Madame Guioni eyed her sharply. “You are Protestant? Anglican, no doubt!”
“Yes,” Della said.
“I have little time for Anglicans either,” Madame Guioni said severely. “I cannot have confidence in a church brought into being by a king who beheaded most of his wives!”
Della smiled. “Ancient history, madame. The forming of the church was surely one of his good deeds.”
“Then it was likely purely unintentional,” Madame Guioni said sharply.
Father Anthony was smiling happily all the while, seemingly unaware that he was a subject of their conversation. He now brought a cigar from an inner pocket and looked at all the others with polite inquiry.
Speaking loudly, he asked, “May I be permitted to smoke? It is a good cigar and I promise its aroma will not be offensive.”
Aunt Isobel glared at him in silence. Henry said, “I do not mind if the ladies have no objection.”
Della smiled at the fat priest and said, “For my part, Father, I like the aroma of fine cigars.”
“Thank you, my child,” he said. And he glanced at Madame Guioni. “What about you, dear lady?”
Madame Guioni shrugged. “It is my opinion you will smoke your cigar whatever my opinion!”
“So I shall,” he said. And he bit off the end and smelled it with an appreciative smile on his oval face. Then he told them good cigars and good wine are the comforts of the celibate.
Madame Guioni watched him with disapproval as he lit the cigar and puffed on it happily. Then she said loudly, “You like good wine?”
Father Anthony nodded. “I think I may be said to be a connoisseur of fine wines.”
“I am Guioni Brothers,” she said with some pride.
The fat clergyman leaned forward and cupped his hand to his ear. “I suffer from a slight deafness. I did not hear you clearly!”
Madame Guioni glared. “I said I am the owner, the sole owner, of Guioni Brothers wines. Have you heard of them?”
Father Anthony sat back with a look of distaste on his fat face. “I have heard of them,” he said, puffing on his cigar. “I have even tasted them.”
“And may I ask whether you enjoyed them?” Madame Guioni spoke above the noise of the train.
The fat priest studied the glowing end of his cigar. He said, “As a priest I am expected to be entirely truthful, as a man I attempt to be agreeable. You place me in a most difficult position.”
“I do not understand,” Madame Guioni shrilled.
“You wish my honest opinion?” he asked.
“I do,” she said in her imperious fashion.
He puffed on his cigar. “Slop, madame! Slop for the unwary! The dregs of the grape!”
Madame Guioni sat up, seeming to swell in size. “How dare you say such a thing? Guioni Brothers wines sell fabulously well.”
“I do not deny that, madame,” Father Anthony said. “I wish you success. But you asked my opinion and I gave it!”
Della decided to turn the conversation away from this embarrassing channel. She said, “You speak English so well, Father.”
He smiled modestly. “Thank you. As soon as I entered the compartment and heard you conversing I knew you were all English with the exception of that poor woman.” He nodded toward the sleeping Rosa.
Henry said, “It seemed so natural I didn’t think of it as being a tongue foreign to you.”
Father Anthony looked pleased. “It is true I have no detectable accent, though my native tongue is Italian. I was in England for many years, attached to our bishop in London.”
“No wonder you handle the language so well,” Della said. “We are on our first visit to Rome.”
“Ah!” Father Anthony looked ecstatic. “You will never forget it! I promise you! Rome is the most beautiful city in the world! I say this, not because it is the seat of the Mother Church but because I was born a Roman and I am never happy away from its boundaries.”
“We are looking forward to it,” Henry agreed.
Father Anthony puffed on his cigar and in tones of rapture said, “Wait until you see it all! The Capitoline Hill with the wonderful Piazza del Campidoglio, designed by Michelangelo, near the ruins of the Forum. The Arch of Titus, the three columns of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, the Arch of Septimus Servus, the Basilica of Constantine, and, dwarfing everything the Colosseum!”
“There is so much to see and learn about,” Della said.
Father Anthony nodded. “The great city by the Tiber has it all. And do not let us forget the largest church in Christendom, the Basilica of St. Peter built on the very spot where the saint’s holy bones rest. A masterpiece! And the buildings of the Vatican. I once worked in one of the museums open to the public.”
