“Very wise of you,” said Stefano, and closed his eyes again.
We sat in silence after that. I knew Stefano was not asleep, but I had no intention of arousing his biting tongue. After a while the heat and the quiet made me sleepy. I was beginning to doze when suddenly Stefano flung himself at me, knocking me off my rocky seat onto the ground and falling heavily upon me. A loud crash shook the air.
For a few seconds I was too dazed to move or cry out. The weight of Stefano’s body robbed me of breath. Then he rolled to one side and I struggled to a sitting position. The angry words I was about to say died on my lips as I saw the heap of tumbled rock on the stone where we had been sitting.
“Good heavens,” I exclaimed, putting my hand to my stinging cheeks. My fingers came away red.
“It is only a superficial cut,” said Stefano. He was sitting up too, in a strange, twisted position. One leg was bent under him.
“You are quick to minimize other people’s injuries,” I snapped; and then, seeing his pallor, I repented of my sharp tongue. “Are you hurt, Stefano?”
“How should I be hurt when you cushioned my fall so sweetly?” inquired my cousin.
His acrimonious reply did not wound me this time. I looked at the great heap of rocks, several of which were large enough to have dashed out my brains, and began to shiver.
“What a miraculous escape! I must thank you again, Stefano. How were you able to move so quickly?”
“I happened to glance up and see the rock tremble.” With a grimace he could not repress, Stefano tried to straighten his leg. “It was foolish of me to sit there. Such rock falls are not infrequent.”
“It was an accident then?” I asked in a small voice.
Stefano’s eyebrows lifted.
“What else could it have been? Oh, but perhaps you are an heiress in disguise or an agent of the British government, so that some unknown villain is trying to destroy you….”
He would have gone on in this vein if the others had not come running, alarmed by the crash. My only injuries were scrapes and bruises on the left side of my body, where it had struck the ground; so I was not too distracted to fail to notice that Galiana and Andrea returned together; nor too alarmed to wonder where they had been and what they had been discussing to make Galiana’s cheeks so rosy red and her eyes so bright.
Chapter 7
Stefano had sprained his ankle; he retired to his lair, as I called it, and we saw nothing of him for several days. Our accident had one other consequence. The near fatality confirmed the servants’ abhorrence of the valley of the tombs. To a man—and woman—they regarded it as an unlucky place and refused to enter it again.
Grandfather would never have admitted to being superstitious, but the incident had shaken him. That very day, pleased by her enthusiasm, he had given Miss Perkins permission to do some archaeological digging. But after the accident he refused to allow her to dig in the valley. He had a reasonable excuse, since the sinister reputation of the place made it virtually impossible to hire workers. Instead he suggested that Miss Perkins should attempt an excavation at the base of the hill on which the castle was situated. He had observed unusual rock formations there and had meant to investigate them himself at some future time. Miss Perkins accepted the suggestion with pleasure. Oddly enough, there was no problem about hiring workers. Apparently it was not the ancient tombs themselves but one particular cemetery the peasants feared.
This new pursuit amused all of us for a few days. We visited the excavations and I derived pleasure from watching Miss Perkins enjoy herself so thoroughly. She was always disheveled and dusty, since she was perfectly capable of snatching a shovel and digging at a promising spot. Her complexion was one of the unfortunate sort that burns but does not tan, so she was usually peeling. None of these inconveniences disconcerted her in the least. She actually discovered a few tombs, for my grandfather’s calculations had been correct; the rock formations were manmade. The tombs were all poor ones, though, and all had been robbed in antiquity. By the end of the week all of us had lost interest except Miss P., who went out every morning to her excavations with her skirts hitched up and her eyes shining.
Toward the end of that same week, if my memory serves me correctly, our social life was enlarged by a rare event. Stefano invited us all to supper.
He had been speaking the literal truth when he told me that no one visited him without a formal invitation. Andrea often joked about his misanthropic tendencies and declared that he himself had not set foot inside the garden wall for months.
“He has traps set,” Andrea said solemnly. “Last year he caught two poachers and Aunt Rhoda. She limped for weeks. The last time I attempted to call on him, a bullet narrowly missed my head. His servant, Piero, is one of the best shots in the neighborhood. I do not accuse, you understand, but—”
He broke off, throwing up his hands in pretended terror as his brother fixed him with a cold stare.
“Someone will shoot you if you continue to make such bad jokes,” said Stefano. “I insist on my privacy, it is true. I can enforce it only by being rude. If I did not, Aunt Rhoda would be bustling in every day to make sure the servants were cleaning properly, and all the bored inquisitive young ladies in the neighborhood would find pretexts to interrupt me.”
Galiana turned red at this remark. So she, too, had attempted to invade Stefano’s citadel! Stefano was not looking at her, however, he was smiling nastily at me.
