There were other attractive features about her. Her eyes, though narrow and light gray in color, had a mild, benevolent expression. And her voice was beautiful—a soft, deep contralto. I smiled tentatively at her, and she responded with a broad, beaming grin.
“Please sit down,” I said. “And forgive my inattention. Would you care for refreshment? A cup of tea, perhaps?”
“I would dearly love a cup of tea,” said Miss Perkins.
Within five minutes we were chatting like old friends. One thing we had in common from the start was our amazement at Andrea. Apparently he had simply walked into the employment bureau where she had come to apply for a new position, and, finding her at liberty, had hired her on the spot. He had given her only the briefest explanation of the problem, and then had pressed a huge roll of bills into her hand. Her protests were waved aside—“I am a judge of character, madame, and I saw at once you are someone to be trusted. Besides, I am entrusting to your care my beloved young cousin; what is mere money compared to that?”
I could not help laughing as she repeated this characteristic speech, with a roll of her eyes and an inimitable imitation of Andrea’s delightful accent. Immediately she sobered.
“Pray don’t think I mean to mock the Count,” she said earnestly. “I, too, fancy myself a judge of character, and I have seldom been so impressed by a young man’s kindness and honesty. If he has a fault—forgive me if I appear to criticize—I would judge him to be somewhat impetuous.”
“He certainly is that,” I admitted. “Miss Perkins, I think it is only fair to you to tell you why Andrea found it necessary to depart with such haste.”
“Lack of candor is not one of his failings,” Miss Perkins said. “He told me why. And if his version of the story is accurate…It was only the barest outline he gave me; don’t think I mean to inquire into a subject which must be exceedingly painful…”
Never would I have supposed myself capable of recounting such embarrassing details to a stranger. But there was something about that woman…I even told her as much as I could decently say about Father’s difficulties. Miss Perkins made no comment, but her eyes flashed and her big hands clenched as she listened. If she had expressed sympathy, I might have broken down. As it was, I was able to complete my account fairly calmly. I felt a strange relief when I had done so.
“Your cousin did quite right,” said Miss Perkins energetically. “Well, my dear, you have had a difficult time, but that is over and done with. You must start thinking about the future.”
Different as they were in every other way, Andrea and Miss Perkins had one characteristic in common. When they acted, they acted with dispatch. Miss Perkins agreed with Andrea that I should not stay in the house. She moved me out that very evening to respectable lodgings, and we remained there for the three days that passed before we found passage on a steamer going to Civitavecchia, the port of Rome.
It was with indescribable emotions that I stood on the deck of the ship and watched the roofs of London fade into a black smudge on the horizon. My old life was over. What would the new one bring? I felt a qualm. Then I looked to my right, where Miss Perkins stood, her big hands clutching the rail and her crimson plume blowing bravely in the breeze; and I had a feeling that things were going to work out after all.
III
I had immediate cause to be grateful for Miss Perkins’ presence. As soon as we entered the Channel, I became horribly seasick. She had not a moment’s discomfort. In between tending to me she made frequent expeditions onto the deck, from which she would return with a beaming face and animated accounts of the conversations she had had with other travelers, the sailors, and even with the captain. She was insatiably curious, and I felt that by the time we reached Italy she could have commanded the ship herself, and steered it into port. Her example shamed me so that I was finally persuaded to drag my miserable body on deck. There, as she had suggested, the air did me good, and it was not long before I was over my discomfort.
Although my physical ailments were overcome, I became more and more prey to other worries as the voyage went on. I had not had time to brood, in the hurry and confusion of departure; but now, at leisure, I began to wonder what was in store for me. To say that I was going to my mother’s family sounded well enough, and yet it was like entrusting myself to utter strangers, in an alien land. As for the country to which I was traveling, I knew nothing of it except for some of the heroic deeds of the ancient Romans. Oh, yes; I could also sing, accompanying myself on the pianoforte, two Italian songs.
Miss Perkins did her best to remedy my ignorance. She had managed to obtain a small grammar and spent several hours a day teaching herself Italian. But as she herself admitted, the Tuscan form of the language was apt to be of limited use. The long Italian peninsula contained many dialects, unintelligible even to natives of neighboring districts. It also contained many kingdoms and states. There was no Italian nation.
Yet, according to Miss Perkins, the dream of unity had animated patriots for half a century. It was from this amazing woman, who seemed to know something about every subject under the sun, that I first heard the names of Mazzini and Cavour, of King Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi—and of Pius the Ninth, called Pio Nono by his subjects, who was not only the reigning Pope, but the temporal monarch of the country in which my grandfather’s estates were situated.
Miss Perkins had a habit of rubbing her nose vigorously with her knuckles when she was agitated. I believe I have implied that her nose was quite large, possibly the result of this process. When she mentioned Pio Nono, the gesture became almost violent.
“They called him il papa liberale when he first assumed the throne of Peter,” she said. “He began well; a general amnesty freed hundreds of political prisoners whom his predecessors had punished without trial. He even relaxed the strict press censorship. But if Italy is to be unified, the Pope must give up his temporal powers, and that he refuses to do. He rules now in a most tyrannical manner. Of course we cannot expect other nations to enjoy our English liberties; but there is no such thing as freedom of speech or of the press in Rome—the cradle of the republican form of government! As for freedom of religion—”
She would have gone on, her indignation rising, but I had not interrupted.
