Vintage Love (89 page)

“If that is the only way, yes,” Henry said.

“No, monsieur,” the conductor said with a wave of a scrawny hand. “It cannot be done. I shall place two porters on duty in your car and you may safely return to your sleep.”

Henry sighed. “That is your last word?”

“It is, monsieur. I can send a wire ahead for the police in Rome to board the train when we arrive. In which case all will be held. You and the young lady will also be questioned.”

“It isn’t worth it,” Della appealed to Henry. “You may as well let it drop.”

“Very well,” Henry said slowly. And he told the irate conductor, “I will expect to see the new porters on duty before we return to our bunks.”

“I will arrange it at once,” the conductor promised. It was evident that this was all they could hope for, so they settled for it.

Della slept little for the rest of the night. The morning was sunny and pleasant and word was that the train would soon be passing the Italian border. This proved correct as there was a boarding of the train by Italian officers and a brief questioning of them all before they had breakfast.

At the table Henry said, “We at least are in Italy and should reach Rome by early evening.”

“Did you sleep well?” Aunt Isobel asked her.

Della gave Henry a warning look, as she did not intend to tell her aunt of the night’s two frightening incidents. She told the old woman, “I slept as well as I could under the circumstances.”

“I had nightmares,” Aunt Isobel said glumly. “I had the sensation of excited voices and movement outside my berth!”

Henry said, “Don’t mind! You’ll sleep better when you reach Rome.”

“In that old palace, probably full of insects and mold!” Aunt Isobel said with a tiny shudder.

Della smiled across the table at her. “How can you say that? It may be a fine palace full of elegant rooms.”

“That creature, Madame Guioni, said it was badly run down!” Aunt Isobel reminded her.

“She can’t be trusted for an opinion,” Della said.

“She’s likely right about the palace,” her aunt said, determined to be pessimistic.

Following breakfast they all three made their way back to their compartment. They passed Madame Guioni at one of the tables along the way but she was so busy calling down her waiter about something, she didn’t notice them passing. Which pleased them.

Della was in the lead and when she reached the door of the compartment and opened it she stood still with shock. Father Anthony was bent over one of her suitcases which had been taken down from the rack and was apparently in the act of opening or closing it.

Della was stunned at finding the friendly priest in such a compromising position. But she entered the compartment followed by the other two, and in a calm voice asked, “May I inquire what you are doing, Father?”

Father Anthony turned and glanced up at her with his oval face showing surprise. “Dear me!” he gasped.

She stared down at the suitcase. “That is mine, is it not?”

“Quite so!” the fat priest said embarrassedly. “It is your suitcase. And I suppose you must wonder what I’m doing with it?”

Aunt Isobel was staring at him bleakly. “The question has crossed my mind!”

“And no wonder!” Father Anthony said, his usual likable self, but seeming to be stalling for time.

“Perhaps you will be good enough to enlighten us,” Henry said sharply.

“Of course,” Father Anthony said. And he brought out a large white silk handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow. “This must look strange to you.”

Della said, “We simply want to hear from you.”

“Yes,” the fat priest said, putting the handkerchief away in a back pocket of his robe. “I went to breakfast at the same time as all of you. I bade Madame Guioni good morning and was snubbed for my trouble. Then I ate rather hastily and came back here. I found a man in the compartment!”

“A man?” Della echoed.

“Yes,” Father Anthony said. “And the fellow had this suitcase of yours down on the seat. He was fumbling with the locks when I entered.”

“And?” Henry said in a tone which indicated he was not too convinced by the explanation.

The priest said, “I at once asked him what he was doing.”

“And his reply?” Della asked.

“He said he was a customs official and that it was his belief that our compartment had been somehow overlooked at the border.”

“That is not so,” Della said. “You were here with the rest of us when the officials made their examination.”

“I knew that,” Father Anthony said. “And I told the fellow so. He at once apologized and quickly made his way out. Not even bothering to place the bag up where he had found it.”

“And he told you nothing else?” Henry inquired.

