Larcenous Lady

by Joan Smith

  She saw Dick preparing a speech and listened to learn what tack she should take. “We’ve just been going over the case,” Belami began. “Pronto certainly excelled himself this time.” Deirdre stared, astonished that Dick should state his friend’s folly so bluntly. “Yes indeed, we would never have solved this one without his help.”

  “Of course,” Deirdre said in relieved confusion.

  “His pretending to be taken in by Claude’s disguise was a masterstroke. Why, for a few days there, he even fooled me.”

  “Me, too,” Pronto admitted.

  “Of course he knew all along, but I think you might have told me in so many words, Pronto. I didn’t pick up on your clues about his hairy ankles and hard muscles. Pronto used the ploy of pretending to be in love with Elvira to work his way into her confidence,” he explained to Deirdre.

  “It made it easier to follow her, too,” she added, getting into the swing of it.

  “And left me free to follow other clues,” Belami said.

  “I ain’t quite sure yet why I went ahead and married her,” Pronto admitted, and looked hopefully to hear an explanation of this piece of ingenuity.

  “You couldn’t let Claude realize you were on to him,” Belami explained. “You had to lull his suspicions so he wouldn’t take fright and escape before we sprung the trap.”

  Pronto cast a wary eye at Deirdre to see how this went down with an unbiased audience. He saw only admiring acceptance and felt encouraged. “I did it all without even knowing I was doing it. Dick explained it to me this morning.”

  Belami rushed to his assistance. “At a deeper level, of course, he knew perfectly well Elvira was a man. He even compared her to Portia, in The Merchant of Venice. You remember how she posed as a judge. Strange how the mind works, is it not?”

  “Incredible,” Pronto agreed.

  Deirdre bit back a smile, and finally had to resort to her coffee cup when she caught Dick’s fiercely condemning eye. Belami continued to elaborate on his theme.

  “Pronto was always careful to include the mother and Lucy on his expeditions. His deeper mind had a secret tendre for Lucy, I believe. Remember at Paris, Pronto, you were quite taken with her, and remarked a few times that Elvira was too bold to suit you—too mannish is what you meant. That long ago you sensed she wasn’t a real woman, and knew you were safe to associate with her, without falling into parson’s mousetrap. Once you realized this, you asked yourself, why not pretend to love her, and see what you could discover?”

  “Rhymes,” Pronto said. “Love her—discover. You didn’t realize you was doing it. Deeper mind at work.”

  “I always felt I had the heart of a poet,” Belami admitted modestly.

  “This certainly proves I have the heart of an investigator. Getting on with the job the whole time,” Pronto said, shaking his head at his cleverness.

  Before they got into any deeper water, Belami decided it was time to widen the topic of conversation. “You and I both coming to Italy is another example of the deeper mind at work,” he began, turning his attention to Deirdre. “Both denying we came because we were to have had our honeymoon here. Something in our deeper minds and hearts drew us hither.”

  “Same with me and Elvira.” Pronto nodded. “Hither and thither, both drawn to Venice. One thing does bother me though, Dick,” he said. Belami moved uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what new leaps of imagination would be called for. “About that marriage—am I married to Claude? Thing is—he’s married already. Bigamist.”

  Belami breathed a sigh of relief. “No such a thing. If Claude were a woman, which of course you knew all along he was not, then he would be a bigamist.”

  “She,” Pronto corrected. “If he was Elvira, he’d be a she. Married to Lucy. There’s odd twists in that lad.”

  “If Pronto were a woman, is what you meant,” Deirdre said.

  “Precisely,” Belami agreed. “In any case, it is the person who has two spouses who is the bigamist, not the two partners. Your marriage is null and void. It never existed.”

  “Never was consummated either,” Pronto assured him. “Never came anywhere near it. The deeper mind at work, and that strong Italian wine. All the same, Dick—you, too, Deirdre, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone at home about the wedding. Some folks wouldn’t realize about my deeper mind. Think I was a bit of a dupe.”

  “Your ingenuity ought to be shouted from the rooftops, Pronto,” Dick said, “but if you are so self-effacing you want to keep it secret, it’s fine with me.”

  “I shan’t breathe a word,” Deirdre added.

  “I hope Charney keeps her mouth shut,” Pronto muttered. “Where’s she off to next, Deirdre?”

  “Rome.” Deirdre looked hopefully to Belami. “Where are you two going? We heard Carlotta telling you to get out of the Palazzo Ginnasi.”

  “Rome is certainly on my itinerary,” Belami said. “What sort of mood is Charney in this morning?”

  “Foul,” Deirdre replied, “and her mood will only deteriorate when she’s put to the expense of hiring a carriage and paying hotel bills. I hope she doesn’t decide to go home.”

  “Rome, eh?” Pronto asked. “Been wanting to get into the catacombs. Hear they’re all the crack.”

