ON GRIANTE
Dawn had broken over Italy and morning, in honeysuckle colours,
burned upon the mountain mists. Far beneath a lofty hillside the
world still slumbered and the Larian lake, a jewel of gold and
turquoise, shone amid her flowery margins. The hour was very silent;
the little towns and hamlets scattered beside Como, like clusters of
white and rosy shells, dreamed on until thin music broke from their
campaniles. Bell answered bell and made a girdle of harmony about
the lake, floating along the water and ascending aloft until no
louder than the song of birds.
Two women climbed together up the great acclivity of Griante. One
was brown and elderly, clad in black with an orange rag wrapped
about her brow--a sturdy, muscular creature who carried a great,
empty wicker basket upon her shoulders; the other was clad in a rosy
jumper of silk: she flashed in the morning fires and brought an
added beauty to that beautiful scene.
Jenny ascended the mountain as lightly as a butterfly. She was
lovelier than ever in the morning light, yet a misty doubt, a
watchful sadness, seemed to hover upon her forehead. Her wonderful
eyes looked ahead up the precipitous tract that she and the Italian
woman climbed together. She moderated her pace to the slower gait of
the elder and presently they both stopped before a little grey
chapel perched beside the hill path.
Mr. Albert Redmayne's silkworms, in the great airy shed behind his
villa, had nearly all spun their cocoons now, for it was June again
and the annual crop of mulberry leaves in the valleys beneath were
well-nigh exhausted.
Therefore Assunta Marzelli, the old bibliophile's housekeeper, made
holiday with his niece, now upon a visit to him, and together the
women climbed, where food might be procured for the last tardy
caterpillars to change their state.
They had started in the grey dawn, passed up a dry watercourse, and
proceeded where the vine was queen and there fell a scented filigree
of dead blossom from flowering olives. They had seen a million
clusters of tiny grapes already rounding and had passed through
wedges and squares of cultivated earth, where sprang alternate
patches of corn yellowing to harvest and the lush green of growing
maize. Figs and almonds and rows of red and white mulberries, with
naked branches stripped of foliage, broke the lines of the crops.
Here hedges sparkled in a harvest of scarlet cherries; and here
sheep and goats nibbled over little, bright tracts of sweet grass.
Higher yet shone out groves of chestnut trees, all shining with the
light of their tassels, very bright by contrast with the gloom of
the mountain pines.
And then, where two tall cypresses stood upon either side, Jenny
and Assunta found the shrine and stayed a while. Jenny set down the
basket which she carried with their midday meal, and her companion
dropped the great bin destined to hold mulberry leaves.
The lake below was now reduced to a cup of liquid jade over which
shot streamers of light into the mountain shadows at its brink; but
there were vessels floating on the waters that held the watchers'
eyes.
They looked like twin, toy torpedo boats--mere streaks of red and
black upon the water, with Italy's flag at the taffrail. But the
little ships were no toys and Assunta hated them, for the strange
craft told of the ceaseless battle waged by authority against the
mountain smugglers and reminded the widow of her own lawless
husband's death ten years before. Cæsar Marzelli had taken his cup
to the well once too often and had lost his life in a pitched battle
with the officers of the customs.
Long shafts of glory shot between the mountains and drenched the
lake; the shoulders of the lesser hills flamed; the waters beneath
them flashed; and far away, among the table-lands of the morning
mist, against a sapphire sky, there gleamed the last patches of
snow.
A cross of rusty iron surmounted the little sanctuary by which they
sat, and the roof was of old tiles scorched a mellow tint of brown.
To Maris Stella was the shrine dedicated; and within, under the
altar, white bones gleamed--skulls and thighs and ribs of men and
women who had perished of the plague in far-off time.
"_Morti della peste_," read Jenny, on the front of the altar, and
Assunta, in gloomy mood before the recollection of the past, spoke
to her young mistress and shook her head.
"I envy them sometimes, signora. Their troubles are ended. Those
heads, that have ached and wept so often, will never ache and weep
again."
She spoke in Italian and Jenny but partially understood. Yet she
joined Assunta on her knees and together they made their morning
prayer to Mary, Star of the Sea, and asked for what their souls most
desired.
