“No. He is to be hanged in the square at Parezzo in three days. This letter, from Captain De Merode, informs me of the facts; quite proper of him, to notify me so promptly. He invites me to witness the execution.” Grandfather spoke firmly, but he avoided our eyes. “I must go, it is fitting. As you know, I own the inn in Parezzo; we will have a fine view from the front balcony. You ladies can visit the shops. You will enjoy that, eh?”
His air of forced cheerfulness told me he was not as callous as he sounded. All the same, the idea that we could be bribed by a shopping expedition into witnessing such a dreadful thing made me angry. I turned away.
“No, I won’t go.”
“You may please yourself,” said Grandfather stiffly.
“I will be honored to go, your Excellency,” Galiana exclaimed. “That is, if Mama—”
“But of course,” said the Contessa. “It is proper, my child; he is an old playmate. You must pray for his salvation.”
“Good God,” I burst out, and would have said more; but again Miss Perkins caught my eye.
“I think we should all go,” she said.
I knew her so well by then I could understand the way her mind was working. She was right. There were good reasons why we should go. In my first horrified reaction I had not thought clearly.
“Very well,” I said.
Grandfather smiled. He took my acquiescence for obedience to his will, and was relieved, like all domestic tyrants, that he did not have to reprimand someone he loved.
“Excellent,” he cried, rubbing his hands together. “I will go and tell Stefano the good news. He is in the library.”
As soon as the doors had closed after him, Miss Rhoda rose to her feet. There was so little extra flesh on her bones that it was almost impossible for her face to wrinkle, but she looked extremely agitated.
“I don’t understand this,” she said. “I remember that boy; he was here for a visit a few years ago, at Andrea’s invitation. He cannot be the bandit they are looking for.”
“No, no.” Miss Perkins was pacing up and down; her knuckles beat a veritable tattoo on her nose. “No, it is a trick—a trap. They mean to execute the young man, no doubt, but they hope to catch a bigger fish with him as bait.”
“Good heavens,” I exclaimed. “You have it, Miss P. The Falcon—the real Falcon—will not allow his friend to be murdered!”
Galiana clapped her hands; her face glowed with excitement.
“Il Falcone will come to his rescue,” she cried. “Do you suppose he will ride into the piazza on a great black horse, as he did in the village? Only think, we will have a perfect view! The albergo faces on the piazza, and the balcony—”
I could endure no more. I ran from the room, out of the house, into the gardens. I needed air. As clearly as if I had seen it only the day before, the face of the young man came back to me—his soft brown eyes, the bravado of the big moustaches hiding his gentle mouth.
Antonio could not be the Falcon. All other factors aside, there was one overriding objection to the identification. I myself had seen the rebel leader rip the proclamation from the church door. He had held his sword in his right hand. Antonio had lost that hand. De Merode must know this as well as I did. Miss Perkins was right, the execution was a trap; it was just the sort of diabolical scheme De Merode would invent. The Falcon would not allow his friend to be hanged. Honor and affection alike would demand an attempt at rescue. No such attempt could possibly succeed, for De Merode would take every precaution. And we, as unwilling witnesses, might have to watch not one, but two, brave men die.
I was young enough to find the Contessa’s character quite inexplicable. I had seen her weep over a dead canary, and she was unfailingly kind to poor clumsy Bianca; yet this same woman had once described, with vindictive pleasure, the torments meted out by the Inquisition to heretics and unbelievers. I know now that human nature is not consistent, and that morbid fanaticism is not limited to any single faith; but I still find such an attitude horrible. At seventeen I was not only horrified, I was incredulous.
Galiana’s callousness concerning a boy whom she had known and played with as a child was just as repugnant. Miss Perkins would say that her upbringing was at fault, but to me it seemed like a complete lack of moral character. She was like her father, who had been a cruel, arrogant man. How could I have considered her my friend?
