Miracle For a Madonna

by Barbara Cartland

  “Stop that, you swine!” he exclaimed.

  “What the devil do you think you are doing?” the Prince ejaculated. “This is none of your business!”

  “I beg to differ,” Lord Mere replied. “You will stop violating that young girl or I will make you sorry that you were ever born.”

  He spoke with a violence that was unusual when he was involved in a confrontation of this sort.

  But the thought that the Prince might have been raping Florencia made him forget everything but his hatred of anything so cruel and bestial.

  Then, as the Prince eyed him furiously and the two men faced each other, the girl, realising that she had been saved, jumped to her feet and ran sobbing hysterically back into the Palazzo.

  With an almost superhuman effort, Lord Mere forced himself to say,

  “You must forgive my interference, Your Highness, but really that child was too young for such grown-up games!”

  “You meddlesome interfering Englishman!” the Prince snarled. “I will kill you for this!”

  As he spoke, his hand went into the inside pocket of his coat and as, he drew out something that glinted evilly in his hand, Lord Mere suddenly realised the danger he was in.

  The pupils of the Prince’s eyes were noticeably enlarged, which indicated that he was under the influence of drugs and he had also drunk a great deal at dinner.

  Lord Mere was well aware that he would kill him without the slightest compunction.

  As the Prince steadied himself, the stiletto poised in his hand ready to strike, Lord Mere felt suddenly cool and calm, as he always did in moments of acute danger.

  He also knew irrefutably that the Power he had called on earlier in the day was with him, protecting him and guiding him.

  He knew then that the only possible way to save himself was to act first.

  With the swiftness and the poise of an athlete whose body synchronised perfectly with his mind, he moved before the Prince could raise his arm to strike and hit him on the point of his chin.

  He used every ounce of strength in his body and it was strictly according to the Queensberry Rules.

  As the Prince staggered and the stiletto dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground. Lord Mere hit him again, this time lifting him off his feet so that he fell backwards onto the crenelated battlements where the lower wall of an embrasure caught him behind his knees and, incapable of saving himself, he fell back off the rampart and disappeared from view.

  For a moment Lord Mere could hardly believe what had happened.

  Then, as he stepped forward to look down, he saw directly in line with the Ammanati fountain the Prince's body lying sprawled out.

  It was a drop of some forty feet and it was obvious that he had broken his neck.

  Lord Mere stood for a moment looking down at the still body, a dark patch on the white stone.

  Then he turned and walked quickly away.

  He climbed the few stairs up to the main corridor and then descended the other staircase by which he had reached the West Tower.

  It took him only seconds to find his way to the picture gallery that he had intended to inspect with Marsalla.

  As he reached it, he saw her coming towards him, her pretty pink and silver gown shining in the light of the gas globes that lit this part of the Palazzo.

  He walked swiftly towards her and she exclaimed,

  “Oh, there you are! I have come back to you as I promised, but I was afraid you would not want – ”

  “I have been looking for the best pictures to show you,” he answered, “and now we can look at them together and not waste our time on the ones that are less interesting.”

  He spoke quite easily and calmly although his heart was still thumping from the experience he had just passed through.

  “I am sorry I went away in that rude manner,” she said confidingly, “and I did not enjoy my dance. Vincente had had too much to drink at dinner, so I made the excuse that I wanted to speak to my mother and left him as quickly as I could.”

  “You were quite right,” Lord Mere said. “Dancing with a man who has had too much to drink must be a very unpleasant experience.”

  She laughed.

  “I am afraid my cousin Vincente is a very naughty boy! But don’t let us talk about him. Show me the pictures you have found for me.”

  “There are two or three delightful ones which you might have sat for yourself,” Lord Mere said lightly.

  Because he knew that she expected it, he kissed her lightly at the end of the gallery and then took her back to the ballroom saying,

  “It would be a mistake to ruin your reputation on the first night you arrive in Florence.”

  “Shall I see you again while you are here?” she asked.

  “I promise I will make every effort,” he answered, “but I feel that you will have so many invitations that you will not have time for me.”

  “Oh, but I will!” she objected.

  He took her back to her relations and, while she was being teased for having left the ballroom, he slipped away.

  He had not intended to leave the party so soon, but then he had a sudden idea.

  Once Vincente’s body had been found, which might not be for an hour or so, perhaps longer, it was important that he should have an alibi.

  Although he had suggested that he should visit the Contessa later, he had not really meant to do so.

  However he had deliberately left the invitation open, having a strange feeling that it might come in useful.

  Now he knew that once again Fate was on his side and he was being helped in an almost magical manner.

  It would be impossible for anybody to implicate him in any way in Vincente’s death if it was believed that he had gone from the Prince’s party early to visit the Contessa and had spent at least half the night there.

  The young girl might tell her mother of her terrible experience with Vincente and that she had been rescued, but he was aware that most young girls would be too shy and embarrassed to relate what had happened.