“No. He seemed in a great hurry to leave,” Father Anthony said. “It at once occurred to me that he was no customs official but a thief. And I was bending over the bag trying to see if the locks had been forced when you all returned and found me.”

Della listened with growing conviction that the jolly priest was telling the truth. He was truly the picture of innocence. She said, “It would seem we owe you thanks, Father.”

“Not at all,” he said genially. “I saw the suitcase locks were intact and I was about to return it to the rack when you came in.”

“I knew there was nothing wrong,” Aunt Isobel said and went to take her usual seat by the window.

“Forgive us for being so brusque,” Henry said. And he examined the suitcase and then shoved it up on the rack where it had been.

Della sat next to the priest. “We are somewhat on edge,” she explained. “We had some unpleasant things happen in the night. That is why we were so quickly suspicious of you.”

Father Anthony showed interest. “Did that unpleasant Madame Guioni insult you also?”

Della smiled grimly. “A little worse than that. And Madame Guioni was in no way involved.”

Henry leaned forward earnestly, saying, “I’m sure you can be trusted, Father Anthony.”

The fat priest shrugged. “I have often served in the confessional. My discretion has never been questioned.”

“I think we should tell him,” Della said. She turned to Aunt Isobel. “We also want you to know!”

The old woman frowned. “Know what? Have you been keeping things from me again?”

“I’m afraid so,” Della said. “But only for your own good.”

“I will not have you treating me like a child,” her aunt protested crossly. “What is it now?”

Henry spoke for both the benefit of Aunt Isobel and the priest, saying, “There were attacks made on both myself and Della last night.”

“Here on this train?” Aunt Isobel said, amazed.

“Where else?” Della asked.

Father Anthony looked puzzled. “You say attacks, my son. I’m not sure I understand. Why were you attacked and in what manner?”

Henry said, “That is rather a long story. But last night someone tried to shove me off the open platform to almost certain death.”

Della nodded. “And only a little later I was choked by an unseen attacker in my berth. I fainted and this may have saved my life. I don’t know.”

“But why?” the priest asked.

“We are not sure,” Della said, taking over the explanation from the young lawyer. “One possibility has to do with my journey to Rome. I’m on my way to greet a girl who may be my long-lost twin.”

“A missing twin!” Father Anthony exclaimed. “That sounds like an ancient Roman or Greek play.”

“This is no play,” she said grimly. And she went on to explain to him the details of Irma’s kidnapping and of the Prince adopting her and finally learning she was a child stolen from England.

“A most amazing story,” the priest said. “I’m sure the girl has had good treatment if she has been raised by Prince Sanzio. He is of a fine family.”

“So we have been told,” Della said. “The other possibility is that I’ve somehow been used as a decoy in a remarkable theft.”

“What sort of theft?” Father Anthony asked.

“You will recall I spoke to you about a jeweled Madonna,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“And you told me that there were several of them in the Vatican museums.”

“That is true.”

“I asked you about the Madonna because I was kidnapped in London by a criminal, an Italian, who insisted that I had the Madonna or knowledge of where it was hidden.”

Father Anthony showed bewilderment. “I’m not sure I can follow all this. What has this stolen Madonna to do with your missing sister?”

Henry Clarkson smiled ruefully. “We can understand your being puzzled, Father. We are, also. We can only guess that someone close to Prince Sanzio heard Della being discussed as sister to his adopted daughter. For some reason they hit on her to be used in this incredible theft. Deciding to send the valuable stolen loot to her, in this case the jeweled Madonna. But in transit there must have been a double cross and the Madonna never did reach London or my fiancée. But the ones who sent it refuse to believe this. So they are hounding Della for the valuable piece.”

Father Anthony considered this for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I find this account of a stolen jeweled Madonna unlikely. If such a precious item had been stolen from one of the Vatican museums a report would surely have gone out to the world. Police would be searching for it. It would be front-page news!”

Della sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“Unless,” the fat priest mused, “the theft took place without anyone yet being aware of it.”

“Could that happen?” Henry asked.

