It was ten o’clock. Roger sat alone in a small library on the far side of the marble hall from Donna Livia’s salon. It was very quiet. No one seemed to be moving in the big house and he could have heard a hairpin drop.
Instead of amusing himself by looking at some of the thousand or so calf-bound, gilt-backed volumes the little room contained he was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of an elbowless chair, staring at the mosaic of the floor. It was well worthy of inspection, as it had once known the tread of patrician Roman feet in a villa at Baie; and, only after having lain buried there for many centuries, been removed and relaid, piece by piece, in its present position at the order of a Medici.
But Roger was not even conscious of it. With a mental pain, that almost seemed a physical hurt, he was thinking of Isabella, and wondering miserably what could have possessed him to spend the past two hours in the way he had.
He knew perfectly well that it was no question of his having fallen in love with Donna Livia at first sight. But for the subtly intoxicating urge to passion that had radiated from her, he would have continued to regard her with much the same detached pleasure that other supremely beautiful, but inanimate, objects had afforded him during his stay in Florence. And he felt no love for her now. One does not have to love the ripe peach taken from a sunny garden wall because one enjoys its luscious flavour. On the contrary he felt that he loved Isabella more than he had ever done before.
The thought that he had been unfaithful to her troubled him greatly. It was one thing to recognise that time might cause passion to fade and lead to other loves; but quite another to betray love when it was still in its first blooming. He found it difficult to analyse his troubled mind, but the nearest he could get to doing so was the feeling that he had committed a kind of sacrilege.
His sense of guilt made him nervy and apprehensive. He now dreaded seeing Isabella again, yet at the same time was more anxious than ever to get back to her, so that they could get away together as swiftly as possible. His uneasiness was further added to by the horrid, lurking suspicion that in some way or other the gods would make him pay for his betrayal of love. He felt that he had given hostages to Fortune and would not feel secure again until he and Isabella were safely out of Italy.
The sound of movement in the hall aroused him from his unhappy brooding. He hoped that it was caused by the Grand Duke’s arrival, and that proved to be the case. A few minutes later a servant came to fetch him, and he was conducted back to the salon.
Donna Livia was again reclining on her day-bed. Not a hair of her head was out of place and the expression on her beautiful face was now so demure that she might have been a picture of “Innocence” painted by Titian himself. The Grand Duke was standing beside her.
After three formal bows Roger permitted himself a good look at the ruler of Tuscany, while waiting to be addressed. Peter Leopold was then forty-two years of age. He was a tallish man with a slim figure. He had the same high forehead and blue eyes as his sister, but unlike her his nose was inclined to turn up at the tip. With a friendly smile at Roger, he said in German:
“Herr Brook, I understand that you are the bearer of a despatch to me from Her Majesty, my sister.’
“Altess!” Roger bowed again, and produced the sheets of tracing paper from his pocket. “I have that honour. Here it is; though you will observe that it is not the original. I considered that too bulky to carry with safety, so I made this transcript which was more easily concealable.”
The Grand Duke took and glanced at the letter. “This is in our family’s private cypher, but so altered as to be unreadable.”
“May it please Your Highness, that was a further measure of my own for its greater security in transit. But the rules I devised for altering the original makes its retransposition simple to anyone who knows the secret. With your permission I will write them out for you.”
“Be pleased to do so.” The Grand Duke motioned Roger towards Donna Livia’s secretaire, on which pens and paper were laid out. Sitting down there Roger quickly wrote out the key, and with a bow handed it to the sovereign, who said:
“I see the despatch is of considerable length, so I will not read it now, but at my leisure. It is possible that I may wish to send a reply. If so I assume you would be willing to take it for me?”
At this bolt from the blue Roger felt that Nemesis had caught up with him already. But he was determined not to allow his own plans to be upset if he could possibly avoid it. So after only a second’s hesitation, he replied:
“Any command Your Highness may give me, I should naturally feel it my duty to execute. But I am not in the service of Her Majesty of France. I acted as Her Majesty’s messenger only because any gentleman of her own nation would have been suspect by her enemies; and urgent family matters now call for my return as soon as possible to England.”
