The first person I saw was Captain De Merode. His arm was in a neat white sling and he was paler than usual; otherwise one would not have known that he was injured, for he was faultlessly erect in the saddle and his expression was the usual one of cool indifference. Grandfather’s great black stallion stood next to the Captain’s horse, and the two men were talking together. Finally Grandfather shrugged and turned aside. De Merode came toward us.
“Ladies, your pardon, but I must ask you to get out of the coach. I assure you, the delay will be as short as possible.”
Miss Rhoda voiced loud objections, but to no avail. Grandfather said nothing. So we got out and the soldiers practically took the coach to pieces. There was no space, no matter how small, they did not look into.
The transaction took less time than one might have expected, and in a few minutes we took our places again. As soon as we were through the gate, the horses broke into a trot and they maintained this pace for the entire trip except when it was necessary for them to be rested. What with the heat and the jolting, the ride was physically most uncomfortable. As for our mental states, they may be imagined. Conversation was impossible; even Galiana gave up the attempt after a few disjointed exclamations of curiosity and frustrated interest; and since Miss Perkins and I could not talk confidentially, we did not try to talk at all. Darkness had fallen before we reached the castle. We went straight to our rooms, exhausted.
I found Teresa waiting in my beautiful new suite. The bed was turned back, warm water stood waiting to be poured into the hip bath, and a fresh nightgown was laid out. Grandfather had sent one of the footmen galloping ahead to announce our imminent arrival. He had also carried the great news. I expected that Teresa would be overflowing with questions, but I found she knew as much about the affair as I did.
If it had not been for Miss Perkins. I probably would have gone on thinking of the servants as obedient, convenient puppets instead of as human beings. To think of them in the latter fashion was not convenient; it raised too many uncomfortable questions. It was common knowledge that the servants in a great house knew all the secrets of the house, often before the master did. The masters took this for granted and joked about it, as they would have joked about the clever tricks of a pet. It never seemed to occur to them that this secret pathway of communication might have its dangers, or that the creatures they disregarded might threaten them. The barriers between the two classes were unbreachable. Teresa and I were on friendly terms; I thought she trusted me and liked me. But that night, when I tried to get her to express her reactions to the dramatic events that had transpired in Parezzo, she simply shook her head and made noncommittal noises. She had been taught to hold her tongue—and I was one of the enemy. I didn’t blame her, but it was exasperating. I finally asked her point blank, “Can he escape? È possible?” She shrugged tactfully and rolled her eyes.
“Well, I hope he does,” I exclaimed. “Il è un—what is the word for ‘hero’?—un eroe. Nobile, bravo, galante…” Here my stock of adulatory adjectives ran out. Teresa stared at me, her face a well-schooled blank, and I added, “I will pray for him.” For a moment, then. I thought the girl’s black eyes softened.
Teresa tucked me into bed and put out all the lights except a pair of candles, shielded against drafts by a clear crystal cover. The slim topaz flames were shaped like little hands lifted in appeal. I watched them through drooping eyelashes, and although I did not lift my own hands, I prayed, more fervently than I had every prayed before.
II
I woke next morning feeling wretched, after a night troubled by strange dreams. The hovering bird had been a constant leitmotiv; now soaring high with beating wings, now swooping to strike; now plummeting earthward, its once powerful wings limp in death. The last vision woke me. I sat up with a stifled scream. Sunlight was pouring into my room and my sweatsoaked nightgown clung to me uncomfortably.
The day was steaming hot, one of the hottest of the summer. Teresa laid out the coolest frock I owned, a thin barred muslin of pale green with ribbons of darker green at the waist and elbow-length sleeves. I tied my hair back, looping the thick waves up off my neck and binding them with dark-green ribbons. The image that glowered back at me from my mirror was marred by the sour expression and by the drops of perspiration on my forehead.
There was no one in the breakfast room when I went down. I nibbled at a roll, but heat and anxiety had destroyed my appetite. I asked the steward whether he had seen Miss Perkins. He said she had breakfasted and left, he did not know where. The eternal, amiable Italian shrug and outspread hands had never irritated me more. I finished spoiling my food and wandered through the empty echoing room. I knew it was cooler inside the house than it would be outdoors, but I wanted air, so I went into the garden.
There was no sign of Miss Perkins in the rose garden, which was usually one of her favorite spots. Nor was she in the water garden, or the arbor, or the fountain room. Increasingly hot and disgusted, I walked along the path that led to Stefano’s retreat.
The flowers were drooping and dusty; the little house was shuttered against the heat. I leaned on the gate, staring at the closed door. By that time I would have talked even to Stefano, but I was afraid to risk a brusque denial. While I stood there, the door opened and Piero came out. When he saw me he made as if to go in again, but I beckoned peremptorily.
“The signorina will ride today?” he asked. “I cannot go, but another groom—”
“No, it is too hot,” I said, in my careful Italian. “Is signor il conte within? Can I—”
“He is within, signorina; he is not well today, he rests.”
