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Princess Galva, The

<h3> CHAPTER XIV </h3> <h4> AT CASA LUZO </h4> Leading out of the town of Corbo, the Alcador road ascends steeply to the Palace Square, where, leaving the royal residence on its left, it winds away over a stretch of desolate brown moorland and cuts its way through the Yeldo Hills at the Quinlon Pass. Once through, the red fluted roofs of Alcador and the yellow belfry of its church lie spread out before one. And all the way to the hills the road has for its constant companion the blue Ardentella, running first this side and then that. The many bridges where the road crosses the river are quaint old structures, the architecture of which plainly points to their origin being Moorish. The casual traveller journeying on this road would pass the Casa Luzo without being aware of its existence. At one time the tower showed above the trees, a landmark for miles around, but that was long ago, and, as the stout stonework had crumbled into ruin, so had the forest spread in density, so that there was now little likelihood of the jagged tower that mingled with the tree tops being noted. True, there was a gateway, but there were no gates hanging on its hinges; only two gaunt pillars of stone, their bases hidden in a rank mass of herbage. Count Ribero, in whose family the castle had been since Alfonso VI reigned over Spain, never visited his ancestral home, the gay young nobleman preferring the little villa on the shore at San Sebastian which had come to him from his mother. Dasso, therefore, by his distant cousin's invitation made free with the place for all purposes without compunction. At his own expense he had made a few rooms inhabitable, and the hunting parties and carousals which he had held there had been until lately very popular amongst the gilded youth of the San Pietro army. But of late years Dasso's orgies had been less frequent. Political ambitions had taken up the time of that enterprising gentleman, and the rooms were beginning to show the effects of non-usage. Large patches of damp were making their appearance on walls and ceilings, and the somewhat gaudy hangings and furniture were fast becoming the happy hunting ground of moth. Old Pieto felt a thrill of superstitious awe as he turned the key in the massive lock. A chill wind pierced him as he threw open the great door and stepped into the gloomy hall. The lantern he carried threw shaking patches of ochre light on the flagged floor, and an army of rats and spiders scampered away at the approach of this intruder in their domains. One great fellow stood his ground, regarding the intruder with beady black eyes in which the rays of the lantern touched little pin points of flame. With a cry old Pieto flung the heavy door-key, and, squeaking, old King Rat disappeared. A woman with a thin wrinkled face had been peering over the old man's shoulder, and now she followed him timidly into the hall, holding her skirts well above her ankles and looking fearsomely at the desolation around her. On her arm she carried a large basket, which she now set down at the foot of the staircase. Old Pieto remembered the last occasion when he had been there, some two months ago, when a supper had been organized by Dasso to celebrate the benefit of La Belle Espanzo at the Casino, and as he opened the door of the dining-hall the scene came back to him in full force. The long oaken table from which the cloth had been half snatched was still littered with the d�bris of the feast. The old manservant knew that he ought to have cleared it away, but it was a long journey from Corbo, and it had been put off. A tall epergne in the centre of the table had been overturned, and flowers, yellow and brittle, were tumbled together with the wrinkled mummies of fruit, and lay in a scattered heap on the oak floor. He remembered how the young bloods had toasted the lovely dancer, drinking champagne from her slipper. The little high-heeled satin drinking vessel still lay on the table, shapeless now and stained with wine. Pieto noticed that a giant spider web stretched from the dainty rosette of the shoe to the back of one of the carved chairs. The sight of the disarray of wine bottles suggested the cellar to the old man, and, still carrying the lantern, he descended the broken stone steps at the end of the passage, reappearing almost immediately with a couple of tall thin-necked flasks. He called his wife and bade her make a fire in the open grate, and soon the blaze shone merrily on the tarnished silver and glass on the table and threw weird and flickering shadows into the corners of the dark panelled walls. The worthy couple, with chairs drawn up to the genial warmth, attacked the bottles gratefully. It was no joke for the master to pack them off to this spot in the dead of night. The journey had been a long and wearisome one, they had had to walk the last quarter of a mile, and it had rained a little as they came through the forest. But there was work to do and to do quickly. Pieto was content to superintend operations, and he issued orders from his armchair, while Teresa cleared the d�bris from the table. The old fellow, warmed by the wine he had taken, entertained his wife with reminiscences of the feast. He rubbed his skinny hands together as he talked. "Ah, that was a night, Teresa—the wine flowed like water—the best in the cellars, too. And the beautiful Espanzo—divine!" the old reprobate kissed the grimy tips of his fingers, "blue-black hair, and a mouth like a splash of wine—and—her eyes as she danced!" The old woman seemed not to hear him, working steadily, piling the broken glass and fruit into the table-cloth and tying up the four corners. Her husband looked shrewdly at her from beneath his shaggy brows and rambled on. "On the table, too, she danced, all among the wine and the flowers—and me, too. The gentlemen made me, old Pieto, dance with her, and, as we danced, she sang the tune—how did it go?