  The duchess, passing by the door, saw her niece in conversation with two of the worst rattles ever to have come out of England and went to her rescue. She was in a wretched mood. The contessa had been busy turning the conte against her, with the result that her letters of introduction to potential hosts were limited to one, and he an old hermit who lived in a shack. That bit of spite was certainly the contessa’s doings, which was not to say the letter wouldn’t be used, and the shack, too, if it had more than one room.

  The duchess went storming in. “I am amazed to see Mr. Pilgrim is still speaking to you, after the way you have used him in this affair, Belami,” she began. “Making him marry that wretched counterfeiter person.”

  “No such a thing,” Pronto bristled. “All my own idea. I did it to trap the Jalberts.”

  Belami rose politely to his feet and offered the duchess a chair. She never could resist food or drink. The coffee still looked potable, and she accepted a cup from Deirdre.

  “The credit for solving this case is entirely Pronto’s,” Belami said. “We were just discussing the continuing of our trip, your grace. It seems the contessa has houseguests arriving soon—today, in fact—and would appreciate it if we could see our way clear to leaving immediately.”

  “Hmph, houseguests, is it?” She admired a gentleman with polish, and it was well done of Belami to try to wrap the affair up in clean linen. “It’s no bother to me. The stench of these canals is enough to turn a person’s stomach. We are only too happy to escape.”

  “I shall be leaving early this afternoon,” Belami continued. “The Marchese Benzoni has been importuning me to visit him. You are, perhaps, familiar with the marchese’s estate, his Villa Benzoni? A marvelous example of Palladio’s work—one of the show places of Italy, situated high in the Alban Hills, overlooking the sea from the western limits of his estate, and down on Rome from the north. A monstrous place—one needs a guide to tour it.”

  “How many rooms?” the duchess asked.

  “I meant a guide is needed to tour the entire estate. The villa has only eighty or ninety rooms, I believe,” Belami answered with a show of indifference. “The fountains alone are worth the trip—set in a vast parkland, with old Roman statuary. You really ought to arrange a tour of the place while you are at Rome, your grace. I hope you are able to find accommodations on such short notice. The vineyards are of particular note. The red wine especially is considered nonpareil,” he added.

  The duchess’s mouth fairly watered at this description. She was torn between jealousy and hope. “You are fortunate you had time to plan your trip well in advance. Deirdre and I dashed off in such a pelter I hadn’t time to write to anyone.”

  “Deeper mind,” Pronto said obliquely. “You had noth
ing to say about it, your grace.”

  “What rubbish is this?” she asked.

  Belami flew in to divert disaster. “I really ought to go and make arrangements for transportation to visit the marchese. Good horses are difficult to come by in Italy.”

  “Impossible,” Pronto mumbled.

  “We’ll want a team of four, and a well-sprung traveling carriage,” Belami tempted. “The trip will be expensive,” he added mischievously, “but then the marchese will not hear of my undertaking any expense once I am with him. No doubt he will insist on putting his house in Rome at our disposal as well, Pronto. We shall want to spend considerable time in the city, admiring the architecture and statues.”

  It was too much to be borne. The duchess rose to her feet. “Come along, Deirdre. We must oversee Haskins’s packing or there won’t be a gown fit to be worn without pressing.”

  Deirdre rose and gave a hopeful smile to Dick. Before her aunt reached the bottom of the staircase, almost before they were out the door, the duchess stopped.

  “This Marchese Benzoni fellow sounds extremely eligible,” she said.

  “Yes.” Deirdre didn’t mention the marchese was a seventy-year-old widower with children older than herself.

  “Eighty or ninety rooms, and a house in Rome besides.”

  “And a vineyard.”

  “I shall have my four hogsheads from this curst spot shipped directly home. No point taking them to Rome with us. A good thing I settled it before the contessa turned her husband against us. The old fool refuses to believe she’s stolen his necklace. I have been thinking, Deirdre, how unpleasant it will be for us to travel to Rome without any male escorts.”

  “We’ll have to hire a guide, along with the carriage and team,” Deirdre said slyly.

  “I see no reason why Belami’s servants should travel with him while we joggle along alone. There will be room in his carriage for the four of us—Pilgrim, himself, and us.”

  “He didn’t invite us, Auntie.”

  “Have you lost the use of your wits? Get in there and conciliate him. Not too conciliating, mind! Don’t let the wretched fellow get the notion I give the match my approval, for I don’t, which is not to say his escort to Rome is worse than nothing. At least he speaks English, which is more than can be said for that moonling, Pilgrim.”

  “It would be nice if the marchese invited us to stay at his villa,” Deirdre mentioned.

  “He can hardly do less when we land at the door with Belami. We shall be utterly rolled up from the trip—anyone with a shred of human kindness in his veins would ask us to remain. I intend to arrive in a fit of vapors.”

  Deirdre bit her lip to hold in the shout of glee that rose up in her throat. “Shall I go back and be nice to Belami?”

  “You’d best do it. He’ll have to arrange carriages for our servants while he’s at the travel office. And Deirdre—”

  “Yes, Auntie?”

