The Man with the Double Heart Part 32

"No--not exactly. I'm going there on business."

McTaggart paused a moment, then made up his mind.

"I've inherited a property from my mother's brother. He was killed in an accident, near Rome, with his sons."

The effect on his audience was electrical.

"But, Monsieur!" ... he stuttered--"e impossibile!--Monsieur is not the English Milord?--the new Marchese Maramonte?"

For the third time off came his hat.

"I'm afraid so." Peter laughed outright. For the old man, wiry and light, was on his feet, bowing before him with a deferential air.

"My humble 'felicitations' to Monsieur le Marquis. His lawyer, Jacopo Vanni--at his service."

"No!--really?" McTaggart held out his hand and shook the other's heartily; and by that simple act, unknown to himself, he secured a life-long friend.

"You're just the very man I wanted to meet."

"We were in despair," Vanni continued, "no news from England when I left yesterday! I have been in Florence on business for the Marchesa, and, I suppose, the message arrived later."

"I only wired early this morning. The letter had miscarried and reached me last night. As you see, I have wasted no time in coming!"

McTaggart smiled back at the eager old face.

"And now, can you tell me some of my new duties? I am anxious to learn the extent of my inheritance and I feel rather like a duck out of water! Not speaking Italian makes it worse. I should really be grateful for any advice."

"Monsieur le Marquis does me honour." The bright eyes devoured him, approving his handsome face. "Every inch a Maramonte!" Unconsciously, he spoke aloud.

"Really?" McTaggart was interested. "I was always told I resembled my mother."

"Sicuro!" Vanni's voice was stirred. "All save the eyes--of the English blue. And when Monsieur sees his gallery of portraits, he will feel at home! Monsieur le Marquis is like his famous ancestor--that Giordano Maramonte, the hero of Montaperti, who led in the capture of the Carroccio of Firenze ... And there is a look of the Marchese Cesare--who went down to fame for his attack on the Citadel. He drove the Spaniards out of Siena--that was before the last great siege..."

His words poured on. He was plainly lost in the history of the house he served, back in those war-like days of the past when great names testified to greater deeds.

McTaggart realized he had touched on a hobby. "Tell me all about my family." He leaned back, happy, and lit a cigarette while the old man drew with lightning gestures on his absorbing h.o.a.rd of knowledge.

Of Guelph and Ghibeline intrigue, of wars with Spain and Florentine raids; of Popes and Emperors, Patriots, Tyrants; of the endless strife between the n.o.bles and people; of the "Sacrifice of the Useless Mouths"

and the Plague that ran like a burning flame.

So enthralled was McTaggart that the time pa.s.sed on flying wings until, at length, the train swept into the last noisy tunnel.

Vanni started. He glanced at his watch.

"Ecco Siena!"--and, at the words, a curious thrill ran through his listener of excitement tinged with awakened pride.

For the vast part his house had played in the wars and government of the city, their reckless heroism and careless prodigality had thrown a new light of fiery romance on this inheritance of his.

With it was blent an odd shrinking, the nervousness of the Englishman before the customs and conventions alien to his normal life.

The train emerged, lights twinkled. The long journey was accomplished.

CHAPTER XV

Signor Vanni, full of importance and inwardly delighted at the accident which had placed the hero of the hour in his hands, gathered up his portfolio and descended nimbly on to the platform with a suave:

"If Monsieur le Marquis will deign to wait?"

He was off, crying l.u.s.tily for the station-master.

McTaggart drew out his watch. It was nearly four o'clock. He felt hungry but his weariness had pa.s.sed, killed by his present sense of excitement. The air, crisp and sweet, blew in his face like frozen honey, the night was still; and through the dark he could just make out the sheltering walls rising black and sheer with a crenellated edge against the indigo of the sky, where a single luminous star was poised.

The lawyer returned with a bowing superintendent, two bowing servants and a bowing porter.

McTaggart's cap was busy again as the little group fussed about him.

He found himself at last in a vast landau, the lawyer facing him, two men on the box and a third individual mounted behind on a narrow platform between the wheels. "Like the Lord Mayor!" he said to himself and checked a wild desire to laugh.

They rumbled on through deserted streets, dark and narrow, mounted a hill, turned to the left, past a Hotel where lights were gleaming, and on again.

"The Signora Marchesa," said the lawyer, "makes her compliments and is looking forward to receive Monsieur le Marquis in the morning. The hour being so late, he would wish to sleep and, doubtless, prefers this arrangement. She asked Giuseppe to deliver the message."

"Very thoughtful of my aunt." McTaggart felt relieved at the news.

They twisted down between high houses and then there came a sudden halt. Lanterns flashed out. Peering eagerly, he saw a ma.s.sive doorway before him, flanked by windows narrow and deep with spiked bars, rusty from age. With a hollow echo they drove through the arch and emerged into an inner court, vast and full of shadows thrown by the high walls on every side.

In the centre a fountain towered up: dolphins ma.s.sed with icicles and a deep basin covered with frost supported by crouching griffins.

The carriage encircled it and stopped. The door was opened. McTaggart descended.

He found himself gazing at a marble staircase, silvery-white, with shallow steps that curved round like a parchment scroll, fairy-like, against the night.

He pa.s.sed up like a man in a dream. It led to a long gallery on the first floor, dim and high, open on one side to the air and laced with slender twisted columns. Where these supported the domed roof arches formed and the carved points bit into the outer dark like sharp teeth nibbling the heart of the sky.

A bell tolled with a sweet, low note and the entrance doors were flung wide. With a sudden sense of warmth and light he pa.s.sed through into the palace.

Walls hung with tapestry, a painted ceiling, myriad candles glimmering in crystal l.u.s.tres...

For a second McTaggart stood there, dazed. He felt an odd lump rise in his throat. Then Signor Vanni touched his arm with a whispered word of apology.

"If Monsieur le Marquis would speak to Beppo? Beppo was there in his mother's time."

"Mia madre..." The long-forgotten words rose from the mirage of the past. He looked down into a wrinkled face: an old, old man in shabby livery. The next moment his hand went out and was held in the shaky clasp of age.

"Mother of all the Saints! _Her_ face!" Tears were in the dim old eyes. "Ahi!--she was a Saint herself. A thousand humble welcomes 'a Lei'! He must forgive this old man who worships his blessed lady's memory ... G.o.d be praised that I see this day..."

"Basta ... Basta!" Vanni checked him as the soft Italian speech flowed on, unintelligible to McTaggart, smiling down at the faithful servant.