“I would be delighted, Excellency.” She took his arm, thinking it surprising that the older man could be so much more attractive than the younger, more obviously handsome one. Giving way to curiosity, she asked, “Do your cousin and her son live here with you?”
They had reached the end of the terrace and were descending the curved steps leading to the garden before he spoke. “Here, yes, but with me? Not precisely. I have several other homes where I often stay. It allows them to think of this as their home.” He shrugged. “They have nowhere else to go. My cousin’s husband was…profligate. At his death there was nothing for his widow or his son.” He noted her look of surprise and nodded. “You are thinking of her jewels. I fear my cousin is very fond of jewels. She sometimes accepts gifts from admirers.”
Elinor did blush at that, and they walked on in silence until they arrived at a circular pool in which a pair of playful stone dolphins chased each other under a spray of water.
“What a delightfully happy fountain!” Elinor smiled with pleasure.
“It is, is it not?” Savelli smiled back at her. “It always makes me smile to come here. It is not Etruscan, of course, but I think it shares their spirit.” He turned and looked back at the house, his smile fading. “It is hard on a young man, knowing he is dependent on the goodwill of others. He could find employment, of course.” A rueful shrug. “If he finds that unpalatable, he must marry a rich wife.”
Elinor smiled. “Your Excellency, are you by any chance warning me about fortune hunters?”
He patted her hand. “I like your father very much. He is a most honorable and intelligent man. It would distress me greatly were I to be the occasion of bringing unhappiness to him and his family.”
“You need have no fear. Your cousin is a very handsome young man, but I am in no danger of losing my heart to him.”
“Bene. I thought it as well to make certain you were aware of Armando’s situation. But I see someone else seems concerned.” He looked amused.
*
Tunbury was hurrying across the terrace. He slowed a bit when he reached the path and saw that it was Savelli who was walking with Norrie. He did not, however, stop scowling even when he reached them. “Excellency. Lady Elinor.” He bowed rather curtly.
In return, Savelli beamed at him. “Lord Tunbury. I trust you found your chambers satisfactory.”
“Chambers? Oh, yes, of course. Most comfortable.” He wanted to snarl. Savelli’s hand was covering Norrie’s. What was she thinking? She was in no need of support to walk. In fact, he would wager she could walk the old man into the ground.
“Isn’t this a lovely garden? His Excellency has been showing me about, and there is the most delightful fountain.” She looked quite happy to be walking on the old man’s arm.
“I fear I must return to my affairs, but perhaps, my dear, you would care to show the fountain to Lord Tunbury? If, of course, young men are interested in such things.” Savelli looked at Tunbury in inquiry.
Tunbury smiled back, baring his teeth only slightly. “I would be delighted to have Lady Elinor show me the beauties of your garden, Excellency.”
They parted with a flurry of bows and curtsies, after which Savelli strolled back to the house while Tunbury spun Lady Elinor around and marched her rapidly away.
“Stop that!” She pulled back and yanked her arm free. “Will you stop dragging me around like a…like a…”
“Like a what?” he snarled.
“Like a badly trained dog.” She was rubbing her arm where he had been holding her.
“Oh God, Norrie, I’m sorry.” He felt sick, disgusted with himself. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I just don’t understand. Why on earth are you angry? You keep having these…these fits where you’re suddenly snarling and snapping.”
“Ah, Norrie.” He turned away to collect himself before he looked back at her. “I’m sorry. One of the servants told me Landi was out here with you.”
“Well, he was, before His Excellency sent him away.”
“Good. I don’t trust him. He’s much too…too oily. But I’m not sure Savelli is much of an improvement.”
“Really, Harry, the prince is perfectly charming and perfectly proper,” said Norrie in exasperation.
“Don’t you see? He’s an old man, much too old for you.”
“Too old? Prince Savelli? Too old for me?” She started to laugh so hard that she had to lean against a tree. “Oh, Harry, you are so ridiculous. Whatever gave you the idea that he was interested in me?”
