Chapter 18
“It is not your fault,” Miss Wheeler said as we were marched from the hotel to the Carabinieri station. “This is entirely on Scala’s head.”
Dawn cast the first rays of sunlight over the lake, just as the village awoke.
Staff from the hotels and restaurants prepared outdoor tables for breakfast, and delivery carts brought in supplies from the countryside.
A handful of early rising tourists were already promenading, taking in the serene lake dotted with fishing boats.
It was too early for the large passenger ferries. The scene was one of idle tranquility.
Or it would have been if not for my churning gut and racing pulse.
The Carabinieri placed us in a barred cell all together, even Miss Wheeler.
Its entire contents consisted of a single bucket, empty, thank God.
I hoped I wouldn’t need to use it in front of Miss Wheeler.
There was only one other cell, already occupied by a drunkard snoring loudly.
At least the cuffs had been removed from Oscar’s wrists.
He had put his shirt on and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He clutched the cell’s bars and tried rattling them, but they didn’t budge. He dragged his hand through his hair then turned to face us. “Anyone got any ideas?”
Seeing Oscar finally relax a little, Miss Wheeler sat on the floor beside me. “Mr. Defoe will be informed, and he’ll pay a fee to the Carabinieri to set us free. The local police around here are quite corrupt, so I’ve been told.”
“The commotion didn’t wake him?” Oscar asked.
“It seems not, but it did warn me. Thank you, Mr. Barratt.”
He inclined his head in a nod. That’s why he’d been so loud. To warn Miss Wheeler, located on the floor below us. “Where are your two guests?” he asked.
“They hid under the bed. I don’t think the Carabinieri are interested in them anyway. They didn’t conduct a search.”
Oscar tipped his head back and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared up at the ceiling.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “As far as Signore Scala knows, we’re still trying to retrieve his stolen spell. Why have us arrested?”
Neither Oscar nor Miss Wheeler seemed to have heard me. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, and her gaze was focused on his muscular forearms. Their inattention was somewhat irritating. I cleared my throat then repeated my question.
“Perhaps he truly does think we’re anarchists,” Miss Wheeler finally said. “Perhaps he thinks we’ll lead the Carabinieri to others in the local cell.”
We both looked to the iron bars and the corridor beyond. No one came to interrogate us.
“We need a plan for when we’re released,” she went on. “Mr. Defoe will be here soon. I’ll convince him I’m not ready to leave Monteoro today. He can go without me, but I need to be here to see this through.”
“If you have the chance to leave, you should,” I urged her. “It’s not safe for you here. For any of us.” I looked to Oscar, his back to the bars, still glaring at the ceiling as if something up there was to blame for our predicament. “Oscar? Do you agree?”
His lips flattened, causing the cut to bleed again. He hissed as it stung and gingerly tested it with his fingertip.
Miss Wheeler went to him. “Allow me.” She produced a handkerchief from her bodice and gently pressed it to his lip.
The symbolic nature of where the square of white cotton had been wedged to where it now touched wasn’t lost on me.
It wasn’t lost on either of them either, going by their heated gazes.
Something seemed to flare between them. It wasn’t tangible.
It was a mere change in the air, a shift in energy.
I may never have experienced intense desire, but I recognized it in others clearly enough.
As if she were pulled by an invisible string, Miss Wheeler moved closer to him, crushing her skirts between them. Oscar swallowed heavily. Whatever he saw in her gaze seemed to have mesmerized him, trapping him as thoroughly as her body did, and he didn’t mind in the least.
He unfolded his arms and gently caressed her jaw with his thumb. His other hand settled on her narrow waist, fingers flexing as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her there. It occurred to me that his lip was going to sting more when they kissed.
It was then that I realized the moment they were sharing was for them alone. I wasn’t in the bubble they’d placed around themselves. I looked down at my hands clasped between my knees and pretended I hadn’t been watching.
The sound of steady footsteps on the flagstones in the corridor had Miss Wheeler stepping back. She was once again seated beside me by the time the officer’s keys jangled.
Although she appeared quite composed, Miss Wheeler’s breath sounded a little ragged and shallow. Oscar looked equally composed, except for the smoldering of his eyes as he looked everywhere but at Miss Wheeler.
The door opened and the officer signaled for her to leave with him. “Just her,” he said when I got up, too.
“Why?” she asked.
“Mr. Defoe vouched for you. Not them.”
The muscles in Oscar’s face tensed. Then he scoffed.
