“Heavens, how exhausting it is to make one’s wants known in a mixture of three languages and a series of frantic gestures! I believe I am beginning to grasp the local dialect, however.”
“You are amazing.” I said sincerely. “I shudder to think of making this trip without you. I could never have done it.”
“You would have managed somehow.” said Miss Perkins. “It is surprising how efficient one becomes when one must. As for my abilities, you may thank me when we reach the Castello Tarconti. Congratulations at this point would be premature.”
It was not long, however, before the host returned with good news. He had found a coach and a driver who knew the road, and we might set out first thing in the morning. Cheered by this information, we sought our hard and lumpy bed and slept soundly.
We were up early next morning and had to wait for the carriage, which was late. Miss Perkins badgered the host until he threw up his hands and fled, promising to make inquiries. Miss Perkins then turned her attention to some of the other guests who were awaiting breakfast and transportation in the inn parlor. After conversing with one of them, a pleasant-looking gentleman wearing modish checked trousers, she let out a cry of excitement.
“E vero?” she demanded eagerly. “Is it true?”
The gentleman nodded and handed her the newspaper he had been reading, as if this would verify the statement she had questioned.
“What is it?” I asked curiously. I thought I had recognized a familiar name amid the torrent of Italian the two had exchanged.
“Garibaldi,” exclaimed Miss Perkins, proving me correct. “He has landed in Sicily! He sailed a few days ago, secretly, from Genoa, with a thousand volunteers.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said with a smile. “At least I’m glad if you are.”
“More than glad—delighted! He will easily conquer that Bourbon tyrant and free the oppressed people, first of Sicily and then of the Neapolitan kingdom. That region will join the kingdom of Piedmont, as Tuscany has just done, and the Papal States will be next—”
At this point the host returned to tell us our carriage was ready. His timing may not have been entirely fortuitous; Miss Perkins’ loud enthusiasm was making people look askance at us, and the kindly gentleman in the checked trousers had moved away. It was not wise to speak with favor of General Garibaldi, or of invasion, in His Holiness’s domain.
The carriage was a shabby equipage, but after inspecting it closely, Miss Perkins pronounced it sound. The driver was subjected to an even more piercing scrutiny. What could be seen of his face, between his shock of untidy black hair and a ferocious moustache, looked amiable enough. His name was Giovanni, and he assured us, with expressive gestures, that he was prepared to lay down his life to defend us and get us safely to our destination.
Miss Perkins muttered, “Typical Italian braggadocio; but I think the fellow is trustworthy.” We had just taken our places within the carriage when a pair of riders came quietly out of the stables and took up positions behind the coach. They looked like the bandits in the wild tales some of the girls at school had read surreptitiously. They were heavily bearded; wide-brimmed slouch hats and neckerchiefs hid even more of their faces; they wore blouselike shirts and loose trousers which were tucked into their boots. From the belt of one man protruded something that looked, even to my inexperienced eye, like the handle of a pistol.
Miss Perkins put her head out the window and shouted for the host. At first he pretended not to understand her, but her gesticulations were not to be ignored. They exchanged further gestures and shouts; then Miss Perkins withdrew into the coach and looked doubtfully at me.
“He says they have been hired to protect us. The roads are infested with robbers.”
“Oh, dear,” I exclaimed.
Miss Perkins rubbed her nose thoughtfully.
“The danger of robbers may not be great, but the country is certainly in a disturbed state, and a guard might not be a bad idea.”
“But they may be robbers themselves,” I protested. The fierce aspects of the two men frightened me.
“There would be no sense in that,” Miss Perkins said; and I was relieved to see she had stopped rubbing her nose, which meant that she was satisfied in her own mind. “If the host meant to set thieves on us, he would keep them out of sight until we were in the countryside, with no witnesses about. I think we may proceed, and be grateful for the guards.”
Soon we were out of the city and bumping along a rough road through a flat region covered with heath and low bushes. The landscape was uninteresting, with only an occasional ruined tower or broken bridge to break the monotony; but after a time we left the coast and headed inland, toward a range of undulating hills. The scenery grew wilder and more rugged, and as the sun sank lower, we had fine views of hillsides covered with dark foliage, shining in the westering rays.
We stopped for the night at a village called Palo, where the inn had been recommended. It was a simple place, but clean, and the food was fairly good. There were no other travelers, so we had the place to ourselves; and wearied by the activities of the day, we soon fell asleep.
The sun was barely above the horizon when I awoke next morning. Miss Perkins was not in the bed. I had come to rely on her so much that at first I was panic-stricken by her absence; but I forced myself to be calm. After all. I could not have her with me forever…I paused in the middle of dressing, one foot half into my stocking; and I really believe this was the first time since Father’s death—the first time in my life, in fact—that I thought about someone else’s problems.