To his immense relief the Grand Duke did not press the matter, but said amiably: “In that case I would not dream of detaining you. I trust that you have been well looked after during your short visit to my city. Meggot’s hotel has a good reputation for making those who stay there comfortable.”
Roger was a little taken aback at this evidence that the secret police of Florence had thought it worth while to report his arrival, and done so with such swiftness; but he at once gave an assurance that he had lacked for nothing.
“How long is it since you left Versailles?” the Grand Duke enquired.
“It is, alas, five weeks, Your Highness,” Roger confessed. “And I humbly crave your pardon for not having delivered Her Majesty’s letter to you sooner. But I was attacked by her enemies on the road and sustained wounds which, though not of a serious nature, compelled me to do the greater part of my journey in a coach.”
“I am sorry to hear of it, and glad to see now that you appear fully recovered. It seems, though, that you can tell me nothing new of the state of affairs in France, as I have received much later intelligence from agents of my own who left long after you. But tell me, Herr Brook, why, on arriving in Florence, did you seek an audience of me through the Donna Livia, instead of waiting upon me at my palace?”
“I first attempted to do so, Altess, but Her Majesty’s enemies had reached Florence ahead of me, and frustrated my attempt by a further attack upon me here last night.”
The Grand Duke frowned. “I was informed that you arrived at Meggot’s only this afternoon.”
“That is correct. But I reached Florence on Monday last, the first of June; and although the precaution against attack proved futile in the outcome, I sought to avoid it by taking lodgings under an assumed identity.”
“Tell me of this attack. I have succeeded in making Florence a law-abiding city compared with many others; and the Watch shall be punished for their laxity in not having frustrated it. Give me, please, full particulars.”
Roger then described how he had been kidnapped and taken before the hooded men. As he spoke of the tribunal the Grand Duke began to walk uneasily up and down, and muttered angrily to himself:
“These accursed Freemasons! They will be the undoing of us all. The stupidity of the nobility is past all understanding. How can they be so blind as to allow their liberal leanings to make them the allies of anarchists? They flatter themselves that they can control the movement, but in that they make a hideous error. By using their wealth and influence to foster and conceal its activities the fools are weaving a halter that will one day be put round their own necks.”
In deference to this royal monologue, Roger had paused; but the Sovereign added impatiently in a louder tone: “Go on! Go on. I am listening to you.”
Roger had as yet made no mention of Isabella and, as briefly as he could, he now concluded his account without any reference to her.
When he had done the Grand Duke stood silent for a moment, then he continued his unhappy musing aloud. “I wonder if Scipione Ricci is concerned in this? He may be. Or it may be only his major-domo who is a traitor. Oh, I wish I knew! How can I find out? I must find out somehow! And you! What guarantee have I that you are not lying to me about these people for some purpose of your own? Is there no one that I can trust? No one?”
For the first time Donna Livia spoke; addressing the Grand Duke in German, that being the language habitually used between them. With a wicked little smile at Roger from behind her royal lover’s back, she said:
“At least, dear Prince, you know that I would never deceive you; and Herr Brook’s account of this matter seems so circumstantial that it would be hard to doubt his veracity.”
The Grand Duke swung round upon her. “I pray that you may be right in the first, gnädige frau, for you are certainly wrong in the second.”
Again Roger felt Nemesis rushing upon him as the suspicious ruler turned about, his slightly protuberant blue eyes now filled with a baleful light, and exclaimed:
“You have told but half the truth! If that! For now that I know you to be the man called de Breuc, who lodged at del Sarte Inglesi, I can add much to your story. You concealed yourself there instead of going to a larger place not from any fear of attack, but on account of a young woman who wished to hide the fact that she had come with you to Florence. Can you deny it?”
