“He hasn’t been courting me.”
“Some gentlemen don’t know when a treasure is staring them in the face. He’d rather carry on with that thieving baggage. What’s all this about her trying to steal Elvira’s necklace?”
While the duchess ate her gruel, Deirdre gave her a brief account of the affair of the necklace. Charney listened with some interest, but her mind began wandering off to other matters. It would be a touch uncomfortable continuing on here with Carlotta in the boughs. She could always threaten to tell the conte his wife had stolen the Ginnasi diamonds, but the conte had an inexplicable fondness for his trollop, and might not be so severe as she could wish.
Feelers had been put out to friends and relatives of the conte, but no offers had been received yet to visit other noble Italian homes at no cost. Having come this far, her grace was not averse to seeing more of Italy. Rome, for instance, ought to be worth a look. One could obviously disparage the papists more expertly if she had been to Rome and seen their depravity with her own eyes.
“Where does Belami go from here?” she asked Deirdre.
“I expect he’ll go to Ravenna next, then down the peninsula south to Naples. He has friends all along the way who will be waiting to receive him,” she added cunningly.
With very little knowledge of geography, Charney said, “Then we shall go to Rome to avoid him. I’ll speak to the conte after breakfast and get letters of introduction along our way.”
As soon as the duchess had finished eating, she went in search of the conte. Deirdre was about to go upstairs when she heard Belami’s voice approaching the breakfast room. Looking up, she saw Dick and a very chastened Pronto enter. She looked to Dick, hoping for a clue as to how she should behave.
“Good morning,” she said.
Behind Pronto’s back, Dick winked. She understood from this that he had conjured up some face-saving device for his friend and waited eagerly to discover what it could be.
Pronto sat down and said, “G’day, Deirdre. I expect you’re surprised to see me and Dick still alive. About the duel—called it off. Heat of the moment, lost my head. Apologized.”
“I’m so glad,” Deirdre said. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Hit the spot,” Pronto agreed, and passed his cup.
She saw Dick preparing a speech and listened to learn what tack she should take. “We’ve just been going over the case,” Belami began. “Pronto certainly excelled himself this time.” Deirdre stared, astonished that Dick should state his friend’s folly so bluntly. “Yes indeed, we would never have solved this one without his help.”
“Of course,” Deirdre said in relieved confusion.
“His pretending to be taken in by Claude’s disguise was a masterstroke. Why, for a few days there, he even fooled me.”
“Me, too,” Pronto admitted.
“Of course he knew all along, but I think you might have told me in so many words, Pronto. I didn’t pick up on your clues about his hairy ankles and hard muscles. Pronto used the ploy of pretending to be in love with Elvira to work his way into her confidence,” he explained to Deirdre.
“It made it easier to follow her, too,” she added, getting into the swing of it.
“And left me free to follow other clues,” Belami said.
“I ain’t quite sure yet why I went ahead and married her,” Pronto admitted, and looked hopefully to hear an explanation of this piece of ingenuity.
“You couldn’t let Claude realize you were on to him,” Belami explained. “You had to lull his suspicions so he wouldn’t take fright and escape before we sprung the trap.”
Pronto cast a wary eye at Deirdre to see how this went down with an unbiased audience. He saw only admiring acceptance and felt encouraged. “I did it all without even knowing I was doing it. Dick explained it to me this morning.”
Belami rushed to his assistance. “At a deeper level, of course, he knew perfectly well Elvira was a man. He even compared her to Portia, in
The Merchant of Venice.
You remember how she posed as a judge. Strange how the mind works, is it not?”
“Incredible,” Pronto agreed.
Deirdre bit back a smile, and finally had to resort to her coffee cup when she caught Dick’s fiercely condemning eye. Belami continued to elaborate on his theme.
“Pronto was always careful to include the mother and Lucy on his expeditions. His deeper mind had a secret
tendre
for Lucy, I believe. Remember at Paris, Pronto, you were quite taken with her, and remarked a few times that Elvira was too bold to suit you—too mannish is what you meant. That long ago you sensed she wasn’t a real woman, and knew you were safe to associate with her, without falling into parson’s mousetrap. Once you realized this, you asked yourself, why not pretend to love her, and see what you could discover?”
“Rhymes,” Pronto said. “Love her—discover. You didn’t realize you was doing it. Deeper mind at work.”
