed back into his linen suit.

He smiled at her. “I still marvel at your resemblance to Irma. I feel that I have already possessed you!”

She reddened at this reference to his rape of her look-alike and said, “Please see me home safely.”

“I will,” the Count said. “But first we have some things to discuss over a drink.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she told him.

“I think you have,” he said calmly. “There was the matter of the Madonna. Remember?”

In the midst of her humiliation she had completely forgotten about the stolen Madonna. Now it all came rushing back to her. She said, “All right, I will remain. But only for a few moments.”

“As you will,” he said and, as she waited, he brought her a martini along with a large drink for himself. He sat opposite the divan on which she’d seated herself and smiled at her speculatively.

“You interest me greatly,” he confided.

“Forget the pleasantries,” she rebuked him. “We can never be friends!”

His laugh was knowing. “Irma once said almost the very same words to me.”

“I am not Irma, however much I may look like her.”

His eyes ravaged her in the smart, low-cut black gown. “Very well,” he said. “Let us go on to other things.”

“What about the Madonna?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Give me a moment, I beg you. Since we talked this afternoon I have been in touch with Brizzi.”

“I do not believe there is such a person!”

“You think I’m making him up?”

“Yes!”

“You are extremely difficult to convince,” he sighed. He got up and went over to his desk and pulled out a drawer. From the drawer he took a folded newspaper and brought it to her. “Read for yourself!”

She took the paper from him and saw the headline:
Brizzi Strikes Again!

Standing over her, he said, “That story is only a few months old. You see the date on the paper.”

Again he was right. She noted the date and putting the newspaper to one side, told him, “All right! So there is a Brizzi! That does not mean he stole the Madonna. I say you engineered that!”

“I wish I had,” Barsini said, his smile vanishing. “It would be easier for you to deal with.”

She frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that your problem is Brizzi! He is the one convinced that you have the jeweled Madonna!”

“I have never even seen it!”

“Yet you know all about it,” he said sharply.

“Because of the attacks on me both here and in England. It began just after I learned that a letter had been found naming Irma as my sister.”

Count Barsini nodded. “It is Brizzi’s firm belief that the Madonna which was stolen from him fell into Irma’s hands and she shipped it to you!”

“Irma will tell a different story! And you know it! You probably have the Madonna!”

The tall, bald man eyed her scornfully. “If I had the treasure do you think I’d be wasting time here talking with you?”

“You cannot believe I have it!” she protested.

“Your protests have the ring of sincerity,” he was willing to admit.

“Well, then?”

“Perhaps you have the Madonna without being aware of it.”

“How could that be?”

“It may have been delivered to you without your discovering it, hidden in something else.”

She frowned. “I received nothing from Rome.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There are those who believe you did.”

“That is all you have to tell me?”

“I greatly fear that is true,” he said with some disdain. “You will have to battle this for yourself.”

She rose, feeling sick and weary. “What a fool I have been!”

“On the contrary,” Barsini said. “You may be the most exquisite liar of all. I wish you well if you do have the Madonna. But I warn you, if it is in your possession you would be much wiser to hand it over to me!”

“Let me go!” she cried angrily.

He nodded. “As you say. I will call you a carriage.” He summoned a servant and ordered a carriage for her. And a few minutes later he saw her down to it and helped her inside.

She leaned out. “Are you not coming with me?”

“Why should I?” he asked.

“To protect me!”

He smiled coldly. “The driver knows the address!” And he stepped back and signaled the driver to start.

The carriage started with a jolt and she had a final glimpse of the bald, bearded man standing by one of the torches flaring outside his villa. His saturnine features were highlighted in the flare’s amber glow. She began to tremble and couldn’t stop. She felt nauseated.

How could she have thought herself clever enough to match wits with the evil Count? There was no question that Henry Clarkson had been right in warning her not to go to his party. Now she had been shamed physically and spiritually!

Irma had become so debased under the Count’s careful tutelage that after having been raped in public by the evil Barsini, she had gone off for another orgy with some equally decadent man! She suspected that Irma was being kept filled with dangerous, mind-muddling drugs, so that she did Barsini’s bidding without question.

Worst of all, her efforts to find out more about the stolen Madonna had been successful in the wrong way. She now knew more about its theft, but she was still under suspicion of having the stolen treasure.

Irma was supposedly responsible for this. But she felt Irma had spread the false story under the Count’s instructions and for his benefit. Perhaps to give him time to dispose of the jeweled loot. While the superthief Brizzi and his thugs were after her trying to get the Madonna back, it was likely in the hands of Barsini, who hoped to dispose of it for the best possible price. It would not be an easy item to be rid of, so likely it would be broken up and the jewels sold singly.