This caught Della’s attention. “There are many museums in Rome, I’m sure!”
“And the Vatican has the finest libraries and museums of all,” the priest assured her. “A place of fabulous riches, for the most part collected by popes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. They spent great sums to add to the splendor of the Church and of Rome!”
Della gave Henry a knowing glance and then asked the priest, “Have you ever heard of a jeweled Madonna?”
The fat man smiled indulgently. “My dear child, there are many jeweled Madonnas. The Madonna figure is prevalent in all Church collections.”
Madame Guioni, who had been grimly quiet up to now, snapped, “A scandal spending the money of the poor on precious stones and idolatrous figures!”
Father Anthony looked mildly surprised. “You speak like a pagan madame. Are you not of the faith?”
“I am not,” she snapped. “I pride myself on being a free-thinker.”
“I trust you possess the needed equipment,” Father Anthony said. And then to Della, “Do not miss the art treasures of my native city.”
“I have heard so much about the glory of Roman art,” she said.
The fat Father Anthony nodded. “We have the best. The Picture Gallery alone contains the works of great masters such as Giotto, Fra Angelico, Bellini, Leonardo, Titian, Veronese and Murillo. And the ten wonderful Raphael Tapestries are displayed there!”
Della said, “But you were a member of the staff at the Vatican Museum.”
“I was,” the prelate said proudly. “And with all modesty I must say our museums house the greatest collection of ancient treasures in the world. Treasures of every sort, mosaics, bronzes and statuary, including some examples of the jeweled Madonna of which you spoke.”
“I must go there,” Della said.
Father Anthony made a resigned gesture. “Only a fool would miss touring the Vatican. Our library has a half-million volumes and more than sixty thousand beautifully illuminated manuscripts. And there is the Sistine Chapel, unrivaled in conception and design. The work of the mighty Michelangelo! He painted the ceiling frescoes under agonizing conditions, lying on his back for nearly four years. His studies of the Old Testament figures are overwhelming. And you can compare his work of two decades later in the Last Judgment painted on the altar wall.”
Madame Guioni declared, “I have never been near Vatican City and I never intend to go there!”
The fat priest smiled mildly. “I’m sure you’ve been missed, madame. But then the Church has always had its setbacks.”
Henry, who had been saying nothing, now looked at Della and said, “I have to go forward to the dining car to see about our dining arrangements. Would you like to come with me and get a little exercise?”
She jumped at the opportunity to be out of the tense atmosphere of the compartment. “Yes, I should like that,” she said.
Henry stood up, “Then let us leave at once.”
Della leaned over to Aunt Isobel who continued to stare out the window and ignore the others in the compartment. She said loudly enough for the older woman to hear, “We’re moving on to the dining room to make arrangements. We’ll be back shortly.”
Aunt Isobel nodded bleakly and went back to her window. The train was moving fast and swaying a good deal, so Henry and Della had to brace themselves by placing hands against the walls of the train passage.
When they were alone a little distance from the compartment, Henry turned to her with a smile. “I had to get out for a little!”
Braced against the inner wall, she laughed, “I know how you feel. Isn’t that Madame Guioni awful?”
“Worst I’ve ever encountered. Makes me wince to think she is an Englishwoman. No manners at all.”
“And the priest seems to bring out the worst in her!”
“She’s a natural bigot! Has no respect for her servant or the country she lives in,” Henry agreed bitterly. “And I doubt if her husband meant much to her beyond being a source of money.”
“Aunt Isobel is in a rage and the madame is mostly to blame,” Della worried. “I’m afraid it is going to be a difficult journey.”
“Every passing minute gets us closer to the end of it,” Henry said, trying to comfort her.
“And we’ll be dining and in the sleeping area part of the time!”
“Which may save our sanity,” he said.
“We must try and get Father Anthony’s address in Rome,” she said. “He could be very helpful to us as a guide!”
“And don’t accept any invitations to Madame Guioni’s,” the young man warned her. “I don’t want ever to see her again after we get off the train.”
Della laughed, “Don’t count on it! She knows we will be at the palace of Prince Sanzio!”
