“Do not worry,” I told the contessa. “I have dug my way out of such places before. I once even set fire to a door to get out of a locked room.”
“Let it not come to that,” the contessa said severely.
I admired her bravery. She ought to be terrified, but instead, she sat in ice-cold rage.
I refused to give way to despair. Brewster would prevail and find us. Trevisan would give up trying to be discreet and scour the city for his mother. And if he did not, Donata would.
As soon as I could no longer hear footsteps in the distance, I studied the door. I wondered if Baldini had caused it to be made, or perhaps someone had stored something down here, and Baldini, exploring, had found it and decided to use it to his advantage.
The door was by no means a masterwork of carpentry. Wood easily rots and molds, and this door wasn’t reinforced by any metal. I hurled myself into it, shoulder first, but that, unfortunately, did little but hurt my shoulder.
“A board is loose on this end.” The contessa pointed to where the edge of the door met the wall on the bolt end. “I pried at it, but it was too much for me.”
My admiration for her increased. She’d not only weathered her abduction but had tried to work her way out.
I found the board she indicated, braced myself on the wall, and began to kick it. The wood bowed a little, but did not break.
“You are courageous, contessa,” I said, continuing my assault on the board. “You remind me of my wife.”
“Ah, the Lady Donata,” the contessa said. “She is a woman of much sadness, I think.”
I paused to glance at her. “Did she say that?” I asked in surprise.
“She did not, but I saw it in her. She has suffered loss. She was a widow, was she not?”
“Yes, but her husband wasn’t much of a catch. Donata had no love for him.”
“She was young when she married, she told me. I imagine she was in love, as ridiculously as one can love at such an age. Her husband broke her heart.”
My boot on the door told the room what I thought of the late Lord Breckenridge. “He did cause her pain. I haven’t forgiven him for that.”
“Has she lost a child?”
“She nearly did.” I recalled the horrible night when Donata lay in great pain trying to bring in Anne, and I’d known with certainly she would die. Only the surgeon, the strange man employed by Denis, had saved her life. “Our daughter Anne is right as rain, thank God, but Donata can bear no more children.”
“Perhaps that is it. She has the look of one whose hope was taken from her. I have seen it on my own face.” The contessa smoothed her skirt, fingers trembling. “I did manage to bear two healthy children in the end. Vittore, my son, and Paolina, my daughter. She married an Austrian.” Her lip curled. “But she is happy, and I do not begrudge her.”
I continued thumping on the door. “My wife told me about your granddaughter. I was sorry to hear it. A terrible thing.”
“It was.” The contessa’s voice grew subdued. “She was a beautiful child, with a full life before her. Taken because a clumsy Frenchman could not control his horses. Bonaparte has much to answer for in her death.”
I reflected that the Corsican should bless his luck that he was safe on Saint Helena and out of the contessa’s reach.
“I did not mean that your wife is unhappy now,” the contessa went on as I renewed my determination to beat my way out of here. “She has a contentedness about her. She has learned to shut out pain and embrace life once again. I envy her this.”
I halted my battering, first to catch my breath and secondly to send her a look of compassion. “Perhaps one day, you will too.”
The contessa gave me a faint smile. “No, Captain. That will not happen.”
She said nothing more, and I went back to work, unable to think of words to comfort her. Perhaps there were none, only platitudes to half patch the wound that would never close.
The board finally gave. I pulled it off, nails groaning as they popped out and clinked onto the wall, dangerously close to my face. On the other side of the hole I’d made, the bolt held the door firmly. I wriggled my fingers through the gap, but the opening was too small for me to grasp the bolt.
“Contessa,” I said. “Might I borrow your hand a moment?”
She gracefully rose without question and joined me at the door. The contessa’s hand did fit through the gap, but the bolt was stiff.
However, her resolution could have brought an army to a halt. The contessa pried and jiggled the piece of iron until finally, long after I’d have given up, the bolt slipped free of its setting and the door creaked open.
