# The Lonely House (Lowndes)/Chapter 14

pp. 136–146

#### CHAPTER XIV

BUT next day all was radiant happiness and good humour—indeed, the whole atmosphere of the Lonely House seemed transformed. Even Mimi looked as if it knew of Beppo's arrival, for the cat walked about purring, and for once left the birds alone.
The night before, during dinner, Beppo had overcome his mother's dislike to leaving La Solitude.
“I won't ask you to come often,” he said coaxingly. “But to-morrow we'll just have a nice little luncheon—you, and papa, and our charming English cousin! The Pescobaldis are going out to lunch.”
As Beppo uttered the long, peculiar Italian name the Countess frowned for the first time since her son's arrival “Have they come with you?” she exclaimed, in a surprised, annoyed tone. “You did not say that they were the friends who are staying with you at the Hidalgo Hotel!”
“Surely I did, mamma?” said the young man uncomfortably. “That is the reason why I am at the Hidalgo instead of here.”
There was a pause, and then Aunt Cosy turned to Lily.
“It will interest you to meet the Marchesa Pescobaldi,” she observed. “She is a very charming and clever woman. It would, perhaps, be unkind to add that the Marchesa has the unfortunate reputation of possessing the evil eye.”
Now it was Beppo's turn to frown, and a very angry look came over his good-looking face and brilliant, piercing blue eyes.
“It is very wrong of you to say that to Lily!” he exclaimed. “You must understand”—he turned rather quickly to the girl—“that in Italy any person is said to have the evil eye who even for a moment is disliked by the speaker. It is a malicious thing to say! Let us be frank, as you say in England. Mamma does not like my friend; therefore she attributes to her the evil eye—that is all!”
Poor Lily felt desperately uncomfortable, so she wisely said nothing. As for the Countess, she burst out into some with bitter laughter.
“Beppo does right to defend the Marchesa,” she said sarcastically, “for the lady's husband is his greatest friend.”
“Cosy, Cosy!” interposed Count Polda, “you forget that the Pescobaldis are connections of ours.”
By eleven o'clock they were all three ready, Lily wearing her new coat and skirt and becoming little hat. The Countess called Cristina to see how pretty the girl looked, and Lily could not help feeling grateful and touched. What a queer mixture Aunt Cosy was! A mixture of generosity and meanness, of good humour and frightful temper, of kindliness and spitefulness.
When Beppo arrived they were taken by surprise, for, according to his mother, he was most unpunctual.
“Come quick!” he called out. “The Pescobaldis are waiting for us in the car. We shall all drive together to Eze, where they are going to lunch with some friends who have a villa there, and then we four will go for a delightful little drive, and end up at the restaurant of the Hôtel de Paris.”
It was a perfect day. The sun was shining, the air was full of an exquisite limpidity, and Lily, as she walked out of the drawing-room and joined Beppo on the lawn, feeling perhaps a little self-conscious in her new coat and skirt and smart hat, told herself that “all this” was great fun!
She could not but be aware that Beppo was looking at her with a bolder, franker admiration in his eyes than any Englishman or even Frenchman would have done.
They hurried down through the orange grove, to see on the clearing, which always recalled to the girl the dreadful morning when she had found George Ponting's body, a large open touring-car, in which were seated a lady and a gentleman.
As they emerged from the wood, the lady stood up—and Lily gazed at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
The Marchesa Pescobaldi was tall and slender, her face was a perfect oval, and her complexion had a delicate, camelia-like bloom, while her slivery grey hair was abundant, and beautifully dressed.
She looked neither old nor young. Her glorious beauty might almost have been described as of an ageless type. As for her grey hair, it set off her flawless complexion, and intensified the dark fire of her large eyes. She made Lily feel curiously young and unimportant.
As the Count and Countess appeared she called out the English word “Welcome!” and then she threw a long, intense, critical glance at Lily Fairfield.
The English girl made a very dainty and delightful picture aginst the dark-green, glossy leaves, and the Marchesa Pescobaldi noticed that she walked with a graceful, assured carriage. For a long flashing moment Lily's hazel eyes and the full, dark, brilliant orbs of the older woman crossed like swords, and Lily felt a queer thrill go through her as she remembered what Aunt Cosy had said. Had the Marchesa really the evil eye.
