“Do not worry, she will show herself in her own good time. I think she is with Barsini.”
“That should bother you,” she told him.
“It will not last,” he said, gazing up at the moon so that its full light shone on his handsome face. “She will come back to me. Barsini soon tires of his playthings. She will have no choice!”
“You shock me!” Della said.
“Why?”
“An Englishman would have a showdown with your evil Count and take his girl back from him by strength! You are content to wait and let it happen by default.”
“So I am an Italian.”
“I’m not sure I approve of you,” she said.
He halted again and, turning to her, said, “I have been thinking of something you said earlier tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he said. “You spoke of Barsini and suggested he might be a thief.”
“I don’t think I actually said those words.”
“It amounted to that.”
“You think so?”
“Yes,” the young Prince said. “And that leads me to believe that something prompted you to make such a statement about Barsini. What?”
“You are jumping to a number of conclusions,” she told him.
“Will you not tell me?”
“I have nothing to tell you. I was making a comment on his character. Offering a guess as to the sort of person he is.”
“It didn’t sound like that!”
“I’m so sorry,” she mocked him.
He stared at her long and hard. “I don’t think you are anything like Irma.”
“No?”
“No,” he said. “And I like what I find in you much more!” Without warning he took her in his arms and kissed her again, perhaps more ardently than he had when first they met.
When he released her, she said, “You didn’t mistake me for Irma this time!”
“I did not,” he said gravely. “That embrace was for you. I have lost my head to you, my English Della.”
“Better be more cautious,” she said. “I don’t like being pawed over whenever someone takes it in their head. I reserve my kisses for good friends and the man I love.”
“Can I not be a good friend?”
“It is much too early to say.”
“Or even the man you love?”
“You are too late for that!”
“I will not believe it!”
“You had better,” she said. “And now I’m sure we ought to go in. We’ve probably caused talk as it is.”
He laughed. “Do you care?”
“Yes, I think so,” she said. “It is my first night under Prince Sanzio’s roof. I do not wish to have him think badly of me.”
“He won’t,” the man at her side assured her. “But perhaps I will.”
With these somewhat enigmatic words the young Prince saw her back inside the palace. They rejoined the others, who were in deep conversation about the condition of the Church in the late-nineteenth century. Della was grateful that no one seemed to have missed them. Prince Raphael smirked at her when she glanced up at him, as if to underline the fact their absence had caused no comment.
Della spoke up to say, “We met several people on the train. One of them a jolly old priest named Father Anthony.”
Prince Sanzio said, “The only Father Anthony I can think of died two years ago. But Rome is crammed with priests and many of them must surely be named Anthony. It is an Italian name.”
Prince Raphael added, “To find him would be like seeking out a John Smith in London!”
“What about that wretched woman?” Aunt Isobel said. “I think her name was Gonia or something like that!”
Henry said, “Madame Guioni. A widow who claimed to be the owner of the Guioni Brothers winery.”
“I have never heard of her,” Prince Sanzio said. “But that does not mean she is not an important figure here. I’m very out of touch. I know few people of the new generation.”
“She’s an Englishwoman who married into the Guioni family,” Della explained.
“I do not know the lady but I’m familiar with the wine,” Prince Raphael said. “It is very poor stuff!”
“So Father Anthony said,” Henry put in.
The intimate conversation went on and the tension within Della grew. It was growing late and the sister she had traveled so far to meet had not shown herself. She was badly worried about it all. She felt relief when Prince Raphael announced his intention to leave and the party broke up.
The Prince kissed her hand in leaving and bade a courtly goodnight to Henry and her aunt. He spoke a few words with the older Prince and then went on his way. Prince Sanzio looked deathly pale, as if on the point of collapse.
He addressed himself to Della: “How can I apologize for my daughter’s snubbing you in this fashion?”
She said, “I’m sure she must have had a good reason.”
“I would hope so,” the old man said. “Yet I seriously doubt it.”
