“Not a pretty fable,” Della said.
“The woman was taken to the place of execution in a cart. Then she was dragged down stairs leading to a crypt but no further. It was not to be said that a Vestal Virgin died by force or starvation. Food to last for days was placed in the tomb. The condemned woman walked down the stairs, then they were quickly pulled up after her. Then the masons quickly wall up the door.”
“Horrible!” Della said. “I hope Barsini treats his Vestal Virgins in a different manner.”
“You may be sure of that,” Irma said with a bitter smile. “But in the end I wonder if what happens doesn’t amount to almost the same thing.”
Della said, “And you are going to be part of this?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you wouldn’t!”
Irma shook her head. “Too late now! I have made my vows. I’m one of the sisterhood! I cannot disobey!”
Della stared at the other girl with concern. “What are you saying?”
Irma’s mood seemed to change quickly. She said, “You must not pay attention to my morbidity. I’ve been trying to frighten you.”
“You managed very well.”
“Forgive me,” her sister said. “I have these spells of depression. You will grow to expect them from me. And if you do not wish to come tonight there is no need for you to be there.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I must be there.”
“Then you will be responsible for whatever you see that may upset you.”
The carriage had reached the door of the Palazzo Sanzio. Della had no time left to question her sister further. But these last solemn words from her, together with the eerie account of the Vestal Virgins left her with an eerie feeling about the night ahead.
Shortly before dinner the weather changed. The sky became so dark that the midget Guido went hurriedly about the old palace lighting candles. Thunder rumbled in the distance and there were several great showers of rain. To Della, dressing in her room, it seemed that the abrupt change in the weather might be a premonition of the dark journey she was planning that night.
She was haunted by the vision of the bald Count Barsini with his short, black beard and cruel smile. And she worried that she might have made a mistake in agreeing to go to the Satanist gathering at his villa. But it was too late to back out now. She hoped that by going along with Barsini, he might reveal the truth about the missing Madonna. It was her belief that he was the central figure in the theft despite his reference to a superthief known as Brizzi.
Irma also worried her. Her newly found sister seemed in a tense, troubled state. And tonight, by her own admission, she was taking part in the Black Magic ritual. Della was sickened by this decadence but she felt she must be part of it if she were to rescue Irma from Barsini—and put an end to the situation that made Della herself the target of the thugs seeking the missing Madonna.
She had chosen a black gown for this evening, thinking it might be appropriate. It was low-cut and revealed her shoulders and the fullness of her breasts. She considered it her most daring dress.
There was a knock on her door and she rose from her dressing table to open it. Henry Clarkson, already in white tie and tails for dinner, came in and gave her an admiring look.
He said, “You must really be trying to turn Prince Raphael’s head tonight!”
She felt her cheeks crimson. “You are all wrong.”
He was smiling. “That is a most enticing gown.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve promised to visit Count Barsini’s villa tonight with Irma. He is entertaining a few friends and he has invited us. I want to look my most sophisticated.”
Henry’s pleasant face creased. “You’re going to Barsini’s?”
“Yes. Shortly after dinner. Prince Sanzio is going to be playing chess With Prince Raphael. You can watch the game.”
The young lawyer looked shocked. “You mean Prince Raphael and I are not invited to Barsini’s?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then you musn’t go,” he said.
Della showed surprise. “Why do you say that?”
“You know Barsini’s reputation! He’s infamous!”
“I’m going with Irma. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
Henry began to pace back and forth. “I hardly think so. He already has her under his influence. I don’t want you to be next.”
“Never fear,” she said. “I met Count Barsini this afternoon and I put my cards on the table. I told him I was almost sure he was behind the Madonna theft and I wanted him to call off the thugs who’ve been hounding me.”
“What did he say?”
“He promised to make inquiries. He pretended to know little about it and blamed a thief known as Brizzi, along with some renegade priest.”
Henry looked thoughtful. “That sort of fits in with what Father Anthony told you. He said that whoever committed the crime had help from the inside.”
