Chapter Five
Lady Claudia’s Miracles
Mr William Campbell was sighted sitting at Lady Claudia’s table in Piazza della Minerva.
‘Redeem me,’ he pleaded, hands joined in supplication.
‘You can only redeem yourself,’ she replied.
LA GAZETTE INTERNATIONALE
***
Claudia crumpled up the letter she had been drafting and looked out of the window. Piazza Navona was sinking in a pearly sea of fog. It would be unbearably hot today. Maybe Edward would come to pay her a visit. He would come to see what he had done to her, see her defeated, and smile triumphantly. And it would be enough to undo the tiny stitches of sanity that still bound her to the world. The stitches she had painstakingly tried to sew for a year.
And to think that the previous day she had experienced a couple of moments that had reminded her that there was something other than painful dullness in her life. Reading and journalling at the café . The excitement of feeling Mr Campbell’s body pressed against hers. His surprising nervousness. But none of these things, as exciting and unexpected as they had been, had struck her as much as Mr Campbell’s compassion. Maybe she had been waiting for someone, something outside of herself to take compassion on her. Because almost nobody else had.
It had been such a gift. And unexpected gifts from life should always be reciprocated—she had learned this much in her year in hell. So, against her will, against the force of gravity that glued her to her bed, she had forced herself out at the crack of dawn and had run with Betty to the Caffè Greco to buy the finest pralines on offer. It had been refreshing, walking out at dawn beneath an immense orange sky. The world was full of hope and promise in the morning. She had forgotten about that.
The bells of the church of Sant’Agnese struck eight in the morning. She placed the tray of pastries on her father’s desk and undid the pink wrapping paper.
‘Good morning, Lady Claudia.’
Her heart gave a little excited quiver. Mr Campbell had materialised in the room, blue and pale and golden like an archangel in a baroque church. Then she remembered that she had kissed his lovely neck the previous day, and for a moment her mind went blank.
‘Good morning, Mr Campbell.’
He glanced at the tray and his eyes flashed with suspicion.
‘Is this feast for me?’
‘Yes. I hope you will accept these as thanks for yesterday.’
‘Oh, it’s entirely unnecessary,’ he said amiably.
She folded the pink paper tidily and pushed the tray towards him.
‘My father always says one must get to the Caffè Greco at dawn, before it fills up with Grand Tourists and third-rate German poets.’ She tried to smile a little, but she had lost the habit and it felt strange. ‘Any later, and all their pralines are gone. And you’ll get asked to read some dreadful sonnet. So I went at dawn.’
His eyes widened with undisguised delight.
‘For me ?’
‘For you.’
A flicker of a smile on his thin lips.
‘Did you escape the German poets?’
‘I did not. One even dedicated me a poem. A shame I don’t speak German.’
‘Do you still have it? I’ll translate it for you. And what do we have here? Oh—the pistacchio pralines! You shouldn’t have. Those are worth their weight in gold!’
He was utterly mesmerised for a second, as though it was an impossible gift, one he did not dare accept.
‘Please, help yourself. I will have coffee served.’
As though summoned, Betty appeared carrying a tray with coffee and cups.
‘Leave it to me, Betty,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’ll do it.’
Betty frowned disapprovingly, but she deposited the tray on the desk and left.
‘Ah, Betty, before you leave, could you check—’
‘I did already.’ She looked exasperated. ‘The Captain’s not back yet. It will be a couple of days still.’
‘Thank you, Betty. You may go.’
The scent of coffee filled the room as she poured Mr Campbell a cup. He watched her in silence, halfway between suspicious and curious. She did not even know why it had occurred to her to do that. But she had wanted to, because she had thought it would please her, and that was enough. It was depressing that something this small, doing something nice and unplanned just for the sake of it, should feel like a huge conquest. Especially for her, who had moved mountains all her life. But she could hardly expect to claw back all of her life all at once, couldn’t she? For today, she had to be satisfied with…whatever this was.
The smell of coffee, the sharp clinking of the sugar spoon against the fine rim of porcelain, and Mr Campbell’s gaze produced a pleasant tingling sensation behind her ears. There was something about Mr Campbell’s figure that invited such gestures. Maybe it was his appearance. He looked a bit like a spoilt greyhound who needed to be treated to fine things.
‘Served by the daughter of an Earl,’ Mr Campbell said at last, an enigmatic look on his face. ‘You spoil me, Lady Claudia.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mr Campbell, you look like a man who could do with a bit of spoiling.’
Now, that was a step too far! One could have almost said that she was… flirting with him? She? Flirting? Now ?
Mr Campbell looked at her strangely. For a moment he seemed surprisingly out of his depth. He fumbled for something to say.
‘As it happens,’ he said at last, ‘I think I do.’
‘You shall be spoiled for as long as you work for us, then.’
She handed him his cup with a little tinge of self-satisfaction.
‘Thank you,’ he said rather solemnly. There was a moment of silence where both cautiously looked at each other, perhaps to figure out where they were after the strange thing they had done the previous day.
