Count Valieri's Prisoner

chapter SEVEN



MADDIE READ THE last page of her book, sighed, and tossed it away from her. She swung herself off the bed and began to walk up and down the room in the mid-afternoon sun.

Andrea Valieri had been gone for two days now, and when she’d forced herself to ask Domenica when he was expected back, the other woman had shrugged with sour malice before informing her that the business which detained him was a girl in Viareggio. ‘His amante,’ she’d added unnecessarily. ‘And very beautiful, so who knows when he will return.’

All the same, Maddie knew, with every hour that passed, that her chances of escape, already slim, were becoming positively skeletal.

Of course, he hadn’t been serious about counting the hours until he saw her again. He’d simply been winding her up, and she knew that. Told herself so continually.

Nevertheless, the news about the girl in Viareggio had shaken her to the core, and she’d had to work damned hard to conceal her inner turmoil from Domenica’s sly scrutiny.

She found herself wondering just how much the maid had heard and understood of the exchanges between her master and his prisoner while she was on escort duty and what deductions she might have made.

Another good reason for getting out of here, Maddie thought biting her lip with unnecessary savagery.

Because, if she’d been frightened before, she was now in a completely different kind of danger. And she was petrified.

She had spent the last forty-eight hours striving to convince everyone at the house that she was resigned to her fate, at the same time sticking resolutely to her decision not to dine or eat any other meal downstairs.

Eustacio had visited her that morning, looking anxious, to tell her His Excellency would be distressed to hear she had not left her room, even to pay another visit to his library.

‘And I’m equally distressed at being made to stay here,’ she’d returned quietly and he had retired, shaking his head.

She’d hoped, in Andrea Valieri’s absence, that there might have been a more relaxed attitude to her detention, but it hadn’t worked out like that. Wherever he might be—and whoever he might be with, she thought, biting her lip hard, the Count’s presence still loomed over the Casa Lupo, and she seemed to be watched more closely than ever.

Today’s bright spot was that Domenica, the prison wardress, had so far not put in an appearance. No doubt busy making herself a new broomstick, Maddie thought bitterly. Though she was probably being unfair to a woman simply doing her job.

It was just the manner of it that was bewildering. Maddie was at a loss to understand why she was so unremittingly hostile. After all, the other staff weren’t like that. Luisa and the girl from the kitchen, whose name was Jolanda, were always smiling and pleasant in spite of the language barrier, while Eustacio was courteous in the extreme.

Just a clash of personalities, I suppose, she told herself with another sigh. And while nothing could make her enforced stay agreeable, it would be easier if she was able to have a normal conversation sometimes with the person she saw most often.

And with that she heard the rattle of the key in the lock.

But it was again Luisa who led the way into the room, carrying clean towels over her arm, followed by Jolanda who’d come, albeit belatedly, to collect the lunch tray, Maddie having finished her meal more than an hour before. She surveyed them in faint surprise. ‘Domenica?’ she queried.

The girls exchanged glances, then Luisa performed a brisk and realistic imitation of someone being violently sick.

‘Oh,’ Maddie said slowly. ‘What a shame.’ Then, remembering the scanty Italian derived from her phrase book, ‘Che peccato.’

The girls nodded then Luisa headed for the bathroom, while Jolanda picked up the tray and left the room with it, leaving the door open.

Maddie stared at it, swallowing. This was the first time it had ever happened. Domenica invariably locked the door as soon as she was inside it. But it might be the nearest thing to a chance she would get and she had to take it.

She took one uncertain step then halted as a shattering crash and a shriek of pain came from the passage.

Without further hesitation, Maddie ran out and found a sobbing Jolanda picking herself up from the floor amid a welter of broken glass and crockery.

She was nursing one hand in the other, a deep cut across the palm oozing blood.

Groaning inwardly, Maddie helped the girl to her feet, and examined the wound, which was clearly a nasty one. She heard a horrified squeak and turned to find Luisa standing behind her, mouth open.

‘Get a towel,’ she directed, and as the maid stared at her in bewilderment, she pantomimed drying herself.