—yes," and the ancient broke out into a wheezing treble of a weird and sensuous melody, ending in a harsh chuckle as his wife left the room, taking her bundle with her. Candles had been set upright in the sconces and shed a soft light on the handsome old apartment, to which duster and broom soon gave a look of respectability. The old woman paused and surveyed her work. "And where is she to be put?" she asked the figure by the fire, who, with goblet in hand, had fallen again to his humming. "Eh—oh," and he pointed to the ceiling. "Above here, I suppose, for the present—the Duchess room. Hurry, Teresa, it'll be daylight soon. Put a fire up there, the room will be damp—ugh!" "Ah, you can shiver, Pieto. Why don't you work and get warmth into your old blood? Get me a few logs from the outhouse, won't you? I don't like rats." "Ay, I'll do that for you. Get you upstairs. I'll bring them up." Pieto relit the lantern, and his shuffling footsteps died away down the stone passage. There was a creak of rusty bolts and a gust of the chill air that comes before the dawn flickered the candles in the dining-room. Outside, the old man made his way across a paved court-yard, the stones of which were worn and cracked with age, and little blades of tender green showed between the crevices. One side of the yard was colonnaded, and the moonlight cut clear designs of shadow among the lichen-covered pillars. On the other three sides a high stone wall separated the house and yard from the forest. Pieto could see the sharp silhouettes of the tall pine tops against the star-strewn sky. The rain had ceased, and there was a delicious freshness in the air, and the woodland was alive with the tiny noises of the night. A bat zigzagged before the man's eyes, and he hurried on his errand. He collected an armful of logs from a shed in the corner and hastened back to the fire. He did not forget to pay another visit to the cellar on his way. By the time Teresa's labours were finished birds were calling to their mates, and the higher branches of the trees were flushed with the dawn. The dining-room showed ghostly as she entered it. Her husband was still before the nearly dead fire, his arms hanging inertly on either side, the finger-tips touching the floor. A broken glass lay at his feet, and the red wine had run into a little pool. The rays of the newly-risen sun struggled through the escutcheoned panes and cast a variegated sheen over all, and a candle which had outlasted its fellows shone with a pale sickly light. Teresa laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of her sleeping lord. "Pig," she said. A snore was strangled at its birth, and Pieto sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I've been asleep," he said, as though the fact were one that called for amazement. "You've been drunk, you mean. Get out to the yard, man, and to the pump, and go and lie down on the bed up-stairs. A nice thing," she went on, "if our visitor arrives and those who bring her find you like this. I still have work to do." The old man looked sullen but did not answer. He ran his tongue round his parched mouth and did as he was bid, while his wife, upon whom this unwonted night-work seemed to have little or no effect, busied herself in the kitchen. It was about mid-day when a cautious tap at the window brought her hastily to the front of the building. Lieutenant Mozara, his face white and drawn, stood leaning against one of the stone pillars that supported the portico. "Is all ready? Where's Pieto?" Murmuring some answer, Teresa ran back into the house, and in a moment returned with her husband. He was but half-awake, but at the sight of the lieutenant he pulled himself together. He saluted the officer, and together the two men ran through the belt of woodland which lay between the house and the road. Gaspar had done his work well. The figure of Galva Baxendale lay stretched out on the little ribbon of grass that ran beside the road. The car stood vibrating beside her, and with an oath Gaspar ran to it and shut off the engine. Then without further delay the men lifted the unconscious girl and made their way back to the house. The lieutenant waited only long enough to drain the glass of wine Teresa had poured out for him. His hand shook so that the liquor splashed upon the door-stone, and the glass rattled against his teeth as he drank. It was evident that the old couple had had their instructions, for hardly a word passed between Mozara and them during the whole time. In the rest of the programme Pieto and his wife knew their parts. When the captive was safely locked away in the room above, they set about making preparations for the meals of the day. Now and again the woman ascended the creaking stairs and listened at the door of the Duchess room. They had been given to understand that the effect of the chloroform would take some few hours to wear off, but dusk fell and still the victim gave no sign. Then night came down on the castle, and in the dining-room the candles were lit and shone on the sallow faces of the two old people who, with ears nervously strained, still waited and listened. A night bird screamed in the forest behind them, echoing eerily around the still castle. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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