“I always felt I had the heart of a poet,” Belami admitted modestly.
“This certainly proves I have the heart of an investigator. Getting on with the job the whole time,” Pronto said, shaking his head at his cleverness.
Before they got into any deeper water, Belami decided it was time to widen the topic of conversation. “You and I both coming to Italy is another example of the deeper mind at work,” he began, turning his attention to Deirdre. “Both denying we came because we were to have had our honeymoon here. Something in our deeper minds and hearts drew us hither.”
“Same with me and Elvira.” Pronto nodded. “Hither and thither, both drawn to Venice. One thing does bother me though, Dick,” he said. Belami moved uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what new leaps of imagination would be called for. “About that marriage—am I married to Claude? Thing is—he’s married already. Bigamist.”
Belami breathed a sigh of relief. “No such a thing. If Claude were a woman, which of course you knew all along he was not, then
he
would be a bigamist.”
“She,” Pronto corrected. “If he was Elvira, he’d be a she. Married to Lucy. There’s odd twists in that lad.”
“If Pronto were a woman, is what you meant,” Deirdre said.
“Precisely,” Belami agreed. “In any case, it is the person who has two spouses who is the bigamist, not the two partners. Your marriage is null and void. It never existed.”
“Never was consummated either,” Pronto assured him. “Never came anywhere near it. The deeper mind at work, and that strong Italian wine. All the same, Dick—you, too, Deirdre, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone at home about the wedding. Some folks wouldn’t realize about my deeper mind. Think I was a bit of a dupe.”
“Your ingenuity ought to be shouted from the rooftops, Pronto,” Dick said, “but if you are so self-effacing you want to keep it secret, it’s fine with me.”
“I shan’t breathe a word,” Deirdre added.
“I hope Charney keeps her mouth shut,” Pronto muttered. “Where’s she off to next, Deirdre?”
“Rome.” Deirdre looked hopefully to Belami. “Where are you two going? We heard Carlotta telling you to get out of the Palazzo Ginnasi.”
“Rome is certainly on my itinerary,” Belami said. “What sort of mood is Charney in this morning?”
“Foul,” Deirdre replied, “and her mood will only deteriorate when she’s put to the expense of hiring a carriage and paying hotel bills. I hope she doesn’t decide to go home.”
“Rome, eh?” Pronto asked. “Been wanting to get into the catacombs. Hear they’re all the crack.”
The duchess, passing by the door, saw her niece in conversation with two of the worst rattles ever to have come out of England and went to her rescue. She was in a wretched mood. The contessa had been busy turning the conte against her, with the result that her letters of introduction to potential hosts were limited to one, and he an old hermit who lived in a shack. That bit of spite was certainly the contessa’s doings, which was not to say the letter wouldn’t be used, and the shack, too, if it had more than one room.
The duchess went storming in. “I am amazed to see Mr. Pilgrim is still speaking to you, after the way you have used him in this affair, Belami,” she began. “Making him marry that wretched counterfeiter person.”
“No such a thing,” Pronto bristled. “All my own idea. I did it to trap the Jalberts.”
Belami rose politely to his feet and offered the duchess a chair. She never could resist food or drink. The coffee still looked potable, and she accepted a cup from Deirdre.
“The credit for solving this case is entirely Pronto’s,” Belami said. “We were just discussing the continuing of our trip, your grace. It seems the contessa has houseguests arriving soon—today, in fact—and would appreciate it if we could see our way clear to leaving immediately.”
“Hmph, houseguests, is it?” She admired a gentleman with polish, and it was well done of Belami to try to wrap the affair up in clean linen. “It’s no bother to me. The stench of these canals is enough to turn a person’s stomach. We are only too happy to escape.”
“I shall be leaving early this afternoon,” Belami continued. “The Marchese Benzoni has been importuning me to visit him. You are, perhaps, familiar with the marchese’s estate, his Villa Benzoni? A marvelous example of Palladio’s work—one of the show places of Italy, situated high in the Alban Hills, overlooking the sea from the western limits of his estate, and down on Rome from the north. A monstrous place—one needs a guide to tour it.”
“How many rooms?” the duchess asked.