“No!” Miss Wheeler said through a clenched jaw. “All three of us or I won’t leave. Tell Defoe.” She crossed her arms.
The Carabinieri officer looked bored. “Just you, signorina. Come. Now.”
“Go,” Oscar said.
“Yes, do,” I urged her. “Ask Defoe to help us. If he won’t, please get in touch with someone who can. I have the address for the British consulate in Milan in my valise. No, not them. Contact Matt in England. Matthew Glass, Lord Rycroft.”
She clasped my hands and nodded. “I will get you out of here.” She looked to Oscar. He regarded her from beneath hooded eyes. “I will.”
Miss Wheeler left with the officer. The tumbling of the grille lock echoed around the cell, as did their footsteps on the stones.
If Mr. Defoe was waiting for her in the outer office, we couldn’t tell.
No voices reached us through the thick wall separating the cells from the office.
It must have been built to withstand a Medieval battle.
Oscar and I sat together on the floor and waited. My heart sank a little more with each passing minute as time stretched on and on. When an officer brought us bowls of food, my heart finally sank to the pit of my stomach.
Miss Wheeler wasn’t returning.
“I’m sure Defoe tried to get us released,” I said. “But since I was the one who expressed sympathy for the anarchists, not Miss Wheeler, the Carabinieri wouldn’t budge.”
“Perhaps he didn’t try.”
“Oscar, we may be rivals in the matter of the book, but he’s not going to leave friends of his assistant imprisoned if he can help it.”
“Perhaps she didn’t ask him to try to free us.”
I shot to my feet. “Do not entertain that thought. She would have asked him in the most vehement way. We can’t blame her for any of this.” I picked up the bowls and handed one to him. “I don’t know what this is, but we should eat. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
“Porridge?” Oscar inspected the thin, gray contents. “Gruel.”
I scooped up a spoonful and watched it run off back into the bowl. “You would think a country known for its delicious food would serve something heartier than this in their holding cells.”
“You expected pasta and wine in an Italian prison?”
“We’re not in prison. We’re in a Carabinieri holding cell. We’ll only go to prison if we’re convicted.” My knees suddenly felt weak again and I sat on the floor again. “Oh God. What if we’re convicted?”
Oscar set down the bowl and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He lowered his head and shook it. He was a picture of misery, and I didn’t think the food or our cell had as much to do with it as his thoughts about Miss Wheeler.
“She didn’t betray us, Oscar.”
“Didn’t she?”
“Do you truly believe that?”
His fierce glare held mine for a heartbeat then he blinked, extinguishing the fire.
“No. She is our friend. I know she is. But Defoe is a different beast. It’s unlikely she can convince him to get us out of here.
After he learns what happened, he’ll do what we planned to do—blackmail Scala.
Once Defoe gets the antique bookseller’s name, they’ll leave Monteoro.
Miss Wheeler won’t have a choice if she wishes to continue working for him.
” He lowered his head again and dragged a hand through his hair. “We’ll never see her again.”
I was gratified to hear the loss of Miss Wheeler’s company, and not the loss of the book, was utmost on his mind. I was doubly glad he didn’t think she’d betrayed us. “I’m sure she’ll send Matt a telegram from Milan. Defoe will allow her to do that.”
He sat up a little straighter. “Or we can get ourselves out.” The gleam in his eye worried me.
“How?”
“All I need is some ink. They can’t deny a fellow writing implements, surely.”
I tugged on his sleeve as he rose. “Oscar, no. If we escape, we’ll be fugitives.
We don’t speak Italian and we have no friends here.
The Carabinieri will find us easily, and then it will be worse for us.
We must wait for Matt to get us out. He has business contacts everywhere, and will likely know the British consul in Milan.
Even if he doesn’t, his name alone will ensure we’re given priority. ”
“That could take days, or weeks.” Oscar strode to the grille and gripped the iron bars. “My way is faster. I’ll use magic to splash ink in their eyes—” He cut himself off and cocked his head to the side, listening.
I heard the footsteps approaching, too, then keys jangling. “You are free,” said the officer in charge as he unlocked the grille.
“Really?” I asked. “Why?”
Oscar gave me a little shove toward the exit. “Save your questions for when we can see the sky.”
All my questions were answered upon seeing Miss Wheeler and Signore Scala in the office. I nodded at him, then broke into a grin and took her hands in mine. “Thank you, Miss Wheeler. I could embrace you now.”
To my surprise, she embraced me. “Are you all right, Professor? Did they treat you well?”