  Even if she did say that she had been rescued at the last moment from what she and her family would consider a fate worse than death, he was sure that she had been in too hysterical a condition to be able to recognise her rescuer in the dark.

  ‘What I have to do is to make certain that everybody concerned knows where I am for the next few hours,’ Lord Mere told himself.

  He went up to two or three of the guests to bid them ‘goodbye’ before he approached his host.

  “Leaving so early?” one of the guests asked.

  “I promised the Contessa Mazara that I would drop in at the party she is giving tonight,” Lord Mere explained. “It is always the same, two delightful invitations on one evening and then days of boredom with nothing to look forward to!”

  The guest laughed.

  “That is only too true,” he said, “and I know how amusing the Contessa’s parties always are!”

  Lord Mere said much the same thing to his host who was very sympathetic.

  “I thought that the Contessa was rather annoyed that I got my invitation in first,” he said. “You should not be so popular, young man! But I understand that you want to have your cake and eat it!”

  He laughed at his own joke and was very pleased that he had managed to say the last words in English.

  Lord Mere laughed too.

  “I must tell the Contessa what you have said,” he replied, “and thank you for a delightful dinner. I have enjoyed myself enormously.”

  The Prince was polite enough to take him to the front door and, when Lord Mere had driven away, he sat back for a moment against the soft cushions of the carriage and closed his eyes.

  He could hardly believe that he had been so successful.

  And yet everything throughout the whole evening seemed to have gone almost to the rhythm of music.

  The music of a Funeral March, but also the music of Victory.

  Chapter Six

  Lord Mere let the car
riage drive in the direction of the City for a little while before he knocked on the communicating window.

  The coachman brought the horses to a standstill and, when the footman opened the door to see what he required, he said,

  “I wish to visit the Contessa Mazara, but as I see my man is with you, we will set him down at the gate of the villa as we pass by it. But first, as I have something to say to him, tell him to join me inside.”

  The footman immediately called Hicks down from the box and he stepped into the carriage to sit with his back to the horses.

  As they drove on, Lord Mere said,

  “Thank you, Hicks. You obviously managed to keep the Prince’s bodyguard under control.”

  “It wasn’t easy, my Lord,” Hicks replied. “He were a restless sort of chap, but, after he’d drunk half the contents of your Lordship’s flask, I slipped into it one of them white pills we’ve used before.”

  Lord Mere raised his eyebrows, but he did not speak and Hicks went on,

  “Passed out like a light he did! A few minutes later the whole staff were jeering at him for getting’ dead drunk!”

  Lord Mere felt a sense of relief.

  He had reckoned that the first person to find the dead body of the Prince would almost certainly be his bodyguard and he knew now that the knock-out pill that Hicks had given him would keep him insensible for at least five hours.

  He thought to himself that fortune had never smiled on him so kindly as it was doing tonight and he was sure that it was due to Florencia’s prayers.

  Then, realising that Hicks was waiting expectantly for his instructions, he said,

  “Now what I want you to do, Hicks, is rather difficult, but I am sure you will do it, as you always do, exactly as I wish you to.”

  “I’ll do my best, my Lord,” Hicks answered.

  *

  Five minutes later the carriage arrived at the gate of Sir Julius’s villa, which stood high above them silhouetted against the sky.

  Hicks jumped out of the carriage and said respectfully,

  “Goodnight, my Lord,” and then waited until the carriage moved on.

  It was not yet midnight when Lord Mere arrived at the Contessa’s mansion.

  The linkmen were outside with their flares and the row of waiting carriages told Lord Mere that nobody yet was thinking of leaving the party.

  When he arrived and was announced, the Contessa gave a cry of delight at seeing him.

  She moved towards him with a serpentine grace, shimmering with diamonds that were no brighter than the light in her eyes.

  “You have come!” she cried. “You kept your promise! I was afraid I would be disappointed!”

  “How could I disappoint you?” Lord Mere asked, kissing her hand.

  He was introduced to the older members of the party, while the younger ones were dancing to the same orchestra that had played the previous night.

  He had been right in thinking that the party was not a large one, but he could see that the guests sitting near the Contessa were obviously close friends and undoubtedly curious about him.

  They eyed him speculatively and asked discreet but searching questions concerning his reasons for being in Florence and whether he had enjoyed the party at the Gorizia Palazzo.

  “I think the people of Florence must have a predilection for parties of this sort,” Lord Mere replied lightly, “which are a much more pleasant form of entertaining than the huge pompous balls people give in London.”

  He saw that his listeners were gratified by the compliment and they asked him about Queen Victoria and other members of the Royal Family.

  He was sure from the way they spoke that the Contessa had made him out to be even more important than he was.

  He thought, however, it fitted in well with his plans and he answered good-humouredly every question that was put to him, at the same time making it quite obvious that his interest lay in his hostess.

  He persuaded her to dance with him and, as they moved around the floor, she said,

  “I hope you are not in a hurry to return to the villa. My friends will not stay late and then it would be delightful to be able to talk to you – alone.”