When Luisa returned with one of the small linen towels, Maddie wrapped it tightly round the injured hand.

‘Now take her downstairs to the kitchen. La cucina,’ she added as she received another uncomprehending stare. ‘She needs to go to hospital. Ospedale,’ she reiterated. ‘Presto. Her hand may need a stitch.’ She demonstrated the action of sewing which drew agonised yelps and cries of ‘Santa Madonna’ from both girls and renewed sobbing from Jolanda.

‘And I’ll see to that,’ Maddie went on crisply, seeing Luisa gazing in consternation at the mess on the floor. ‘You take care of her. Attenzione, Jolanda.’

Luisa nodded distractedly and led the other girl away, an arm protectively round her shoulders.

As they disappeared from sight, Maddie released her indrawn breath. Luisa would ultimately remember that the room had been left open with the prisoner free to roam, and she could only pray it would be later rather than sooner.

The keys were in the door, and to buy a few extra minutes, she locked the door from the outside. Picking up her skirts, she jumped across the debris of her lunch tray and ran to the store room. She picked out a white overall that approximated to her size, grabbed one of the elasticated mob caps and a pair of low-heeled black shoes. She stripped off her robe and nightgown, thrusting them, with the keys, into a hamper for soiled linen at the side of the room, then dressed swiftly.

The overall’s starched linen felt coarse and uncomfortable against her skin, making her feel even more naked than usual. Something else that Andrea Valieri would eventually pay for, she told herself, struggling to fasten the buttons.

But at least she was covered, and beggars could not be choosers, she thought as she crammed her hair into the cap and pulled it down so that, hopefully, not a blonde wisp was showing.

Then, slipping her feet into the clumpy shoes, she set off along the passage, rehearsing the route in her mind, and listening all the time for the alarm to be sounded. She tiptoed along the gallery, through the arch and made her way to the false wall, feeling for the door handle.

When she reached the foot of the steps and the spot where the passage divided, she turned towards the kitchens, keeping close to the wall, head bent, not hurrying too much. Just another girl getting through the working day, anonymous in her uniform.

As she got nearer, she could hear the hubbub of excited voices, and, rising above them, the sound of Jolanda protesting tearfully. The volume doubled momentarily as a door opened and a man emerged, carrying a box of bottles and jars. He sent Maddie a brief, incurious look and went on down the passage.

My disguise works, she thought, her heart thudding. He must be going to the garbage bins, and all I have to do is follow him.

She maintained a discreet distance, watching as he rounded a corner, and was rewarded by the screech of hinges and a sudden influx of sunlight up ahead.

Not ideal when compared with the dimness of the passage. But her luck was holding, because when she reached the open doorway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Maddie stepped out into a walled courtyard lined with outbuildings. There was a gate in the far wall—or was this just more trompe l’oeil—designed to trap her in another part of the house?

But there was no imitating sunshine and fresh air, she thought with relief as she sprinted across the yard. And the gate was real, its heavy bolts sliding open, and the heavy ring handle turning with well-oiled ease.

She squeezed through the gap, then closed the heavy timbers carefully behind her. No need to leave clues to her chosen exit.

For a moment she stayed still, controlling her flurried breathing as she attempted to get her bearings.

The mountain that she’d seen every day from her window was over to her left, grey, monstrous and impenetrable as it loomed over the valley at its foot. Straining her eyes, Maddie could see far below the gleam of water and the pale line of a road that followed it—leading where?

Well, to civilisation, presumably, by the most direct route. The obvious choice for someone who needed to get away fast. But too obvious. She would be spotted miles away on that long curving descent. And even more easily by anyone returning...

The alternative route lay straight ahead of her. A rough track rising steeply into dense woodland which seemed to be composed mainly of chestnut trees. Not very appealing, dressed as she was, but at least the canopy of foliage would hide her as she travelled, and the thick trunks offer cover if necessary.

She started up the slope, pulling off the cap and stuffing it into her overall pocket. As she shook her hair loose, she silently cursed her unsuitable footwear. Better than going barefoot, she told herself, but only just.