Presently they rose, Assunta the calmer for her petitions, and
together they proceeded upward. The elder tried to explain what a
base and abominable thing it was that her husband, an honest free
trader between Italy and Switzerland, should have been destroyed by
the slaves in the government vessels beneath, and Jenny nodded and
strove to understand. She was making progress in Italian, though
Assunta's swift tongue and local patois were as yet beyond her
comprehension. But she knew that her dead smuggler husband was the
subject on Assunta's lips and nodded her sympathy.
"Sons of dogs!" cried the widow; then a steep section of their road
reduced her to silence.
The great event of that day, which brought Jenny Doria so violently
back into the tragedy of the past, had yet to happen, and many hours
elapsed before she was confronted with it. The women climbed
presently to a little field of meadow grass that sparkled with tiny
flowers and spread its alpine sward among thickets of mulberry. Here
their work awaited them; but first they ate the eggs and wheaten
bread, walnuts and dried figs that they had brought and shared a
little flask of red wine. They finished with a handful of cherries
and then Assunta began to pluck leaves for her great basket while
Jenny loitered a while and smoked a cigarette. It was a new habit
acquired since her marriage.
Presently she set to work and assisted her companion until they had
gathered a full load of leaves. Then the younger plucked one or two
great golden orange lilies that grew in this little glen, and soon
the women started upon their homeward way. They had descended about
a mile and at a shoulder of Griante sat down to rest in welcome
shadow. Beneath, to the northward, lay their home beside the water
and, gazing down upon the scattered and clustered habitations of
Menaggio, Jenny declared that she saw the red roof of Villa Pianezzo
and the brown of the lofty shed behind, where dwelt her uncle's
silkworms.
Opposite, on its promontory, stood the little township of Bellagio
and behind it flashed the glassy face of Lecco in the cloudless
sunshine. And then, suddenly, as if it had been some apparition
limned upon the air, there stood in the path the figure of a tall
man. His red head was bare and from the face beneath shone a pair of
wild and haggard eyes. They saw the stranger's great tawny
mustache, his tweed garments and knickerbockers, his red waistcoat,
and the cap he carried in his hand.
It was Robert Redmayne. Assunta, who gazed upon him without
understanding, suddenly felt Jenny's hand tighten hard upon her arm.
Jenny uttered one loud cry of terror and then relaxed and fell
unconscious upon the ground. The widow leaped to her aid, cried
comfortable words and prayed the young wife to fear nothing; but it
was some time before Jenny came to her senses and when she did so
her nerve appeared to have deserted her.
"Did you see him?" she gasped, clinging to Assunta and gazing
fearfully where her uncle had stood.
"Yes, yes--a big, red man; but he meant us no harm. When you cried
out, he was more frightened than we. He leaped down, like a red fox,
into the wood and disappeared. He was not an Italian. A German or
Englishman, I think. Perhaps a smuggler planning to fetch tea and
cigars and coffee and salt from Switzerland. If he leaves enough for
the doganieri, they will wink at him. If he does not, they will
shoot him--sons of dogs!"
"Remember what you saw!" said Jenny tremulously: "Remember exactly
what he looked like, that you may be able to tell Uncle Albert just
how it was, Assunta. He is Uncle Albert's brother--Robert Redmayne!"
Assunta Marzelli knew something of the mystery and understood that
her master's brother was being hunted for great crimes.
She crossed herself.
"Merciful God! The evil man. And so red! Let us fly, signora."
"Which way did he go?"
"Straight down through the wood beneath us."
"Did he recognize me, Assunta? Did he seem to know me? I dared not
look a second time."
Assunta partially followed the question.
"No. He did not look either. He stared out over the lake and his
face was like a lost soul's face. Then you cried out and still he
did not look but disappeared. He was not angry."
"Why is he here? How has he come and where from?"
"Who shall say? Perhaps the master will know."
"I am in great fear for the master, Assunta. We must go home as
quickly as possible."
"Is there danger to the signor from his brother?"
"I do not know. I think there may be."
Jenny helped Assunta with her great basket, lifted it on her
shoulders and then set off beside her. But the rate of progress
proved too slow for her patience.
"I have a horrible dread," she said. "Something tells me that we
ought to be going faster. Would you be frightened if I were to leave
you, Assunta, and make greater haste?"
The other managed to understand and declared that she felt no fear.
"I have no quarrel with the red man," she said. "Why should he hurt
me? Perhaps he was not a man but a spirit, signora."
