Isobel could have been knocked over with a feather. Aldo was doing a credible job of appearing pleased with the marriage. The obvious wealth betrayed by his wardrobe and his entertaining, though condescending, conversation was enough to awe the small villages’ inhabitants.
Being the cynosure of so many curious eyes was exhausting. She made polite, if stilted, conversation with the locals, wishing for nothing more than for all of them to disappear. Fortunately, both the Conte and Matteo were too focused on getting to her grandmother’s books to suffer their company for long.
They excused themselves and, after making sure they were not followed, headed into the hills to the east. Isobel led them to the ruins of an old fortification where they were joined by the count’s servants.
The ruins were so old they didn’t have a name. The history of the place, who had lived here and what they did, were details lost to time. The site wasn’t as well known as the bridge for which the town was named. In truth, few people still visited the place, mainly because there was little left above ground.
Matteo had been impressed with the ruins, but she couldn’t help but feel that his enthusiasm was a bit exaggerated. The few scattered stones and foundation remnants couldn’t possibly compare with the ancient sights of Rome or the artistic treasures of Florence and Venice.
Once they were sure there were no other visitors about, Isobel led them away from the ruins into the neighboring wood. There she located the hidden entrance to a long forgotten tunnel that led to the old dungeons and storage rooms underneath the keep. Her father had told her it was likely an escape route for the inhabitants, should the fortification have fallen under attack.
Picking her way carefully with the torches the servants Nino and Ottavio had brought, they walked deep into the ground. In a few steps the space opened up until the rough stone walls more closely resembled rooms and storage cubbies. Some parts had collapsed, the ground blocked by old masonry and stones.
“Is this place sound? Or will the ceiling fall down on our heads?” the Conte asked, giving the walls a dubious glance.
“It’s been falling for hundreds of years,” she said honestly. “As long as we’re careful, we should be fine.”
He shot her a frown before turning away.
Matteo walked forward. “Where do you think the trunks are?” he asked, glancing around him, his eyes bright and eager as he examined every fallen rock and pebble.
“Over here.”
She led them to the back wall, where a sizable amount of the ceiling had collapsed and partially blocked the entrance to one of the storage spaces. She pointed to the pile of rubble. “They’re under here.”
Matteo examined the debris. Some of the pieces were quite large. “Very clever. How on earth did your grandmother move all of these heavy stones by herself?”
“She didn’t,” Isobel whispered, as Matteo gestured for Nino and Ottavio to help him start shifting the stones. “It was my father.”
“Your father?” he asked, turning abruptly in her direction, a fistful of masonry falling out of his hand. “I thought you said he didn’t approve of you studying magic.”
Sitting on one of the larger fallen stones, she nodded. “It’s true, but only after what happened to my aunt. I told you he was open-minded. He was also a scholar, one who would rather cut his own arm off than destroy a book.” She nodded at the pile. “He brought the trunks in here, empty, and then filled them a few books at a time. Afterward, he showed me where they were, in case I was ever in a position to claim them. He did express a wish that I not do so unless I was living elsewhere. I was fourteen at the time.”
Matteo nodded, but was too busy to ask any more questions. Between the three men, they quickly uncovered the top of the first trunk.
“This is much larger than I thought it would be,” he said eventually. “We’ll never be able to carry them out without being seen. I think we should go and fetch the carriage. There’s a path leading to the ruins large enough for it, isn’t there?”
Isobel nodded.
“Then we should be able to drive it close enough to carry them out of here one at a time.”
“You’re going to put these filthy things in my carriage?” the Conte asked, his scowl fierce.
Matteo rolled his eyes. “Since we don’t have the second carriage for the luggage, yes.”
The old man scowled. “Can’t you go buy a farmer’s cart?” he asked, exasperated.
“Not without announcing what were doing to the entire neighborhood.”
Aldo stopped complaining, but he glared at Isobel as if he blamed her for the state of the trunks while Matteo gave a few quick instructions to the men in Italian. Then he turned to her and offered his arm.
“I will take you to the cottage and return with the coach.”
“What cottage?”
“We rented one for the week, until the weather improves. The innkeeper told me about it, suggesting that newlyweds need privacy,” he said with a sideways glance as he led her out of the tunnel. “My father will stay at the inn.”