Now that Roger faced the issue, he knew that it would be futile to buoy himself up with false hopes of further delays. His mission was an urgent one, so it would receive prompt consideration; and immediately a decision upon it was taken he must return to France. Even should circumstances postpone his actual departure for a day or two, the gates of paradise were now closing against him with a terrifying rapidity. When Their Majesties landed tomorrow Don Diego would land with them. Tonight was the last he would be able to spend with Isabella.
In the morning he must give her back the key she had lent him to the garden gate, to save him having to climb over the wall. Don Diego used that key and gate. He was in the habit of coming in at all hours of the night by it; and Isabella had said that after his return nothing would induce her to receive her lover in the house, from fear that they might meet going or coming in the garden.
The more Roger thought of his approaching departure the deeper his gloom became. Now that he had lived with Isabella she meant even more to him than she had before. To give her up would be worse than tearing off one of his own limbs. He felt that he positively could not bring himself to do it. Yet there seemed no other alternative.
The gods, too, seemed suddenly to have deserted him. He had been blessed with a week of marvellous sunshine, but at last the weather had broken, and it had turned to rain. They had for that day accepted an invitation from the Prince and Princess Siglio to join a party going out to Lake Agnano. The Princess’s younger sister had recently entered a convent in that neighbourhood, so they were to lunch at the Convent, then spend the afternoon in the gardens of the Prince’s villa, which stood perched on the cliff that separated the lake from the sea.
Now that it was raining Roger feared that the party might be put off or, almost as bad from his point of view, they would have to spend the afternoon indoors. To his great relief, a messenger arrived in the middle of the morning with a note from the Princess to let him know that as lunch had been arranged for them at the Convent they would go there in any case; and they could then see if an improvement in the weather made it worth while to go on to the villa.
To Roger the lunch party was a strange experience. On arriving at the Convent he and his friends were conducted to a big room which was divided in two by a partition wall; but in the centre of the wall there was a fifteen-foot-wide archway, from the top of which a grille of iron bars, about ten inches apart, ran right down to the floor. In both halves of the room tables had been laid for a dozen people, and one end of each was separated from the other only by the grille, so that the two tables had the effect of one long one. The visitors sat on one side and on the other the Mother Superior, several pretty young nuns, and three jolly-looking priests. Both parties were served with the same rich food and wines, made merry with the same zest, and unblushingly exchanged the latest scandals and risqué stories.
Isabella told Roger afterwards that many young women preferred going into a nunnery to marriage, as it relieved them of all responsibility; and in the Kingdom of Naples these girls still enjoyed the great degree of freedom which, until comparatively recently, had for many centuries been customary in all Catholic countries. They had their love affairs with their confessors, and sometimes even secret ones with laymen, who managed to smuggle themselves into the convents disguised as gardeners, friars and workmen. But they were never burdened with the cares of rearing children, as their infants were taken from them at birth. If the mother was rich her child was put out to nurse; if not it was quietly strangled and buried in the garden. Roger considered himself broadminded but, for once, he found himself shocked.
By three o’clock the weather had cleared a little, so it was decided to go on to the villa. From it the views both to seaward and inland were beautiful beyond expression. In the clear water of the lake deer were drinking, and bright kingfishers skimmed through the reeds on its shore. But to Roger’s intense annoyance it came on to rain again, so love-making in the garden was out of the question; a card party was made up, and he and Isabella had no option but to join it.
That night, for the first hour or two, they said little, but their embraces took on an almost desperate fervour. Then, towards morning, Roger suddenly made up his mind to commit himself to a course of action with which he had been toying, on and off, all day.
“Isabella!” he cried at last, in an agony of passion. “I cannot give you up! I cannot! Not for good! ’Tis too much to be required of any human being. I must return to France, I know. But as soon as I have concluded my mission I mean to come back to Naples and settle here.”
He knew that to do so meant the end of his career, and that his private means were far from adequate to support the expensive tastes he had acquired in the past few years; but he felt sure that he could count on Sir William to find him some sort of post in Naples, and he was prepared to tackle any job provided it enabled him to remain near Isabella.
For a moment she remained silent, then she said sadly: “Nay, Rojé. You must not do that. My heart is aching as much as yours; but at least we have been blessed with this wonderful week to look back upon; and now we must face our cruel separation bravely. I forbid you to return. Your doing so would create a situation that I shudder to think of.”
“Why should it?” he burst out. “Every woman here has her lover; more, most of them give themselves to one man after another as they list, yet none of their husbands takes serious notice of their infidelities.”
She shook her head. “My husband is not like the rest. If he found out that you were my lover, he would kill you.”
“Nay, sweet. You are allowing your fears to run away with your imagination.”
“I am not, Rojé! I am not! Remember he is a Spaniard; and not even one who was brought up here. True Spaniards hold the honour of their wives more precious than their own lives. Don Diego despises the Neapolitan gentlemen for their laxness. I have heard him voice that opinion. If he found us out I swear that he would kill you.”
Isabella’s unexpected opposition had only the effect of making Roger more set than ever in his resolve to make her the be-all and end-all of his future. In the past week a score of people had told him how lovely Naples was in the spring, with its almond and peach blossom, its fields gay with crocuses, its gardens scented with magnolias and stephanotis; and how joyous the nights could be during the heat of summer, with dancing in the open under the stars, moonlight bathing parties, and trips across the phosphorescent water to Ischia and Capri. It seemed to him at the moment that only a fool would wear himself out intriguing to obtain information in cold northern Courts if, instead, he was capable of earning the modest competence which would enable him to live as Isabella’s lover in this lotus land. Turning towards her, he said earnestly:
“Listen, my love. Even though I think your fears to be exaggerated, I will take your word for it that should Don Diego believe his honour touched upon he will prove dangerous. We will, then, deny him all chance of proving that we have given him a pair of horns. I promise you that I will make no attempt to come to you in secret here. Quetzal can act as our confidential messenger, and I will content myself with such opportunities as are bound to offer from our meeting several times a week at the houses of our friends. To that your husband can raise no objection.”
“Oh, Rojé! Rojé!” Isabella sighed. “How can you be so blind to the inevitable result of this course that you propose? ’Tis an old saying that there is safety in numbers; and that is the protection of most of these Neapolitan ladies. They change their beaux so lightheartedly that no one is ever certain if any one of their affairs has ever reached its logical conclusion. On that account ’tis near impossible for even a jealous husband actually to pin anything upon them. But I could not bring myself to flirt with other men, neither could I support the thought of your making love to other women, even as a cover. In a few weeks our fidelity would become conspicuous, and my husband would have only to watch us for a little when together to realise our love, and be certain that we were deceiving him. His Spanish pride would never stomach the thought that other men might be laughing at him, and in the end your life would prove the forfeit for your attachment to me.”