“There’s nothing ridiculous about it,” he said truculently. “He takes you wandering down garden paths and I saw him patting your hand.”
“In a very fatherly fashion. For goodness’ sake, he and my father are friends. Besides, he just wanted to warn me that his cousin is a fortune hunter. As if that wasn’t obvious.” She took Tunbury’s arm. “Come, let me show you that fountain.”
He let her lead him away, but did not feel reassured. She was too naïve. She did not realize what a prize she was for any man, even one who did not covet her dowry.
*
That evening, while they were gathered in the salon before dinner, Prince Savelli drew Elinor’s attention to a small Etruscan bronze, not more than seven inches high. Even to her inexpert eye, it was clearly a late work, with all the grace one might find in a Greek statue, and beautifully rendered. There was nothing archaic about this Hercules. He stood there frowning, hand on hip, in all his strength and power, wearing nothing but his lion-skin cape.
He was naked. Quite naked. Quite gloriously naked.
She ought, she knew, to be admiring it as a work of art. She should say something about the pose, the exquisite workmanship, something. Unfortunately, her mouth was so dry she could say nothing. All she could do was stare at the miniature but still arrogant male displaying his perfectly muscled form. His perfect form.
“Do look at his face. Does he remind you of anyone?” The prince’s voice penetrated her fog. He sounded amused. Embarrassingly amused.
She managed to lick her lips and swallow before reaching out carefully to tilt the statue for a better look at his features. The face was remarkably individual, despite the small size. This Hercules was frowning. He was frowning just like… He looked just like…
She turned to face the prince. “Good heavens, it’s Harry. It’s just like him.”
Savelli smiled. “I am delighted that it was not simply my imagination. I thought there was something familiar about him when we met in Rome, but it was not until I saw this statue again that I realized what it was. Young Lord Tunbury must have had an ancestor wandering around Etruria thousands of years ago.”
Her own delight had not evaporated when Harry came up to them, scowling again. He took one look at the statue and turned on Savelli furiously. “That is hardly the sort of thing you should be displaying to Lady Elinor.”
“Do calm down, Harry,” she said. “We were just discussing your ancestry.”
Harry turned to her, his face white. He made a strangled sound of horror, and she felt quite frightened. “My ancestry?” His voice was barely audible.
“Yes,” said Savelli. “This statue bears a remarkable resemblance to you. I commented that you must be descended from an ancient Etruscan. I assure you, no insult was intended.”
Harry took a deep breath and nodded slowly. His color was returning. “An Etruscan ancestor,” he said softly. “How very interesting. You will excuse me.”
He walked quickly from the room. Elinor was about to follow him, but the prince caught her arm.
“No,” he said. “I do not know what has upset him, but he will want to recover himself in private.” When she tried to protest, he said, “Trust me. I know better than you how young men feel.”
Thirteen
On the evening of the fourth day of their visit, Savelli and Penworth came back to the villa in great excitement. The workmen had uncovered what appeared to be the entrance to a t
omb, and the two noblemen seemed to have left their dignity behind with the shovels. Savelli was almost beside himself with enthusiasm, his florid gesticulations in wild contrast to his usual dignified manner.
“You understand, we have found many tombs, but all too often, someone has found them first. The thieves seem to smell them out, I swear it. By the time we reach a tomb, we find broken pottery, little clay figures, but nothing of real value. But this one is different. There is something of real importance in there. I can almost smell it!”
“It’s extraordinary, the way he found the place. A remarkable piece of deduction,” Penworth said. When Savelli tried to dismiss it modestly, the marquess insisted, “No, it really is.” He turned to his wife. “He noticed the trees. That part of the cliff has just a shallow layer of earth over the travertine rock, so only a few scraggly plants can grow. But in one place, there are real trees growing. If the soil is deep enough for trees to grow, something must have excavated the rock. And sure enough, he found an opening filled with rubble. The workmen have been digging out the rubble, and today we found it. A tomb marker with an Etruscan inscription!”