Since it was obvious that the Grand Duke knew about Isabella it would have been senseless to enrage him further by a downright lie. But, drawing a deep breath, Roger joined issue with him as best he could:
“Your Highness. The truth of all that I have had the honour to tell you is in no way invalidated by my omission to mention that I arrived in Florence with a lady. I owe to her my recovery from the wounds I received in the service of Her Majesty, your sister; and sought to repay something of my debt by giving her my escort on a part of her journey through Italy.”
“And made her your mistress into the bargain, eh?”
“Nay, Altess.” Roger could reply with perfect honesty. “She is unmarried, and I have treated her with every respect.”
The Grand Duke evidently did not believe him, as he retorted with a sneer: “I will ask you a riddle. ‘When is a Señorita not a Señorita?’ And lest you lack the wit to find the answer I will give it. ’Tis: ‘When she is lying at a lodging with a young man of your name and calls herself Madame de Breuc.’”
It being unthinkable to give a royal personage the lie, Roger was momentarily at a loss what to reply; but Donna Livia intervened on his behalf. Pretending to smother a yawn, she said:
“Forgive me, dear Prince, but I am hungry, and our supper waits. You must surely appreciate that if some young lady has granted her favours to Miester Brook, the elementary dictates of chivalry would restrain him from admitting it to you. In any case, his private affairs can be of no interest to a person of such exalted station as yourself.”
He shot her a swift glance. “The trouble is that his private affairs are also those of others; and I have myself been dragged into them this very afternoon. ’Tis a niece of the Frescobaldi that he has seduced, and they are clamouring for his blood.”
Roger endeavoured to conceal his perturbation at this alarming intelligence; and, feeling it more essential than ever to attempt to establish Isabella’s innocence, he cried: “Your Highness, I do beg leave to protest. The lady adopted the married style only because her duenna died on the journey; and afterwards it provided a more circumspect appearance for our lodging at the same inns that she should pass as my sister-in-law.”
“Where is she now?” demanded the Grand Duke.
“On her way to Naples, Altess.”
“ ’Tis well for you that she left when she did. Had the Frescobaldi caught you with her they would have killed you out of hand. And they may catch you yet. This afternoon they asked the assistance of my police to trace you, and if you are apprehended you will be brought before me.”
“Then, vowing my innocence, I take this opportunity of throwing myself on Your Highness’s mercy, and craving your protection.”
The Grand Duke gave Roger an unsmiling stare. “As to your innocence, I cannot bring myself to believe it. The circumstances against you are too strong. And if my judgment is at fault in that, you have still placed yourself in a position where you must pay the penalty for what you might have done, had you had a mind to it. You do not seem to appreciate the iniquity of your offence, and must, I think, have been crazy to compromise so great a lady.”
“Altess, I am now deeply conscious of my folly,” Roger admitted, in consternation at the way in which matters were going. “But I beg to remind Your Highness that the lady is not yet compromised; nor will she be if her relatives have the sense to refrain from making the matter public.”
“In that your hopes are vain, for ’tis already the talk of Florence. And should you be brought before me, I shall have no alternative but to deal severely with you. Were not proper safeguards maintained against young men ruining the reputations of unmarried girls of high station there would be an end to all society. The Frescobaldi have incontestable grounds for demanding that I send you to cool your ardour in prison for a term of years; and they are too powerful a clan for me to go contrary to their wishes in any matter where a major policy of the State is not concerned. Besides, did I quash the case, on learning of the insult to his daughter. General Count d’Aranda would ask His Most Catholic Majesty to make representations on the matter to me. And I have no intention of allowing so trivial an affair to be magnified to the extent of creating bad feeling between Spain and Tuscany.”
At the threat of a term of imprisonment Roger felt again all the dismay he had experienced while in de Vaudreuil’s custody at Fontainebleau; and more, for now it would mean his losing his beloved Isabella. Hastily he pleaded:
“Altess, since I sloughed off the identity of a Frenchman at midday, ’tis possible that I may escape the attentions of your police while lying at Meggot’s tonight. As I have already informed Your Highness, now that I have fulfilled my mission, I am most anxious to return to England. If I remain uncaptured I shall leave Florence first thing tomorrow morning. But it may be that by this time your police have already concluded that de Breuc and myself are one. If so, on my return to Meggot’s, or in a few hours’ time, I shall be arrested. May I not beg your clemency at least to the extent of affording me your protection for tonight?”