"I wish he were," declared Jenny. "But it was not a ghost you heard
leap into the wood, Assunta. I will run as fast as I can and take
the short cuts."
They parted and Jenny hastened, risked her neck sometimes, and sped
forward with the energy of youth and on the wings of fear. Assunta
saw her stop and turn and listen once or twice; then the crags and
hanging thickets hid her from view.
Jenny saw and heard no more of the being who had thus so
unexpectedly returned into her life. Her thoughts were wholly with
Albert Redmayne and, as she told him when she met him, it remained
for him to consider the significance of this event and determine
what steps should be taken for his own safety. He was at Bellagio
when she reached home, and his manservant, Assunta's brother,
Ernesto, explained that Mr. Redmayne had crossed after luncheon to
visit his dearest friend, the book lover, Virgilio Poggi.
"A book came by the postman, signora, and the master must needs hire
boat and cross at once," explained Ernesto, who spoke good English
and was proud of his accomplishment.
Jenny waited impatiently and she was at the landing stage when
Albert returned. He smiled to see her and took off his great slouch
hat.
"My beloved Virgilio was overjoyed that I should have found the
famous book--the veritable Italian edition of Sir Thomas
Browne--his 'Pseudodoxia Epidemica.' A red-letter day for us both!
But--but--" He looked at Jenny's frightened eyes and felt her hand
upon his sleeve. "Why, what is wrong? You are alarmed. No ill news
of Giuseppe?"
"Come home quickly," she answered, "and I will explain. A very
terrible thing has happened. I cannot think what we should do. Only
this I know: I am not going to leave you again until it is cleared
up."
At home Albert took off his great hat and cloak. Then he sat in his
study--an amazing chamber, lined with books to the lofty ceiling and
dark in tone by reason of the prevalent rich but sombre bindings of
five thousand volumes. Jenny told him that she had seen Robert
Redmayne, whereupon her uncle considered for five minutes, then
declared himself both puzzled and alarmed. He showed no fear,
however, and his large, luminous eyes shone out of his little,
withered face unshadowed. None the less he was quick to read danger
into this extraordinary incident.
"You are positive?" he asked. "Everything depends on that. If you
have seen my unfortunate, vanished brother again here, so near to
me, it is exceedingly amazing, Jenny. Can you say positively,
without a shadow of doubt, that the melancholy figure was not a
figment of your imagination, or some stranger who resembled Robert?"
"I wish to Heaven I could, Uncle Albert. But I am positive."
"The very fact that he appeared exactly as you saw him last--in the
big tweed suit and red waistcoat--would support an argument in
favour of hallucination," declared her uncle. "For how on earth can
the poor creature, if he be really still alive, have remained in
those clothes for a year and travelled half across Europe in them?"
"It is monstrous. And yet there he stood and I saw him as clearly as
I see you. He was certainly not in my thoughts. I was thinking of
nothing and talking to Assunta about the silkworms, when suddenly he
appeared, not twenty yards away."
"What did you do?"
"I made a fool of myself," confessed Jenny. "Assunta says that I
cried out very loud and then toppled over and fainted. When I came
round there was nothing to be seen."
"The point is then: did Assunta see him also?"
"That was the first thing I found out. I hoped she had not. That
would have saved the situation in a way and proved it was only some
picture of the mind as you suggest. But she saw him clearly
enough--so clearly that she described a red man not Italian, but
English or German. She heard him, too. When I cried out he leaped
away into the woods."
"Did he see and recognize you?"
"That I do not know. Probably he did."
Mr. Redmayne lighted a cigar which he took from a box on a little
table by the open hearth. He drew several deep breaths before he
spoke again.
"This is a very disquieting circumstance and I greatly wish it had
not happened," he said. "There may be no cause for alarm; but, on
the other hand, when we consider the disappearance of my brother
Bendigo, I have a right to feel fear. By some miracle, Robert, for
the last six months, has continued to evade capture and conceal the
fact of his insanity. That means I am now faced with a most
formidable danger, Jenny, and it behooves me to exercise the
greatest possible care of my person. You, too, for all we can say,
may be in peril."
"I may be," she said. "But you matter more. We must do something
swiftly, uncle--to-day--this very hour."
"Yes," he admitted. "We are painfully challenged by Providence, my
child. Heaven helps those who help themselves, however. I have never
before, to my knowledge, been in any physical danger and the
sensation is exceedingly unpleasant. We will drink some strong tea
and then determine our course of action. I confess that I feel a
good deal perturbed."