“It was growing too dark to see much,” said Savelli, breaking in, “but I could feel the letters. I touched them.”
Penworth beamed at Savelli, and the prince tried unsuccessfully to hide his delight. His joy was infectious. Delighted laughter filled the room.
“This one is different,” Savelli said. “I know it. For one thing, it is on the other side of the river. All the tombs we have found before have been on this side, caves dug into the walls of the ravines. But this one is on the far side, across the bridge, and it is an underground tomb. That will make it much later, I think.” He broke off his exposition. “Ah, my friend, you have brought me luck.” Savelli threw his arms around Penworth, who was too excited to object and returned the embrace with laughter.
Everyone else joined in the excitement. Contessa Landi managed to lift a languid hand in acknowledgment. Even the young people, whose interest in the Etruscans ranged from moderate on the part of Tunbury to indifferent on the part of Rycote, were infected by their elders’ enthusiasm and vowed to be present early the next morning.
*
Not long after sunrise, with the grass still damp with dew and wisps of mist lingering about, they rode across the ancient bridge that spanned the river separating the castello from the plateau on which the ancient city once stood. The sun would be strong soon enough. Elinor was glad her mother had agreed that they would wear their exploring outfits today. Poplin, sturdy though it might be, was far cooler and more comfortable than layers of petticoats. The men were also dressed practically, with broad-brimmed hats, loose jackets, and shirts open at the neck. Except, of course, for Landi, who rode with his mother in a landau at the rear of the party, both of them dressed in their usual fashionable finery.
Here on the empty plateau, a desolate moor for the most part, the grove of trees that had drawn Savelli’s attention was immediately noticeable. At least, thought Elinor, it was noticeable now that he had pointed it out.
Turning back in his saddle to address the party, Savelli said, “You must not be disappointed if we cannot immediately enter the tomb. Even though the entrances are not deliberately blocked, as was the Egyptian practice, tunnels often collapse, and we must proceed very carefully.”
“We quite understand, Your Excellency,” said Lady Penworth cheerfully, “and we will be quite willing to watch and wait. Staying away, however, would make the suspense unbearable.”
The contessa, riding in the landau at the end of the procession, turned and glared at her son sitting beside her. “You did not mention this when you said I must arise at this ungodly hour.”
Landi patted her hand in its soft kid glove. “Now you know you would not have wished to miss an event such as this.” Then as the others pulled ahead out of earshot, “Behave yourself. The prince may not be willing to put up with your fits of pique indefinitely.”
As the road curved, the contessa tilted her parasol to keep the sun from her face. “He knows I have no interest in this, this grave digging. I am not a peasant to admire a man when he is covered in dirt.”
“But perhaps he begins to find you tiresome. Do you not see him there, chatting with Lady Penworth, who shows a flattering interest in his activities?”
“Bah. You cannot think he is falling in love with that woman.”
Landi took a deep breath. “Do not be stupid. But she does not bore him. He admires her. And the more he admires her, the less patience he has with you.”
She narrowed her eyes at her son. “And the less patience he has with you?”
He smiled bleakly in acknowledgment. “And with me.”
“So why are you here with me? Why are you not up there with the girl? If you intend to marry her, you need to make her fall in love with you soon,” she snapped. “Entertain her. She is probably bored.”
“Our cousin does not approve. I must entertain her when he is not present.” He looked at the three Englishmen, dressed no better than ordinary workmen. He sneered slightly and brushed an invisible speck from the sleeve of his immaculate black frock coat.
The workmen were already at the site when they arrived, and had swept away the remaining debris at the entrance. Savelli dismounted and strode over. Reaching out a hand, he delicately traced the inscription carved in the tomb marker, Ravnthu Seitithi.