‘I hope you will feel comfortable with us for the next couple of weeks. My Father and I are very happy to have you and your brothers in the family.’ Well, that was a huge lie, she was speaking just for herself. ‘And I am very sorry for what my mother said at the wedding. I was appalled.’
It was just a split second, but Mr Campbell’s jaw tensed, and his eyes glowed with raw fury. The deep blue of his irises turned stormy, and suddenly she knew in every bone of her body that despite his nonchalant attitude, Mr Campbell was a deeply wounded, fiercely proud man. It lasted but an instant. He took a sip of his coffee, and when he looked at her again his gaze was pleasant if a little cold. He shook his head a bit, strands of his lovely, wavy blond hair oscillating over his brow, as though to chase away a thought.
‘It is all forgiven. Let’s not talk about it.’ He smiled pleasantly again, but it felt insincere. ‘Do you still have your German poem? I’ll translate it for you.’
‘Oh—yes. Here.’
Their fingers touched for an instant, and they both withdrew rapidly, him even quicker than her. Then he skimmed the poem, and his eyes lit up with laughter.
‘Oh dear,’ he raked a hand through his hair, and he blushed. ‘Oh dear, oh dear. This is awful .’
‘What does it say?’ She walked behind him to glance at the page.
‘I refuse to translate it. All you need to know is that there is a watermelon analogy.’ He raked a hand through his hair again, awkwardly. ‘ Two watermelons to be precise.’
Her cheeks went hot.
‘At least it’s summery,’ he laughed. ‘You deserve much better than this, Lady Claudia.’
‘You’ll just have to write one yourself, then.’
Ah, so she was flirting with him!
His eyes glinted with amusement.
‘I would just make a fool of myself, just like this poor sod. But I am sure I could come up with other ways to show you my appreciation. We’d just need another carriage ride…or anything that may pique your imagination.’
His brazenness left her speechless. She had no clever comeback.
‘Jokes aside, Lady Claudia, I have a small apology to make.’ He sipped his coffee without hurry, and she could not help looking at his lips. ‘What I did yesterday was a little impulsive.’
‘Lending me your embroidered handkerchief? I did warn you.’
‘Oh, no. Not that. The way out I offered you yesterday. What if the Earl of St Cross goes around saying that you have a lover?’
‘I don’t care,’ she said curtly.
‘You don’t?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not like I want to get married anyway.’
‘Right. Of course.’
‘I don’t,’ she said firmly. ‘What would I need a husband for?’
‘Er…I don’t know. Someone to bring your slippers to your bed when you wake up in the morning?’
She laughed.
‘A rather small reward for the loss of my independence, don’t you think?’
‘Quite.’
‘And what about you, Mr Campbell? Perhaps there is someone who wouldn’t have appreciated that stunt?’
That was the most unsubtle question she had ever asked in her life. It’s just that she was more than a little curious. Was there a woman in Mr Campbell’s life? Well, there was probably more than one.
‘Aren’t you sweet?’ He smiled roguishly. ‘Why don’t you just ask me whether I’m unattached?’
‘Because that’s not what I wanted to know.’ She forced a cool smile, but the heat on her cheeks must have given her away. ‘Anyway, I should go back to my correspondence, Mr Campbell. If you need anything, just let me know.’
‘One last thing, darling.’
What now?
‘ Lady Claudia , thank you . ’
‘There’s no one, darling.’
‘No one what?’
He grinned devilishly.
‘There’s no other woman. I am completely unattached. You could have just asked.’
***
He must be the worst, most incompetent, most idiotic thief ever lived. Fair enough, yesterday she had immediately withdrawn, and he had been able to bag several artefacts. Two finely-wrought golden goblets, a large dish, and even a pair of thick earrings encrusted with emeralds to be precise. But since that stunt in the alley yesterday, the golds he had brought home hadn’t felt quite as exciting as the prospect of spending another day in her company. And now that Lady Claudia had confessed to waking up at dawn just to spoil him, as she had put it, a lovely warmth had spread to all of his limbs. He was beginning to have the impression that his brilliant plan wasn’t quite going the way he had anticipated.
Trying to steal little glimpses of her from his desk had most definitely not been part of his plan. She looked so calm and majestic as she attended to her correspondence. It seemed impossible that she had been able to send him into a frenzy with just a couple of light kisses the previous day. Still, despite her stern face and expensive garments, there was something of the Amazon to her. Her beauty had nothing modish or whimsical about it. It was statuesque. Solemn, almost. The ancient Romans would have found her ravishing, and so would a man two thousand years in the future. She was mesmerising to watch.
Mesmerising. Right.
All right, arousing too. Her majestic air begged the question of what she would be like with a man…well…in private? Would she be exacting and stern, like Caiani had suggested? He stole another glimpse. Oh, yes. Exacting and mocking. He could almost see her ordering him about, taunting him…
Kneel, William.
Now beg.