Once safely in the shade of the trees, she paused again briefly to look back at her erstwhile prison. It was even larger than she’d supposed, not so much a house as a palazzo, with an imposing square tower at its centre, and she wondered if there were already faces at some of those innumerable windows scanning the countryside for a glimpse of her.

A great block of immutable stone, she thought, taking a last look over her shoulder, totally in keeping with its remote landscape, and certainly not her idea of a casa d’estate—a summer house. Its latter name, the House of the Wolf, suited it much better—as well as matching the character of its owner, she added with something of a snap, and plunged into the forest.

The path was narrow and heavily overgrown in places, but still reasonably discernible, indicating it had once been in regular use. So it could lead eventually to a hamlet or at least another house where there might be a telephone.

She tried to maintain a steady pace but it wasn’t easy with all the fallen branches and foliage underfoot, or with the ill-fitting shoes she was wearing. She could almost feel the blisters springing up.

In spite of the shade, it was hot, and she was already growing thirsty. Pity there’d been no bottled water in the storeroom, she mused, wondering how soon she’d find some sign of human habitation. She seemed to have been walking for at least an hour or more, but without her watch, how could she tell? Yet surely the sun was considerably lower than it had been when she set out?

But she’d find water soon, she assured herself. There were bound to be streams feeding the river she’d seen in the valley, and she’d just have to risk their purity.

She couldn’t, however, estimate her progress. She was no great judge of area, and these woods could well spread for acres.

There’d been plenty of woodland walks near her home when she was a child, but none of them like this. The trunks of the trees were thick and twisted, like something from an Arthur Rackham illustration. She could almost imagine gnarled arms emerging to seize her as they’d done in a scary Disney version of ‘Snow White’ she’d watched when she was little.

Shut down the imagination and stick to practicalities, she adjured herself. They’re just trees. The real nightmare is behind you. And you can’t be caught and taken back—for every kind of reason.

The forest was full of noises too: the whisper of leaves above her in the faint breeze, the rustling sounds in the bushes that flanked her path indicating the unseen presence of what she hoped were very small and friendly animals, and the shrill calling of birds which ceased abruptly at her approach.

Like a tracking device, she thought, with a faint grimace, easing her shoulders inside the stiff constriction of the linen.

And then she heard another noise, louder and more alien than anything else around her. The sound of an approaching helicopter.

Maddie gasped, shading her eyes as she stared upwards through the tangle of leaves and saw the gleaming silver body passing almost directly overhead. The increase in volume from its engine told her all too well that it was coming in to land, and she knew, heart sinking, who was almost certainly on board.

Oh, trust Andrea Valieri not to have done the conventional thing and travelled by car, she raged inwardly. And why had it never occurred to her that Casa Lupo might have a helipad?

He couldn’t possibly see her, in fact he would assume she was still safely his prisoner, but she suddenly felt as exposed as if she’d been tied naked across a rock in the sunlight.

And it wouldn’t be long now before he discovered the truth, she thought, a knot of panic tightening in her stomach. And then, like a wolf, he would begin to hunt her down.

Not immediately, of course, she told herself, trying to be optimistic. He might well think that she was hiding somewhere in the house, until someone discovered her robe and nightgown and forced him to refocus.

All the same, the path no longer seemed a blessing, but quite the reverse. She tried to calculate how long it would be before he came to look for her, and how far she could get in that time and find some kind of shelter, but her head was whirling like the blades on the helicopter, and nothing made any sense.

‘Maddalena.’ Another trick of the imagination seemed to bring her name to her on the breeze, and she shivered uncontrollably.

She thought, ‘I can’t let him find me. I can’t...’ And knew it was not simply the fear of being locked up again that was driving her on with such desperation.

Determinedly, she dismissed her aching leg muscles and sore feet and quickened her pace. Inevitably, the track began to climb more steeply, and along with the forest floor debris, she also had loose stones to contend with.

She wasn’t in condition for this, she told herself, panting as she paused to wipe the sweat from her eyes. And before too long she’d be getting dehydrated, and seeing things.

If that wasn’t happening already, because the branch of a tree hanging down across her path seemed in some weird way to be moving, and turning upwards as if it was climbing itself.