“A woman’s name,” he said softly. “This must be your family tomb. Please forgive us for disturbing you after all this time.” With a pickax, he carefully loosened the stone sealing the entrance until, with the help of his foreman, he could remove it. They laid it to the side, and he peered into the darkness.
His shoulders slumped.
Turning to the others with a rueful smile, he said, “As I feared, at least part of the passage has collapsed. It appears there will be a delay in the proceedings. I apologize for having taken you from your beds at such an unseemly hour.” He waved a hand at the tomb. “It will take some time, perhaps even days, to clear a passage. And the rubble must be carefully examined. Who knows what may have been buried by the collapse?”
“Well, we can help with that,” Elinor said cheerfully. “If your men can bring the debris out, we can sift through it.”
“We can?” Rycote looked startled.
“Certainly,” said Lady Penworth. “I may not have any expertise, but I can tell a piece of pottery from a pebble. If we are uncertain about anything, we can set it aside to be examined later.”
Prince Savelli looked at them, and a trace of his buoyant optimism returned. “It is good to have friends.”
By noon, the volunteers were no longer so enthusiastic. The rubble was not greatly compacted, so the workmen made rapid progress. That prompted Savelli to think that the collapse had not happened too long ago. That also meant that the piles of rubble grew quickly. More quickly than Elinor and the others might have liked.
Sitting on the ground soon became uncomfortable, and there was a dreary monotony in picking up a pebble from one bucket and putting it into another one. Had Lord Penworth not been so obviously committed to the task, Lady Penworth might have given in to a desire to return to the castello for a nap. And had Lady Penworth not skewered her children with a glare whenever they showed an inclination to flag, they might have found a way to sneak off after their alfresco luncheon of bread, cheese, and wine.
But they kept at it until Tunbury made a weird sound, something between a shout and a gurgle. He held up an object about three inches wide and slightly rounded. Elinor looked at him and began to feel alive again, no longer weighed down. Something was actually happening.
Savelli hurried over and took the fragment reverently from the younger man. With a soft brush, he delicately removed some of the dirt, until it was possible to see that part of the shard was dark and a lighter section curved into it.
“Red-figure pottery,” he said, looking up with a grin. “They learned that technique from the Gr
eeks, but rather late. Perhaps the fourth century BC. I cannot clean this here—that will have to wait for my workroom—but we may find more fragments. Perhaps enough to give us an idea of the whole piece.”
Suddenly, the entire party revived, and by late afternoon a respectable pile of shards had been collected. Enough enthusiasm had been generated to ensure everyone’s return.
Unfortunately, no further bits of broken pottery appeared on the next day. The workmen had progressed far enough in clearing the passage to have gone beyond the area where the pot may have been. Hours passed in what they were all beginning to think was futile labor. Even Lord Penworth began hinting that perhaps his wife might wish to return to the castello for a rest. Elinor was about to say that sounded like an excellent idea when she reached into her bucket and made a new discovery. However, this one was far less encouraging than Tunbury’s pottery shard had been.
“Cloth?” she said, pulling out what seemed to be a filthy rag. “I would never have thought it would survive all these centuries.”
The chatter gradually faded away. The workmen had spent enough time on the prince’s excavations to know how unlikely a piece of cloth was. They turned to watch as the prince walked over to her and took the cloth from her hand. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he examined it.
“You are quite right,” he said eventually. “This would not have survived. It is of no great age at all.” Without another word, he returned to his post, supervising the workers clearing out the passage. Lord Penworth watched for a minute and then went to stand silently beside him. A moment later, Lady Penworth joined them.
Elinor looked at the others in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why is the prince so upset?”
“It means someone has been in the tomb,” Tunbury said. “Thieves, for certain, and not very long ago.” He thought for a minute. “Most likely during the night after Prince Savelli’s men uncovered the entrance. They could have sealed up the tomb easily enough when they were finished, and they probably caused the collapse to cover their traces. If you hadn’t found that piece of cloth, no one would have suspected.”
Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures Page 11
