Eternal Desire

Chapter One

A wave of cold air brushed Della Standish’s lovely face like the breath of some phantom come to block her way. The twenty-two-year-old English beauty came to a halt in the dank, dark passage. The wavering flame of the candle she held reflected on her pale oval face and long, auburn tresses. Fear distorted her features as she peered into the shadows with her exquisite green eyes.

Raphael! she called out. Her frantic cry echoed in the dark depths of the catacombs. But there was no reply.

A moment ago the handsome Prince Raphael had been at her side. Now he had mysteriously vanished. She was completely alone.

She swung around and plaintively called out again, Raphael! Please answer me!

There was only the grim echoing of her anguished plea for help followed by the silence of the tomb. The shadows of the narrow stone-carved passage mocked her.

The charming Prince Raphael had brought her here to view the famed catacombs of Rome. They had descended from gardens filled with blood-red gladioli to the blackness of the underground passages. The Prince had warned her to keep close by him because of the danger of being lost underground. Unfortunate visitors to this eerie place had been known to slowly go mad while trying to find their way out of the maze of the dead.

Tens of thousands of bodies were buried in the narrow passageways and recesses. It was a place of eternal chill.

Though it was an August afternoon in the hot summer of 1890, no hint of the sun’s warmth touched this black cave.

It was always night in the subterranean place. It was the dark world of the dead. Used by Christians for centuries as a burial vault, the maze of passages stretched almost endlessly; to be lost here without a guide was to be doomed.

She was trembling and her eyes widened with the terror of her plight. She ran a few feet back and the candle almost went out. This brought her to a frightened halt.

Please! she prayed. Please let this end!

As if in a miraculous answer to her tautly whispered prayer, she heard, from a distance, Raphael’s slightly accented voice cry out, Della! Where are you?

Here! she cried out at once. Here! Do come to me! And she waited in the weird darkness with her heart pounding with fear.

She thought she heard footsteps approaching and then all at once there was the welcome sight of a candle’s glow: Prince Raphael was walking toward her with a lighted taper in his hand.

Delia ran to greet him breathlessly. Raphael, what happened? I almost died of terror!

He placed an arm around her and consoled her. You managed to get too far ahead of me. I lost my way at the turn. Don’t worry! We’ll get out of here somehow!

• • •

Della felt this bizarre adventure had begun on a bleak afternoon in late May of 1890. Sir Roger Drexel, the family solicitor, had contacted her at the great mansion in Doane Square to tell her he would make a late-afternoon call on a matter of urgency. She had thought little of it at the time, supposing that it had to do with some business document that required her signature.

She was the heir to the Standish fortune and legally the head of the family firm’s many enterprises, though in fact she had nothing to do with the day-to-day workings of them. Sir Roger looked after legal matters and a group of competent managers took care of the various businesses. Still, from time to time, her approval was required.

What a bore! she had grumbled to her prim Aunt Isobel Moore, a sister of her late mother who had been with her since the death of her parents.

Aunt Isobel, tall and thin with a dried-up face which belied her kindly nature, replied, You have no right to neglect your small duties. The estate brings you a fine income every year.

I suppose you’re right, Della had smiled at her aunt. But I’d counted on going to the dressmaker’s today. All my new summer clothes are waiting for fittings.

Aunt Isobel, as drab in dress as of feature, said, You’ll have other days for that. You must be here when Sir Roger Drexel arrives.

I will be, she promised.

Standing by the velvet drapes at a window overlooking the square, she gazed out at passing horse-driven carriages and sighed.

Aunt Isobel sat primly in a high-backed chair by the fireplace of the high-ceilinged, elegantly furnished living room. The old woman said, If your sister Irma had lived it would all have been different for you.

Della, who was wearing a chic green linen suit, glanced at her aunt over her shoulder and said, Much would surely be different if that were true.

And so it would have. Twenty years earlier the dark shadow of tragedy had come to hang over the family. A wicked governess had vanished in the night, taking with her Della’s twin sister, Irma. When the loss was discovered in the morning every step was taken to find the vindictive woman and recover the child. But to no avail.

Police and private investigators alike gave up attempting to find out where the woman had gone and what had happened to the missing two-year-old. All the wealth of Delia’s parents had been useless in the face of this tragedy. It was as if the woman and her child captive had vanished from the earth.

In the end that was the opinion of most. It was felt that perhaps the woman had accidentally drowned and the young Irma had perished beneath the waters of the Thames with her. The woman was known to have an admirer of dubious character who worked on a river scow. But he could not be found either.