“Be not too certain of that,” Roger murmured truculently. “I am accounted no bad swordsman, and did he challenge me I would be most happy to meet him. Such a conversation might well prove a swift way out of all our difficulties.”
Isabella flung her arms about his neck, and began to sob. “My own! My loved one! ’Tis clear you have not the understanding of a child upon such matters. In Spain, a husband who believes he has been wronged does not consider himself called upon to expose himself to the blade of his wife’s lover. He hires others to do his business. To return here as you suggest would be to expose yourself to the dagger of an assassin.”
Roger was no coward; but her tearful words shook him badly, and conjured up the most horrid visions. For weeks, and perhaps months, all might go well; he would lead that carefree sybaritic life he had visualised and discreetly enjoy Isabella’s favours; then one dark night when he least expected it he would be caught off his guard, and die in the gutter with a bravo’s stiletto plunged to its hilt between his shoulderblades.
Yet his pride would not let him give way altogether, and they parted in the dawn, knowing that they would meet the following afternoon, but with nothing settled.
On the Tuesday it rained again; but not sufficiently heavily for King Ferdinand to forgo the public welcome that it had been arranged for him to receive on his return; and by eleven o’clock the clouds dispersed to let the sun come through. The streets were decked with flags; carpets, tapestries and gaily coloured rugs were hung over balconies and from windows. Just before midday Roger and Isabella met at the Francavilla mansion, to which a party had been invited to witness the procession.
Both the Neapolitans and their King loved a show, so half the army had been turned out to line the route; and, to keep the populace amused while they waited for the Sovereigns, a score or more of triumphal cars had been decorated and manned to drive up and down the main thoroughfares. These cars were a feature of Neapolitan public holidays and were always brought out in different guises for the great pre-Lenten Carnival, the summer Battle of Flowers, and other festivities. Most of them were huge vehicles drawn by as many as twenty oxen, and they now moved up and down with their loads of bacchantes, mermaids and acrobats escorted by groups of absurd masked figures on enormous stilts. Meanwhile, bands played, cannon thundered and salvoes of musketry crashed out from the port.
At length the cavalcade came in view; trumpeters, outriders, cavalry; the King’s favourite regiment, the Volontari della Marina, in their uniforms of green with scarlet facings and yellow buttons; then the great gilded coach of the Sovereigns, surrounded by the Guardia del Corpo.
As soon as Roger saw it in the distance he drew Isabella back from the balcony into the room. He had been waiting impatiently for that moment, knowing that his one chance to get a few words alone with her would be while the attention of the rest of the party was held by the high-light of the procession. Without wasting an instant, he said:
“If you are still unshakable in your refusal to allow me to return to Naples, will you, instead, elope with me?”
She drew in a sharp breath; then exclaimed: “No, Rojé! No! What you ask is impossible!”
He had gone very white, but he tried to control his voice, as he hurried on: “I know that it is much to ask; but there is nothing impossible about it. You know that you can trust yourself to me, and that I would never desert you. When we reached England we could say that we had been married abroad. I swear that in all things I would treat you as my wife; and no one would ever know that we had not been joined in wedlock.”
“In time it would leak out,” she quavered. “The Spanish and Neapolitan Ambassadors at the Court of St. James would be certain to hear the story of our elopement. I love you, Rojé! Oh, I love you dearly! But to do as you wish would bring public shame on me, and mar your own future. We could not be received anywhere together once it became known that I was living with you as your mistress.”
“We would live very quietly in the country for a time, until …”
The cheers on the balcony had died away, and the guests were beginning to drift in to the refreshment buffet. Roger’s last sentence was cut short by a fat, garrulous Abbé coming up to them and interrupting their conversation with platitudes about how fortunate it was that the rain had cleared off for the procession. Two ladies joined their group, and in the half-hour that followed it proved impossible to resume their conversation. It was not until just as Isabella was leaving that Roger managed to get another few swift words alone with her.
“When shall I see you again?” he whispered.
“Tonight at the Opera. There is a gala performance. Everyone is going.”
“There will be no chance for us to talk in private. I beg you to come here again, later this afternoon.”
“I cannot. I have not seen my husband yet. He will expect me to be at home, so that he can tell me all that occurred during the royal visit to Sicily.”
“Tomorrow morning, then?”
“Yes, at twelve o’clock.”
“Can you not make it earlier? I may have to attend upon Their Majesties.”
“Nay! I dare not. There is no possible excuse that I could give for leaving the house appreciably in advance of my usual hour.”
There was not time to argue, as neighbours of Isabella, who had brought her and were carrying her home in their coach, were already waiting for her on the stairs. So he could only kiss her hand and murmur: “So be it, then. Here, at midday tomorrow.”
That evening he accompanied Sir William Hamilton to the fine new San Carlo Theatre, for the gala performance. The diplomat had his own box and he remarked to Roger that, much as he enjoyed his rolls in the Mediterranean and climbs up Vesuvius in summer, it made a pleasant change of diversion to come there any night he felt inclined when the real winter had set in, and there was ice in the streets of Naples. Roger found it difficult to imagine Naples under snow, but gave the matter little thought as he was anxiously scanning the other boxes for Isabella and her husband.
When he did catch sight of them he was disappointed, as the man he took to be Don Diego was seated towards the back of the box, and it was difficult to make out his features.
Soon afterwards the Sovereigns appeared in the royal box; there was a great shouting and clapping of hands, the flambeaux were doused and the show began.
However, ample opportunity was afforded Roger later that evening of seeing the man he instinctively hated, as the performance occupied five hours, including two intervals of nearly an hour each, during which the audience either strolled up and down in the foyer, or called upon their acquaintances in the boxes.
During the first interval Sir William went to make his service to the Queen, and Roger decided to make his first call on the beautiful Duchesa di Lucciana, who had given him a gracious smile from a box nearby. Having spent ten minutes with her party, he felt he might now pay his respects to Isabella, without having appeared over-eager to do so.
In her box he found the di Jaccis, the Ottobonis and the Abbé Guarini, so for a moment his entrance was not even noticed by Don Diego. He kissed Isabella’s hand and with perfect aplomb she then presented him to her husband. The two men bowed formally and exchanged a few well-turned compliments; after which the Princess di Jacci reclaimed Don Diego’s attention, so Roger discussed the performance with Isabella and the Abbé for six or seven minutes, then bowed his way out.