Miss Perkins had been hired to accompany me on my journey; no doubt she would be sent home afterwards. Her expenses would be paid, I thought I knew Andrea well enough to be sure of his generosity; but what would become of her after that? I had already observed that her clothing, though once good, was shabby, and her wardrobe was far from extensive. Even the brave red plume showed signs of wear. She had been “available” when Andrea sought a companion for me. Perhaps she had long been available for a paying situation. No longer young, far from prepossessing in appearance, eccentric in her habits. …I could see that she might not easily find another position. Not that she had hinted, even indirectly, of being in need…
It was this cheerful courage that endeared her to me, among other qualities. I was very young and not very sensible, but thank heaven I had sense enough to value these qualities. Was it possible that my unknown grandfather might let her stay with me as a sort of governess-companion? Perhaps if we both made ourselves very useful to him…There was another English lady, Andrea’s great-aunt, at the castle; she might enjoy Miss Perkins’ companionship.
At least it was something to think about. I finished dressing and went out in search of Miss Perkins and breakfast. I could hear the normal cheerful morning sounds of any country house—chickens clucking, the splashing of water, voices calling out, a burst of laughter.
I found Miss Perkins in the courtyard, where the chickens strutted and scratched and a flat black cat sunned itself on a pile of broken stones. Miss Perkins was sitting on a block of wood, her skirts hitched up, talking animatedly to one of our guards. Which one I could not have said; they looked very much alike, with their fierce black whiskers and swaggering, piratical clothing. I stood listening for a moment, unnoticed. The conversation seemed friendly, and I was amused to observe that Miss Perkins was using her hands freely, in quite an Italian manner. Then I caught a word or two that I thought I understood. Interested, I moved forward, and the guard caught sight of me. He gave a start, and Miss Perkins turned.
“Ah, good morning, Francesca. I hope you slept well. A beautiful morning, is it not? I have been chatting with this young man. Antonio is his name.”
Antonio’s broad-brimmed hat was already in his hand. He swept it toward the ground in a low bow. When he straightened, I saw that the fierce beard was deceptive. His eyes were big and brown and gentle, with long, curling lashes. and his cheeks—what I could see of them—were as soft as a girl’s. He was much younger than I had thought; and now that I had time to study it, I rather liked the effect of his casual costume. The loose shirt set off his broad shoulders and the scarlet sash was tied tightly around his slim waist. He smiled shyly at me, said something I did not understand, and began to back away. As he turned I saw something that made me gasp. Miss Perkins pinched my arm; not until Antonio had gone into the inn did she speak.
“He understands a little English. You would not wish to speak tactlessly, I am sure.”
“But his hand,” I exclaimed. “It was his left hand that held his hat; his right is…Did my eyes deceive me?”
“They did not. He has lost his right hand.”
“Poor young man! What an unfortunate accident.”
“It was no accident. That is the punishment the Holy Father’s troops deal out to rebels. Do you remember my telling you about the risings last year in the Papal States?”
“I have forgotten,” I muttered, still staring horrified at the door through which Antonio had gone.
“You should pay closer attention. This is not ancient history, Francesca; it happened last year, in 1859 of the Christian era. Last summer, when Piedmont persuaded Napoleon to join in a war against Austria, the patriots in the central parts of Italy rose against the occupying Austrian troops. They hoped Piedmont and France would aid them against a common enemy; but Louis Napoleon betrayed his allies. He made a separate peace with Austria. The Italian state of Tuscany gained its freedom, and won union with Piedmont. However, the rebellions here in the Papal States were crushed by Pio Nono’s mercenaries. The most notorious of these soldiers is Schmidt, the commandant in Perugia. That is where Antonio fought. Most of the captured rebels were executed. Antonio’s family has some influence; he was only condemned to lose the hand he had dared raise against his lord. They plunged the stump into hot tar afterwards, to stop the—”
“Don’t!” I begged.
“Oh, it would be very convenient if we could live our comfortable lives without hearing of such horrors,” Miss Perkins said angrily. “But so long as they happen, it would be cowardly to hide our heads. You are not in England, Francesca. Life has many perils, and it is better to be prepared for them.”
The words struck home with a force I am sure she had not intended. If my father had not tried to shield me from the unpleasant facts of life—if he had let me share his difficulties—who knows, he might have been able to break free of the horrible bonds that held him. At least I would have been better prepared to deal with Lord Shelton. I had been saved then by a miracle; I could not count on a second one.