“Yes. That is why I’m hopeful. So I agreed to attend Barsini’s gathering tonight and he, in turn, said he’d try to have some information for me.”
“I don’t like any of it!” Henry said.
Della went to him and patted him on the lapel of his evening coat. Smiling up at him, she said, “You mustn’t try to interfere with this. It is our best chance to clear up this mystery.”
He sighed. “I shall worry about you until you are safely back. And I give you permission to go on the condition you promise to leave Rome as soon as possible.”
“Leave Rome?”
“Yes,” he said. “Everything is settled as far as Irma is concerned. It is time for us to go back to London. She can come with us if she wishes; if she doesn’t want to leave, let her remain here with the old Prince.”
“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she promised.
Her promise placated him enough to agree to her going to Barsini’s. Though had he guessed there was to be a Satanist meeting, she was sure he would have refused to allow it. Irma was quiet and nervous in manner. She was wearing a chic gown in dark green. Prince Raphael had arrived and did most of the talking at the dinner table.
Later the young Prince took her aside and asked, “Is it true you are going to Barsini’s tonight with Irma?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You know he is notorious.”
She said, “I’m starting a campaign to get Irma away from him.”
The handsome dark man said, “Barsini is clever. Be sure it doesn’t wind up with you joining Irma as his slave.”
“No chance.”
Raphael said, “Henry is very upset about your plan. And I also am worried.”
“Please don’t say anything more about it,” she said. “Get Prince Sanzio busy with the chess match so he doesn’t note our leaving.”
“After last night I dislike seeing you leave here after darkness,” Raphael said. “And especially on a dark, wet night such as this. A good night for criminals.”
“We shall take the carriage straight to Barsini’s villa,” she promised.
They waited until the chess match began and then quietly went out to the waiting carriage. The old coachman had brought out the closed vehicle because of the rain. Guido was there to open the carriage door and let them in.
As the carriage moved through the rainy blackness of the streets Irma gave her a worried glance. She said, “I feel responsible for your getting into this. You can still return to the palace if you like.”
“No!”
“Do you realize what you are getting into?”
“I’m not afraid,” Della told her.
“You may feel differently later,” was Irma’s comment. “If you do, don’t be afraid to run. Not even at the last moment.”
“I intend to remain,” she said. “I want to see your role in the gathering.”
Irma looked out the window into the darkness. “I don’t want to think about it.”
They rode on in silence with Della wondering what was on the other girl’s mind. Surely Irma was no stranger to these Satanist meetings. She had become one of them. And Count Barsini had claimed that she would play a leading role in the ritual on this occasion. It must be that an ordeal was scheduled, for Irma was clearly in a state of fear.
Torchlights flanked the entrance to the Barsini villa and other carriages were arriving. Della stared out as some of the passengers in the vehicles ahead descended and made their way into the house. They seemed to be mostly near her own and Irma’s age. Evidently Count Barsini wished to be Satan’s apostle to a flock much younger than himself.
A servant opened the door of their carriage and helped them to the sidewalk. Then they went on into the softly lit reception hall. Count Barsini was there to greet his visitors; he wore a long, flowing black robe embellished down the front with white crocheted figures of the Black Magic symbols.
He kissed Irma and told her, “You will go to the ritual room at once.”
Irma nodded and went on. Now he smiled in his menacing fashion as he bowed over Della’s hand and kissed it. He said, “You shall wait down here for a little. Ill have you brought to the ritual room when we are ready for you.”
“It is well organized,” she said.
“These things must be done correctly,” the bland Barsini told her. “Wait over there with Brother Louis.”
“Very well,” she said, and left the reception line to join a sickly-looking young man in the black cassock of a monk. He was standing in a sort of alcove room which contained only a couple of chairs and a suit of ancient armor.
The balding man showed shock when she joined him. “What are you doing here, Irma? You should be preparing.”
She smiled. “I’m not Irma but her twin sister. My name is Della.”
Brother Louis looked suspicious. “This is not some trick of Barsini’s? I’ve had my fill of his black jokes!”
