Wicked (38 page)

"Of course, mademoiselle." She could have been asking for the use of his handkerchief, so bland was his tone. "Tell Fran
ç
ois here what you wish. He'll see that they receive your message."

She was taken away then, half in shock, she and her escort moving in the wake of the plundering troop that was plucking the treasures of the Uffizi from the walls as if they were produce in a market. And in the piazza below, she saw dozens of covered wagons being loaded with the artwork. Before she was lifted into a carriage, the clerk came running up and she was allowed to dictate a brief message. "I'm being taken to General Massena," she wrote to her friends. "Please help me."

The note Julia received several hours later only said, "I'm going to see General Messena." The signature wasn't Serena's.

And no amount of pleading with the local authorities to help in the search met with any aid. The advance guard of General Massena, newly appointed commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy, was beyond the authority of local government.

******************

When Beau appeared at Serena's apartment later that week, the landlady fell into his arms with sobs for salvation. "She's gone, taken by the French. God help us, you cam
e
—
I
prayed, I prayed you'd come."

Beau gently moved her away, her words frightening, thinking he must have misheard her. Holding her at arm's length, beating down his alarm, he said, "Speak very slowly."

She told him what she'd heard, answering his curt, sharp questions, repeating all she knew a dozen times
.

Minutes later he was pounding at the Castellis' door and Julia recognized Beau immediately as the subject of the numerous
 
paintings
 
in
 
Serena's
 
apartment.
  
Serena
 
had confided little to her but she'd surmised an affair had ensued during the journey from England. He was brutally handsome; she could see why Serena had fallen under his spell.

When Beau introduced himself as a friend of Serena's, the Castellis invited him in. Apologizing for his abruptness, he immediately asked for any information they might have concerning Serena's capture.

He listened to their brief explanation of the bare facts, his brow furrowed, then scrutinized the note and silently cursed himself for not coming sooner. When he discovered Serena had been in the enemy's power for four days already, his stomach constricted, knowing full well how pillaging troops took their pleasures.

Julia was speaking in a low, quiet voice, describing all the people they'd conversed with: the students who'd seen Serena taken; the workmen who'd helped load the wagons; the young boy who'd delivered the note for the clerk. And in the course of her calm narration Beau put aside futile anxiety and planned his pursuit.

When he briefly outlined his purposeful journey a short time later, Julia offered their assistance. "Let us help; we'll go with you."

"General Massena's headquarters are in Milan," Professor Castelli added. "We have friends there who could be useful."

"I appreciate your offer," Beau politely replied, "but I can travel faster alone." They'd be in the way.

"With the British at war with France, you'd be in less danger traveling with us," Julia pointed out.

"We often journey to Milan to authenticate paintings." Professor Castelli was a small man, not much taller than his daughter. "I can shoot straight and handle a sword, milord," he went on, drawing himself up to his full height. "I'd be honored to assist you."

"Thank you, but a swift passage is less difficult with fewer people. And if Serena should somehow return in my absence," Beau dissimulated, knowing she wouldn't be kindly returned, "I'd feel more comfortable if you were here. I
will
need to see a banker before I go, if you could arrange it," he went on, rapidly assessing all he'd require for his trip to Milan, hoping Massena's chief of staff was still avaricious. "Someone who could advance a large sum on letters of credit." Solignac's greed was common knowledge; some said Massena too had a penchant for ducats. Beau was depending on it.

******************

While the Castellis weren't wealthy, they knew merchants who were, and before the day was over, Beau had enough gold in his luggage to buy a dozen women from the general. And papers from the banker that legitimized him as a representative of the banking firm Allori and Sons.

Beau rode through the night, the moon full and bright, a raiding moon they called it in Yorkshire, he grimly mused, the concept appropriate to his intentions. He planned on raiding the general of one of his coquette
s
—
f
or a considerable price if possible, if not, with violence.

Whatever it took, he'd have her back, he vowed. Regardless whether she wished it or not.

He didn't question how he'd accomplish the task. He was a master of opportunity, his skills honed in his role as liaison for Pitt.

Most of his assignments were those lesser men would decline. Danger exhilarated him, his detractors said, as if he were heedless beyond the need for excitement. Those who knew him better recognized a man equal to immense tasks.

******************

On their journey to Milan, delayed by frequent stops at wealthy monasteries and convents where Colonel Solignac, Massena's chief of staff, would obtain a "donation," Serena was treated with courtesy. She had her own room at night wherever they stopped, the colonel had his orderly personally serve her her meals, additions to her wardrobe had appeared with steaming bathwater the first morning after her abduction, and Solignac had sent a kind note by his adjunct.
a
long with several books to ease the boredom of her journey.

She felt very much like the goose being fattened for Christmas dinner and while she was relieved she'd not been molested by any of the hussars, she understood that as Massena's prospective property she was protected.

She tried not to dwell on the outcome of their journey, refusing to give in to her fear until absolutely necessary, thinking instead of possible means to extricate herself from her dilemma. Surely in the apparently wholesale plundering of the subjugated territories, some other of Massena's subordinates might well have found a woman who would appeal to the general more than she. Perhaps that lady was already cozily installed in the general's apartments and she'd be superfluous.

A not altogether pleasant thought, she suddenly realized, with the full array of junior officers no doubt similarly in need of females. Perhaps she should count her blessings, she decided, Massena as protector no doubt superior to her other alternatives.

