Artists -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Portraits -- Fiction
(She) "It wasn't la Filomena. It was that old,
old Prisca who knows all about the Castello--more
than the Marchesa herself. She told me there was
an old room in the great tower that had not been
open for hundreds of years, as no one dared to go
near it for fear of the wicked old Duke's ghost. I
told her we were _liberi pensatori_"--that is to say,
free-thinkers--"and he would not hurt us, and
where was the key? We would not touch
anything--only look in!"
(He) "Won't she tell about it all?"
(She) "Not till we go! Besides, she doesn't
know. La Filomena won't tell her; she knows I
know all about her and Ugo Pistrucci. And she's
the only person that goes near the old Prisca, who
hasn't been off her bed for months. Oh no!
_She's_ all right. As for the man, I told them
la Prisca said the _mobiglia_ was to be taken out
and dusted and placed in the passage. _Stia
tranquillo, mio caro_!"
(He) "What a happy chance these pig-headed
rich milords happened to come in just as we got it.
They might have gone before we found it! Only
to think of it! _Seicento e cinquante lire_...!"
And so they went on rejoicing, and thinking of
new schemes, and how they would get me packed
off the very next day, and not a soul in the Castle
would ever know I had ever been there. They were
certainly very bad, unprincipled adventurers. You
should have heard them talk of what fun they would
have telling the old Marchesa about the great
discovery of treasures they had made, and the care
they had taken nothing should be lost. And then
who knows but she might trust them to get a sale
for all her old rubbish in England, and what a lot
of money they might make, with a little discretion.
If I had remained there I should have been longing
always for a chance of telling the old _strega_, as they
called her, what a nice couple she had let her Castle
to for the summer months. For I am convinced,
not only that they were thieves, but that they were
not even lawfully married. However it may have
been, I saw no more of them. For next day the
same man that had done the removal of the
furniture came with a box, and I was carefully packed,
and saw nothing more, and distinguished little
sound, for weeks it may have been, even months.
As the solidity of the box absorbed all sight and
hearing, and I knew nothing till I found myself on
an easel in a sort of Studio in a town that I at once
perceived to be L'Ombra. For what else could it
have been?
At this point Mr. Pelly, who had been listening
intently, interrupted the speaker. "I think you
have got the name of the place wrong," he said. "I
imagine it must have been London--_Londra_--the
English Metropolis--not L'Ombra. The sounds
are very similar, and easy to mistake."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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