“I don’t understand what you mean by temporal ruler. Is the Pope a king, then, with his own army?”
“Exactly. Not that his army is much good,” said Miss Perkins, with a sniff. “He had to flee from Rome during the rebellion of 1849, and it took a French army to restore him. He would not be there now if the French and the Austrians did not keep troops in Italy to maintain the status quo.”
“But what do France and Austria have to do with Italy?” he asked.
“A very good question!” Miss Perkins struck the rail with her fist. “They have no moral right to interfere. But neither Louis Napoleon nor the Emperor wants a strong united Italy challenging them in Europe. By supporting the Pope they keep the country permanently divided, for the Papal States lie directly across the center of the peninsula, between the kingdom of Piedmont in the north and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in the south.”
“There are three countries in Italy, then,” I said, thinking I had got it straight at last.
“There are more than three. But these are the most important. Victor Emmanuel, king of Piedmont, is the hope of the liberals. He would rule constitutionally, with legal safeguards for the liberties of his subjects. Francis the Second, the king of Naples and Sicily—for that is what is meant by the ‘Two Sicilies’—is a tyrant even worse than the Pope. His opponents are flung into prison without trial—”
One of Miss Perkins’ few weaknesses was that she was apt to lecture at length, especially when her indignation was aroused. I therefore interrupted her again. I had learned that I could do this with impunity, for under her forbidding exterior she was as mild as a lamb, and never scolded.
“I had no idea you were such a fiery revolutionary, Miss P. You spoke of this man Garibaldi with great enthusiasm yesterday; I think you must be one of his disciples.”
“We have mutual friends.” said Miss Perkins primly.
I had to laugh; the idea of my friend and the swashbuckling Italian adventurer having any acquaintances in common was ludicrous. But Miss Perkins was quite serious.
“Mrs. Roberts, with whom he stayed in London five years ago, is an acquaintance of mine. I was fortunate enough to meet the General at her house.”
“I suppose he is very handsome,” I said slyly.
“Yes…no.” Miss Perkins considered the question. “I suppose he isn’t really handsome. He is only of medium height, rather stocky, and his face is pleasant rather than beautiful. But one doesn’t think of his looks when one meets him. His charm lies in his simplicity, his humility—and one’s knowledge of the lion-hearted courage that animates him. All his life he has fought for freedom, even as an exile in South America. In Rome, he and his volunteers carried on an epic struggle against the French; when finally the city fell, Garibaldi refused to surrender. His devoted wife fled with him; she died in his arms as they hid in a fisherman’s hut, with enemy troops hot on their trail. Last year he fought with the Piedmontese against Austria, and they say that he is about to set sail for Sicily, where the oppressed people have risen against their government. If he—”
One of the ship’s officers came by at that moment and invited us to come along and see how the ship was steered. I was relieved at the interruption. I was not much interested in the workings of the ship, but I was even less interested in the cause of Italian liberation. Little did I realize that this dull, abstract subject, as I thought of it, was to become one of burning interest to me, and soon.
By the time we landed I knew more about modern Italian politics than I wanted to know. Miss Perkins also lectured me on Roman history and antiquities. If someone had heard us in conversation, they would have thought her the excited young woman on her first voyage abroad, and me the world-weary sophisticate. She fairly bubbled with excitement at the prospect of seeing the land of Michelangelo and Raphael, of Julius Caesar and Brutus—whom she admired much more than she did Caesar. I could not share her raptures. As the moment of confrontation approached, I became increasingly nervous. What if Grandfather refused to receive me? What if Andrea was not there to support me?
When we steamed into the harbor of Civitavecchia on a bright spring morning, Miss Perkins could hardly contain herself. Clutching the rail, she muttered Latin verses interspersed with comments to me.
“Precisely as it was in imperial times; the verses of Rutilius might still apply! ‘Molibus aequoreum concluditur amphiteatrum.…’ Yes, yes, the amphitheater of water within, and the twin moles stretching out toward the island…Dear me, how fascinating! ‘Interior medias sinus invitatus.…’”
And much more.
The town itself dampened even Miss Perkins’ enthusiasm. Every traveler who has approached Rome through this, its major port, has spoken of its filthy streets and inns and its thieving inhabitants. Miss Perkins took one look at it and took measures to get us out of there as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately it was necessary for us to spend the night in Civitavecchia. Modern transportation, like everything else modern, was frowned upon in the Papal States; there was no railroad in the region we must reach. So we sought out an inn, where we might hope to hire a carriage and driver. Such had been Miss Perkins’ efficiency throughout that I was not surprised to hear her direct our driver to a particular albergo. which turned out to be somewhat less filthy and run-down than the others we had seen from the carriage. We were received by the host without much show of courtesy until Miss Perkins mentioned our destination. The Tarconti name wrought a miraculous change; we were shown to the best chamber the place afforded and, with a deep bow, the host begged our indulgence while he went to see what could be done for us in the way of transportation. In the meantime, if we would honor his inn by partaking of refreshment, however inadequate for persons of our quality…
As soon as we were alone. Miss Perkins dropped into a chair and pursed her lips in a silent whistle—a habit she had ordered me not to emulate, since it was not ladylike. The crimson plume was drooping, but Miss Perkins was still undaunted, as her first comment proved.