His words were at variance with his quiet and restrained expression,
but Mr. Redmayne had never told a falsehood in his life and Jenny
knew that he was indeed alarmed.
"You must not stop here to-night," she said. "You must cross to
Bellagio and stay with Signor Poggi until we know more."
"We shall see as to that. Prepare the tea and leave me for half an
hour to reflect."
"But--but--Uncle Albert--he--he might come at any moment!"
"Do not think so. He is now, poor soul, a creature of the night. We
need not fear that he will intrude in honest sunshine upon the
haunts of men. Leave me and tell Ernesto to admit nobody who is not
familiar to him. But I repeat, we need fear nothing until after
dark."
In half an hour Jenny returned with Mr. Redmayne's tea.
"Assunta has just come back. She has seen nothing more of--of Uncle
Robert."
For a time Albert said nothing. He drank, and ate a large macaroon
biscuit. Then he told his niece the plans he was prepared to follow.
"Providence is, I think, upon our side, pretty one," he began, "for
my amazing friend, Peter Ganns, who designed to visit me in
September, has already arrived in England; and when he hears of this
ugly sequel to the story I confided in his ears last winter, I am
bold to believe that he will hasten to me immediately and not
hesitate to modify his plans. He is a methodical creature and hates
to change; but circumstances alter cases and I feel justified in
telling you that he will come as soon as he conveniently can do so.
This I say because he loves me."
"I'm sure he will," declared Jenny.
"Write me two letters," continued Albert. "One to Mr. Mark Brendon,
the young detective from Scotland Yard, of whom I entertained a high
opinion; and also write to your husband. Direct Brendon to approach
Peter Ganns and beg them both to come to me as quickly as their
affairs allow. Also bid Giuseppe to return to you immediately. He
will serve to protect us, for he is fearless and resolute."
But Jenny showed no joy at this suggestion.
"I was to have had a peaceful month with you," she pouted.
"So indeed I hoped; but it can hardly be peaceful now and I confess
that the presence of Doria would go some way to compose my nerves.
He is powerful, cheerful, and full of resource. He is also brave. He
remembers the past and he knows poor Robert by sight. If, therefore,
my brother is indeed near at hand and to be expected at any moment,
then I should be glad of some capable person to stand between us.
Should my brother presently indicate, through you or somebody else,
that he wants to see me alone by night, as in the case of Bendigo,
then I must absolutely decline any such adventure. We meet in the
presence of armed men, or not at all."
Jenny had left Doria for a time and apparently felt no desire to see
him again until her promised visit to her uncle should be ended.
"I heard from Giuseppe three days ago," she said. "He has left
Ventimiglia and gone to Turin, where he used to work and where he
has many friends. He has a project."
"I shall speak with him seriously when next we meet," declared the
old man. "I entertain great admiration for your attractive spouse,
as you know. He is a delightful person; but it is time we consider
the future of your twenty thousand pounds and yourself, Jenny. In
the course of nature all that is mine will also be yours, and when
the estate of poor Bendigo is wound up, my present income must be
nearly doubled. Leave to presume death, however, may be delayed. But
the fact remains that you will enjoy the Redmayne money sooner or
later, and I want to come to grips with Giuseppe and explain to him
that he must understand his responsibilities."
Jenny sighed.
"Nobody will make him understand them, uncle."
"Do not say so. He is intelligent and has, I am sure, a sense of
honour as well as a deep and devoted affection for you. But he must
not spend your money. I will not allow that. Write to him at Turin
and entreat him from me to abandon anything that he may have in hand
and join us instantly here. We need not keep him long; but he can
look after us for a while until we learn when Ganns and Brendon are
to be expected."
Jenny promised, without much enthusiasm, to call her husband to the
rescue.
"He will laugh and perhaps refuse to come," she said. "But since you
think it wise, I will beg him to hasten and tell him what has
happened. Meanwhile what of to-night and to-morrow night?"
"To-night I go across the water to Bellagio and you come with me. It
is impossible that Robert should know we are there. Virgilio Poggi
will take care of us and be very jealous for me if I hint that I am
in any danger."
"I'm sure he will. And should you not warn the police about Uncle
Robert and give them a description of him?"
"I'm not sure as to that. We will consider to-morrow. I little like
the ways of the Italian police."
