CHAPTER II. THE INVALID AND HIS FRIENDS.
The next morning after breakfast, I
made a careful toilet, and, ordering a carriage,
paid a visit to my new acquantance,
who occupied a very beautiful villa
on the hill, overlooking the pictnresque
city and lovely bay, with old smoking
Vesuvius rising grandly on the left.
Early as it was, some three or four carriages
were at the door, and quite a number
of visitors within, for news of the
outrage had spread, and had already occasioned
much excitement among the foreign
residents of Naples, especially the
English.
In answer to my inquiry, the footman
informed me, in a rather surly way, that
his master had not rested well through
the night, that the surgeon had advised
him not to see many visitors, and that in
consequence he had denied himself to
nearly every one.
“You may take up my card,” said I,
“and then you can inform me whether I
am one of the excluded parties or not.”
The man, who either feigned not to
know me or really did not, hesitated, and
expressed by his looks that he thought it
would be of no use. At length he turned
away, with a surly “Walk in, sir,” and
showed me into a small, elegautly furnished
parlor, where I remained alone
during his absence. I say alone, because
there was no other person in the room;
but a door, opening into a large saloon
or drawing-room, was sufficiently ajar
for me to overhear a conversation evidently
not intended for my ear.
“Those odions Americans,” said a voice
that I instantly recognized as that of Mrs.
Blakely. “I do wish there were any way
to keep them out of our family, short of
a quarrel with my hege lord, as the saying
is.”
“I do wonder at papa's taste!” said the
daughter. “I fear he will be worse than
ever now, since he claims that a newcomer
of that crew saved his life last
night.”
“From the fellow's appearance I should
rather believe he had a hand in the robbery
first,” rejoined the mother. “Like
things have happened, you know, count.”
“Very true, madam,” replied a smooth,
mellow, insinuating, masculine voice,
with a slight Italian accent, “I once knew
of a similar case myself.”
“Do tell us about it, Count!” sweetly
pleaded Miss Carile Blakely.
“It was an affair like this just mentioned.
A rich gentleman and his daughter
were assailed by robbers, a stranger
came to their rescue and saved them. He
was invited home and became intimate
with the family, and at length married
the young lady. Two years after he was
apprehended as the robber chief, and, to
save his reputation, swallowed poison.”
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“Was he an American?” queried Mrs.
Blakely.
“Now I think of it, I believe he was,
madam.”
“I was sure of it.”
“I cannot bear them!” said another
feminine voice.
“They are so inquisitive and impertinent!”
said still another.
“I always avoid them when I can,” was
remarked, in a masculine tone, by still
another speaker.
“Aw, yes, weally, I do myself,” coincided
the Hon. Jackanapes whom I had
met the night before.
“This affair, though, will never have
the termination of the one you mention,
my lord,” said Miss Blakely; “for in this
case, I am the daughter of the rescued
gentleman, and I am sure I shall never
marry an American!”
At this moment the servant returned
and said his master wished to see me immediately.
I arose and followed him,
feeling somewhat indignant at the scandal
I had heard, and yet, on the whole, not
a little amnsed at the idea of being taken
for a bandit chief. What would my fashionable
friends of New York say to such
complimentary conjectures?
I found Mr. Blakely undressed in bed,
with his head bandaged, his features unusually
pale, and having a general appearance
of much nervous excitability.
“I'm glad you've come, Alfred,” he
said, in a kind of rough but cordial way,
extending his hand and grasping mine as
if he had a soul in him.
“I hope I see you better this morning,
Mr. Blakely?”
“I wish you did, but you don't. I didn't
rest well last night. I don't like being
confined to my bed at all; but Dr. Graham
says I'll have to stay here for a while.
Ah! I only wish I had those scoundrels
where I could pay them off! I'll have
them yet, too. I've already sent for Mr.
Barber, the acting English consol, a
friend of mine, and I'm going to offer a
heavy reward for the detection and conviction
of the villains.”
“If what I have heard of the Italian
manner of catching and dealing with
criminals of that class be true, I am afraid
it will not amount to anything,” I observed.
“Did you see any one of them, Alfred,
so that you'd know him again?”
“No, it was too dark, and they all fled
before I came up. By-the-by, Mr. Blakely,
did you make any resistance that led
them to assault you in that murderous
way?”
“Wall, you see, when they stopped the
carriage, and ordered me to hand over
my watch, jewelry and purse, Georgine,
she screamed, I cried out, and fired off a
small pocket pistol to scare them. The
next minute I was shot and dragged out
in the roughest kind of way, and that's
about all I recollect till I heard your
voice.”
“I suppose they robbed you?”
“Yes, to be sure they got my watch and
purse, a diamond breast-pin, a seal ring,
and Georgine's earnings. The whole
affair wouldn't amount to much, taking
out the insult of robbing an Enslishman,
only that the watch and ring were heirlooms,
that I wouldn't have parted with
for five times their value.”
“Perhaps by offering a reward for them
of more than their real value, you may
get them back!”
