The fact is, the young waif, as Rose thought him, was placed, at her expense, on board one of the training-ships lying off Greenhithe. They are n.o.ble inst.i.tutions, these training-ships-saving lads who, if left to themselves, might become tempted by circ.u.mstances or bad companions into crime, and at the same time supplying us with what we English emphatically require at the present day-English sailors on whom captains can rely on board our merchant ships and men-of-war. There was no difficulty in getting the actress's _protege_ there, and there he was rapidly training into a good sailor and a fine fellow, well-built, obedient to his superiors, handy, and hardy, and st.u.r.dy, morally and physically, as all sailors should be.

The next thing was to talk to a lawyer. In this wicked world lawyers are necessary evils. Sometimes, however, they do a great deal of good. The lawyer recommended Wentworth to call on the family lawyer of the deceased Baronet. He came back looking unhappy and uncomfortable, as people often do when they have interviews with lawyers who are supposed to be on the other side. He found him in comfortable quarters on a first floor in Bedford Row, Holborn, looking the very image of respectability-bald, and in black, with an appearance partly suggestive of the fine old clergyman of the port-wine school, with a touch of the thorough man of the world; a lawyer, in short, who would give an air of plausibility and rect.i.tude to any cause in which he was embarked.

To him Wentworth apologized for making an intrusion.

'No apology at all was needed, my dear sir. Happy to make your acquaintance. I have not only read your books-very clever, too, Mr.

Wentworth-but I heard of you more than once through Sir Watkin Strahan.'

'Perhaps in no complimentary terms?'

'Well, you know the late Baronet was a man of strong pa.s.sions, and, when annoyed, I must admit that his language was what we might call a little unparliamentary.'

'It is about his business I have called. You are aware there is an heir?'

'Oh yes; Colonel Strahan, the brother.'

'I don't mean him. A son.'

'A son! Impossible. The deceased baronet had only one son, and the fine fellow-'

'Is now alive.'

'Nonsense, my dear sir. He was buried in the family vault, after the doctor and the family were satisfied of his ident.i.ty, and I was present at the funeral. There was a coroner's inquest held in order to leave no room for doubt.'

'I think not,' said Wentworth, as he proceeded to unfold the details of his case, to which the lawyer listened at first with a severely judicial air, and then with an incredulous smile.

'Is that all you've got to say?' he asked, when Wentworth had finished his statement.

'Pretty much so,' replied Wentworth.

'Then,' replied the lawyer, with a triumphant air, 'we have little to fear. Sergeant B.'-naming a popular advocate of the day-'would laugh the case out of court in a quarter of an hour. You have a quarrel with the deceased. Your good lady has-to put it not too strongly-been insulted and shamefully ill-treated by him. Who would believe that, in promoting this suit-should you be so ill-advised as to do that-you came into court with clean hands? The idea is perfectly preposterous.'

The worst of it was that Wentworth, as he withdrew, was compelled to own that there was not a little truth in what the lawyer had said.

It was not law but equity that was required in his particular case. In England law and equity, alas! have often different meanings.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE ITALIAN COUNTESS.

'How lovely!' said a lady to a gentleman on the deck by her side, as they were drinking in all the beauty of the scene as one of the fine ships of the Orient Company dropped her anchor in the Bay of Naples. 'And look what a swarm of boats have come out to greet us!'

They were a swarm indeed, some of them with divers to exhibit their prowess, some with fruit and flowers, some with the lava ornaments in the manufacture of which the Neapolitans exhibit such exquisite skill, and others with musicians-vocal and instrumental-keeping up for the time quite a serenade. These Neapolitans gain but little, it is to be feared, on such occasions, but the Neapolitans are a frugal people, and make a little go a long way.

The lady was Rose, the gentleman by her side was her husband.

'Yes; and see, one of the boats has a young girl who has come on deck with flowers, which she is fastening in the gentlemen's coats in hope of a small fee. How pretty she looks!'