“I meant a guide is needed to tour the entire estate. The villa has only eighty or ninety rooms, I believe,” Belami answered with a show of indifference. “The fountains alone are worth the trip—set in a vast parkland, with old Roman statuary. You really ought to arrange a tour of the place while you are at Rome, your grace. I hope you are able to find accommodations on such short notice. The vineyards are of particular note. The red wine especially is considered nonpareil,” he added.
The duchess’s mouth fairly watered at this description. She was torn between jealousy and hope. “You are fortunate you had time to plan your trip well in advance. Deirdre and I dashed off in such a pelter I hadn’t time to write to anyone.”
“Deeper mind,” Pronto said obliquely. “You had nothing to say about it, your grace.”
“What rubbish is this?” she asked.
Belami flew in to divert disaster. “I really ought to go and make arrangements for transportation to visit the marchese. Good horses are difficult to come by in Italy.”
“Impossible,” Pronto mumbled.
“We’ll want a team of four, and a well-sprung traveling carriage,” Belami tempted. “The trip will be expensive,” he added mischievously, “but then the marchese will not hear of my undertaking any expense once I am with him. No doubt he will insist on putting his house in Rome at our disposal as well, Pronto. We shall want to spend considerable time in the city, admiring the architecture and statues.”
It was too much to be borne. The duchess rose to her feet. “Come along, Deirdre. We must oversee Haskins’s packing or there won’t be a gown fit to be worn without pressing.”
Deirdre rose and gave a hopeful smile to Dick. Before her aunt reached the bottom of the staircase, almost before they were out the door, the duchess stopped.
“This Marchese Benzoni fellow sounds extremely eligible,” she said.
“Yes.” Deirdre didn’t mention the marchese was a seventy-year-old widower with children older than herself.
“Eighty or ninety rooms, and a house in Rome besides.”
“And a vineyard.”
“I shall have my four hogsheads from this curst spot shipped directly home. No point taking them to Rome with us. A good thing I settled it before the contessa turned her husband against us. The old fool refuses to believe she’s stolen his necklace. I have been thinking, Deirdre, how unpleasant it will be for us to travel to Rome without any male escorts.”
“We’ll have to hire a guide, along with the carriage and team,” Deirdre said slyly.
“I see no reason why Belami’s servants should travel with him while we joggle along alone. There will be room in his carriage for the four of us—Pilgrim, himself, and us.”
“He didn’t invite us, Auntie.”
“Have you lost the use of your wits? Get in there and conciliate him. Not too conciliating, mind! Don’t let the wretched fellow get the notion I give the match my approval, for I don’t, which is not to say his escort to Rome is worse than nothing. At least he speaks English, which is more than can be said for that moonling, Pilgrim.”
“It would be nice if the marchese invited us to stay at his villa,” Deirdre mentioned.
“He can hardly do less when we land at the door with Belami. We shall be utterly rolled up from the trip—anyone with a shred of human kindness in his veins would ask us to remain. I intend to arrive in a fit of vapors.”
Deirdre bit her lip to hold in the shout of glee that rose up in her throat. “Shall I go back and be nice to Belami?”
“You’d best do it. He’ll have to arrange carriages for our servants while he’s at the travel office. And Deirdre—”
“Yes, Auntie?”
“Make sure you get your wedding gift back from Pilgrim. The little statue will make a suitable gift to Benzoni when we leave, in two or three months. A pity Belami had his goblets engraved or he could use his as well. He never uses his head. But then he is so rich it hardly matters.”
“Yes, extremely eligible,” Deirdre agreed blandly.
Charney’s eyes narrowed to slits. Why must the world be so contrary? Why couldn’t the decent boys be wealthy? “Go on, minx, before they get away.”
The duchess’s pace as she went to her room was hardly slower than Deirdre’s dart back to the morning parlor. She opened the door and flew in. “It worked! We’re going with you, Dick!” She laughed and ran into his arms.
As Dick whirled her in the air, Pronto took a close look at her ankles. Not a hair to be seen, but he’d advise Dick to check her out and make sure she was a real girl before he married her. He felt a pinching ache in his heart to see the joy of the young lovers and rose to leave them some privacy.
“I’ll be waiting in the gondola, Dick,” he said. It must have been his deeper mind speaking. He didn’t even know he was going to say that. Curst rum thing, the mind, knowing all along his Elvira was a man, when he hadn’t a notion. Wouldn’t do to admit it though. Might give folks some peculiar ideas.