Henry groaned. “I’d forgotten that.”
“But we can always be busy.”
“We must,” he said. “I can’t endure the woman!”
They went on to the dining car and found the headwaiter. A suitably large tip from Henry assured all three of them an excellent table with a good window view. And after finding out the hours of seatings they made their way to the sleeping car and checked where their bunks would be. Della’s was directly above her aunt’s at the end of the car and Henry’s was across from her. This made her feel more secure. He would be no more than an aisle away in case of an emergency.
On their way back along the rocking, noisy corridor they halted to embrace. Henry held her in his arms for a longer while than usual and she found the security of being pressed to him most satisfying. She no longer doubted that she loved this rather precise young lawyer. And she only wished that this business of seeking out her long-lost sister would soon be at an end and they could return to England and be married.
Henry must have been thinking the same sort of thoughts, for after his lips stopped caressing her, he said worriedly, “I wish we were going home instead of going to Rome!”
She smiled ruefully. “This has to be attended to first.”
His arms around her, he said, “I keep worrying about you. After all that has happened I don’t like you to be out of my sight for a moment.”
“I’m sure nothing will happen.”
“You keep saying that and yet things continue to come along and threaten you,” he said. “I heard you mention the jeweled Madonna to Father Anthony.”
“Without much reaction from him.”
Henry frowned. “According to him there are a lot of them. I’ve always thought the talk about a stolen Madonna was a cover-up for the real business of killing you so this supposed sister in Rome can inherit your fortune.”
“You’re taking that line from Sir Roger.”
“It’s the logical motive,” he told her. “And you must never forget that.”
“I’ve been duly warned,” she said with a smile. “We’d better get back to the compartment or Aunt Isobel will have a fit.”
When they reached the compartment they found that Madame Guioni and her maid had also gone off somewhere and the fat priest was sitting with his head bowed in sleep. Aunt Isobel greeted them with a look of reproach.
“You were gone long enough,” she told them.
“It took a while to find the waiter and get things properly arranged,” Henry explained.
“We’d better have a good table,” Aunt Isobel said.
“We will,” Della assured her.
And they did. When their seating time came they were shown to the table Henry had picked out. Aunt Isobel was favorably impressed by the elegant dining car with its white-clothed tables and excellent waiter service. She smiled for the first time during the journey.
“I think I shall enjoy having my meals,” she said.
“This is the best table in the car,” Della told her. “And you can thank Henry for getting it.”
Aunt Isobel said, “That is why Henry is with us. To protect us and to see we get the best. Isn’t that right, young man?”
He smiled agreeably. “Those were my instructions from Sir Roger.”
Her aunt sighed across the table. “I must say I feel you could have managed the compartment better.”
“The train is heavily booked and for a long way ahead,” Henry said.
“But surely we could have found more agreeable people to share it with?” Aunt Isobel complained.
“We have no choice in the matter,” Della told her.
“That is evident,” the older woman said grimly. “That Madame Guioni is the most dreadful creature! Her ugly face and overbearing manner, and that deep voice so used to ordering people about!”
Della said, “I’m sure her maid hates her.”
“And remains asleep in self-defense,” Henry laughed.
“She was miserable to that poor priest,” Aunt Isobel went on. “Though I must admit he had the wit to parry with her and win most of the time!”
An excellent six-course dinner with wine put them all in a relaxed, pleasant mood. Aunt Isobel forgot her complaints and even began to speak hopefully of Italy. It was amazing what a good meal could do, Della decided.
They returned to the compartment for a short time before going to bed in the sleeping car. Madame Guioni and Father Anthony had also returned following dinner, but the maid, Rosa, was nowhere in sight.
Madame Guioni explained her absence: “I spoke with the railway conductor and was able to get her an empty seat in second class. He is refunding the difference in fare to me.”
Della said, “I should think the convenience of having her with you would have been worth some extra money.”
The coarse face of Madame Guioni showed a petulant look. She said, “The woman is a peasant! Useful enough in my home but a difficult traveling companion!”
Since none of them could imagine a more difficult traveling companion than Madame Guioni herself, this led to a long silence.