As he made his way slowly towards the Sambucas’ box for his next call he tried to sort out his impressions of El Conde Sidonia y Ulloa. Roger had in no circumstances been prepared to like the man but he had to admit that he was both handsome and possessed of a striking presence. Don Diego was slightly taller than himself, or perhaps only seemed so from his exceptionally upright carriage. He was very dark, with an olive skin and sparkling black eyes. His most outstanding feature was an aquiline nose so thin as to be almost knife-like. His mouth, too, was thin-lipped, but well formed, and when he smiled he showed excellent teeth. His face was narrow and his firm chin seemed to be permanently tilted up, which gave him an expression of extreme hauteur. Roger decided that, his own prejudices apart, Don Diego was not a particularly lovable person, and that his main preoccupation in life was to impress other people with the blueness of his blood and the ultra-aristocratic good looks with which nature had endowed him.
When Roger rejoined Sir William the diplomat said: “I have spoken to Her Majesty of you and she wishes me to bring you to her in the second entr’acte”
Roger endeavoured to show suitable gratification at the announcement, but actually found difficulty in concealing his distress. His brain was now almost bursting with wild projects concerning Isabella, and so far he had failed to concert with her on even the basis of a plan for their future. He had been hoping that he would at least be granted until the next day before being called on to discuss his mission with the Queen; but here was the matter being hurried forward without the loss of a moment, and he knew that once the affair was broached his remaining time in Naples might be reduced to a few hours. In a state of nervous anxiety he sat through another hour of the performance, then accompanied Sir William to the royal box.
King Ferdinand had already left it to go out on to the steps of the theatre and accept the homage of the crowd. His hordes of privileged beggars called him Lou Pazzo—the madcap—and their cheers showed how pleased they were to have him back in his capital. So when Roger was ushered into the presence he made his bow to the Queen alone. She was, he knew, several years older than the Queen of France, and he found that although the sisters shared a family likeness, Maria Carolina had little of Marie Antoinette’s beauty. Her figure had suffered from having borne thirteen children, her shoulders were rounded and her neck overlong. She also had something disagreeable in her manner of speaking, moving her whole face when she talked, and gesticulating violently. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes goggled. But she impressed him at once as having a strong mind, and her reception of him could not have been kinder.
She expressed the greatest affection and concern for her sister, said she could hardly bear to wait to hear the latest news of her, and asked Sir William to bring Roger to the State Ball at the Palazzo Reale as soon as the performance was over. In consequence, his last hopes of a postponement of his business till the following day went by the board, and an hour and a half later he was making his bow to her again.
He had known that the gala at the San Carlo was to be followed by a ball, but had not expected to be invited to it. Now, for the first time, he saw Neapolitan society at Court, and was interested to note that, in sharp contrast to Versailles, little formality was observed. The King was already mixing familiarly with his guests, slapping the men on their backs and patting the cheeks of the prettier women with a heavy gallantry which, under the eye of his jealous Queen, might have passed for no more than fatherly licence.
For years the two of them had continually deceived one another, each conducting a series of shallow amours typical of the Court over which they ruled. The Queen indulged herself with handsome young men whom she raised to positions of wealth and influence according to their mental abilities; and, being a clever woman, she managed her affairs so skilfully that the King seldom found her out. On the rare occasions when he did he was pleased as punch about it, for it enabled him to do as he liked for a week or two, on the principle that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. But she was such a much stronger personality that she soon overawed him again, and she was so greedy of attention that she grudged him every flutter.
Like her brother Leopold she was intensely suspicious, and she maintained a very efficient spy system among the personnel of her Court; moreover the King was such a simpleton that he was constantly giving away his own secrets, so she nearly always knew of it soon after he started an intrigue with some new charmer. She then treated him to scenes of the most violent jealousy and nipped the affair in the bud by sending his flame into exile. Once, when she had caught him kissing a lady at a Court ball, her rage had been so great that she had called a halt to the function there and then, and sent everyone home without their supper.
But tonight she was giving little thought to her wayward spouse. Within a few moments of Roger’s arrival she made him give her his arm, and walked up and down one of the side galleries with him for over an hour. She listened to all he had to say, admired the miniature of her nephew, and asked innumerable questions about the state of things in France. Like her brothers the Emperor and the Grand Duke, she had a positive conviction of the divine right of hereditary Sovereigns to rule their peoples as they thought fit. But, unlike them, she was opposed to all innovation. As a woman, in spite of her unattractive manner and appearance, Roger found her likeable and kind; but as a Queen he deplored her reactionary sentiments, and he thought there was something both pathetic and shocking in the fear and hatred she displayed for the common people.
She said at once that, although she regretted the necessity for her sister’s sake, she would willingly receive the Dauphin. The King’s consent would have to be obtained, but the getting of it was a mere formality. She and General Acton would arrange that between them. Then, after her long talk with Roger, she sent a page to find the General and request him to join them.
The half-French, half-British Neapolitan Prime Minister was a fine-looking man in his early fifties. His manner was firm but courtly, and it was clear that he knew just how to handle his royal mistress. Although he made no direct mention of it, after a few minutes’ conversation it was also clear to Roger that he had already been primed on the subject in hand by Sir William. He was entirely at one with the Queen in her wish to receive the Dauphin, but he tactfully overruled her impulsive wish to speak to the King about it there and then.
He shrewdly pointed out that at this hour of night His Majesty might resent being worried with business, whereas tomorrow there would be an excellent opportunity for catching him in just the right humour. As the forest at Caserta had not been disturbed for over three weeks the King was assured of a good hunt in the morning, so if they asked him to attend a short counsel in the afternoon he would then be in a mood to agree to anything without argument.
Roger mentally sighed with relief, as these tactics meant that even if a northward-bound ship happened to be sailing next day they could hardly now attempt to pack him off back to France in her. Having come to the ball would give him an unforeseen chance of attempting to bring Isabella to a decision during a dance that night, and, if he were successful, their meeting at midday next day could then be devoted to arranging final plans. So, as soon as the Queen dismissed him, he made his way to the ballroom and began to search anxiously for his beloved.
He had seen both her and Don Diego several times in the distance, but now could not find either of them. While he was still hunting frantically for her in the ante-rooms he ran into Dorina Francavilla, from whom he learned to his dismay that Isabella had been feeling ill, so the Sidonia y Ulloas had already gone home on that account.
Roger was both distressed and furious. Isabella had told him that she was going to the ball, so if only he had known earlier that he would be bidden to it himself he could have arranged for her to keep an assignation with him there; but now, owing to the Queen having kept him for so long, this excellent opportunity of thrashing matters out with Isabella had escaped him.