“No,” she said. “The Count sent me here to wait with you. Irma has already gone upstairs.”
“You two look remarkably alike.”
“I know,” she said.
Brother Louis asked, “Are you converted?”
“No. This is my first time here.”
The man in the cassock showed a strange gleam in his watery blue eyes. “The mystery will be revealed to you. It is the only way!”
“I take it you are a convert,” Della said.
“I am,” he said proudly. “I was once a brother in the Church. But I’m free of all that now. The Devil and God are one and the same. Opposite sides of one coin. What Godly folk think evil is actually good and vice versa.”
She said, “So you have left the Church?”
“Yes,” Brother Louis said. “I have crosses tattooed on the soles of my feet so I can continually tread on the symbol of Christianity.”
Della was disgusted by his words and it struck her the man was slightly mad. At the same time she recalled that a member of the Vatican Museum had been mixed up as inside accomplice in the theft of the Madonna.
Taking a wild chance, she asked him, “Were you ever employed in the Vatican?”
Brother Louis showed pride. “I was a specialist in illuminated manuscripts. I worked in several of the museums within the Vatican.”
Her eyes met the watery blue ones of Brother Louis as she asked, “What do you know about the stolen Madonna of St. Cecilia?”
She might just as well have struck him across the face, so strong was his reaction. His thin face went a bit more pale and he asked, “How do you know about that?”
She forced herself to smile calmly and say, “As a friend of Barsini’s I know many things.”
Brother Louis clenched his fists. “He didn’t tell you to bait me? To try and find out if I knew anything?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“I know nothing about where it is!” Brother Louis said angrily. “You can tell him that! I wish I did!”
“I see,” she said. Then looking around, she saw that they were alone. The Count and his other guests had vanished. She asked the man in the cassock, “Where have they all gone?”
“To the Black Mass,” he said, his face becoming more animated at the thought. “Tonight is a special celebration! Irma is to become a priestess of our group.”
“Oh?”
Brother Louis nodded eagerly. “We have a half-dozen leaders. One day I shall become a leader.”
“What is your role now?”
“I’m a sort of watchman,” he said. “I remain here while the ceremony is going on. And I’m also responsible for guiding in neophytes like you.”
She recalled Irma’s advice that she might flee at any time if she changed her mind. For a moment she was on the verge of doing exactly that. But if she did she knew she would be deserting her sister and losing perhaps the only hope she had of penetrating the Madonna mystery.
She asked, “Where is the ritual room?”
He smiled bleakly. “I cannot tell you that. When the time comes I will take you there.”
Della waited with the strange Brother Louis. There was an uneasy silence between them. She thought about the plight she was in and realized she had always thought of Rome as the great center of Christianity. But she’d forgotten its long dark history. Centuries of paganism were also part of the city’s background. It was not so strange that decadent secret societies should still operate within sight of St. Peter’s.
A strong odor of incense filled the air now. It seemed to come from somewhere in the cellars of the villa. She found it not unpleasant but it began to make her head a trifle dizzy.
She asked Brother Louis, “What is that smell?”
“Incense,” he affirmed. “Part of the ritual.” He smiled knowingly. It has a special quality.”
“In what way?”
“It releases the emotions,” Brother Louis said, his pale face glowing now. “Barsini discovered it and uses it for all our gatherings.”
Della made no reply but she began to see how wily this Count Barsini was. He had hit upon some drug which when used as incense had a lifting, aphrodisiac influence on his followers. You could be sure he would use it to help him enslave them.
She began to worry since she could not help breathing in some of it. She still retained all her senses but she was experiencing an odd, light feeling. A feeling of relaxed well-being which she knew was not normal under the circumstances.
As she was thinking all this a woman in a dark brown robe with an attached cowl came in through a doorway of the reception hall. Keeping her cowl pulled over her head so that her face was hidden, the woman corssed over to Brother Louis and whispered something to him. Brother Louis nodded and then the woman gave her a furtive glance before vanishing through the doorway.