  “Make sure you get your wedding gift back from Pilgrim. The little statue will make a suitable gift to Benzoni when we leave, in two or three months. A pity Belami had his goblets engraved or he could use his as well. He never uses his head. But then he is so rich it hardly matters.”

  “Yes, extremely eligible,” Deirdre agreed blandly.

  Charney’s eyes narrowed to slits. Why must the world be so contrary? Why couldn’t the decent boys be wealthy? “Go on, minx, before they get away.”

  The duchess’s pace as she went to her room was hardly slower than Deirdre’s dart back to the morning parlor. She opened the door and flew in. “It worked! We’re going with you, Dick!” She laughed and ran into his arms.

  As Dick whirled her in the air, Pronto took a close look at her ankles. Not a hair to be seen, but he’d advise Dick to check her out and make sure she was a real girl before he married her. He felt a pinching ache in his heart to see the joy of the young lovers and rose to leave them some privacy.

  “I’ll be waiting in the gondola, Dick,” he said. It must have been his deeper mind speaking. He didn’t even know he was going to say that. Curst rum thing, the mind, knowing all along his Elvira was a man, when he hadn’t a notion. Wouldn’t do to admit it though. Might give folks some peculiar ideas.

  When they were alone, Dick returned Deirdre’s feet to the floor. “What did Charney say?”

  “She said I was not to be too conciliating. We’re not home free yet.”

  “Out of the woods is good enough for me.” He folded her in his arms for a fierce kiss. Deirdre forgot her aunt’s injunction in the fever of the moment. She became so conciliating that her mind reeled off to a bright future, which might really come after all.

  After a long kiss, Belami released her. “I felt lost without you, darling. You know there was nothing between Carlotta and me. There was never anyone but you, from the moment I met you.”

  “I’ll try not to be so jealous from now on.”

  “No, be jealous. It’s flattering. I was jealous as Othello when I learned Elvira was a man. But don’t be jealous if you catch me buttering up Charney. I must turn her up sweet—very soon. If my threadbare charms fail to persuade her, we’ll count on Benzoni’s wine and free lodgings to bring her around. Thank God for avarice.”

  “That sounds horrid, Dick!”

  “It is. I’m a horrid man,” he warned her with a perfectly charming smile, and pulled her into his arms to prove it.

  Epilogue

  This is me, Pronto Pilgrim, just letting you know how things turned out at the Villa Benzoni. It’s a regular palace of a place, makes that king’s palace we saw in France look like a country cottage.

  Well, considering that rack and manger and all sorts of entertainment were provided at no expense to her, Old Charney’s been merry as a grig in May. She and the Marchese get along like a house on fire. You may be sure she keeps her sharp tongue between her teeth in front of him. Praises everything to the skies, especially the wine, which I must admit is pretty good.

  Seeing how the duchess was determined to keep him and Deidre apart and to stay at the Villa till the Marchese kicked her out, Belami told her he had to see a man in Naples and was leaving in three days. He convinced her the Marchese wouldn’t expect her, practically a stranger, to hang on after he left.

  She tried every trick in the book to get Dick to stay, but he held firm. He let the idea he’d had at the back of his mind all along come from her. If he married Deidre, then she, Charney, would be his in-law, and if he came back to the Villa after doing his business, then she could claim to be too fagged to make the jaunt to Naples, and would just stay put till he came back. The business trip could be their honeymoon. She urged him to stay away as long as he liked.

  Dick pretended not to like the plan. The cagey old duchess told Deidre to get to work on him, and before you could say Jack Robinson the thing was done. And she can’t say boo against it once Deidre’s been jauntering around Italy unchaperoned for a month or so with Belami, so she’ll just have to pin a smile on her face and pretend to like it. Mind you, she isn’t overlooking the fact that Belami’s rich as Croesus.

  The wedding was a small, quiet affair with a minister from England officiating. I was best man and one of Benzoni’s cousins was the maid of honor. The Duchess promised Deidre a diamond necklace as a wedding present when they get back to England. I’ll believe that when I see it. I gave them a little antique statue Deidre had her heart set on. It looked cracked and crumbling to me, but it seems that’s part of the charm of antiques.

  I’m staying on here at the Villa till the newlyweds get back as well, with a dash once to Benzoni’s house in Rome. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the old witch has set her cap at Benzoni. Don’t know if Dick mentioned he’s as old as she is but cut from a different bolt entirely. A jolly, free-spending bachelor, well-liked by everyone. She wouldn’t care if he was a hundred. It’s the money she has in her eye.

  Dick plans to take Deidre to London when they get to England so as to see as little of Charney as possible
. A couple of Benzoni’s great nieces are coming by this afternoon for a tea party so I’d best go and make myself pretty. If I’d met Virna before we took up with the Jalberts, I doubt my deeper mind would have let me get carried away with Claude. Not a hair on her ankles. Smooth as cream. Well, that’s it. Aurevoirderci.

  Copyright © 1987 by Joan Smith

  Originally published by Fawcett Crest in January, 1988

  Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.