Delia’s mother had been a frail person and the loss of a beloved child had not helped her health. When a bout of pneumonia swept the city in 1876, she was one of the plague’s victims. It was said that she had died pleading with her husband not to give up the search for the missing Irma which, at that time, had already been in progress for years.

Della had been only eight at the time and her Aunt Isobel, who had been called in during her mother’s illness, had remained with her and tried to console her. But Della would always remember her tall, mustached father coming out of her mother’s bedchamber with a look of shocked sorrow on his aristocratic face.

Seeing her, he impulsively fell to his knees sobbing and took her in his arms. She began to cry as well, for she knew that her mother must have died.

And so she had. Aunt Isobel remained in the fine house which now was somber and silent. The servants moved about on tiptoe for weeks after the death of a beloved mistress. Delia’s father began to be absent from the house more and more, and all too frequently when he returned he was in a drunken state.

There were periods when he seemed to repent his fall into drunkenness and then he would remain at home and be most attentive to Della. These were times of unbelievable happiness for her, all the more so because she knew they wouldn’t last.

Nor did they. Invariably he returned to his drunken ways and brought sorrow to them all. Somehow he managed to look after the family business so they did not suffer financially. And he kept his word to his dead wife by continuing to employ private agents to locate the little kidnapped girl, whom everyone else believed to be dead. He would not give up if only because he must fulfill his late wife’s dying request.

Aunt Isobel had protested petulantly, It is wrong! A foolish quest! And it keeps the tragedy continually with him! No wonder he drinks.

But Mother pleaded that he not give up the search, Della reminded her aunt.

She was delirious and dying when she made the request, Aunt Isobel said tartly. He should have ignored it!

Father wouldn’t, she said quietly. She had great love and respect for her sole surviving parent.

I warn you it will lead to no good, the prim older woman predicted.

And unhappily her prediction proved all too true. One evening about a year later word was brought to the mansion in Doane Square that her father had suffered an accident. He had toppled down the winding stairway of his club and been taken unconscious to a hospital.

Della and Aunt Isobel at once rushed to the hospital. By the time they reached her father’s side he was dead. She learned the tragic fact that his fall had taken place because he was drunk. So she was now alone except for Aunt Isobel and some distant cousins.

Della had been numbed by this second bereavement. But Aunt Isobel had stood by her and instilled courage in her. This had always been a characteristic of the stout-hearted maiden lady and she was not going to allow Della to grow up without infusing her with some of it.

As a result Della became a lively, adventurous young woman with many admirers rather than a meek, sorrowful and shy girl. Life took on an even, pleasant tone in the old mansion and the search for her missing twin was dropped. It was agreed by Aunt Isobel, Sir Roger Drexel and even by Della that it was a sad, futile business and there was no point continuing it.

At twenty-two, Della still had not found a young man whom she wished to marry. Aunt Isobel had accused her of being too much of a flirt and too difficult to please.

Watch out or you’ll end up an old maid like me, Aunt Isobel had threatened.

Perhaps I might enjoy that! she’d said with a smile.

You might now, the older woman said. It’s all fun when you’re young and able to turn every male head. But when you’re older and less attractive, it’s a different matter. You’ll wish you had a husband.

Della had raised her chin in a show of confidence and said, I know many wives, some young ones, who don’t appear all that happy!

And a good many more that are! A husband and babies! What else should a woman ask for?

Romance, for one thing! Della declared. And a little fun as well!

You’re spoiled!

Della laughed. If I am, dear Aunt Isobel, then you are wholly to blame since you have been both mother and father to me all these years!

Aunt Isobel’s dried-up face showed the hint of a smile, but she said, I haven’t put such ideas in your head. It’s those wicked, romantic novels you’ve been reading!

They’ve taught me a good deal about life and men!

I’ll warrant that! But all the wrong things!

I wouldn’t say so!

I will, Aunt Isobel insisted. You went with that young lawyer apprenticed to Sir Roger’s firm for most of a year. I thought it would be a match. And then you dropped him!

Della’s cheeks crimsoned. I don’t wish to discuss that!

Just the same, Henry Clarkson was a good-looking, pleasant young man.

He had no vision or true humor and a head full of dull law! Della exclaimed.

There are no perfect men!

There must be some better than Henry Clarkson, Della said, turning away so her aunt could not study her expression. The fact was she had liked Henry Clarkson a great deal, but there had been an unfortunate circumstance that had ended their budding romance.