He was still standing, angry and disconsolate, where the Princess and her partner had left him, when a tall, thinnish, middle-aged man came hurrying round the corner. His powdered hair was a little untidy and his waistcoat was buttoned up unevenly, but he was covered in stars and orders, and Roger instantly recognised him as the King.
Quickly he drew himself up to bow, but the boisterous Monarch suddenly halted opposite to him, grinned, clapped him heartily on the shoulder and said something in Italian.
Not understanding what he said, Roger swiftly excused himself in French; upon which King Ferdinand gaily broke into that language.
“I don’t know who you are, young man,” he cried with a laugh, “but you’re very welcome here. You’ve kept that wife of mine busy the whole evening. Each time I’ve passed the gallery I’ve seen her talking her tongue off to you out there. You must come here again. Nay, better still, stay here. I’ll make you an officer in my Volontari della Marina.”
A sly look came over his oafish face, and he added in a lower tone: “It gave me just the chance I needed with the Marchesa. But say nothing of that, or I will have you clapped into St. Elmo.” Then, with another grin, he turned to hurry away.
“Sire! One moment, I beg,” Roger called after him.
“What is it, eh?” The King glanced over his shoulder, with a suspicious frown. “ ’Tis no use asking me for money. I cannot spare any.”
“Nay, Sire,” Roger smiled. “But permit me to draw Your Majesty’s attention to your waistcoat.”
King Ferdinand looked down, adjusted the give-away buttons and exclaimed gratefully: “Dio mio! What an escape! Had the Queen seen that she would have cancelled my hunt tomorrow.” Then, grabbing Roger by the arm, he added: “You must certainly stay with us. Come along now, and have some supper.”
In the supper-room a meal was being served in what seemed to Roger novel and uncomfortable conditions. There was an abundance of food on tables ranged round the walls but no table in the centre of the room. Instead there were four rows of gilt chairs formed into a square and facing inward. On these a number of the guests were sitting, eating from plates balanced on their knees.
“Look!” said the King. “Are not their struggles to cut things up amusing to watch? And now and then one of them drops a plate, which makes everyone laugh. Go now and try your luck.”
As Roger struggled with the half of a crayfish, he sighed at the thought of the King’s offer of a commission in his crack regiment of Sea Cadets. If only he could have accepted it and remained on in Naples! But he knew only too well that even were the offer to be renewed tomorrow in all seriousness, he would have to refuse it.
By the time he had supped it was getting on for one in the morning, and soon afterwards he ran into Sir William, who asked if he felt like going home. Roger agreed at once, so they went down to the diplomat’s carriage and set off for the Palazzo Sessa.
The carriage had hardly turned into the Calle Toledo when Sir William said: “The Royal Family will be taking up their residence at Caserta tomorrow, and I have been ordered to take you out there. It is a drive of about sixteen miles, so we had better start at ten o’clock.”
“Then I must beg you to excuse me, sir,” Roger said firmly. “I have an appointment here in Naples at midday which it is impossible for me to cancel.”
Sir William raised an eyebrow. “Really, Mr. Brook! I should hardly have thought it necessary to remind you that the orders of Her Majesty take precedence of all private matters.”
Roger bit his lip for a second, then exclaimed: “That, sir, obviously applies to everyone who is in the service of the Queen of Naples; but I am not.”
“You are, however, in that of His Britannic Majesty,” Sir William replied coldly, “and I regard this as His Majesty’s business.”
“Indeed, sir, I pray you pardon me.” Roger’s voice was desperate. “After all your kindness to me my behaviour must seem monstrous churlish. But this matter is to me one of life and death. Could I not follow you on horse-back and still arrive in time? What is the latest possible hour at which it is imperative that I should be at Caserta?”
Seeing his distress, the elderly diplomat said kindly: “I do not think the Queen and General Acton will tackle the King until the afternoon; but if a particularly favourable opportunity offered they might decide to do so any time after he returns from hunting, and that should be between twelve and one.”
“If you could furnish me with a mount, sir, I could make the journey in an hour.”
“How long will your appointment detain you?”
“I had hoped for half an hour at least.”
“Then I fear it is out of the question. Too much hangs upon the matter for us to jeopardize the issue.”
“Will it satisfy you, sir, if I give you my word to be at Caserta by one o’clock? If I ride all out I can do the sixteen miles well under the hour, so that would give me five or ten minutes with … to see …”
“So be it then,” Sir William covered Roger’s hesitation. “But remember that I shall count upon you.”
At twenty to twelve next day Roger was at the Francavillas’. He had come early, praying that Isabella would be early too, and down in the street a groom was holding Sir William’s fastest riding-horse ready for him. But Isabella did not come early, and when midday chimed out he was still waiting for her in a fury of impatience, up in Dorina Francavilla’s boudoir. It was already seven minutes past twelve when Isabella arrived looking pale and wan.
Knowing the situation the Princess left them together at once; and Roger, seizing Isabella in his arms, told her that they had only a bare few minutes before he must take the road.
A couple of those precious minutes went in kisses, and his asking her if it was really illness that had caused her to leave the ball early the preceding night; but she assured him that she had done so only on account of the strain she had been under, and that she had not seen him, or known that he was there, otherwise she would have remained.
He then plunged into the matter that concerned them so desperately; swore that he could not live without her, and urged her again either to agree to his returning to Naples or to elope with him.
Wringing her hands she declared that in no circumstances must he return, as if he did he would be dead within three months; then tearfully advanced the arguments she had used the day before against an elopement.
Hurriedly, he cut her short. “Yes, yes, my sweet! But what I had no chance to say yesterday was this. We should have to live quietly in the country only for a time, as in due course we could regularise our union. You could get an annulment of your present marriage.”
She sadly shook her head. “Nay, Rojé. The Catholic Church would never grant an annulment to a woman who had left her husband and was living in sin, for the purpose of enabling her to marry again.”
“But what of Don Diego?” he exclaimed. “Should you leave him, will the Church condemn him to remain wifeless for life through no fault of his own? He is rich and influential; moreover, he is barely thirty and will not wish to spend the rest of his days like a widower. Surely the Church would not refuse an annulment to him?”
Isabella sharply drew in her breath. “Perhaps you are right. Yes, I cannot think they would refuse him. But how long will it be before he meets someone that he wants to make his wife? And we cannot even be certain that he will wish to marry again. We should be pledging our lives on a desperate gamble. Rojé, you must give me time to think! I must have time to think!”