"You might have watchers here to-night, ready to take him if he
appears," suggested Jenny.
But Albert finally decided against giving any information.
"For the moment I shall do nothing. We will see what another morning
may bring forth. To feel this awful presence suddenly so close is
very distressing and I do not want to think of him any more until
to-morrow. Write the letters and then we will put a few things
together and cross the lake before it is evening."
"You do not fear for your books, Uncle Albert?"
"No, I have no fear for my books. If there is a homicidal being
here, intent upon my life, he will not look to the right or the
left. Even when he was sane, poor Robert never knew anything about
books or their value. He will not seek them--nor could he reach them
if he did."
"Did he ever visit you here in the past? Does he know Italy?" she
said.
"So far as I am aware he was never here in his life. Certainly he
never visited me. It is, in fact, so many years since I have seen
him that I might have met him and failed to recognize the unhappy
man."
Jenny wrote the letters and posted them; then she packed for her
uncle and herself and presently, having warned Assunta and Ernesto
that no stranger must be admitted until his return on the following
day, Albert Redmayne prepared to cross the lake. First, however, he
locked and barred his library and transferred half a dozen volumes
more than commonly precious to a steel safe aloft in his bedroom.
A boatman quickly rowed them to the landing stage of Bellagio and
they soon reached the dwelling of Albert's friend, who welcomed them
with an equal measure of surprise and delight.
Signor Poggi, a small, fat man with a bald head, broad brow, and
twinkling eyes, grasped their hands and listened with wonder to the
reason for their arrival. He knew English and always delighted in
the practice of that language when opportunity offered.
"But this is beyond belief!" he said. "An enemy for Alberto! Who
should be his enemy--he who is the friend of every man? What romance
is this, Signora Jenny, that throws danger into the path of your
dear uncle?"
"It is the sudden threat and terror of my vanished brother,"
explained Mr. Redmayne. "You are familiar, Virgilio, with the
terrible facts concerning Robert's appearance and Bendigo's
disappearance. Now, suddenly, when I have long come to believe that
my younger brother's lurid career was ended and that he had ceased
to be, he leaps upon the mountains and reappears in his habit as he
lived! Nor can we doubt that he lives indeed. He is no ghost, my
friend, but a solid, shadow-casting man, who may be seeking my life
by reason of his distempered mind."
"It is romance," declared Virgilio, "but romance of a very grim and
painful description. You are, however, safe enough with me, for I
would gladly shed my blood to save yours."
"Well I know it, rare Virgilio," declared the other. "But we shall
not long impose ourselves upon your courage and generosity. We have
written to England for Peter Ganns who, by God's providence, is now
in that country and hoped to visit me in a few months. We have also
called upon Giuseppe Doria to return at once to us. When he does so
I am content to sleep at home again; but not sooner."
Signor Poggi hastened to order a meal worthy of the occasion, while
his wife, who was also a devoted admirer of the Englishman, prepared
apartments. Nothing but delight filled Poggi's mind at the
opportunity to serve his dearest companion. An ample meal was
planned and Jenny helped her hostess in its preparation.
Poggi drank to the temporal and eternal welfare of his first friend
and Albert returned the compliment. They enjoyed a pleasant meal and
then sat through the June twilight in Virgilio's rose garden,
smelled the fragrance of oleanders and myrtles in the evening
breeze, saw the fireflies flash their little lamps over dim olive
and dark cypress, and heard the summer thunder growling genially
over the mountain crowns of Campione and Croce.
Mr. Redmayne's niece retired early and Maria Poggi with her, but
Virgilio and Albert talked far into the night and smoked many cigars
before they slept.
At nine o'clock next morning Mr. Redmayne and Jenny were rowed home
again, only to hear that no intruder had broken upon the nightly
peace of Villa Pianezzo. Nor did the day bring any news. Once more
they repaired to Bellagio before dark, and for three days lived
thus. Then there came a telegram from Turin to say that Doria was
returning immediately to Como and might soon be expected via Milan;
while on the morning that actually brought him to Menaggio, his wife
received a brief letter from Mark Brendon. He had found Mr. Ganns
and the two would set forth for Italy within a few days.
"It is impossible that we can receive both here," declared Albert;
"but we will engage pleasant apartments with dear Signor Bullo at
the Hotel Victoria. They are full, or nearly so; but he will find a
corner for any friends of mine."