I was pacing up and down the terrace in a state of great agitation when Andrea came in sight on the path that led to the stables. He was in riding costume; his dusty boots and flushed, perspiring face betrayed the haste with which he had traveled. He came to me with long, angry strides.
“Is it true?” he demanded. “I heard the news yesterday and came straight back. Is it true about Antonio?”
“Yes,” I said miserably. “Andrea, I’m so sorry.”
“Others will be sorry,” said Andrea between his teeth. He ran into the house.
I stared after him. A new, monstrous suspicion had leaped into my mind. Was it possible…. No, I told myself; it could not be. All the same, Andrea was not the man to stand idly by while a friend went to his death. Now I had a new fear to haunt me.
II
We were to leave early next morning, in order to be in Parezzo in good time. A messenger had been sent off to warn the innkeeper of our arrival, so that he could prepare the rooms required for the family and its servants. I assumed that the persons who occupied those rooms would be summarily evicted The privileges of aristocracy are very convenient—for the aristocrats.
I had a long talk with Miss Perkins, but came away without being much encouraged. It seemed impossible for two women to do anything to aid the condemned man; yet we decided we must attend the ghastly ceremony on the remote chance that something might occur. Besides, now that I had had time to think it over, I knew I would die of suspense if I had to wait at the castello for news—even though the news would almost certainly be bad.
Later in the afternoon I went looking for Grandfather in order to ask which of the maids would be coming with us. There was really no need for me to ask him, for the servants were expected to move at a moment’s notice, without any regard for their feelings or plans. However, my newly aroused social conscience had made me more aware of the servants’ personal lives. I had learned, to my surprise, that Teresa was married to one of the footmen and had an infant whom her aged mother tended during the day. Teresa had to run back and forth to give the infant the nourishment only she could supply, and I thought she might like advance notice in case alternate arrangements had to be made.
At that point in my thinking I felt both amused and embarrassed. Were alternate arrangements possible? I assumed they were; but if Teresa would prefer to remain near her child, I might ask Grandfather to let me take someone else.
When I reached the library I found the door slightly ajar. This was so unusual that I paused and looked about, and saw the slightest movement, no more than a breath of displaced air, at the far end of the corridor. So one of the servants had been listening at the door. Galiana had told me they did, but this was the first time I had had any real evidence of the fact.
I was about to enter the room when I heard a voice I had not expected to hear, and the words it spoke were so startling that I stopped where I was and listened myself, quite unashamed.
Miss Rhoda was the speaker; soon I heard Grandfather’s low growl, and also Stefano’s voice. He was speaking English, as he always did with Miss Rhoda. Grandfather’s grunts were in Italian, but I understood most of them.
“He will be killed!” This was the comment made by Miss Rhoda that had reduced me to eavesdropping. “So ill advised, so reckless—”
“It was certainly ill advised of him to rush in here bellowing threats and curses,” said Stefano’s dry, drawling voice. “But very characteristic of Andrea, you must agree. If he had kept his opinions to himself, he might have gone to Parezzo and done something equally ill advised— challenging De Merode, perhaps, or attacking the executioner.”
Andrea must have gone straight from me to Grandfather and expressed himself with his usual vigor. I was afraid that if I went into the room, the speakers would not go on. Carefully I pushed the door open a little wider until I was able to see them. Stefano sat in his usual chair, his neatly shod feet extended, his cane balanced between his hands. Miss Rhoda leaned against the desk, her hands pressed to her flat bosom; her face was turned away, but distress was evident in every line of her body. Grandfather was trying to look unconcerned. He did not succeed.
“Something must be done,” said Miss Rhoda. “He must be prevented from going.”
Grandfather muttered something I did not hear; and Stefano, infuriatingly, burst into a laugh.
“Don’t worry about your pet, Aunt Rhoda. Something has been done. The Prince has given instructions to two of the larger footmen. How I look forward to watching Andrea trying to kick down his door! His comments should be very amusing.”