But any rationalization, however objective, couldn't long overcome the weight of despair crushing her spirits. Leaning her head back against the leather squabs of the carriage seat, she shut her eyes against the tears threatening to spill over. Feeling lost and stranded, a terrifying, unknown course before her, she was overwhelmed by hopelessness.

Why me? she lamented, twin paths of tears gliding down her cheeks. And utterly despondent, she wondered what further disasters awaited her.

******************

But at a post stop north of Parma, as she waited in the carriage for the horses to be unharnessed, she saw a young woman with two children begging for alms beside the road and her own difficulties in contrast seemed trivial. Unlike the ragged, starving young family, their faces pinched with hunger and need, she was well fed, well clothed, actually pampered by the colone
l
—
s
o she'd arrive unblemished, in prime form for his general.

Slipping the pearls from her neck, the ones Beau had given her in Lisbon, she called the woman over to the carriage, and placing the necklace in her hand, she wished her good use of them. "Take these, and feed your family."

The young mother burst into tears at the lavish gift, kissed Serena's hand, and thanked her, her words overwrought with emotion, tears streaming down her face. Trying to pull her torn garments into some semblance of order, she apologized for her appearance, embarrassed by her shabbiness. "We're not beggars, signorina," the woman softly said. "Or we wouldn't be if my husband hadn't died. But the childre
n
—"

"Please, I understand," Serena interposed, feeling a philis-tine in her elegant gown and guilty for her own self-pity when this woman scarcely had clothes to cover herself or food to eat. "No apology is necessary. Pleas
e
—
b
ring your children up so I may meet them," she added, wishing to curtail the woman's self-conscious atonement, catching the shy glance of the little girl clutching her brother's hand.

Pulling her children forwar
d
—
a
thin boy and a small girl who smiled timidly at Seren
a
—
t
he woman urged her youngsters to give Serena thanks.

"Thank you, signorina," the young boy gravely said. "Our papa died in the war." His eyes were too large in his thin face, his arms and legs emaciated. But he stood protectively over his sister, holding her hand firmly.

"Papa dead," his little sister piped up, understanding the calamity if not the concept and Serena's eyes grew wet with tears at the children's poignant words.

"Giovanni died at the battle of Magnano last spring," the young mother said. "And"—
h
er mouth quivere
d
—"it's been very hard. . . ." Her voice broke for a moment. "We have no relatives and it's difficult to find work with two small children," she quietly finished.

"I know someone who can help you," Serena said, impelled to aid the unfortunate family. "Do you know how ro take the post to Florence?"

At the
mother's immediate nod of affirmation, Serena searched her pocket, remembering the single florin she always carried for emergencies. Taking it out, she handed it to th
e
woman. "Take the post coach to Florence and go to Professor Castelli at the Accademia dell'
A
rte. Tell them I sent you; the professor will know who will buy the necklace."

The flash of hope that shone from the young mother's eyes struck Serena with such impact, it eclipsed her own problems. Before the colonel ordered the troop back on the road, Serena was able to give the young woman definitive directions to the Castellis'. "Tell them I'm well," she added at the end, "and am on my way to Milan, I think. I'll contact them again as soon as I'm able," she finished in a rush, for the carriage was pulling away.

The children waved and smiled and the woman's heartfelt thanks echoed in Serena's ears long after the troop left the post station.

Feeling revived, almost invigorated after her meeting with the unfortunate mother and children, if it were possible to experience such a positive sensation under the circumstances, Serena straightened her skirt, smoothed out the wrinkles in the elegant white georgette gown the colonel had sent to her, adjusted the yellow silk bows decorating the ruffled sleeves, as if readying herself for the fray. Her mood was almost light-hearted as she looked out the carriage window at the bright summer landscape.

She wasn't the only lady in Italy faced with the prospect of being conciliatory to the country's new conquerors,
she reminded herself.
¹⁵
Nor would she be the last if Colonel So
l
ignac and his compatriot's sense of extortion continued unchecked.

Now, how exactly did one befriend a commander-in-chief?

******************

Apparently not with the usual ploys, she discovered when she was ushered into General Andrea Massena's quarters the following day.

He looked up from his desk when Colonel Solignac brought her in, silently surveyed her for the space of two heartbeats (hers very violent despite her intentions to appear calm), and immediately returning to the papers before him, said, "Take her to my apartment."

He was already dictating to his two secretaries before she'd left the room. A maid greeted her at the commander-in-chief's suite in the Palazzo Mombello, showed her the armoires filled with female clothing in one of the dressing rooms, told her to help herself to anything she wished. With a bobbing curtsey, she said she'd bring some refreshments for the signorina and the signorina was to consider the general's apartments her own.

From the maid's experienced tone, Serena realized she wasn't the first lady to share the general's quarters.

Massena hadn't looked like what she'd anticipated, she thought, generals in her experience being o
l
d and portly. Massena's hair was gray (the result of his starvation diet at Genoa during the siege) but he was hawk-faced and lean; he had the look of a corsair. His eyes, ice blue and wintry, had assessed her with a swift, fleeting arrogance. But then he had complete authority in all of Italy; she supposed a degree of arrogance went with the rank. He wore none of the accoutrements of his position, though; his simple blue tunic had been partially unbuttoned, his shirt beneath as plain as his uniform. He almost looked out of place in the gilded opulence of the palazzo.