“I didn’t want to see him anyway,” I muttered, turning away. I had spoken in English. Piero said, “Come?” I smiled and shrugged and walked away, thinking, “There, I am doing it myself. I wonder if it irritates Italians as much as it does me.”
I went back to the rose garden, and there at last I found Miss Perkins. She had been looking for me; we had missed each other all morning. She was trying to look cheerful, but my heart took a downward plunge as I noticed the worry in her eyes.
“Don’t tell me there is bad news,” I exclaimed. “Have they—have they captured him?”
“No; in fact there is good reason to believe that he has escaped from Parezzo. A messenger arrived this morning, early. The Prince is deeply concerned; I heard him instructing the innkeeper to send news at once if anything happened.”
“But that is wonderful news,” I exclaimed. “Why do you look so serious?”
“The very fact that he is known to have left the town is cause for concern. De Merode cannot have searched every nook and cranny by this time, so he must have gotten word from an informer. If the informer is someone the Falcon trusts, his every move will be carried back to his enemy.”
“I think you are being too pessimistic.” I said.
“I hope so; I sincerely hope so,” said Miss Perkins, with a groan. “I am not good at concealing my feelings; I suppose everyone in the castle knows that my sympathies are with this young man. And, oh, Francesca—I fear he is badly hurt. How can a wounded man, weak from loss of blood, travel fast enough to elude a merciless pursuer like De Merode? What refuge can he find, with a price on his head and every soldier in the area searching for him? I wish there were something I could do!”
“So do I,” I whispered.
“Why?” We had been pacing slowly up and down the paths between the roses. Now she stopped and turned to face me. “Is it just a girl’s romantic imagination that makes you so interested in this man? Or do you know—”
“I know no more than you. But believe me, it is not only…. Oh, I think any woman would respond to the sheer romance of the man, but it is more than that with me; I have seen how these people suffer, from poverty and ignorance and disease. They deserve better. This man is trying to help them.”
“You are not the thoughtless girl you were when you came to Italy,” said Miss Perkins. “You have grown up a great deal in the last few months.”
“Yes, I have. And,” I added, trying to smile, “I must say I find the process very painful.”
“Well, we must hope for the best,” said Miss Perkins, beginning to walk again. “That is all women can do—wait and hope. Such a waste! We have more strength, more ardor than men realize; if they would only allow us to share in their struggles!”
“Some men appreciate your abilities,” I said. “Andrea once told me—” And then I came to a stop, my hand at my mouth. “Miss Perkins! I have been so distressed I forgot all about Andrea. Has he been released from his room? Piero said that Stefano is in his house, so I assume—”
“Yes, he is free. He went flying off in a perfect rage, according to the servants. By then it was too late for him to reach Parezzo in time for the execution, so I don’t know where he has gone. Off to drown his disappointment in some tavern, if I know men.”
“That is a relief. Do you know, Miss Perkins, I was silly enough…For a while I actually wondered if Andrea might not be the Falcon.”
“Did you,” said Miss Perkins thoughtfully. “Did you, indeed?”
III
For the remainder of the day I haunted the Salone dei Divi. This formal, seldom-used chamber had one conspicuous advantage—it was near the library, where Grandfather was brooding like a lion in his lair. From this salon I would hear immediately if a messenger arrived, and I vowed that I would brave the lion if necessary in order to get the latest news. But the morning wore on without event, and when the colazione, the midday meal, was announced, I went to the dining room. Grandfather was not present. Miss Rhoda said he was dining alone. She seemed disturbed about something—her precious Andrea, perhaps, for he had not returned. Galiana was silent too. Her eyes were suspiciously red, and from the way she kept glancing piteously at her mother, I deduced that she had been scolded for some misdemeanor or other—perhaps for her bold behavior on the previous day. The Contessa did not look at her. Obviously Galiana was in disgrace, and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
It was a relief when the meal was finished and the others scattered to their rooms for the afternoon rest. I lay down on my bed, but the heat was so oppressive I could not sleep. Teresa had said there would be a storm before nightfall. I hoped it was true; rain would break the heat.
But when I arose after an hour or so, the sun still beat down out of a cloudless sky. My beautiful rooms oppressed me. I could not help contrasting their elegance with the mean, stifling houses in the village. I thought of the man who might even now be lying in some such foul cellar on a bed of verminous straw—feverish, perhaps dying…The picture was too vivid, too painful; with a stifled exclamation I ran from the room, snatching up a straw hat as I went. I had not visited my friends in the village lately. It might distract me from my painful thoughts to see how they were getting on.
Piero was nowhere to be seen. One of the grooms, a nice-looking boy who could not have been more than sixteen, accompanied me.
The village looked like a city of the dead. Only a few starved dogs lay panting in the shade. The afternoon was wearing on, though; shortly the villagers would begin to emerge from their houses. I glanced up at the sun. No, I was not too early; and I was sure of a welcome at any time.
The groom had to pound on the door for some time before anyone answered. Finally the door opened a crack. I could see two eyes, wide with surprise or fear, then the door opened wide and I saw Alberto, Giovanni’s older brother. He was one of my favorites—a frank, open-faced boy with a beautiful smile. He was not smiling now.