“God forbid that I should hurry you in taking such a decision; but ’tis as good as certain now that I shall be leaving Naples tomorrow. I will come to the house for your answer tonight.”
“Nay, Rojé! I implore you not to! I forbid it!”
“I must! I shall be held at Caserta all this afternoon. ’Tis our only chance for a last meeting; and if I die for it I must hold you in my arms again.”
As he finished speaking a nearby clock chimed the quarter after twelve, and he cried desperately: “My poor sweet, I positively must leave you now. I will come for your decision tonight.”
Suddenly she seized and clung to him. “One moment! Listen, I beg, or you will get us both killed. Diego is in one of his black moods. Before he left for Sicily he had fixed his eye on a Signora Goudar. She is little better than a courtesan, but difficult in spite of that; and so far she has rejected his advances. His unsatisfied passions disturb him to such a pitch that when one of them has gripped him he often paces up and down for hours at a stretch by night, in the garden. Should you enter it tonight I vow there will be murder done.”
Roger was silent for a moment, then he said: “I care naught for an encounter with him; but if you fear he would attempt your life as well, I dare not risk it.”
“He would! I know it! Did he surprise us together he would do his utmost to kill the two of us.”
“Then I’ll not come tonight. Somehow I will get my departure postponed for twenty-four hours. And in some way I’ll lure Don Diego from the house tomorrow night. I’ll come to you then and bring a carriage with me. That will give you ample time to decide upon our future. If ’tis favourable to me, I beg you have your things packed and Maria and Quetzal ready to leave with you; for we must take advantage of the night to get away unseen.”
With the tears streaming down her face Isabella nodded dumbly. Then, as he released her, she swayed and fainted. Catching her in his arms again, he laid her on a couch, and dashed out of the room.
At breakneck speed he rode out to Caserta; and, as he entered the fine avenue of elms that led to the palace, the clear single note of one came to him from a clock in the stables behind it.
In view of the comparative smallness of the Kingdom of Naples the size of the palace astonished him, for, as he galloped up the straight towards its thousand-foot-long façade, the building seemed positively immense. But the thought was only a passing one. Leaving his sweating mount with one of the grooms at the main entrance, he mopped the sweat from his own brow and hurried inside.
The entrance hall, great staircase and galleries around it were even more astonishing than the exterior, as they were entirely fashioned from the most rare and costly marbles, but his surprise was still further added to by the fact that there was hardly anybody about. A swift enquiry from a portly factotum produced the laconic reply that His Majesty was out hunting and might not yet be back for some time. Roger was furious. He had curtailed his all-important interview with Isabella, winded Sir William’s best horse, and had his gruelling ride, all quite unnecessarily.
The official pointed through the open door to an upward slope of the park beyond which he said the royal party would be found; so, having given his horse a good breather, Roger mounted again and set off in that direction. On the far side of the hill he arrived at a big enclosure with rustic arbours for protection from the rain, and in it was the Queen surrounded by most of her Court. The enclosure faced towards a natural amphitheatre of woods so that the spectators had a fine view of the sport which was in progress. In the woods hundreds of beaters were banging kettles and firing off petards so that the game, which consisted of deer, boar, hares and foxes, should be driven out into the open for the King to shoot at.
After watching for a few moments Roger found Sir William, who apologised with a wry smile for having caused him to hurry his departure from Naples unnecessarily, and explained the present situation by adding that the King had found the sport so good that he had sent a message at midday saying that he intended to prolong his shoot for an hour longer than usual. He then took Roger to the Queen, who had General Acton beside her, and they both received him with marked kindness.
Half an hour later King Ferdinand reached the enclosure. His hair was tousled and he was dressed so like a peasant that he could easily have been mistaken for one. When Roger commented in a low voice to Sir William on the Sovereign’s strange choice of costume, the diplomat laughed and replied:
“Nothing delights him more than to be taken by some young beater who does not know him for one of themselves, and egging the poor fool on to grumble to him about what a bad King he is. But such episodes do not cause him to become a better ruler. He regards the matter as a joke, and does not even give the fellow who has amused him a sixpence. He is much too mean for that.”
In a fine good humour the boorish King watched the big bag of mixed game he had shot piled in a small mountain at the Queen’s feet. Then, when this ceremony was over, the company entered a row of waiting carriages and was driven back to the palace.
A huge meal followed the hunt and when everyone had eaten their fill the King sent for a blanket. On seeing it brought in Sir William tapped Roger on the arm and whispered: “Quick! Follow me, or you’ll rue it.”
Much mystified Roger got up, and slipped after his mentor to the nearest doorway. As he did so he noticed that quite a number of other courtiers who had been standing about were making unostentatiously for the entrances, and on catching Sir William up he asked what was afoot.
“Watch from here and you will see,” replied the diplomat, entrenching himself behind one of the great marble pillars that flanked the door, “I have seen him play this game before, and know its sequel.”
As Roger watched, the King began to undress himself, and although the ladies pretended to hide their blushes behind their fans they were clearly much amused. When His Majesty was stark naked, he stepped on to the middle of the blanket, which had been spread out on the floor, and, at his order, twelve lusty footmen began to toss him in it. “One! Two! Three!” chanted the footmen, and up towards the ceiling sailed the nude monarch.
A dozen times he was shot into the air, amidst clapping of hands and shouts of applause. Then, having ordered a halt, he scrambled out of the blanket, pointed at a fat man near by who had been laughing heartily, and cried: “You next! Your turn next.”
In vain the fat man protested. He had to submit to the King’s will, undress himself and be tossed in the blanket.
“You see,” remarked Sir William to Roger, “from what I have saved you. That unfortunate is a German diplomat but recently arrived here; and as you are also a stranger His Majesty would certainly have had you tossed had his eye lighted on you.”
Roger was quick to voice his thanks, and they remained carefully concealed from the royal buffoon’s eye while half a dozen other victims suffered a similar indignity to that undergone by the German. At length the Queen persuaded his Neapolitan Majesty to dress, and with tears of mirth still streaming from his eyes he was led away between her and General Acton to the council chamber.
They remained in council only half an hour, then General Acton came out to Sir William and Roger, and told them that King Ferdinand had formally consented to receive the Dauphin in his realm. He added that it was Her Majesty’s wish that a sloop of the Royal Neapolitan Navy should be placed at Roger’s disposal to carry him back to France as soon as possible; but that she wished him to bear a letter for her to Madame Marie Antoinette, which she would write that night, so he was to wait upon her to receive it the following morning.