Della said, “She will return. Then I’ll talk to her and so will Mr. Clarkson. We will then decide if the woman’s letter was valid.”
The old Prince looked shattered. “I would not blame you for repudiating her even if she should be your sister.”
“If the facts are proven I will not let anything else stand in her way,” Della said quietly.
“That is charitable of you,” the old man said with sincerity. “Sleep well this first night in the Palazzo Sanzio.”
“I’m sure I shall,” she said.
The old man wheeled himself off into the shadows and she mounted the stairway, following Aunt Isobel and Henry, who had already gone upstairs. The landing was deserted with only a single candle burning there for light. The Prince appeared to rely entirely on candles for lighting the palace. Perhaps because he found it less expensive.
The evening had left her depressed and tense. She felt things were not going well and she was not at all sure about Prince Raphael. She had a suspicion he might not be the carefree man-about-town he pretended, but something much more sinister.
He had reacted strangely to her mention of a theft of a treasure and whether Barsini might be related to it. She was filled with these troubling thoughts as she opened the door to her room and went in. A single candle on the dresser offered light.
She was closing the door when hands reached out and grasped her by the arms. She cried out in terror and twisted around to find herself facing Henry!
“You!” she exclaimed. “Why did you do that? You gave me a dreadful fright!”
“Not my intention,” he said.
“You should have spoken, given me some warning.”
“I thought of that in the garden,” he said, his tone meaningful.
She stared at him. “The garden? Were you spying on Prince Raphael and me?”
“I would hardly call it that,” he said. “I went out to join you for a breath of air expecting nothing. And I found you two most romantically in each other’s arms!”
“Henry!” she said in reproach.
“I was a gentleman,” he promised. “I turned straight about and went into the house.”
“You gave no hint of it when we returned!”
“I have some discretion,” he assured her.
She touched his arm. “I promise you it was nothing. He is an Italian and a Prince!”
“I know that.”
“He simply caught me by surprise! Swept me into his arms before I could resist! I was shocked and I gave him a good lecture!”
Henry smiled knowingly. “I shall believe you. I shall not let my mind be filled with nasty, suspicious thoughts as I have known you to do in the past!”
“Will you never forgive me?”
“Forgiven, my dear,” the young lawyer said warmly. “I guessed the situation was as you described it.”
“Mind you,” she said, “he most brazenly went on making love to me as if he weren’t engaged to that Irma at all! I’m sure I may have trouble with him.”
“He will require handling,” Henry said. “And as for Irma? Do you think she exists?”
“Of course,” she said. “The old Prince was in despair at her behavior.”
“There is something very odd about it,” Henry ventured.
“I’m sure Prince Raphael knows more than he lets on,” she continued. “I mentioned Barsini and conjectured whether he might be a thief.”
“That was bait,” Henry said, at once interested. “How did he react?”
“At first he said Barsini would not steal as he is too rich.”
“Then?”
“Then I made him admit there might be other motives for theft. The thrill of taking a great treasure!”
“He reacted to that?”
“Yes and brought it up some time later in the evening. So I think we have hit a vein. It may mean a low follow-up, but I say Barsini is our man!”
Henry offered, “He seems to be at the bottom of a good deal of the trouble here. So why should he not be mixed up in the theft of the jeweled Madonna?”
“If there ever was one,” she said. “Now I must get some sleep. I’m dead on my feet!”
Henry smiled at her. “Would a kiss from me be an anticlimax after all your earlier romancing?”
Pertly, she thrust up her mouth, “Why not try it and find out?”
“Very practical!” the young lawyer marveled as he took her in his arms.
It worked very well. And when he smiled down at her she said wistfully, “It was really very good!”
Henry looked pleased. “Thank you and good night.” And he left her.
She smiled dreamily after him and then began to prepare for bed. She had not exaggerated in saying she was completely exhausted. It had been a long evening at the end of a long day. Within a few minutes she was in bed with the candle extinguished. And almost at once she fell asleep.