The Grand Duke shook his head. “Nay. That would entail my withdrawing the order for your arrest, and I am not prepared to compromise myself that far. I have no personal animus against you, so I will take no steps to prevent your leaving Florence if you can. But by your folly you have made a bed of nettles for yourself, and if you are caught must lie upon it.”
Roger’s mind began to revolve in swift, desperate plans for evading capture. He dared not now return to Meggot’s. Would it be possible to get out of the city by dropping from one of its walls during the night? If not, he must hide himself somewhere till morning. But in either case he would now have no horse, and it would take him several hours to walk to Pontassieve. He was about to beg permission to take his leave when, suddenly, Donna Livia came to his rescue.
“Dear Prince,” she said quietly. “I trust you will not take it amiss if I recall to you that you owe a debt to this gentleman. He has travelled far upon your business, and shown both wit and courage in executing his mission. Indeed, he has actually sustained wounds while bringing Her Majesty, your sister’s, letter to you. However incensed you may justly feel at his personal conduct, surely his request for a night of grace is but a small reward for the service he has rendered?”
“True, true!” muttered the Grand Duke. “With the complaints of the Frescobaldi still fresh in my ears I had forgotten about the letter.” Then, his expression changing to one of suspicion, he gave her a dark look, and added: “But what is he to you? Why should you take up the cudgels on his behalf? Tell me. What is he to you?”
Roger’s heart missed a beat. For a moment it had seemed that Donna Livia’s good nature had saved him. But now his hopes were in jeopardy once more. Would she dare to continue in the role of his champion? And if she did might she not further inflame to his disadvantage her royal lover’s jealous mania?
She shrugged her shoulders. “He is to me no more than a foreigner whose opinion may redound to my dear Prince’s credit or otherwise. Should he succeed in escaping unaided he will carry but a poor opinion of Your Highness to England and elsewhere. Therefore, for the honour of Tuscany, I pray you give him a pass so that he may leave the city tonight, and thus at least have a fair chance of eluding his enemies.”
In horrible suspense Roger waited for the Grand Duke’s reply. At length Leopold nodded. “You are right. To let him be caught through having remained here on my business would ill become me. And if I do as you suggest it cannot afterwards be proved that I did so knowing that he was this Monsieur de Breuc that the Frescobaldi are seeking.”
Fishing in his waistcoat pocket, he produced a small gold medallion, that had his head on one side of it and a figure of Mercury upon the other. Holding it out to Roger, he said:
“This is a talisman carried only by couriers bearing my most urgent despatches. Even should the police already be at Meggot’s, on your producing it they will not dare to detain you; and on your showing it at the guard-house of the Pisa gate the gate will be opened for you.”
As he took the medallion Roger went down on one knee and murmured his gratitude; then, his boldness returning, he begged permission to kiss Donna Livia’s hand, as that of his protectress.
Permission being granted she extended her hand to him and said severely: “I trust your narrow escape will be a lesson to you, Miester Brook. And that should you return to Tuscany you will bear it well in mind that His Highness’s high moral rectitude is unlikely to permit him again to show leniency, should you indulge in acts of seduction.”
Roger felt the laughter bubbling inside him, but he dared show his appreciation of her witty sally only by the twinkling of his eyes. With renewed thanks to the Grand Duke he bowed his way from the room, and two minutes later was out of the house.
At Meggot’s he learned to his relief that no one had enquired for him; so he had his things packed, paid his bill, mounted his grey and rode off through the almost deserted streets to the Pisa gate. There, after a short wait, an officer was fetched who, at the sight of the medallion, at once had the gate opened. The clocks of Florence were chiming eleven as he left the city.