At the mention of the sloop Roger’s heart had gone down into his boots, as he had feared to receive an order for his instant departure; but the codicil about carrying the letter restored his equilibrium, and he breathed again.
When the Prime Minister had left them, Sir William said: “I keep up a small villa just outside the park, to spare myself the inconvenience of having to return to Naples every night when the Court is resident at Caserta. I shall be happy to offer you a bed there.”
“I thank you, sir, but I beg you to excuse me,” Roger replied. “Owing to my hasty departure from the capital this morning, my business there is not yet concluded. Fortunately I have not been bidden to attend the Court this evening, so with your leave I propose to return to Naples.”
Sir William gave an understanding nod. “ ’Tis certain that Her Majesty will expect to see you at supper; but since she has issued no command for your appearance, you are free to do as you wish. She will have ample time to talk further with you in the morning. I suggest that you should be here not later than eleven o’clock, as she does her business from that hour onwards.”
“I will be on hand at that hour without fail, sir.” Roger paused a moment, then went on: “My business tonight concerns a Signora Goudar. I wonder if you can tell me anything of her?”
“I can tell you that she is plaguey expensive.” Sir William eyed Roger speculatively through his quizzing glass. “Unless you have five hundred guineas to throw away, and are more of a fool than I take you to be, you will find a less ruinous wanton with whom to pass the night.”
“Five hundred guineas!” repeated Roger, shocked into a vulgar whistle. “Strap me, sir. But she must be the eighth wonder of the world to demand such a sum for her favours.”
“She is not far from it,” came the quiet murmur. “Few women that I have met are more beautiful, her conversation is delightful, and her career at least unusual.”
“I pray you inform me of it, sir; though I assure you that I wish to meet the lady only on a matter of business.”
“Then I must give you another warning. Her husband is a rogue of the first water and she is his willing accomplice. As you may know, gambling is forbidden by law in Naples; with the inevitable result that even the beggars gamble in the gutters, and the rich, having no public casinos to go to, feel the greater itch to stake their money, so get themselves fleeced nightly in private houses where professional games are run. Goudar is the proprietor of the establishment most frequented by Neapolitan society. Thousands of guineas are often won or lost there at a single sitting, and Madame Goudar acts as the lure to draw rich foreigners into this gilded thieves’-kitchen.”
“I had no thought to gamble, either, sir. ’Tis another person’s business upon which I wish to see the lady.”
“Even so you may burn your fingers unless you have a care. A combination of brains and beauty make the Goudars a pair of cheats second to none in my experience.”
Roger fingered the lace at his throat. “I will heed your warning well, Sir William. But you intrigue me mightily. I pray you tell me Madame Goudar’s history.”
“Some sixteen years ago the lovely Sara was a little slut serving in a London tavern. She had hardly a rag to her back and could neither read nor write. Goudar saw her there and with the eye of a connoisseur appreciated the fact that one day she would be a remarkable beauty, He took the child away, made her his mistress, and spent six years in educating her. He was abundantly repaid for his trouble, for she proved quick to learn, and now, or even when he first brought her to Naples, I would defy you to detect that she had not been brought up among people of the first quality. On arriving here he devised a most skilful expedient for drawing attention to this beautiful little stool pigeon, that he had reared with such care; he made her appear in sackcloth and publicly renounce the Protestant religion as the work of the Devil.”
“What a monstrous thing to do!” exclaimed Roger.
“Not at all,” laughed Sir William, “for she was of Irish descent and birth, had been baptised into the Catholic faith as an infant, and had never subscribed to any other.”
Roger joined in the laugh. “What a delightful cheat! They certainly deserved to do well for themselves.”
“And they did,” Sir William rejoined. “The Neapolitan nobility flocked to Goudar’s house to make the acquaintance of the beautiful apostate, and their gaming-room prospered exceedingly. But more, the ladies were so intrigued that they wanted to know her too; and her manners were so charming, her taste so exquisite, her ton so exactly right, that she acquired the friendship of many of the best-born women in Naples, including even that of the Queen. She does not, of course, visit them, owing to the anomaly of her position, but they visit her; and in the afternoons there are often half a dozen titled ladies to be found taking a dish of tea with her in her apartment.”
“ ’Tis an amazing achievement for one of such lowly beginnings,” Roger murmured, “and makes me all the more eager to meet her.”
“They had one setback,” Sir William remarked. “It was several years ago, round about ’82, I think, as it was at the time that a notorious rogue called Giacomo Casanova was living in Naples, and held a partnership in Goudar’s crooked bank. King Ferdinand took a fancy to the lovely Sara Goudar, and rumour has it that she was not unkind to His Majesty. In any case, the Queen found a billet-doux from her in the King’s pocket, with the result that the Goudars were promptly sent into exile. But after eighteen months they returned, and ever since have enjoyed such an admirable prosperity that Sara will not even consider an offer for a single night with her if it be less than five hundred guineas.”
It was now getting on for seven o’clock, so Roger thanked Sir William for his valuable information and excused himself to return to Naples. By half-past eight he arrived at Crocielles, supped there and secured the address of the Goudars’ house. After what he had heard from Sir William of Madame Goudar’s firm adherence to her enormous fee he was far from sanguine about his chances of bringing to fruition the plot he had hatched; but he could think of no other way of securing his own ends, so desperation drove him on to attempt it, and soon after ten he knocked at Goudar’s front door.
A negro porter dressed in scarlet livery opened it. On seeing Roger’s well-groomed appearance and learning that he was an Englishman who had come from Crocielles the porter made no difficulty about letting him in. A footman took his cloak and hat, asked him to be good enough to leave his sword in the sword-rack, and conducted him upstairs.
He was ushered into a big, comfortably furnished salon. It contained only one large table at its far end, and at that, owing to the early hours which were kept in Naples, the game was already in full swing. About a dozen men were seated at it and most of them wore broadbrimmed straw hats, which looked incongruous in conjunction with their satin clothes, but were part of the stock-in-trade of such places, as they shaded the eyes of the gamblers from the strong light thrown from the multi-branched pair of candelabra on the table. On a sofa at the end of the room nearest the door a lady was sitting, holding a small court of four cavaliers, but as Roger entered she at once stood up, left them and came over to greet him.
She curtsied, he made a leg, then introduced himself. As he did so he had no doubt at all that he was addressing the remarkable Sara. Her hair was beautifully coiffured and powdered, so he could not tell if it was black, but in all other respects she possessed the typical colouring of an Irish colleen. Her eyes were a midnight blue, her lips cherry red, her brows arched and dark, her skin fresh, and her cheeks held a rosy flush that art might have added to but could not have simulated. Her figure was well rounded; and if she was on the wrong side of thirty, as from what Sir William had said she must be, she certainly did not look it. Roger agreed with the diplomat’s estimate that she was an outstandingly handsome woman.