While driving with a girl friend in a carriage in the park one day, she had happened to look across the road and seen Henry Clarkson at the reins of a carriage drawn by a frisky black horse and with an equally frisky, black-haired young woman at his side.

Later, when she had challenged him about this, he had behaved most guiltily and insisted that the girl was a school friend of his sister. He had agreed to show her some of London. But the more she probed the more she learned about his attentions to this girl. It had not been a matter of a single afternoon, friends of hers had seen him with the dark girl at other times and places.

So, in spite of his protests that it had all been most innocent, she had broken off with him abruptly. He’d made several requests to see her since, but she’d always refused him. When they met at parties she did her best to avoid him. But it had been difficult for her and she’d needed all her courage to put on a brave front and turn to other swains who interested her not at all.

This was her situation at the moment. She rarely went out with a young man twice. And since she knew hosts of the most eligible young fellows in London and because she was lovely enough to capture their fancies, she had no lack of male companions. The price she was paying was to be considered a heartless flirt!

And this was too bad. Since she was anything but that. Often she sat alone mourning the unhappy twist of fate that had parted her from the one man she’d truly cared for. But she let no one else guess.

So now she found herself in the great living room with her aunt, awaiting the arrival of Sir Roger Drexel. She respected the tall old man with his craggy face, heavy white hair and sideburns and booming voice. In a way he had become a kind of father figure to her.

Sir Roger arrived exactly at four as he had promised. He had the military bearing of the former cavalry officer he was and made a magnificent figure in his gray trousers, fawn vest and brown frock coat. His cravat was also of dark brown. He approached Aunt Isobel with a smile on his face and bowed and kissed the back of her hand.

You look in good health, Miss Moore, he boomed in his loud voice.

Aunt Isobel’s dried face showed pleasure. I’m as well as I can expect for one of my years!

Years! Ha! the grand old man said, dismissing her age with the gesture of a huge hand. You are in the prime of life, ma’am.

I’d hardly say that! Aunt Isobel replied.

I say you are, the big man said, his eyebrows almost meeting as he frowned. For I’m a good many years your senior and I’m not about to pop into my grave!

Della laughed and went to kiss him dutifully on the cheek as he leaned down to her. I can’t ever imagine you doing that, Sir Roger!

Well, the Sudanese tried to do me in when I was in the army but without any luck, the big man laughed. I enjoy life.

I know you do, Della said, taking one of his huge hands in hers. Now do come and sit by the fireplace with Aunt Isobel.

He drew back. No, he said. I’d rather you sat down. I’d like to stand for a little.

Truly?

Yes. I’ve been seated in my office all day until now, Sir Roger Drexel said. By the way there’s some talk about town that the Queen has a cold.

I hope it’s not serious, Aunt Isobel said with some alarm.

The white-maned Sir Roger shrugged. Well, at her age any illness is to be considered. But the direct word from the palace which came my way suggested she’s resting as comfortably as can be expected.

Then she is likely in no danger, Della said. She is such a sturdy old woman. We’ve come to think she’ll live forever.

And she’d better and stop that rogue of a son from taking the throne, Aunt Isobel said with some anger.

Edward? Sir Roger inquired mildly. What have you against the poor man?

He has too many women for one thing! Aunt Isobel said.

Sir Roger sighed. Well, temptation is often thrown in his way. He’s waited a long time for his chance to be King. I like the man and I sympathize with him.

A knowing look wrinkled Aunt Isobel’s face. For all I admire you, Roger, you are a male. So I’d expect you to favor him.

Sir Roger chuckled. Well, there you have it. But let me get down to the serious business of my being here.

Why did you come? Della asked.

The big man’s face became grave. I don’t think either you or Miss Moore can possibly guess.

Out with it, man, Aunt Isobel insisted.

Sir Roger took some papers from an inner pocket, lifted the pince-nez that hung from a velvet cord about his neck, and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. He said, I only received these papers hours ago, and so I have not had too much time to study them. Turning to Della, he added, I ask you to prepare yourself for a shock, my dear.

What sort of shock? Have we suffered some grievous business loss? she asked.

No, I wish it were as simple as that, the old lawyer said. The fact is I received this message only early this morning that your long-missing sister, Irma, is alive and well.

Nothing he might have said could have come as more of a shock. Both Della and her aunt rose to their feet. Della was the first to recover her voice. You can’t mean it! She gasped.

I’m completely serious, the old man said.

Explain! Aunt Isobel begged him.

