100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland Page B

turned to Lyndon.
    “ Grazie tanto, Signore ,” she said and then looked closely at him. “ Sei Italiano ?” she asked.
    “No – I am English!” Lyndon replied, hoping that he had understood her correctly.
    “Aaah. Capisco . I thought from your cloak and your hat – you were Italiano .”
    She must be very old, Lyndon thought, for the curls that were piled up on her head were almost white, but her black eyes blazed with a fierce energy.
    And she was clearly someone of great importance, as heavy gold rings gleamed on her fingers and her shawl was thick with swirls of gold thread.
    “Who are you?” she asked. “What is your name?”
    Lyndon was thrown into confusion. What should he say? Why had he not thought of a name for himself?
    She asked again, her tone imperious and impatient. She was not someone who was used to being kept waiting.
    “Mr. Jones,” Lyndon now mumbled saying the very first name that came into his head.
    “Oh – Signore Jones ! How can I ever repay you for bringing back my naughty child?”
    She caressed the monkey’s little head and spoke to one of the mob-capped maids who stood beside her.
    One maid took the creature and ran off.
    “It was nothing, really,” Lyndon said and he would have turned to go, but the old woman touched his sleeve.
    “This is my first time in England. And I am here for business matters and to see all the sights of your great City,” she was now saying, struggling with the unfamiliar words. “ Signore Jones, you must dine with me tonight!”
    She reached into a small embroidered bag that hung at her waist and took out a white card and a gold pencil.
    She scribbled something on the card and gave it to Lyndon.
    Printed on the card, in gold letters he saw the words La Contessa Allegrini .
    So the old woman was from the Italian Nobility – a Contessa! There was an address as well, Ca’ degli Angeli, Venezia .
    Beneath these words, the Contessa had written in a large sprawling hand, The Palace Hotel, Bayswater .
    “Tonight! Stasera ,” she said. “I will give you the finest dinner in London. And you will tell me about your City, for I know nothing. I need a friend who will help me around and teach me your ways in England.”
    Lyndon hesitated.
    He could not possibly go to the old woman’s hotel and dine with her, as he would surely be spotted at once by someone who knew him and yet she was looking at him so fiercely that he did not dare say ‘no’ to her.
    The Contessa laughed.
    “Ah, you inglesi ! I have heard about your famous shyness. Your silences, your lack of words. So different from we italiani !”
    She tapped him on the arm.
    “Until tonight, Mr. Jones.”
    And she then turned to the sailor who stood by the gangplank and allowed him to help her onto dry land.
    The crowd of onlookers parted respectfully as she walked towards the coach.
    A hand gently touched Lyndon’s arm. It was the maid who had gone into the cabin.
    The monkey was safely on her shoulder and he saw that it now had a red ribbon tied around its waist, the other end of which was attached to the maid’s wrist.
    “ Signore ,” she whispered and pressed a twist of paper into his hand. “ Grazie tanto .”
    And then she hurried away to join her Mistress.
    Lyndon unfolded the paper to see, nestling inside, a handful of golden coins.
    The Contessa had rewarded him well for rescuing her pet.
    *
    A sledgehammer was beating away at the inside of Algernon’s head and, just to add to the pain, a whole army of birds were assaulting his delicate ears with loud shrieks and trills and warblings.
    Where the hell was he? He groaned in agony and forced his heavy eyelids to open.
    He closed them again quickly as, to his horror, the bedroom where he lay was flooded with brilliant sunlight. Why had his valet opened the curtains?
    And then he remembered where he was. He had come down to Hampshire to be with Lord Brockley.
    That was why the birds were being so noisy, he was in the middle of the