“I’m sure the count has interpreters of his own,” he began.
Nora, standing at the door with hands in a white-knuckled clasp, couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes.
“How could I ever trust a word they said?” she asked.
She can’t.“I’ll meet you at 1:30,” he said while he gently unwound her hands, cold as ice, and took them both in his. Warmth began to flow between them. “Never fear. I’ll be there.”
He would. Damn. At least “Major Bently” would.With luck, James Heyworth, Baron Ross would stay far away. Perhaps his old coat would put him beneath notice. If the count stooped to notice him, no secrets would be safe.
She swallowed hard and nodded. “I know. You haven’t failed me once. I’m sorry to rush in here, but I had nowhere else to go.” She let go of his hands, taking warmth with her.
He placed a hand to the small of her back to guide her to the door. The fragile bones of her back lay in his hand.How could he leave this little bird to face the wrath of Savoy alone?
“You worry for Isabella’s sake. Don’t. We’ll face this count together. Besides, you have one powerful protection.”
“You are—” she began.
“Not me.”Lord, no, not me. Use sense Nora. “Mother Margarita. She wants what is best for Isabella as much as you do.” How far the Reverend Mother and Nora might differ about just what constituted “best” he left unsaid.
Still, he couldn’t take her into enemy territory without good reconnaissance. He watched her on her way, seized with a fierce desire to justify her trust.
An hour later, the clatter of crockery contended with a cacophony of multilingual conversation in Jamie’s ears. The snug café near the Piazza Venezia sounded like its cousins in any other capital when the younger sons and lowly clerks of the diplomatic corps paused for luncheon.
The café sat near the embassy of Hanover where England, having no formal relations with the Vatican state, planted its diplomats informally among the representatives of the king’s cousins.
With his hair trimmed and his jacket freshly brushed, Jamie looked only slightly less respectable than the regular clientele. He nursed coffee and prosciutto and strained to eavesdrop on several conversations at once. Nothing of value reached his ears.
From his vantage point he could watch the clock tower tick away the minutes until he had to meet his employer. Cursing the wasted time, he had almost risen to leave when he heard it.
“What news from Turin?” The asker spoke German. His companion, a fresh-faced puppy with startling red hair dropped his voice to answer. Jamie heard “Savoy” and “rebels” but little else. He edged his chair closer.Upheaval in the Sardinian capital?
“Quiet for now,” the puppy said, obviously trying to impress the blunt faced man who had asked. “But we know the…” His voice faded. Then Jamie heard, “Nephews and cousins would like to see the king fall.” Jamie filled with gratitude for the indiscretion of junior officials.
The puppy rose to leave and almost tripped over the chair Jamie conveniently placed in the way.
“Sorry, sir.” Jamie made a gesture meant to indicate the terrible crowding in the café.
“Not a problem,” the puppy replied. His eyes narrowed. “English?” he asked. “I don’t believe I know you.”
“Bently,” Jamie said, putting out his hand. He felt sweat bead on his forehead. The last thing he needed was the attention of some eager clerk the Foreign Office planted in the Hanoverian embassy to keep an eye on expatriate Englishmen, yet he sat across from just such a man thanks to Nora Haley.
“Campbell, Archie Campbell,” the puppy said shaking his hand. “I’m, ah, visiting Von Reden at their embassy.” The fool almost winked at the pretense. “If I can be of any assistance, don’t hesitate to ask,” he preened.
You could forget you ever saw me. The puppy probably would anyway. “Thank you. Good of you,” he bit out, forcing a smile, certain now that the puppy’s position made his information about Savoy mostly accurate.
Archie Campbell swaggered out, looking certain that his position of importance had impressed one more pathetic English traveler. Jamie let him turn the corner before hurrying away.
Upheaval in the Sardinian capital sounded serious, perhaps as serious as the rebellion in Naples. It should keep Castellimonte preoccupied, he thought. Factions in the House of Savoy were another matter. Jamie had no idea whether that would help or hurt his employer’s situation.
Chapter Ten
Nora, sitting uncomfortably in the great hall of the Palazzo di Savoia, devoured Isabella with her eyes and struggled to understand why the girl had been forced to attend the audience.Don’t any of these people care about a little girl’s misery?
Her heart ached.These wretched people go out of their way to make others miserable.Nora perched herself on a tiny gilt bench and craned her neck upward. Above her, the Count di Castellimonte held court from a massive chair and inspected all with stone-faced hauteur.
Behind her right shoulder, the major interpreted everything that was said, speaking softly into her right ear. “Theater, Mrs. Haley,” he whispered. “Don’t let it spook you.” The warmth of his nearness comforted her more than his words.
“You have come, Mrs. Haley, because Mother Margarita has told us of your interest in my great-niece,” the count intoned. He ignored the small body fixed so miserably on a stool to his right. Isabella fidgeted and wiggled; she nearly fell.