After twenty years! And all that searching! Della said tautly. Where is she?

In Italy, Sir Roger said.

Italy! Aunt Isobel echoed.

In Rome, to be precise, the old lawyer said. It appears she has been there all these years. No doubt some of the investigators must have come close to discovering her and just managed to miss doing it.

Della stared at the lawyer. She’s twenty-two! My own age! My twin! And most surely a stranger to me!

That is so, Sir Roger said. As I follow it, the woman who stole your sister went to Rome. There, she found employment in the house of one Prince Sanzio.

A prince! Della said in amazement.

There are a good many of them over there, Sir Roger said. Much more common than in England.

Did my sister grow up a servant in this man’s house?

No. Because she was attractive and he a childless widower, he adopted her. The woman who did the kidnapping pretended the child was her own and offered her to the Prince.

How dare she do such a thing, Aunt Isobel said in annoyance.

Sir Roger said, She felt this was the best way of concealing the child. And she kept her secret until after her death.

How did Prince Sanzio find out? Aunt Isobel asked.

The woman died recently and left a written confession, the old man said. This was not immediately found, but as soon as it was I received this communication from Prince Sanzio.

What does he say? Della asked.

He claims to be old and in poor health, Sir Roger Drexel said. He has brought the girl up as Princess Irma Sanzio.

Della smiled in awe. So I have a sister who is a princess!

An Italian princess, Sir Roger said. However, Prince Sanzio fears he will die soon and he does not want the girl to be left alone. It is his wish that she be reunited with her family.

Of course! Della agreed.

Aunt Isobel spoke up: Let us not be too quick in this matter.

What do you mean? Della asked her.

The old woman said, Suppose it is a hoax?

This left Della shocked. She asked Sir Roger, You must think this all bona fide or you wouldn’t have brought it to us.

The old lawyer’s white eyebrows met again in a frown as he said, I’ve gone into it all in as much detail as time allowed. I only received the message this morning.

And? Della said.

I know there is a Prince Sanzio and that the crest on the letterhead on which he’s written me is his actual crest.

That does not prove much, Aunt Isobel said, still stubbornly refusing to believe the story. Someone could have somehow stolen his notepaper and manufactured the message. It could be another scheme to drain us of money. There have been such attempts in the past.

I know all that, Sir Roger agreed. But there is no mention of money in this letter. It only states the facts and asks that Della come to Rome at once and be reunited with her sister.

Aunt Isobel looked more upset. This man expects my niece to journey to Rome on the basis of his wild story?

I think it may be the truth, Sir Roger said solemnly. I cannot think of anything he has to gain by it otherwise.

Sir Roger is right, Aunt Isobel, Della said. I think you are wrong to refuse to believe. It is wonderful! A dream come true! I only wish that my mother and father were alive to know about it.

And I, Sir Roger agreed. I think the tragedy of Irma’s vanishing helped bring on the death of your parents.

I’m sure of it, Della said. And I want to meet this girl. If it turns out she isn’t my sister no harm will be done.

You sound so sure, her aunt said drily. It could be a plan to get you to Rome and hold you for ransom. Have you thought of that?

Della stared at her aunt incredulously and then at Sir Roger. Do you think that, Sir Roger?

The big man hesitated. I suppose it is possible. You are one of the wealthiest young women in England.

You see! Aunt Isobel said triumphantly.

Yet I doubt it is likely, Sir Roger said, rubbing his long chin. I believe this letter to be genuine.

Why does he ask that Della go to Rome? the older woman demanded. Why not send the other girl here?

Della turned to her aunt and said, She may be afraid to come here alone. Not sure what sort of reception she will get.

Sir Roger nodded. I think Prince Sanzio wishes to see Della and know her. It is understandable.

But it could be a wicked trap! Aunt Isobel insisted.

Sir Roger said, I would not under any circumstances allow Della to journey to Rome alone.

Della stared at him. You think me incapable of making the trip on my own?

Not at all, he said. But you must be protected. I would insist on sending along a qualified lawyer. And certainly your Aunt Isobel should journey with you as a companion!

Aunt Isobel said, I’m not sure I’m up to such a trip.

Of course you are, Della said, turning to her. If my sister is in Rome and alive I want to meet her and know her!

Sir Roger said, I shall try to get any additional information I can. In the meanwhile I would suggest that you two ladies prepare to travel shortly.

I’m so excited! Della said. It’s like someone coming back from the dead!

Just so long as we get the right Lazarus, her aunt said grimly.