He thought it almost certain that the courier’s talisman would have secured his exit at any other gate, and that the Grand Duke had specified the one opening on to the Pisa road only because he had been led to suppose that his visitor meant to head for Leghorn and England. But now, being aware of his suspicious nature, Roger feared that he might check up the following morning, so had followed his instructions to the letter. Doing so necessitated riding in a great semi-circle round the outside of the city wall, but another twenty minutes brought him on to the Pontassieve road. As he turned eastward along it he felt that at last he had put Florence and its dangers behind him.
Yet, again he became oppressed by his sense of guilt as the thought of the way in which he had spent the earlier part of the evening kept on recurring to him. For a little he took refuge in the argument that if he had not pleasured Donna Livia she might not later have come to his rescue, and that by this time, instead of still being a free man, he might be on his way to one of the Grand Duke’s prisons. But he knew that the argument did not hold water, because he had given way in the first situation before he had the least idea that the second might occur.
He then began to wonder if the episode had been a great exception in Donna Livia’s life, and, flattering as it would have been to assume so, he decided that it probably had not. Her remark that he need not concern himself about the old nurse certainly suggested that it was not the first time she had deceived her royal lover. No doubt she had to be extremely careful to whom she offered such opportunities, and confined her gallantries to men like himself, who came to her house by chance and it was unlikely that she would see again. He wondered if any such had ever refused her, and in view of her beauty decided that was most improbable. If so, the odds were that some of those others had also betrayed young wives or sweethearts at the temptation of her passionate embrace. That thought was a comfort in a way, but somehow it did not make him much less ashamed of himself.
Once more the idea came to him that a mocking Fate might yet make him pay for those two hours of blissful abandon that he had spent in Donna Livia’s arms. But he had suffered such acute apprehension during the hour that followed that he hoped the god of Fidelity—if there was one—might consider he had been punished enough already.
As he rode through Pontassieve every house was dark and shuttered. On passing the inn he looked up at Isabella’s window, and he wished desperately that he had never been compelled to leave her that afternoon. But it was no good crying over spilt milk. The great thing was that he would be with her again the following morning, and the sooner he forgot the existence of the lovely, wanton Donna Livia the better.
Ten minutes later he was knocking up the people at the farm. The man had been sleeping in his day clothes and, shuffling out, led the grey round to the stable. Roger took off his outer things, pulled the blankets of his bed-roll round him, and in a few minutes was sleeping the sleep of the unrighteous—which at times a merciful Providence permits to be as sound as that of the just.
When he woke in the morning he felt splendidly well. All the heaviness that he had been feeling for the past few weeks was gone. He decided that the night before he had been making mountains out of molehills, and could now view his brief affaire with Donna Livia in proper perspective. It had been a marvellous experience and one that he would not have missed for worlds. To take a Grand Duke’s favourite mistress practically under his nose was no small triumph. No young man of courage and sense could possibly have resisted such an opportunity; and had he been fool enough to do so he would have regretted it ever afterwards. Just to think of lying on one’s deathbed and remembering that one had had such a chance, yet acted the prude and not taken it! How his dear Georgina would have mocked him, had he confessed to her such a failure to play the man through silly scruples. Far from forgetting the passionate Tuscan, she would become one of his treasured memories, and that would not interfere in the very least with his genuine devotion to Isabella.
Having washed himself and dressed he ate a simple but hearty breakfast, of four fresh eggs and a huge chunk of home-cured ham, with voracious appetite. Then, humming gaily to himself, he sought to kill time by wandering round the farm slashing the heads off weeds with the point of his sword. He felt that he could have jumped a five-barred gate or taken on half a dozen of the Grand Duke’s police single-handed.
At ten past eight he loaded his things into the panniers of one of the mules, and the farmer helped him to saddle up the other animals; then, at a few minutes before the half-hour, now filled with happy anticipation at the thought of getting off, he strode with a buoyant step as far as the road to welcome Isabella on her arrival.
Half past eight came but no Isabella. For ten minutes he sauntered up and down quite unperturbed, but by a quarter to nine he began to grow a little impatient. At ten minutes to the hour his exaltation had collapsed like a pricked balloon; five minutes later he had become the prey of desperate anxiety.
