“Well, to be truthful, he did not—that is, he…How can I say this?” Andrea demanded of the empty air.
“Be candid.” I said. “You can’t hurt my feelings; I have none for my grandfather, so why should I care what he thinks of me? You don’t mean to say that you acted without his knowledge or consent? My dear cousin—”
“That is not quite how it was.” Andrea sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his bright curls. “I think I must explain about the family. You should know about them if you are to live with them.”
“But I don’t know that I shall. If I am not welcome in my grandfather’s house—”
“But of course you are welcome! Besides, where else is there for you to go?”
I was silent.
“So,” Andrea resumed cheerfully, “I will explain the family. There is Grandfather, of course. He is…ah, but it is impossible to describe him. Only stand up to him. don’t let him bully you, and you will get along. Then there is Aunt Rhoda. She is our great-aunt, really, but we call her ‘aunt.’ I have told you about her. She and Grandfather fight constantly.”
He smiled reminiscently. It was clear that he found his brawling relations quite entertaining. I was not at all sure I would find them so. Nor was I getting a very clear picture of them. Description was not Andrea’s strong point.
“Your brother,” I said. “Is he older or younger than you?”
“We are twins. He is the heir, however; he was born first. Though you would not think so; he is not strong, poor Stefano. But he is very clever. He reads a great deal. He has nothing better to do, being so sickly. It is he you must thank for my coming. I would never have had the sense to think of it, or the intelligence to plan things. I have the strength in the family, but Stefano has the brains.”
I had already conceived a girlish admiration for my cousin. Now, suddenly, I liked him too, liked him very much. His modesty and good nature were as irresistible as his handsome face.
“I will look forward to meeting your brother and thanking him,” I said. “But I can never forget that it was you who actually—”
“No, no, you must not thank me, what else could I do? Only what any gentleman would do. After all,” he added, his eyes twinkling, “that is what Aunt Rhoda taught me to be. A poor imitation of an English gentleman, as Stefano says. Now you know about the family—”
“Is that all of them?” I asked, overwhelmed with a premature attack of stage fright.
Andrea laughed again.
“Oh, there are always relatives visiting. Cousins and aunts and other people. You will like them. And they are sure to love you, Cousin. But we have talked enough. Time is passing. We must leave this house as soon as possible.”
He flung his napkin down and bounded to his feet. I was beginning to find his energy a little overwhelming.
“But,” I began.
“No buts! That is one of Aunt Rhoda’s favorite sayings. In this case she would be right.” His hands braced on the table, he leaned toward me. His face was serious. “I don’t understand your father’s way of life; it is not my business to understand. But in his letter he said he had nothing—no property, no money. I do not know who has paid the rent for this house, Cousin, I do not say this to hurt you or make you afraid, but I do not think you should stay here. I have many things to arrange; you will forgive me if I leave you? You shall be packing while I am gone so that we can be away from here by nightfall. Do not worry,” he added, kindly, while I gaped like a fish out of water. “Stefano has planned it all, he told me what I must do.”
Not being acquainted with the admirable Stefano. I did not find this information as reassuring as he meant it to be. But out of the chaos into which his words had thrown me, one thought came to the fore.
“Wait,” I cried, for he was already striding briskly toward the door. “Cousin—I am ashamed to confess it, but I am afraid. What if his lordship should return?”
“His lordship? Ah, the villain of last night.” Andrea turned. The sunlight pouring in through the windows of the breakfast room turned his golden curls into a shining halo. His face was as beautiful as an angel’s and as benevolent as a saint’s. “I have taken care of him, there is nothing to fear. I was out early this morning. And I did it myself,” he added, with obvious satisfaction. “Stefano did not instruct me, for of course he did not know of that matter.”
“Did what?” I gasped. I think I knew the answer before he spoke.
“Killed him,” said Andrea calmly. “These meetings always take place at dawn. Hurry with your packing, little Cousin.”
II
By the time I had recovered from my shock at his last speech, he was gone. I could hardly pursue him along the street in my dressing gown, so I did the only thing I could do—I began my packing. I cannot say that I did it neatly. Weeks later, when my trunks were unpacked, I was provoked at the jumble of clothing and ornaments, books and fancy work that had been tumbled in anyhow. Yet it was a wonder I was able to do anything at all. I suppose my brain was numbed by the series of stunning surprises I had received in such a short time. Certainly I felt no regret at his lordship’s death, nor any horror at Andrea’s act. But as the day wore on and he did not return, I began to be frightened for him. There were laws against dueling. He was a stranger, and his lordship was a peer of the realm, with powerful friends.
Late in the afternoon, when the doorbell finally rang, I flew to answer it without waiting for Bessie. My disappointment was extreme when I saw, not my cousin, but a stranger—an elderly woman, stout and gray-haired, who stared severely at me through her gold pince-nez. I was about to tell her that she had the wrong house when she asked if I was not Miss Fairbourn. I admitted that I was. She nodded.
“I am Miss Perkins. Alberta Perkins. I was sent by Count Tarconti. May I come in?”
“I suppose so,” I said stupidly. “Where is the Count?”
“I presume his letter will explain.” She withdrew an envelope from her large handbag. but withheld it from my eager fingers. “It would be better, would it not, to peruse your letter within?”
I led the way to the parlor. She immediately handed me the letter. Rudely, I left her standing while I ripped it open.
The handwriting was characteristic of my cousin—bold, dashing, and ill-spelt. Apparently Aunt Rhoda’s tutelage had not extended to the writing of English. I do not attempt to reproduce the exact words, but the general sense was as follows:
Dear Cousin.
Here is Miss Perkins, your companion, who will bring you to us in Italy. She is highly recommended, and speaks Latin! Forgive me that I do not escort you; but friends have told me that your stupid English law [the word “stupid” had been scored out, but I could still read it] makes it necessary for me to leave without delay or risk prison. I will greet you on the happy day of your arrival.
Your devoted cousin,
Andrea
I looked at Miss Perkins, who was studying me through her pince-nez.
“I don’t understand,” I said weakly.
“I’m not sure that I do, either.” said Miss Perkins. “But perhaps we might sit down and talk about it.”
My immediate anxieties about Andrea being relieved, I was able to study Miss Perkins with more attention. She was—well, not to put too fine a face upon it, she was ugly. Short and stout, with square shoulders and a massive bosom, she had features of almost masculine prominence—a jutting nose, a protruding chin, and bushy gray eyebrows. Except for her bosom and her hair, which was worn in an untidy bun, I might have taken her for a man. Her clothing, though feminine in design, was quite severe except for one item—her bonnet. The ribbons that tied it under her chins were bright crimson, and this color matched the feathers that were attached, somewhat insecurely, on the left side.
I liked that bonnet. I could not have explained my reaction then, in so many words. Now I know that I recognized in it a hidden, almost shamefaced romantic streak, a love of soft feminine things that Miss Perkins was unable to indulge in otherwise.