Lily looked shyly at the man who was evidently the owner of the car. The Marchese Pescobaldi was very thin and very yellow—much, indeed, Lily's idea of what an Italian nobleman would look like. He seemed in a great hurry to be off, and they all settled down into the car very quickly, the three ladies behind, the three men in front. The Marchesa sat between the Countess and Lily, and soon they were whirling on, sometimes zig-zagging along rather rough roads, Beppo driving with great skill and judgment.
Lily sat well back, enjoying the drive, while her two companions talked together, speaking very quickly in French. Now and again she caught a word or two of what they were saying in the rushing wind.
But she was not thinking of the Countess Polda and of the Italian lady who now sat next to her. She was wondering, with a touch of discomfort how she could manage, now that Beppo was here, to communicate with M. Popeau and Captain Stuart. Somehow she felt that it would not be as easy as it had been hitherto. Perhaps she might write M. Popeau a little note, saying how very grateful she was for all his kindness over the sad business in which they had been so curiousely associated, and explaining that, owing to Count Beppo's arrival, she was likely to be a good deal engaged the next few days.
Suddenly they came to a yellow marshy piece of ground, and the motor sank in the quaking mud. Beppo stopped the motor dead for a few moments. Then it was that Lily heard the following little snatch of conversation between the two who were sitting next to her.
“All I ask is, are you really satisfied about the only thing that matters—the money?” asked the Marchesa in French “Can you swear this on the head of the person in whom we both take an interest? If yes, then instead of hindering you, I shall try in every way to further the affair.”
The question, or series of questions, were uttered in a low and quick but very clear voice.
There was a pause, and then came the answer, uttered solemnly, “I swear to you that the money is assured, Livia.”
It was the first time Lily Fairfield had ever heard the woman she called Aunt Cosy give a short, direct reply to any question, but it was not the first time by any means that she had been as if compelled to note the extraordinary importance foreigners seemed to attach to the possession of money! Lily could never get accustomed to this peculiarity in either Aunt Cosy or Uncle Angelo. And how this haughty and evidently very rich Italian lady was talking in just the same way—as if money was the only thing that mattered in life.
The motor started off again, and after a few more minutes' delicious rush through the scented air it drew up before the gates of a large villa.
Everyone stood up: the Countess Polda, indeed, stepped out of the car in order that the Marchesa might get down more comfortably.
And then once more Lily told herself that she had never seen such a beautiful woman as was this Marchesa Pescobaldi! She was dressed in a severely simple black cloth coat and skirt, but that only emphasised the graceful, supple lines of her tall figure. There was also a wonderful look of health and of power about her whole appearance. Yet she did not look happy, or at ease. She looked bored and cross, and while she waited for the two men she tapped her arched right foot impatiently.
Beppo Polda accompanied his friends a few yards up the path which led to the villa, and Lily, as she gazed at the group, could not help thinking what a fine, strong young man he looked compared with his thin, dried-up-looking Italian friend.
At last he stayed his steps, and, turning, said something to the Marchesa. She held out her hand, and he lifted it up to his lips and respectfully kissed it.
Then he hurried back to the car.
Waiting till the Pescobaldis were well out of earshot: “Now, Lily,” he cried out gaily, “come and sit by me, pretty cousin! I'm going to take you all just a little round before we go to the Hôtel de Paris for luncheon. Papa, do you mind sitting by mamma?”
The Count got into the back of the car by his wife, and Lily took the place in front. Somehow she now felt exhilarated and pleasantly at ease. The Marchesa's personality had affected her disagreeably.
As they drove along, Beppo talked to her with eager animation, telling her all sorts of curious, interesting, and yet, amusing things, about the places they passed. She learnt more from him in half an hour about this quaint and beautiful part of the Riviera than she had learnt from his father and mother all the time she had been at La Solitude.
At last they turned round, and swept down into Monte Carlo. “The Marchesa's chauffeur will take over the car and then come back for us in an hour,” said Beppo.
“Have you ordered luncheon?” his mother inquired.
“Mamma! Of course I've ordered a very nice luncheon, including the lobster à la sauce verte of which you are so fond! Neither have I forgotten papa's spaghetti. But as something tells me that cousin Lily and I have the same tastes, we are going to share a delicious sole à la Monte Carlo.”
When the little party walked through into what has become one of the most famous restaurants in the world, it was clear that Count Beppo Polda enjoyed there a high reputation as host. The head waiter himself marshalled them to a light, well-placed table, where they could see everything without being themselves overlooked or overheard.