She awoke to the darkness of the big room and a confused sense of how long she might have slept. As she tried to collect her thoughts she became aware of the menacing sound which must surely have awakened her, the loud creaking of the door to the corridor. As she sat up in bed, staring in that direction, she felt her blood freeze! For the door was being slowly opened!
The door edged open a little farther. Della leaned back against the head of the bed, shocked into muteness and immobility, her horrified eyes fixed on the slowly opening portal. Then in the doorway she saw the figure of a young woman holding a candle. A young woman in a crimson silk low-cut gown, with a head of dark auburn hair flowing about her bare shoulders. A young woman with her face!
“Irma!” she gasped as she found her voice.
Her look-alike glided into the room a look of scorn on her lovely face. When she was within a few feet of the bed she halted to stare at Della. In a low voice, she said, “So it is true! You are my sister!”
“Yes, I think it must be,” Della said, leaving her bed to go to the young woman.
“You should not have come!” the other girl said and now it became noticeable that she spoke with a slight slurring of her words.
“Why?” Della asked, aware that her sister was drunk or drugged.
The girl stared at her with green eyes that matched her own. She said, “You should have stayed in England.”
“I came to find you,” she said.
“I’d prefer to remain Princess Sanzio,” the girl said. “I don’t want to be your sister.”
“But if you are my sister, isn’t it important that we both know it?”
The lovely girl who so resembled her, swayed slightly. “Go home and let us be!” she said, her words thickening once again.
And then she turned and glided out of the room in the same phantom way in which she had entered. Della gazed after her wondering what it all meant. Her supposed-sister surely had not welcomed her warmly. In fact she had made it clear that she wished their meeting had not occurred.
Still shaken by the experience, Della returned to her bed. She did not sleep for a long while. Her mind was in a whirl over all that had happened. And it became clear to her that she must seek out this Barsini as soon as possible to try and find out the truth about the stolen Madonna. And his method of keeping this girl who might be her sister under his influence.
She slept until sun began to pour in around the drapes. Then she got up to find that the diminutive Guido had already left her hot water for her morning bath. Later she donned a plain cotton print with the motif of grapes clusters and oranges.
The dining room was empty, but after she’d taken a chair at the set table, the little Guido came hurrying out to serve her.
She greeted him with a smile. “Am I the first or the last?”
The small man stood at attention, betraying no hint of expression on his lined, sallow face. “You are the last,
Signorina.
”
“I fear I overslept,” she apologized.
“It does not matter,” the little man said. “The Prince has his breakfast in his suite.”
“Better for him,” she said.
“He is now enjoying a siesta in the morning sun on the patio outside his room.”
Della ordered a light breakfast and he went off to get it. She wondered about Aunt Isobel and Henry. Perhaps they had decided on a stroll in the gardens while they were waiting for her.
Guido returned with the first course of her breakfast, some sliced fruit. She was enjoying this when her look-alike came into the dining room wearing a plain white dress with many ruffles at the sleeves and in the skirt. The girl looked pale and apologetic.
Taking a stand across the table from her, the girl said, “I have come to ask your pardon for last night.”
Della smiled. “There is nothing to apologize for!”
“I think there is,” the girl insisted. “I was not at all myself.”
“Won’t you join me for breakfast?” she asked.
“I’ll have some coffee,” the girl said and pulled out a chair at a place near her and sat down.
Guido came in with the eggs which Della had ordered and bowed to the other girl. He asked, “What may I bring to you, Princess?”
The girl asked him to fetch her coffee and he hurried away to get it. Della kept staring at her look-alike with a fascination she could not conceal. The other girl’s hair was just a hint darker auburn than her own and her nose was perhaps more aquiline. But aside from that she might have been gazing into a mirror.
“I cannot get over it!” Della said, staring.
The other girl shrugged. “We are much alike.”
“Almost exactly alike!”
“So be it!” The other girl seemed embarrassed, casting her eyes down on her plate. “It is strange to have a look-alike.”
“Not so strange! Even though we’ve grown up apart we are twins,” Della said.