  It was quite obvious what she meant by ‘alone’ and Lord Mere replied,

  “That is what I was hoping you would say and it is needless to add that I shall be counting the minutes until your very charming but unnecessary friends depart.”

  He felt her move a little closer to him and once again he thought that if he was not in love with Florencia he and the Contessa might have had a most amusing time together.

  Although it seemed incredible, from the first moment he had seen Florencia’s face and known that it was she who haunted him from Raphael’s pictures ever since he was old enough to appreciate them, it was impossible for him to find any other woman alluring.

  But the Contessa was a vital part of his plan and he was aware that her friends were not missing the little intimate glances between them and her obvious delight at his arrival.

  When the dance ended and they went back to the sofa where they had previously been sitting, there was that sudden silence from the other people grouped around them that indicated to Lord Mere clearly that they had been talking about him and the Contessa.

  At last, as if they realised that they were de trop, the more elderly of the Contessa’s friends rose to their feet saying,

  “I think we should be leaving, my dear.”

  The Contessa did not press them to stay.

  She merely said how delightful it had been to be able to entertain them and hoped that they would meet again tomorrow at the luncheon that was being given by some mutual friends.

  That they were leaving was a signal for the rest of the party also to begin to make their departure. They were moving towards the door where a footman came in to say to Lord Mere in a voice that was quite audible to everybody else,

  “Your servant’s here, my Lord. He informs me that he must speak to you immediately and it’s very urgent!”

  Lord Mere looked surprised.

  “I cannot imagine what he wants,” he remarked.

  Then he looked at the Contessa and asked,

  “You don’t think that Sir Julius is ill?”

  The Contessa clasped her hands together.

  “Oh, my God! I hope it’s not that!” she exclaimed.

  “Send my man to me here immediately!” Lord Mere said to the footman,

  “Is Sir Julius really ill?” somebody asked.

  “I saw him for a moment before I left for dinner,” Lord Mere replied. “He admitted to feeling somewhat fatigued, but he did not consider it serious enough to send for the doctor.”

  As he finished speaking, Hicks came hurrying into the room.

  He had smartened himself up since returning from the Gorizia Palazzo and looked the part of a perfect English manservant.

  “Excuse me, my Lord,” he said as he bowed, “but I have to inform you that a Queen’s Messenger has arrived at the villa. He says it’s extremely important that he should see your Lordship with the least possible delay.”

  “A Queen’s Messenger!” Lord Mere exclaimed in astonishment. “Did he give you any idea what he wants?”

  “He did say, my Lord, that he’d been instructed by Her Majesty to ask you to return to England immediately!”

  “Did he give any reason?”

  “I understands, my Lord, somebody of great importance be visiting Her Majesty at Windsor Castle and Her Majesty requires you to entertain her guest during his stay.”

  Hicks was speaking in English, but Lord Mere was well aware that almost everybody in the room spoke English and not only understood what was being said but were also listening attentively to every word.

  “Thank you, Hicks,” he said. “I presume the carriage is outside?”

  “Yes, my Lord. Two as it happens. I comes here on the Queen’s Messenger’s instructions as quick as I could!”

  “Quite right!” Lord Mere approved.
>
  Hicks bowed respectfully and turned away towards the door and Lord Mere made a gesture with his hands that was very eloquent.

  “How could I have guessed, how could I have imagined,” he said to the Contessa, “that Her Majesty would cut short my visit to Florence in such a drastic manner?”

  “I suppose it’s a Royal Command which you must obey,” the Contessa said wistfully.

  “I have no alternative,” he replied. “The Queen’s Messenger will be waiting at the villa, my instructions will be in writing and I shall learn then who this important visitor is.”

  He made a grimace as he added,

  “He doubtless speaks some unintelligible language which Her Majesty, with her unshakable belief in my linguistic powers, will expect me to translate.”

  Lord Mere laughed, but he knew that those listening were intrigued and the story would be all over Florence by the morning.

  Nobody made any further move to leave and he guessed that they would stay and talk over with each other what they had heard and speculate about it.

  After he said goodbye to them all, the Contessa walked alone with him from the room into the passage that led into the hall.

  “Fate is against us!” she muttered in a low voice.

  “That is exactly what I was deploring!”

  “You will come back another time?”

  “I have not seen or done half the things I want to do in Florence,” he answered and knew that she took the words to mean the promise of a quick return.

  Because there were servants in the hall, he could only kiss her hand, forcing his lips to linger on the softness of her skin before she said ‘goodbye’ with a frustrated look in her dark eyes.

  Then once again Lord Mere was driving away, having extricated himself with what he thought was considerable dexterity from a very difficult situation.

  He had not gone far before he stopped the carriage and told the footman that he wished not to return to the villa as they obviously expected, but to go first to the Palazzo Sogino.

  The servants expressed no surprise, but simply turned the carriage in a different direction and drove through the now empty streets out of the City to where the Palazzo Sogino stood on high ground surrounded by its gardens and trees.