There were comparatively few people lunching, for Monte Carlo, like the rest of the Continent, gets later and later each year as to its hours and habits. But all at once Lily's heart gave a leap, for she saw some way off, seated at a little table for two, the man whom she by now always affectionately called in her own mind “Papa Popeau.” He was with a stranger, and she felt just a little disappointed.
Yet Lily was not particularly anxious that Count Beppo and Captain Stuart should meet. They were so very different—something seemed to tell her that they would not get on together, and, after all, Beppo's visit to Monte Carlo was to be only for a few days.
Little by little the great room began to fill, and the Countess was soon making shrewd and not over-kindly remarks about some of the people coming in.
Lily was amused to notice how interested Aunt Cosy was in everybody—their appearance, their jewels, their clothes, their manners! She was evidently much enjoying her little outing, and Beppo's knowledge of her taste was well shown by the eager satisfaction with which she ate the lobster he had thoughtfully ordered for her.
But though the Countess ate heartily, she also talked a great deal—indeed, most of the conversation was carried on by her and by her son.
Count Polda remained quite silent, though his observant eyes often became closely fixed on some individual who in Lily's eyes looked particularly uninteresting, for almost always the person in question was a man. Once he stared with a strange intentness at a rather curious-looking individual.
“Look,” he exclaimed, and it was the first time he had broken silence—“Look, Cosy! There is the great Chicago Sausage King! He is one of the richest men in the world!”
Aunt Cosy glanced sharply at the individual in question. Then she looked away, and began talking of something else.
As for Lily, she was now feeling quite gay and quite cheerful. Her share of the luncheon was proving delicious, and the brilliance and lightsome charm of the scene about her delighted all her senses. Also, she could not help feeling just a little happier for the proximity of good Papa Popeau. Now and again she would find his eyes fixed on their little party, always with a benevolent, inquiring, kindly, interested glance. She hoped, with all her heart, that he would come up and speak to them.
At last they reached the coffee stage of their déjeuner and at the same moment the man who had been Hercules Popeau's guest got up and, shaking hands with his host, left the restaurant. M. Popeau signed his bill, and then he threaded his way slowly between the now very crowded tables to where Count Beppo's party were seated.
The Countess greeted him effusively. “Let me present my son to you,” she cried. “Beppo! This is a gentleman who was remarkably kind to Lily on her long and disagreeable journey from Paris.”
Count Polda and Count Beppo, who had both risen courteously from their seats, exclaimed almost together: “Do have your coffee with us—or have you already had it?'
“I have had my coffee,” said M. Popeau amiably. “But I will, with your permission, sit down for a few minutes. It is a pleasure to see Miss Fairfield again. We met last under such very different circumstances!”
Lily saw a look of apprehension and unease come over both the Count and Countess's faces, and she thought it a little tactless of her French friend to remind them all at such a pleasant moment as this of poor George Ponting and his piteous fate.
All? No, of course, Beppo knew nothing about that tragic Ponting affair.
“I suppose Mademoiselle is the first lady who has ever stayed for as long as a fortnight at Monte Carlo without going into the Casino,” said M. Popeau, smiling.
“Have you never been to the Rooms?” exclaimed Beppo. He seemed quite shocked. “What a pity it is that I cannot take you in there this afternoon. But, alas! I have to go back to Eze. I promised my friends that I would do so.”
“I can go to the Casino any time,” said Lily, laughing. “There's no hurry at all—though, of course, I should be sorry to leave Monte Carlo without having seen anything of the famous gambling-rooms.”
“I was going to propose,” said M. Popeau, quietly, “that I escort Mademoiselle to the Casino this afternoon. I know that the Count and Countess, being residents, cannot have the privilege.”
Lily looked eagerly at Aunt Cosy, and, to her secret astonishment, the later nodded quite amiably. M. Popeau offered Count Polda a cigar, and then Beppo took something out of his pocket and held it out, smiling, to Lily. “Even a baby,” he said, “could smoke one of these cigarettes!”
Lily bent forward eagerly, and then her face changed utterly, and, with a gasp of amazement, she uttered a low, involuntary “Oh!”
Yes, she could not be mistaken. What lay on the white tablecloth before her was surely the exquisitely-chased little gold box which she had last seen held out to her by George Ponting?
