100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland Page A

next to the figurehead, he read the words La Maschera .
    It must be the name of the ship. There was another word painted on it, but he was too far away to make it out.
    “Scusi!”
    A dark sailor carrying a large trunk decorated with swirling patterns of leaves and flowers nudged him aside.
    Lyndon apologised and moved out of the way.
    The sailor then loaded the trunk onto the back of a coach that was waiting at the side of the wharf and then came jogging back towards the ship. He must be one of the crew.
    “Your ship, where is she from? Lyndon asked him.
    The man grinned, revealing several missing teeth.
    “ La Maschera !” he said proudly waving at the ship.
    “Yes, yes. But where from?”
    He pointed towards the wide river beyond the ship and looked questioningly at the sailor, whose black brows creased together and then suddenly he laughed,
    “Venezia!”
    “Of course! Venice.” Lyndon said, remembering the Italian pronunciation of the famous City that seemed to rise up out of the water.
    “ Si. Si ! Venezia !” the sailor now grinned even more broadly and, tapping his chest to indicate that he too came from that City. “ Anch’io Veneziano .”
    Now some sort of commotion seemed to be taking place on board and the sailor left Lyndon’s side and stood by the gangplank that led from the deck to the wharf.
    An old woman, dressed in black and with a gold-embroidered shawl wrapped around her head, had emerged from the cabin on the deck of La Maschera .
    Lyndon caught his breath in surprise as a tiny imp-like creature wearing a red jacket and trousers and a small red hat suddenly leapt from the woman’s shoulder and then bounded across the deck.
    A high-pitched shriek issued from the old woman’s lips and she raised her hands high in the air. Lyndon saw that in one of them she held a long black walking stick.
    Now the whole deck was full of people – sailors, lady’s maids, a cook with a big ladle in his hand, rushing everywhere and looking under piles of rope and luggage.
    The red-jacketed imp was nowhere to be found and the woman’s shrieks grew louder, so that all the hustle and bustle of the wharf came to a halt as people crowded round to see what was happening.
    Lyndon was just pushing his way to the front of the crowd, when he felt an odd sensation around his right leg, as if someone was pulling at the hem of his trousers.
    He looked down and to his great surprise he found himself gazing into a mournful pair of round dark eyes.
    It was a small monkey, dressed in a red costume.
    “So it is you, causing all the fuss,” he whispered.
    He reached down and the monkey caught his hand and then swung itself up, so that it was on his arm and it sat there, making a strange chattering noise.
    Lyndon gazed at the tall masts of La Maschera , and thought how uncanny it was, that only a few moments ago he had seen this beautiful ship for the first time and now with the tiny monkey in his arms, he had the perfect excuse to go on board.
    It was as if he was in the grip of something beyond his control, a strange irresistible force that was taking him over, drawing him to the ship and the distant mysterious City of Venice.
    For a moment, Lyndon wanted to escape, to run away from this new world that was drawing him in like a magnet.
    It was too late.
    The little monkey clambered up onto his shoulder and wrapped its arm around his neck and a shout went up from the men who were standing beside him.
    “’E’s ’ere! The little blighter. The fella in black’s got ’im!”
    Lyndon next found himself being pushed forward towards the gangplank of the ship, where the rough hands of the sailor he had just spoken to pulled him on board.
    The old woman in the black dress threw back the golden shawl from her grey head and gave a cry of joy.
    A flood of passionate Italian words poured out from her, as the monkey leapt from his shoulder into her arms.
    “ Caro mio ! Piccolino Pepe, sei troppo cattivo !” she cried and then she