He coughed, hard. She didn’t even lift her gaze and scribbled on, frowning. There was a quiet fury flashing in her eyes. Her hand was soft and measured, but her eyes were flaming. There was a secret force that flowed within her like a torrent in a subterranean cave. He kept on catching glimpses of it. So that considered, maybe…maybe she’d be wild and unguarded instead, like a natural portent. She’d make short work of him. She’d leave him stammering and confused and flushed, trembling from head to toe.
His manhood tightened, and he suppressed a groan.
Ah that, now! How the hell hadn’t he seen it coming? All his life he had thought he was smarter than anyone else. He had tricked and stolen and deceived. He was reliably the cleverest man in the room. But now, all dazed and aroused and without a clue about the artefact in front of him—what the hell was it? An oil lamp? A minuscule ceramic pot? Couldn’t the Romans just have written it on it?—a horrible suspicion sneaked its way into his mind.
Am I actually, perhaps , not as smart as I thought?
The answer was too awful to even contemplate.
He muttered inwardly. He should focus on that stupid inventory, and on bagging as many objects as he could without arousing the Earl’s suspicion. That was his one and only goal, his ticket to the life he wanted to live.
So , was this damn little thing an oil lamp or a minuscule bowl? He turned it around and around. He would go with oil lamp, because he couldn’t picture what a Roman could do with such a small bowl, and because the whole soil of Rome seemed to pullulate with oil lamps. Rome must have been a very dark place indeed.
He dipped the quill into the inkwell.
1 oil lamp.
The first of many others, he was sure.
Good. Onto the next artefact.
He extracted another object from the crate. He groaned. Another oil lamp, this time unequivocally.
But though he pretended to be affronted, the object sent a little shiver through his fingers, because someone, almost two thousand years earlier, had held that very lamp carefully in their hands, and lit it up. The flame had brought a whole room into existence. A humble room perhaps, or maybe a banquet hall.
And for all his hunger and his want, he was grateful that he spent every day of his life listening to these objects whisper their secret lives to him.
He would miss it when he would move on to more profitable ventures.
Yes, he would miss it a lot.
***
Claudia leaned back in her chair and glanced at Mr Campbell with interest. He was handling some nondescript brown pottery and his eyes shone with raw passion and curiosity. The list he was drawing up was getting longer and longer. Even from there, she could see it was written in the tidiest, most perfect calligraphy she had ever laid her eyes upon. It was as though anything imperfect, anything that could give insight into the writer, had been carefully and stubbornly excised away. She could imagine him practising obsessively, late into the night, in a small room in Oxford. It must have been so hard, being dropped there among a bunch of spiteful aristocratic boys.
‘You are doing an excellent job at keeping an eye on me, Lady Claudia,’ he said without looking up. ‘Your father will be pleased with you.’
How does he know?
‘How silly, Mr Campbell. My father would never ask anything like that of me.’
‘Then why exactly are you tending to your correspondence here with me?’
‘Because I would be a fool to miss the chance of looking at your pretty face.’
‘The pleasure, let me assure you, is wholly mutual.’
She scoffed. Trying to work was completely hopeless. He was tearing her concentration to shreds merely by existing. In a sense, it was a welcome change. In another, she liked what she was seeing a little too much. It made her mind wander to thoughts she hadn’t visited for so long…
A man’s mouth, ravenous, catching her own…Her back to the wall, deep thrusts pushing her closer, and closer, and closer…
Her whole body came aglow with a need so intense that it made her eyes water and he lips part.
The touch of a man.
She missed it so much, it was almost agony.
‘What’s that look, darling?’ Mr Campbell said softly. He had been looking at her.
From the vaguely wild gleam in his eyes, she knew that if she crossed the room and pressed her mouth to his, he wouldn’t withdraw. No. He would return her kiss. His tongue would lap against hers. Slowly. Without hurry. Then he’d slip those fine hands under her skirts…under her bodice…
As though summoned by her thoughts, he walked slowly to her and went to stand right behind her. His fragrance was inebriating.
‘What is it, darling? Talk to me.’ He shamelessly trailed his feather-light fingers on the back of her neck, producing a cascade of shivers. Then she felt his hot breath on her neck, and his lips barely brushed against the delicate skin.
‘This is what you need, isn’t it?’ he exhaled.
His lips parted on her neck, warm and wet. A hint of his teeth catching her skin. The intensity of the pleasure that coursed through her almost made her burst into tears.
‘Claudia…’
Before she knew what she was doing, she had stood and pushed him back. He looked more than a little surprised.
‘You really want to lose this job, don’t you, Mr Campbell?’
‘What? No! I just thought you—’
‘You thought wrong.’ Her voice had turned to steel. ‘If you don’t want to be dismissed, you’ll make sure to stay in your place.’ That was cruel. Telling him to stay in his place, because she did not trust herself to stay in hers. ‘Do you understand, Mr Campbell?’
‘Lady Claudia, I must apologise—’
‘ Do you understand? ’
His eyes turned cold.
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Very well, Mr Campbell. I am done here for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She turned around and left, cowardly and ashamed of herself.