“I can’t imagine who would want to bother you,” I said loftily.
“No? Unfortunately, Cousin, not everyone has your delicacy. At any rate I am giving you a chance to exorcise your curiosity. I will show you over my domain and my servants will give you an excellent meal. Will you come?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Andrea. “We must encourage your coming out of seclusion, Stefano. You are becoming very social.”
In truth we had seen a great deal of Stefano since his brother returned. I couldn’t imagine why he spent so much time with us, for he didn’t seem to enjoy himself.
I did look forward to seeing his house, and that evening I dressed with special care. I had given up my mourning altogether. It was not hard to find an excuse for doing so; there had not been a single bolt of black fabric in the collection from Florence, and Grandfather himself had assisted in the selection of my new gowns. Between fear of his displeasure and simple vanity—and other reasons—I had not objected to the pale-green silks, the ivory brocade, or the blue satin. Now I had a dozen lovely gowns to choose from, and even with Teresa helping me I wavered between a rose taffeta with flounces trimmed in lace and narrow black velvet ribbons, and a white satin embroidered with tiny rosebuds. Finally I decided on the taffeta, and then there was the difficult decision of what ornaments to wear. Grandfather had given me my mother’s jewels. Among them was a lovely seed-pearl set—bracelets and necklace and earrings, and a set of ornaments for the hair. I decided to wear this, and at last Teresa had me turned out to my satisfaction.
Miss Perkins was the only one of the older people who was having supper with us. Grandfather seemed to like to see us four young people together; he had declined the invitation and overruled Miss Rhoda’s protests, saying that it was foolish to talk of propriety when four cousins dined together on the family estate. Besides, Miss Perkins would be more than sufficient as a chaperone. Stefano had insisted on her coming, since she had never seen his house. The two of them got on well; she was one of the few people who was never disturbed by his sarcastic tongue. In fact, she made herself popular with everyone. Grandfather found in her an antiquarian as learned and as enthusiastic as he was, and even Miss Rhoda had succumbed to her countrywoman’s amiable willingness to be of service.
When I was dressed I went to see how Miss Perkins was progressing with her own toilette. I had finally persuaded her to accept a new dress, since her wardrobe was not adequate for the state Grandfather kept, even en famille, and I was looking forward to seeing her in the soft gray silk we had selected. I found her seated before her mirror, her mouth screwed up, as one of the maids tugged at her hair.
“This is ridiculous,” she remarked, as I entered. “I feel like a figure of fun. Every time I move my head, this young person swears at me in Italian.”
“You look lovely, I assure you,” I said, laughing. “The Queen herself has not more presence.”
“Humph,” said Miss Perkins. “Well, I suppose I must suffer in order to be presentable. That will do, that will do. I can’t stand any more hair pulling.”
She did look nice. The crinolines then in fashion were becoming to the slender and the stout alike. They gave older ladies dignity, and the modest hoops Miss Perkins wore balanced the considerable size of the upper part of her body. The gown was trimmed with bunches of artificial violets, and it had long pagoda sleeves and a white embroidered collar; for Miss Perkins had shouted with amusement at the very notion of a decolletage.
Galiana and Andrea were waiting for us in the drawing room. They sat stiffly in two chairs separated by the entire width of the room, under the watchful eyes of the Contessa and Miss Rhoda. Galiana also had a new dress. The color was stunning on her—pale yellow-gold trimmed with bands of darker gold velvet. I assumed her mother had provided it. since I certainly had not, and I wondered where the money was coming from.
The Contessa was in unusually good spirits. With a warm smile she bade us enjoy ourselves, and she even patted Andrea affectionately on the arm as he bent to kiss her hand. Miss Rhoda grumbled, as she always did; this evening she predicted rain and remarked that my gown was cut too low.
We set out across the gardens. Miss Rhoda’s fears of rain were all in her own mind; it was a beautiful evening. Andrea had given Miss Perkins his arm and was amusing her by his florid compliments.
Stefano met us at the door of the house. He wore immaculate evening dress, with bloodstone studs and amethyst cuff links. We went over the house before dining, and my expressions of admiration were quite sincere. Everything was in miniature, but in perfect taste. My favorite room was the library. It was a perfectly proportioned chamber, with lovely stucco reliefs of classical figures on the ceiling instead of the usual paintings. There was a big hooded fireplace, with the family arms above it. Wide French doors opened onto a terrace beautifully planted with rose bushes and gardenias, and the little courtyard beyond was enclosed by high brick walls hung with vines.
“Bluebeard’s den,” said Stefano, glancing at me. “You see, ladies, how harmlessly I occupy my time. I am working on a family history for the Prince, and I amuse myself by writing on philosophical matters.”