What do you mean? Della asked.

You heard Sir Roger say you are heiress to one of England’s great fortunes. If this is truly Irma living in Rome, she will be bound to share the fortune with you.

I don’t care! There’s enough for both of us!

I’m sure there is, Aunt Isobel said with irony. But would you wish to share the family money with an impostor?

An impostor! she gasped.

Come, her aunt said, surely you are not so naïve as to have overlooked that possibility.

No! she said indignantly. The idea didn’t cross my mind! I’m too happy to hear that my sister may be alive and safe. That I may have someone of my own flesh and blood to cherish!

Aunt Isobel drew herself up primly. I must say that puts me properly in my place!

At once Della knelt by her aunt’s chair and pleaded with her, Don’t make things more difficult. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years. No one will ever mean more to me than you! But if my sister is alive I do want to go to her!

Your aunt made a sensible comment, Sir Roger warned her. There is surely a danger that someone may have located a look-alike for you and now be hoping to pawn her off as your long-lost sister. The search for her is widely known and is the sort of thing to attract the unscrupulous.

She gave him a troubled look. Don’t tell me that when you’ve raised up my hopes!

Sir Roger’s stern expression softened. I’m sorry, my girl. I did not mean to upset you. I had no choice but to bring this to your attention. And the chances are that we may have found your sister.

She rose to face him. But you are no more convinced of it than Aunt Isobel?

Frankly, no, the old man said with a hint of embarrassment. Yet I think the lead is worth you’re making the journey to Rome. Just so long as you’re protected against possible kidnapping or being tricked by an impostor, or in some other fashion.

I see, she said quietly. So I should not let my hopes raise too high?

That would be my advice, Sir Roger said. Now I must be on my way, ladies. I’d like you to call at my office on Monday, Della. We can then work out more of the details.

I was going to the country, she said. But I will stay in the city and see you.

Very good, the old lawyer bowed in his formal fashion. I hope you will regard my news as good until it is proven otherwise.

Della saw him out and after she had watched his carriage drive away, she returned to the living room and the company of her aunt.

I don’t like it at all, Aunt Isobel said.

You’re being too pessimistic, Della complained.

Rome is far away and in a foreign country, Aunt Isobel said. We could all wind up in our beds with our throats slit open!

Nonsense! Della exclaimed. This is 1890. People travel everywhere with few problems, if any!

The prim woman sighed. I know you’ve been taken in by it. So has Sir Roger to an extent. But I feel it is simply a trap set up by some confidence man to get money from you!

The man who wrote the letter and adopted my sister is an Italian prince, she said with impatience. He could be more wealthy than I am!

He likely lives in a cold, old castle with no money at all, Aunt Isobel warned her.

I must find out if it really is Irma, Della said. So I shall go to Rome no matter what you say.

I realize that, her aunt answered with resignation. And I shall accompany you. But I fear for the worst!

After a while Della left her aunt to retreat to her room and think about this startling new development in her life. She had been too young when Irma was kidnapped to have any real memories of her. Or of the woman who had committed the vile crime. She only knew its effects had poisoned the lives of her parents and had a real bearing on her own happiness.

Now there was a chance the mystery might be resolved. That Irma might happily be restored to her rightful place in London society. That she might get to know this lost sister!

In a closet of her room there was a small velvet-covered trunk that had come into her hands on her father’s death. Prior to that he had kept it in his room. Now she went to the closet and moved out the small trunk from the shadows to study it. She knew well its contents, ancient and yellowed garments of the child who had been stolen that night twenty years ago.

The trunk was not locked so she slipped back the catches and held it open. She could smell the ancient rot of the infant clothes, mildew mixed with a faint aroma of perfume. She lifted a tiny yellow baby dress and stared at it.

She knew that before her death her unhappy mother had spent long hours brooding over this trunk and its contents. Then her father had taken it into his room, a continual reminder of the tragedy. Now she had it.

The link with those distant days gave her an eerie feeling. Was Irma truly alive and grown up in Rome? Or was it part of some diabolical scheme to defraud her and round out the tragedy? She didn’t know and she couldn’t take the chance of not trying to find out.

Something deep within her made her decision unwavering. She owed it to her parents not to fail at this critical moment. She must go to Rome and find out the truth. And if Irma were truly alive, bring her back to London. In the meantime she would live in a state of tension. Difficult days lay ahead for her!