“It is possible,” Father Anthony said with a frown. “Though not likely. But some of the very valuable items are often stored away and put on display only at intervals. If this jeweled Madonna were in storage, it might be stolen and its loss not known for a period of time.”

“Perhaps that is it,” Della said. “These men seem very certain there is such a Madonna and that it was sent to me by messenger.”

The priest continued to look troubled. “We must face this. If the Madonna was stolen from a storage place it had to be an inside job. That could only mean that some member of the Vatican staff was the thief or a collaborator with the thieves.”

Della said, “Again, I ask, could that happen?”

“We have had instances over the centuries,” the priest said. “Not many. But it has been known to happen.”

She said, “So there may be a stolen Madonna after all?”

“Maybe,” Father Anthony said. “When we reach Rome I shall make some discreet inquiries. I can let you know what I’m able to find out.”

“Do you think I should complain to the Roman police?” she worried.

“I’m not sure they could help you,” Father Anthony said. “Leave it with me and I shall get in touch with you as soon as I’ve had an opportunity to make some contacts.”

Della gave Henry a troubled glance. “What do you think?”

“I think we should try and find out who these criminals are and make sure they understand that the Madonna never reached you.”

“All this must have stemmed from the palace of Prince Sanzio,” she worried. “And I don’t want to involve him if he has played only an innocent role.”

Father Anthony said, “That is quite likely the case.”

“Can we not wait until we talk to Prince Sanzio before approaching the police?” Della appealed to Henry.

“If that is your wish,” he said. “Though I’m sure Sir Roger would prefer that we contact the police.”

“I don’t want to start off on a bad note with the Prince,” Della said. “Attempt to get some information from him before we do anything. And I shall count on your help, Father Anthony.”

The jolly priest smiled. “Be assured that I will keep this in mind and attempt to find out whether such a theft has been committed.”

“And while we’re being so discreet we may all be murdered,” Aunt Isobel spoke up acidly.

Father Anthony showed concern. “I promise I shall pray that nothing of the sort happens.”

The trainman came by with word that they would soon reach the railway station in Rome. They were passing through a colorful countryside dotted by white houses and occasionally they caught a glimpse of farm animals in the fields. The sky was a startling, deep blue with hardly any clouds and the vegetation was vivid in its coloring: dark green trees, lighter green fields and dark-colored bushes and vines all mingled in lovely contrast.

Madame Guioni arrived importantly with a porter and her stout maid trailing behind her. She came into the compartment with the usual arrogant expression on her ugly face and informed them all, “I’m having my hand baggage removed early. It is a mistake to wait until the last moment. Then you are invariably caught in a long line!”

She pointed out her things and the porter took them down and left with them. She turned to Della and said, “You will hear from me, Miss Standish. As soon as I have settled in I shall have a small party for you!”

“There’s no need!” Della protested.

“No,” the big woman said imperiously, “it will be my great pleasure. I shall contact you at the palace of Prince Sanzio.” Snubbing the others, she made a grand exit with the stout maid forlornly following her.

When she was safely out of the way Father Anthony gave a deep sigh. “I shall not miss her,” he said. “I trust you will enjoy the party she is planning for you, Miss Standish.”

“I doubt very much if I’ll ever hear from her again,” Della said with a wry smile.

“Which might be a blessed thing,” Father Anthony told her.

“Amen!” Aunt Isobel said sharply. At which they all laughed.

The train was now moving slowly through the outskirts of the city. They were passing through congested areas of buildings on either side of the tracks. The rear of the buildings faced the tracks and so everything looked rather run down.

Everyone in the compartment prepared to leave. The train reached the station yard and it was dark, noisy and full of belching steam and smoke like the Paris station from which they had set out. Only now the shouting was in Italian rather than French.

Father Anthony bade them a friendly good-bye and rushed off on his own to vanish on the crowded platform. Their group was held back by the slow progress of the porter with their hand baggage.

Della had linked an arm in Aunt Isobel’s, so that they would not be shoved apart in the bustle on the long wooden platform. Henry led the way with the porter at his side with their bags.