She bent down, lower and lower, regardless of the people about her. Yes, there was now no doubt at all, for inside the pale gold lid were engraved the words: “Mon cœur à toi. Ma vie au Roi.”
But so little do those about us realise of what we are thinking that only Hercules Popeau noticed the girl's agitation. As for Beppo, he laughed and said: “Yes, these are what would be called in England midget cigarettes, are they not?”
It was clear that he had taken Lily's exclamation of surprise as an involuntary tribute to the daintiness of the quaint little cigarettes which filled the one-time snuff-box. Lily was too surprised and disturbed to speak: the sight of the gold box had brought with it a rush of painful, distressing memories.
Hercules Popeau leant forward.
“You have there, my dear Count, a most delightful and valuable cigarette-case,” he observed suavely. “If I mistake not, it is an exquisite specimen of late eighteenth-century work. I remember once seeing a curio extremely like this in a collection of pathetic little objects which had belonged to Mme. du Barri. The snuff-box in question had been given to her by King Louis the Fifteenth. May I look at it for a moment?”
“Of course!” said Count Beppo courteously.
He pushed the box across the table, and M. Popeau took it up and examined it closely.
“I see,” he said at last, “that it is not as I first thought! This box is of rather later workmanship than I supposed. It was probably made during the Revolution. Is it not strange to think that these costly and exquisite objects were being fashioned even at such a time as that?”
He was obviously talking to give Lily time to recover her composure.
And then the Countess broke in: “My son is very clever at picking up pretty things,” she said, smiling. “He bought that little box at an old curiosity shop for a mere song—not that one gets very much nowadays anywhere for a mere song! Is it not true,” she said, turning to Beppo, “that the man who sold it to you said it was but silver gilt?”
Beppo looked surprised. “If I told you so, it is so, mamma. I cannot remember,” he replied.
“I congratulate the Count on his find,” said M. Popeau gravely. “I should like him to tell me in what shop in Monte Carlo he found such a great bargain?”
The Countess answered for Beppo. “My son did not buy the box in Monte Carlo,” she said quickly. “He got it—was it at Milan, Beppo?—last time he was on his way to Monte Carlo.”
Lily felt bewildered but relieved. She had made a mistake, and so obviously also had Papa Popeau. She felt sure that, like herself, he had at first supposed this little gold box to have been the one belonging to the unfortunate Ponting. If Beppo had bought what was now a cigarette-case in Milan some time ago, its being exactly like Mr. Ponting's gold box was simply an amazing coincidence.
“While we are talking about the box we are forgetting the cigarettes,” said Beppo. “Do allow me to tempt you, Cousin Lily!”
And Lily laughingly consented to be tempted. They were very mild little cigarettes, far milder than those which she had occasionally smoked with Uncle Tom—to Aunt Emmeline's disapproval.
At last they all got up and began walking out of the restaurant, Beppo leaving what seemed to Lily an enormous tip on the table. He explained, smiling, that he had a bill, and so only paid once a week.
“That,” said M. Popeau civilly, “shows, le Comte, that your reputation must indeed be high, for they have to be very careful here, even with quite well-known people. Without being in the least dishonest, it is so easy to find oneself cleared out at the tables, and then to forget all about such an account as that of a restaurant.”
“They all know that my father is a native of Monaco,” said the young' man, rather shortly.
When they joined the others, M. Popeau said firmly: “I will now take charge of Mademoiselle, and I promise to bring her back to La Solitude at—shall I say—half-past four, Madame la Comtesse?”
“Yes,” said the Countess graciously, “that will do quite well. It is very good of you to take my niece to the Rooms. I am sure that you, Monsieur, will be quite as effective a guardian as I should be myself! There are often very queer people in the gambling-rooms.”
“There are indeed,” said M. Popeau gravely, and there was no twinkle in his eye. Frenchmen of his type are, as Captain Stuart had truly said, extremely particular in this matter of a young girl's surroundings and reputation.
The big car was waiting for Count Beppo, and he put his parents into it with great care and affection. “Now, I will drive you home,” he exclaimed. Turning, he held out his hand to Lily. “I wish you and I could meet later in the afternoon, after I have come back from Eze,” he said hesitatingly. “About what time will you be leaving the Casino?”
But M. Popeau intervened. “I don't think we can make any plan of that sort,” he said; “we should only miss one another. I will take great care of Miss Fairfield, and bring her up to La Solitude in good time.”