On Monday afternoon Della made the journey to Sir Roger Drexel’s Fleet Street law offices. It was a pleasant day and she sat back in the open carriage enjoying the drive while the coachman sat on a seat high behind her guiding the reins of the brown mare.

Della loved London! There was the theater—she enjoyed every play whether it was an old-fashioned melodrama in one of the lesser theaters or a fine production of Shakespeare at the Lyceum. She liked equally the vulgarity of the music hall and the new plays about social problems. And she often went to the open-air entertainment at Earl’s Court or the Crystal Palace.

She was a part of social Mayfair. Mayfair led a very carefully regulated life as a community. At various times of the year the houses of the aristocracy and of the very rich were filled for the season! At certain times carriages paraded in the park. Children went out with nurses or governesses, all the little girls of one family dressed alike. There were parties, receptions, balls, drums and dinners. The shops of Oxford Street, Regent Street and Bond Street showed their newest collections. The opera audience, in full dress, was brilliant and sometimes bored, but Della knew it was thought to be the most fashionable entertainment. When the season ended the dresses and uniforms, the liveried footmen and the starched nursemaids, the window boxes and stiff little park chairs would vanish, leaving the squares of Belgravia and St. James and the streets of Mayfair almost deserted.

Such were the dimensions of her world. And yet she knew there was another London. The world of the poor Londoner. Those who worked hard and lived in slum houses in mean streets. Whose diversions were limited to the public house, an occasional visit to a music hall and rarely a trip as far as Hampstead Heath on Bank Holiday. Drinking, fighting and swearing were common among these men and women. Few visitors came to their areas from outside, except for church missions and fashionable young ladies like herself doing social work.

Along with some of her friends, she had invaded these dark corners of the city on special enterprises. Certain parts of East London were quickly becoming inhabited by foreign immigrants, a large proportion of whom were refugees from the Russian pogroms. By industry, thrift and driving ambition many forged ahead to middle-class respectability. But many of the newcomers retained their own clothes, customs and the language of their birthplace.

The Chinese already had their own quarter in Limehouse, with the Japanese to be found in Bloomsbury, studying English and English business methods. It was an exciting age, Della believed; the first news photograph had just been printed in a London Daily and there were dozens of other amazing inventions said to be on the way.

Her carriage moved slowly along Fleet Street. Men in bowler hats and top hats and lads in caps flowed about in the busy thoroughfare. Because the weather was warming, there were occasional women in wide-brimmed straw hats. And one or two of the men sported straw boaters.

The carriage passed a two-decker, horse-drawn omnibus with a full complement of passengers and ads printed on its sides for Carter’s Liver Pills, Nestles Milk and Sanitas disinfectant. Her driver brought the carriage to the curb by the great stone building in which Lawyer Drexel had his chambers and jumped down to help her to the sidewalk. She told him to return for her in a half-hour and went inside.

A young, bright-faced clerk was there to greet her. And what is your business, miss? he asked with a smile.

She was impressed by his manner. She smiled in return as she said, I’m here to see Sir Roger Drexel.

Yes, miss, the lad replied. You would be Miss Della Standish.

That is correct.

Follow me, miss, the boy said. Sir Roger is waiting for you.

She followed him down a short corridor to an oaken door marked Private. The boy knocked on it and from the other side came a reply in Sir Roger’s booming tones.

The boy smiled and opened the door and said, You can go right on in, Miss Standish.

She entered the big office and the tall Sir Roger stood up to come and meet her. She kissed him in her usual fashion and he saw her safely seated in a chair across the desk from his. He said, Are you still keen about going to Rome?

More than ever, she said. Have you learned anything else about Prince Sanzio?

The craggy face of the old man showed a smile. I have not been idle.

So?

Prince Sanzio has a palace in Rome. He is not a poor man but neither is he wealthy. He is respected for his family name and it is known that he has an adopted English daughter.

Which must be Irma!

Could be your sister, the old man corrected her. We must not jump to conclusions. Prince Sanzio would benefit greatly if his adopted daughter came into half the Standish fortune.

She sat back wearily in her chair. Why must money always be coming into it? I want to find my sister!

And so you shall—if she is your sister, Sir Roger Drexel said. Yet your Aunt Isobel is right in fearing you might be stepping into a trap or that an impostor might be palmed off on you!

I don’t think that is likely.

Sir Roger gave her a stern look. Consider this: If the girl in Rome should be given acceptance as your sister and anything subsequently happened to you, she would then be the sole heiress.

Why do you point out such an obvious fact? she asked impatiently.

"To make you understand the possible