She had greeted him in French, which she spoke almost as fluently as himself, so for a few minutes he conversed with her in that language. With long-practised skill she plumbed him with the utmost discretion on his visit to Naples and his acquaintances there. Then, quickly satisfied by his air of breeding and casual mention of a few of the leading families, she led him over to the gaming table and introduced him to her husband.
Goudar was holding the bank. He was a small, sharp-featured man, with a guilelessly innocent expression. After bowing politely to Roger he gave him a swift appraising glance, then waved him to a chair. Roger pulled out a fistful of gold ducats, put them on the table, and was dealt a hand of cards in the next round. He had not the least desire to play, but felt that to win the goodwill that was so imperative to the success of his plan he must lose a certain amount for the good of the house.
As so frequently happens in such cases, he positively could not lose. He was very far from being one of the highest players at the table, so Goudar showed no particular interest in him, obviously regarding him as one of the casual visitors to Naples who was no true gambler but just liked an occasional flutter, and normally left a score or so of ducats behind which helped to pay the running expenses of the establishment. When such people went away in pocket they usually came another night and lost their winnings with a bit more in addition. When they did not they were a good advertisement to the place and its proprietor’s apparent honesty.
After an hour’s play Roger found himself nearly forty ducats to the good, so deciding not to waste any more time he picked up his winnings and left the table.
Madame Goudar had from time to time been over to see how Fortune was treating the gamblers. She now got up at once and came to meet Roger. With a charming smile she said: “Monsieur is in luck tonight. But he will come again to give my husband his revenge; is it not so?”
Roger returned the smile, but shook his head. “Alas, Madame, my time in Naples is short; yet, all the same, I would not have you be the loser by my visit.” Then, taking her hand, he poured the fistful of gold that he had won into it, and added: “These are to buy roses for you, Madame; but no roses that you can buy will equal those you already carry in your cheeks.”
Her blue eyes lit with swift appreciation of his gesture and compliment; then with a modesty all the more fascinating from being unexpected, she veiled them with her long, dark, curling lashes, and murmured: “Ca’cest tres gentille, Monsieur.”
“Non, Madame; c’est une tribute juste,” replied Roger.
Suddenly she lifted her eyes and asked shrewdly: “Why do you do this, Monsieur? You are both young and handsome, and men who are that are rarely rich.”
“Because I would crave a few words with you apart, Madame.”
She smiled again, and beckoned him to a smaller settee, out of earshot of both the gaming table and the big sofa round which she had been holding her little court of changing men ever since Roger had arrived. As they sat down she said quite simply: “You wish to make your suit with me?”
“Nay, Madame,” he replied frankly. “Were I to be longer in Naples I would be greatly tempted to haunt your doorstep until you either gave in or drove me from it; but tonight I come to plead the suit of another.”
He caught her glance of surprise, but went on quickly: “I have reason to believe that Don Diego de Sidonia y Ulloa is quite mad about you, yet you are so stony-hearted as to treat him with disdain.”
Instantly she stiffened, and asked: “Is he, then, a friend of yours?”
“Hardly that, Madame. No more than an acquaintance; yet I am vastly concerned that you should regard his suit with greater kindness.”
“Why should I?” she replied, with a hard note in her voice. “I am no ordinary courtesan, to jump into bed at any man’s bidding. Time was when I had to oblige certain of our best patrons, but thank God ’tis no longer so. At a price I am still willing to consider giving myself to a man from whom I shall derive little pleasure, providing he be reasonably personable. Don Diego fails to raise a flicker in me, and so far he has come up to only half the price I ask. Why should I put myself out to oblige that stiff-necked Spaniard?”
“Madame, I have a genuine appreciation of your feelings,” Roger murmured tactfully. “As you have guessed, I am unfortunately by no means rich myself. Otherwise I would offer to make up the price you demand. As it is I can only cast myself on your good nature. I beg you, as the greatest possible favour to myself, to accept the sum he offers, and give him an assignation for tomorrow night.”
She gave him a cynical little smile, then began to laugh. “I see it now. You are in love with that equally stiff-necked black-browed wife of his, and want me to take care of him so that the coast is clear for you to get into his house.”
Roger grinned at her. “Madame, it would ill become me to admit it; but if you choose to think that the reason for my request, I should be hard put to it to prove you wrong.”
Sara Goudar shook her head. “Nay, Monsieur. You have afforded me much amusement, but I am no philanthropist. The Spaniard can well afford to pay, so if he wants me let him disgorge his ducats. As for yourself, love is the best of locksmiths and time brings opportunity. If you have an urge to enjoy his wife, good fortune to you.”
“Alas, you have named my trouble,” Roger said sadly. “I am debarred the benefits with which time so often rewards her patient votaries. I am under orders to leave Naples within thirty hours, and ’tis tomorrow night or never.”
Again she shook her head, now a little impatiently. “ ’Tis my time and your own that you are wasting, Monsieur, in this profitless conversation. I see no reason whatever why I should incommode myself to further the amours of people who are of no account to me.”
Roger now feared that he was bowling against an impregnable wicket, but he pulled his last trick. Taking her hand he suddenly changed from French to English; and, gambling on the fact that as far as he knew she had not been in Ireland since her childhood, he said with the best imitation of an Irish brogue that he could muster:
“Ach, come now! Ye’ll do it fer the sake of ould Ireland?”
Her blue eyes lit up again as she stared at him in surprise. “Are ye tellin’ me you’re Irish then?”
“Bejabbers, I am! Now wasn’t I born no more than five miles from Limerick town?”
“Ach, well now, to be sure.” She clasped his hand and put her other upon it. “ ’Tis all the difference in the wide world that’s makin’. An’ how could I bring meself to refuse such a broth of a bhoy? It’s an ould hack I am if the truth be known, for all that the blessed Saints have preserved me looks. What’s a night in a lifetime to such as meself? Sure an’ I’ll give that tailor’s dummy of a Spaniard an assignation just as yourself is wishin’. Though I’d leifer ’twas you than he that had designs on this bit of a woman that I am.”
So Roger and Sara parted the best of friends, and with a firm understanding that she should send a billet-doux to Don Diego saying that she had relented, and was prepared to receive him at midnight the following night.