“You're suggestion 's a good one,
Alfred, and I'll think about it. I would
like to have those trinkets back, that's
true. I think I'll try it. By-the-by, do
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you think my Italian coachman had anything
to do with the robbery?”
“He was certainly taking matters very
coolly when I came up, and I had my suspicions.
But then his coolness might
have been only an Italian habit. The
people of this country are so used to
brigandage, that they rather expect it,
and are seldom unprepared for it.”
“You talk as if you knew the country
well. How long have you been here?”
“Only a week or so, but I was pretty
well read up before I came.”
“After all, I've no right to suspect the
fellow, for he was recommended to me by
a very warm friend of the family, no less
a person than Alfonzo Count Saverlini.”
“An Italian who speaks English Well?”
queried I.
“Yes, do you know him?”
“No, but while waiting below, I heard
some one in the adjoining apartment addressed
as count, and I heard his voice
in reply.”
“That must be him then! I wonder he
hasn't sent up to see me!”
I was tempted to repeat to Mr. Blakely
the whole conversation I had overheard,
but on reflection decided not to do it.
“How long have you known the
count?” I inquired.
“I've only known him about eight
months myself—slnce I first came to Naples
to live—but my wife and daughter
met him a year before, at a German
watering-place.”
“Is he a resident of Naples?”
“Well, not exactly, I believe. He's
here and there, and travels a good deal.”
“Wealthy?”
“So reputed. He's got a flne castle
and estate, back among the mountains.
I've never seen it; but he proposes to take
us all out there for a sojourn during the
hot weather.”
“Do you intend going?”
“I did think of it, and may if I get well
enough in time, replied the invalid, now
fixing his eyes upon me in a peculiar
way. But why these questions, Alfred?”
“I hardly know,” I answered, with some
confusion, “curiosity I think. You know
we Americans are proverbially inquisitive.
I beg your pardon, though! I did
not intend to inquire into your private
affairs!”
“Oh, pshaw, Alfred! there's nothing
private about it, I didn't mean that. And
so you think my coachman, Luigi, is a
sort of a spy, eh?”
“I merely stated my first suspicion,
Mr. Blakely; but you know the man better
than I do, and should be the best
judge.”
“I've a mind to discharge him—though
the fellow, if honest. is very useful, for
he's a good driver, and knows the roads
and country well for miles around.”
“Do not be hasty in your conclusions
then, for you might make a mistake.”
“At any rate I'll have a talk with the
count about him, and see what he
thinks.”
After some further conversation, I
asked the question which had all along
been uppermost in my mind:
“How is Miss Delamere this morning?
I hope she has entirely recovered from
her fright.”
“Not altogether, poor girl! and she
didn't rest well last night,” replied the
invalid, in a sympathetic tone. “She
worries too much about me—though I've
tried my best to make her believe it's not
anything very serious.”
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“She loves you, Mr. Blakely, that is
very evident.”
“Bless her sweet little heart, I believe
she does,” he replied, looking at me in a
peculiar manner. “And, Alfred,” he
added, glancing around the chamber, and
lowering his voice in a confidential way,
“I'm afraid she's the only one of my
family who does.”
“Oh, I hope not, sir.”
“Yes, I'm feared it's too true,” he pursued,
with a rather sorrowful shake of
the head. “You see, I'm a plain, blunt,
straightforward sort of a man, and not
stylish enough for my proud, haughty
wife and daughter—not fashionable
enough for them, nor yet simple enough
to be used as a mere tool. Lady Blakely,
as I sometimes call her—for her maternal
grandfather was a knight—is always
boasting of her blood, and thinks nothing
under some ninny of rank her equal.
She was poor and I was rich, and so she
condescended to marry me and tease me—
though when I do get roused, she finds
I'm no driveling fool to be led by the
nose. She hates Georgine, too, the poor
child! and that worries me at times, for
it's so unpleasant for one to live in a family
where one's not welcomed by all.
Poor puss! she's had trouble. Her
mother, my sister, married a man who
get led off by gamesters, spent all his
money and hers, too, and then blew his
brains out. His wife loved him, and
didn't long survive him. And then,
three years ago, I brought Georgine home
to live with me. But they don't make
anything by treating her coldly,” he pursued,
looking at me with a meaning
smile. “I only take to her the more,
and I've fixed things so that when I get
out of the way she'll be provided for. All
this to yourself, though, Alfred! It isn't
my habit to be communicative to strangers,
and I've told you more than I
should, perhaps; but somehow one feels
as if he could make a confidant of the
man that saved his life.”
“Depend upon it, Mr. Blakely, your
confidence shall never be abused,” said I.
“I knew that before I told you, Alfred.
I can read faces and hearts, too. By the
way, would you like to see Georgine?”
“If agreeable to herself, I should be
much pleased to meet her again,” said I,
feeling a quickening of the blood at the
thought.
He rung the bell and sent for his niece.
Bennett, Emerson, 1822-1905 [1869], The bandit queen: a tale of Italy. (Street and Smith, New York) [word count] [eaf461T].