Suddenly it occurred to him that she might have thought that he had timed the rendezvous for nine o’clock. For a few minutes the idea brought him intense relief. But the hour still brought no sign of her. With an effort he compelled himself to give her a further five minutes’ grace. Then he could bear it no longer. Running to his grey, he swung himself into the saddle and galloped off up the road to the inn.
Outside it there was no coach; none of her servants was visible. The place lay quiet in the morning sunshine; it showed no activity of any kind. White with dismay, and feeling as though the heavens were about to fall upon him, he flung himself from his horse and dashed inside.
In the kitchen he found the innkeeper, preparing a piece of raw meat. The man gave him a curious look, then with a greasy thumb and forefinger drew a letter from his apron pocket.
“I was expecting you, Signor,” he said in Italian. “The Signorina left here late in the afternoon of yesterday, and her maid asked me to give you this.”
Snatching the letter Roger tore it open with trembling fingers. The writing was barely legible, having run in places where it had been copiously watered with Isabella’s tears. Half blinded with his own, and, in an agony to know what had occurred, skipping from line to line, he gradually made it out. It ran:
O love of my life,
All our stratagems have proved in vain. My aunt and cousin arrived here this afternoon. They were half-mad with rage and mortification at the dishonour they say I have done our house. They treated both myself and my servants like criminals. Under their threats Pedro broke down and confessed that he believed you to be my lover. It is due to your chivalry alone that I was able to prove to my aunt that I am still a virgin.
That mollified her somewhat. She considers that it will save me from repudiation by my fiancé. But she insisted that I should proceed at once to Naples under the escort of my horrid cousin and his men-at-arms. For two hours I withstood her while she prated of my duty. At length she confronted me with the terrible alternative. If I persisted in my refusal she would have you slain as the cause of it.
Something, I know not what, has made them suspect that you mean to rejoin me here. She threatened to carry me to Florence as a prisoner and leave men in ambush at the inn to kill you on your return.
I love you more than my life. To save yours I will face any future, however repugnant to me. I have now consented to do as she wishes. In a few minutes I set out again for Naples under my cousin’s escort.
I begged my aunt for a brief respite before setting out to compose myself by prayer. I am using it to write this. Maria will see that the innkeeper has it to give to you.
I pray you by our love not to follow me. Gusippi Frescobaldi has with him a dozen men. Any attempt to snatch me from them could result only in your death. That would render my sacrifice in vain. The thought that I had brought about your death would drive me insane. I would go mad and dash out my brains against a wall.
I am resigned. I assure you I am resigned. For a month I have lived in a sweet dream. To think of it will be my consolation all my life long. But I am awake again. I must be brave and undertake the duties to which my birth has called me. But without the knowledge that you still live and sometimes still think of me I should lack the courage.
I shall never love anyone else. Never! Never!
Good-bye, dear chivalrous English Knight. Good-bye, sweet companion of my soul.
While life doth last,
Your Isabella.
His eyes blurred with tears, Roger thrust the letter into his pocket. His throat was tight with the agony of his loss and, as he stumbled from the kitchen, he shook with rage at this annihilation of all his plans. In spite of Isabella’s pleas he had already determined to follow her. Twelve men or a hundred might guard her, but somehow by wit and courage he would get her back.
He had hardly covered half the distance to the street when a side door in the passage opened. An officer came out and behind him Roger vaguely glimpsed a squad of soldiers. He made to push his way past, but the officer barred his passage and, thrusting another letter at him, said curtly in bad French:
“For you, Monsieur. By His Highness the Grand Duke’s orders.”
In a daze Roger tore the missive open, and read:
As we supposed would be the case, instead of proceeding to Leghorn you have attempted to rejoin the Señorita d’Aranda. Consider yourself fortunate that we have not ordered that you be brought back to Florence to face the accusations of the Frescobaldi. It is our pleasure that within three days you should have left Tuscany. You may proceed at your choice either towards Leghorn or Milan. The officer who delivers this letter will escort you to our frontier.