Roger slept at the Palazzo Sessa. In the morning he made his adieux to Mrs. Cadogan and the Junoesque Emma, thanked them for the hospitality that they had afforded him, and said he hoped that the future might bring him some opportunity of being of service to them. Then he rode out to Caserta.
Queen Caroline received him a little before midday. They had another long talk about the difficulties of Madame Marie Antoinette, then the Queen gave him her letter, told him that he would always be welcome at the Court of Naples, and bade him god-speed.
Afterwards General Acton gave him another letter. It was addressed to the Tenente Umberto Godolfo, of the sloop Aspide. The Prime Minister said that it contained instructions for the sloop to put to sea at the earliest possible moment and convey Roger to Marseilles, or the nearest French port to which contrary winds might bring her. He added that he had selected Lieutenant Godolfo for this task because he spoke French well, and so could readily be made aware of the wishes of his passenger.
Roger thanked the General, took leave of him, then said good-bye to Sir William Hamilton with real affection and regret. By half-past two he was back in Naples. Having stabled Sir William’s horse, he had a quick meal, then took a carozza down to the harbour, where enquiries at the Castello dell’Ovo soon enabled him to run Lieutenant Godolfo to earth.
The Tenente proved to be a tall, dark young man of about the same age as Roger. On reading the Prime Minister’s order he said that he was delighted with his mission, and would be most happy to serve the Chevalier Brook to the best of his ability.
Roger then asked him how long it would take to prepare the sloop for sea.
“We have first to water and provision her,” replied the Tenente; “that will take some six hours; but I will hasten matters all I can to meet the wishes of the distinguished passenger that the Aspide is to have the honour of carrying.”
Having seen a crew of Corsican fishermen do a similar job in two hours, on the felucca that had brought him from Marseilles, Roger was not impressed; but, in view of all he had heard of the Royal Neapolitan Navy’s shortcomings, he was not surprised, and he would not have minded if the Tenente had required double the time. So he said:
“That is excellent, Tenente mio. But I beg you, do not work yourself or your men too harshly, as the lady is unlikely to come aboard before midnight. In fact I doubt if she will have completed her packing by then, so I may have to kick my heels for her till one or two in the morning.”
“The lady?” exclaimed the young officer, giving him a puzzled look.
“Yes,” Roger replied with a frown. “A lady, her maid and page are making the voyage with us.”
The Tenente glanced again at General Acton’s letter. “His Excellency the Prime Minister says nothing about a lady here.”
“Does he not!” Roger shrugged. “Ah well! Excellentissimo Acton is a busier man than you or I, Tenente, and has little time for making his letters longer than they need be. No doubt he thought it unnecessary to mention the matter, and considered it quite sufficient to order you to place yourself at my disposal.”
“Indeed, Monsieur le Chevalier,” the Tenente agreed eagerly. “I feel sure you must be right. You have only to tell me your wishes. The lady will not be as comfortable as I would like on board my little ship; but I will make the best possible preparations for her reception.”
Roger thanked him graciously, said that he hoped to bring the lady and her attendants down to the quay at about one in the morning, and, returning to his carozza, ordered its driver to take him to Crocielles.
There he booked a room, said that he was going straight to bed, asked to be called at ten o’clock that night with a light meal, and arranged for a coach with a reliable driver to call for him at a quarter to eleven.
When he was woken after his six hours’ sleep he felt fit for anything, and extraordinarily confident of success. He was sure that he could count on lovely Irish Sara to do her part, and that Isabella, having had nearly thirty-six hours for reflection, would have decided to come with him.
To his mind it was unthinkable that the proud Don Diego should take any course other than that of repudiating a wife who left him. A noble Spaniard of such ancient lineage would naturally wish to have an heir to succeed to his titles and estates, and he could not beget a legal one without a wife. For that, if for no other reason, he would obviously set about getting an annulment of his first marriage without delay, thus leaving Isabella free to marry again. Roger felt certain that after a little thought she would see that for herself; so he was now untroubled by any further doubts about the issue. Since she loved him, had abundant courage and could rest assured of reassuming an honourable status within a comparatively short time, he would find her packed and ready to enter on a new and happier future as his wife-to-be.
Having eaten his meal, washed, dressed and scented himself, he came downstairs, settled his reckoning and, going outside, gave the driver of the coach careful instructions. He then had himself driven to within a few hundred yards of Isabella’s home, got out and walked to a spot near the garden gate where he could keep it under observation without being seen.
To his great satisfaction, shortly after eleven o’clock, Don Diego’s tall figure emerged, and the Spaniard’s jaunty step was sufficient to indicate the happy errand on which he was bent. Roger watched him disappear from view, allowed a safety margin of ten minutes, then went in over the wall.
A light was burning in Isabella’s bedroom, so he advanced boldly across the garden and called softly up to her. After a moment she appeared darkly silhouetted against the partly open, lighted window.
“All is well, my sweet,” he said in a low voice. “Don Diego went off a quarter of an hour ago to keep a rendezvous with Madame Goudar. I arranged the matter with her myself, so I am certain of it; you have nothing to fear. Are Maria and Quetzal ready? I have a coach waiting. Shall I come up and help carry down your boxes?”
She shook her head and began to sob.
“What is it? Surely you are not still hesitating?” he asked in a slightly louder voice that held a tremor of uneasiness. “ ’Tis as certain as that tomorrow’s sun will rise, that Don Diego will ask for an annulment. He must! And the Church could not refuse to grant it to him. ’Tis the only way in which he can beget himself an heir.”
“I cannot come with you, Rojé!” she sobbed. “I cannot!”
“Why?” he cried sharply, made terse by sudden desperation. “Why not?”
“I—I cannot!” she choked out. “I—I love you! I would remain your mistress all my life. I would be your slave! There is nothing I would not do for you, except—except this. I—I—I already carry his child! I shall be the mother of his heir and—and ’twould be unforgivable to deprive him of it. I cannot go with you!”
Turning suddenly she fled back into her room. Stunned for a while, Roger stared up at the lighted oblong of the window. For him, those words of hers, “I already carry his child,” conveyed a terrible finality. He knew now instinctively that no threats, arguments or prayers could prevail. Slowly he turned about, stumbled across the garden and climbed out over its wall.
Half an hour later Lieutenant Umberto Godolfo received him board the sloop Aspide. Advancing across the narrow deck the young eapolitan spread out his hands and asked in surprise:
“But, Monsieur le Chevalier, where is the lady that you were to ring with you?”
“As far as I am concerned she is dead,” replied Roger tonelessly. Then, with a touch of his father the Admiral, he added in a voice that brooked no reply:
“Tenente. Be good enough to order your ship to sea.”