‘I’m going mad,’ she said aloud, then stopped with a stifled cry as she realised what she was watching was a large snake, recoiling itself on to the tree limb above it.

A snake. For a moment, Maddie stood motionless, rigid with revulsion, then she flung herself sideways into a bush. For a brief moment, she was held there by twigs and thorns, until, with the sound of snapping wood, the bush gave way and she found herself rolling helplessly downhill in a welter of earth, leaves and stones.

She just had time to think, ‘This is where it ends,’ only to find her rush halted as she collided breathlessly with a fallen tree trunk. Gasping and choking for breath, she remained where she was, wondering how many bones she’d broken in those few crazy, terrifying seconds.

And when she did sit up, slowly and gingerly, her first act was to look cautiously round her in case the snake had followed.

‘I didn’t know Italy had such things,’ she wailed inwardly.

She moved her arms and legs with care, but they seemed to be working reasonably well, so she hauled herself to her feet, using the fallen tree as a lever, and stood for a moment, wincing. She was scratched, grazed and would be bruised tomorrow, and she’d certainly twisted her ankle, but she’d managed to escape serious injury.

But she was damaged in other ways too. Two buttons were now missing from the top of her overall, now covered in earth and leaf stains, while the left-hand side of its skirt had been ripped open from mid-thigh downwards, taking it, she realised wretchedly, to the edge of indecency.

She sat down limply on the trunk and, fighting back her tears, waited until the worst of the shock had worn off and she’d at least stopped shaking. Knowing that she had to set off again and soon.

It was chillier now, reminding her that sunset could not be far off. And there was no way she wanted to be still in this forest at dusk.

Glancing around, she selected a suitable branch, using it as a walking stick to propel her back to the top of the slope. It might also be useful as a weapon, she decided, thankful that the snake was nowhere to be seen.

But there was no point in pretending she could pick up the old pace again. She felt a protesting twinge in her ankle at the very idea, so she was reduced to limping sedately, cursing her luck with every awkward step as she resumed the long and tricky ascent.

The forest was quieter now. Even the birds were oddly silent.

I probably frightened them away with the noise I made crashing down that hillside, Maddie thought, grimacing. Not to mention screaming at the snake.

At the crest of the slope, the track forked sharply, leading downwards in both cases.

Maddie paused, leaning on her improvised cane as she considered her options. The right hand path was marginally better kept, whereas the one on the left gave the impression it had been abandoned long ago. She had no coin to spin, so again she obeyed her instinct and ignored the more obvious choice.

She had been walking for about half an hour when the tangled greenery suddenly thinned out, and, her heart lifting, she saw below her in the sunset a cluster of stonework and slate roofs.

Houses, she thought, wanting to whoop with joy. People. I picked the right way after all.

She made her way carefully down the steep gradient, emerging into a village street lined with houses.

It was very quiet. No smoke came from the chimneys. No neighbours stood gossiping at their doorways. And as Maddie got closer she realised that most of the houses lacked doors and windows, and the slate roofs were sagging and in holes.

Whoever the inhabitants had been, they were long gone.

Except for one. A dog who came trotting out of an alley and stood in the middle of the street looking at her.

So where do you belong? Maddie wondered as she halted too. Because you’re obviously not starving. So—take me to your master.

And then she looked again, and the beginning of her smile faded as she realised exactly what she was seeing. As she recognised the size of the animal. Its colour and weight. And, most tellingly, the shape of its muzzle.

Remembering as she did so, the picture over the fireplace back at the house and its savage subject, here and now confronting her in the flesh.

Oh God, she whispered silently. Oh God help me.

She took a cautious, shaky step backwards, then another while the wolf watched her, unmoving, the yellow eyes intent.

A voice in her head was telling her to be steady—be calm. That she had a stick to defend herself and the last thing she should do was turn and run.

On which, she dropped the stick, turned blindly and ran, cannoning into the hard, strong body standing right behind her. Feeling muscular arms go round her, grasping her firmly. Inexorably.

‘So Maddalena,’ said Andrea Valieri with soft satisfaction. ‘We are together again at last. What a delight.’