The Rising Storm

'And what then?'

'I shall be awaiting you at the farmhouse. There I already have a horse for you, a pony for Quetzal and two baggage-mules to carry your treasure-chests and other most valuable possessions. I also bought a lad's clothes for you and a boy's for Quetzal. When you have changed into them, we will send your coach on its way and ourselves, by a devious route so as to avoid Florence, ride to Leghorn.'

'But Roje!' she gasped. 'Do you mean that I must part with all my servants?'

He had overlooked the possibility that, never having been without several people to do her bidding, she might take the loss of her retinue hard; but he restrained his impatience and said gently:

'My love. Your coach cannot go by bridle-paths or across fields as can mules and horses; so since it must remain on the road there is no alternative to its going forward. Were it to turn back and any agent of either your aunt or the Grand Orient chance to see it and your liveried servants passing through Florence, that would give away the fact that you are not on the road to Naples after all; just as surely as it would if anyone who knows Quetzal to be your page saw him with us in his Indian costume. Besides, as I have told you, when we are married we shall not be able to afford to keep several men-servants, so it would be no bad thing if you begin to accustom yourself to doing without them now. I pray you, in order to make more certain our escape to happiness, to give them each a handsome present tomorrow morning and send them back to your father.'

'I'll do so with the men, since you desire it,' she said after a moment. 'But I must keep Maria. I could not even dress myself without her.'

Again he had to restrain his impatience. But, having on numerous occasions indulged in the fascinating pastime of assisting young women to undress themselves, he knew quite a lot about the complicated systems of hooks and eyes that fastened their dresses at the back, and of the efforts required to tight-lace them again into their corsets. So he said:

'Take her if you must, then; but it will mean the sacrifice of a certain amount of your baggage, as she will have to ride on one of the mules.'

For a further twenty minutes they discussed details of their pro­jected journey to Leghorn; then he went to the stairs and called for his horse. While it was being saddled they took another fond but temporary farewell of one another. After urging her to go to bed and get some of the sleep that she needed so badly, he went down to the street, mounted his grey and set off back to Florence.

In spite of his fatigue, now that he no longer had a string to lead he made better time than he had on the outward journey; and at a quarter-past one he pulled up outside Meggot's English hotel.

The porter there said that he did not think they had a room vacant, but that if Roger would be pleased to wait for a moment he would find out from Mr. Meggot.

Having arrived unattended by a servant, Roger had expected some such reception, as he had learned in casual conversation with Pisani that Mr. Meggot always had rooms to spare, but was the greatest snob on earth, and kept them empty rather than admit- to his hotel anyone who was not of the first quality. He had even been known to turn away a Countess, because she had been divorced. But Roger felt quite capable of dealing with such a situation; so he threw the reins of his grey to a groom, told the porter to take his valise, and followed him inside.

The portly Mr. Meggot emerged from a small office, cast a swift eye over Roger, noted the imperfect fit of his coat, and said coldly: 'I fear that we are very full just now, sir; but my porter omitted to tell me your name.'

'My name is Brook,' replied Roger with extreme hauteur.

'Brook,' repeated Mr. Meggot a little dubiously; but, evidently impressed by Roger's manner, he added: 'Would you by chance happen to be one of the Shropshire Brooks?'

'No,' said Roger, assuming a tone of bored indifference. 'I am of the Hampshire branch. My father is Admiral Brook, and my mother, Lady Marie, is sister to the Earl of Kildonan. Since his lordship travels much in Italy it is possible that he has honoured your establishment from time to time. But why do you ask?'

Immediately Mr. Meggot became all smiles and obsequiousness. 'Only, sir, because I feel it my duty to have a care who mingles with my other guests. Our Ambassador, Lord Hervey, does me the honour to dine here quite frequently, and I should not like to put His Ex­cellency in the position of having to meet anyone who—er—well, anyone who was not quite—you understand. At the moment we have with us the Earl Fitzwilliam, who is no doubt known to you, Lord Hume and his charming sister the Honourable Mrs....'

'Quite, quite!' Roger interrupted. 'But have you a room for me?'

'Of course, Mr. Brook. Of course. Come this way, if you please. I know your uncle well. He often spent a night here on his way to attend King James in Rome. He was not truly King, of course; but many of the Scots nobility like your uncle continued to regard him as such until his death last year. I always found Lord Kildonan a most gracious nobleman—most gracious. He once said to me..'

Again Roger cut the garrulous Mr. Meggot short. 'In the last twenty-four hours I have ridden far, and I have to wait upon His Highness the Grand Duke this evening. So I wish to go to bed at once and be called at five this afternoon. Kindly arrange for that.'

'Certainly, Mr. Brook, certainly. No doubt, then, you would like a bath. I will have the maids bring you up cans of hot water while you undress.'

Eor Roger that lovely English touch outweighed all Mr. Meggot's pomposity, and dropping his curt, supercilious manner he accepted the offer with alacrity. Half an hour later, still rosy from his warm ablutions, he slipped between a pair of Mr. Meggot's fine Irish linen sheets, and almost instantly was sound asleep.

'When he was called he got up reluctantly, but nevertheless felt much refreshed. While he had slept one of the hotel valets bad made some slight alterations to his new coat, so that it should fit Better, and now came to assist him to dress. He put on white silk stockings and his best silk breeches, had his hair freshly dressed and powdered, scented himself lavishly, stuck a beauty patch on his cheek and hung his quizzing glass round his neck. So when he went downstairs at six o'clock with his hat under his arm he presented a sight guaranteed to gladden the heart of any young woman, and received a glance of deferential approval from Mr. Meggot.

Having asked that worthy for writing materials he then sat down an4 wrote the following note in careful copperplate, so that the English in which it was written should be easily legible to a foreigner who. might know only a little of that language:

Mr. Gilbert Courtnay, director of His Majesty’s Opera House, Hay-market, London, presents his compliments to the Lady Livia Gallichini.

To Mr. Courtnay's regret his present journey permits him to stay for only one night in Florence, but, even on passing through this illustrious city, he cannot deny, himself the pleasure of laying his homage at, the feet of the talented lady who now, more than any other, perpetuates its ancient lustre.

If the Lady Livia would deign to receive Mr. Court/nay for a few moments he would count that the most distinguished honour of his passage through Italy.

On his ten-mile ride back from Pontassieve earlier in the day Roger had given his whole mind to. the problem of how he might most easily gain swift; access to Donna Livia, and the note he had just written was the result of hip cogitations. He thought it very unlikely that the prima donna would refuse to receive a director of the London Opera, and that even if the Grand Duke were already with her she would ask his per­mission to have-such a visitor sent up.

All the same, he was by no means happy about the identity he had decided to assume. For one thing, while it was. not uncommon j for men of his age to be Members of Parliament or hold field-officer's rank in the Army, he greatly doubted if anyone as young as himself had ever been the director of a Royal Opera Company. For another, although like every educated person of his time he spent a fair portion of his leisure listening to music, it had never been a passion with him, and he knew practically nothing of its technicalities. If he found Donna Livia alone that would not matter, but if circumstances compelled him to put up a bluff that he was conversant with the works of all the leading composers, it might prove extremely awkward. But, with his usual optimism, he thrust such misgivings into the back of his mind, had a carozza summoned, and drove in it to Donna Livia's house.

As he knew that one of the fashionable recreations of Florentine ladies was holding conversazioni, he thought it quite possible that he would find her so engaged. But, on enquiring, he learned that she was not receiving, so he gave his note and a silver ducat to the footman who had answered the door to him.

For a few minutes he waited in a hall floored with chequered squares of black and white marble; then the