The girl approached Rose, to whom she offered a flower.

'Why, it speaks the language of hope,' said Rose. 'I take it as a good omen that here we shall find the Italian lady of whom we have come in search.'

'Let us hope that it may be so. We have no time to lose if we mean to go on sh.o.r.e. The health officer has done his duty, and given leave for the captain to land his pa.s.sengers. Let us hasten to get on board the steam launch. I see already they have got our luggage. Fortunately for me there is not much of it.'

And in a few minutes they were at the custom-house. The only difficulty was a small box of cigars, on which Wentworth had to pay a most exorbitant duty.

At the end of the quay they found a crowd of coachmen waiting for hire, shouting and gesticulating in the wildest manner. Rose was quite frightened at their appearance, and with the noise they made. However, they found one who did not charge more than double the ordinary fare to drive them to the hotel. As they drove along they encountered, of course, some of the awful drain smells for which the city has long been famous.

'I don't wonder, now,' said Rose, as they pulled up before a grand hotel, 'at the saying, "See Naples and die." How can people live where such smells are met with everywhere? But if that Italian Countess is alive we may find her. Perhaps she can help us to establish our boy's claim.'

That same morning an Italian Countess came home from her daily drive in a great state of trepidation. She had seen an English face that she remembered but too well-it was that of Miss Howard, the celebrated actress. She had ordered the coachman to keep the lady in sight; but that was impossible, the crowd was too great, and she returned home not a little agitated. Was it fancy or fact? was a question she could not determine.

What could she do? Well, she drove off to the English Consul next day.

Perhaps he could tell her. Alas, he was in utter ignorance of the matter.

There were the hotels; she would drive to them and make inquiries. There were only a few of them, as a rule, patronized by the English. It would be easy to make inquiries. She did so, but she could hear of no Miss Howard at any of them. All day long she was driving up and down the princ.i.p.al streets, but in vain. There is not much to see in Naples itself, it is the country round that is the attraction, and Rose and her husband were out all day long studying the remains of Pompeii, climbing up Mount Vesuvius, sailing to Sorrento or Capri, exploring the ruins of Baiae, and the grave of Virgil. There was much to see, and they had no intention to let the gra.s.s grow under their feet. Daily they returned at a late hour to their hotel, charmed but wearied; and thus they had but little time to spend in the streets, looking at the shops, or studying the manners and customs of the people.

The Countess pondered over the matter deeply. She lived a retired life herself; she had few friends; her establishment was on a very moderate scale. There were those who said she was not a Countess, that her t.i.tle was merely an a.s.sumed one. This was unfair, as most of the ladies one meets in Naples are Countesses, and the presumption therefore was in favour of her ladyship's claims. Countess or no Countess, she was in a very troubled state. She had seen a face that reminded her of old times in London-of her intrigue with Sir Watkin Strahan-of her worming herself into the confidence of his lady-of her partic.i.p.ation in the abduction of the heir-in fact, of her revenge; and she sighed as she thought how little good she had gained by it. Her ladyship's maid was alarmed. What had come to the Countess it was beyond her power to imagine.

'Have you anything on your mind?' said her old Italian priest as he sat in the first-floor of one of the villas that looked over Naples on to its lovely bay and the sea beyond, whilst Vesuvius on the left was indicating, in its usual way, that it was suffering a good deal in its inside. The old priest lunched with her ladyship every day.

'Anything on my mind?' said the lady. 'Oh, dear father, no. Why talk to me in this way this bright afternoon, when all nature seems so bright and gay? Ah, it is a beautiful world when one is young-the terraces, the gardens, the flowers, the blue sea, the old castle beneath, the streets with the jewellers' shops, the fine churches with their sacred services and sacred paintings. How I love them all! I could not live away from La Belle Naples. Oh, that I could stay here for ever!'

'That were a foolish wish, daughter,' said the holy man. 'Naples is very fine and its bay is beautiful, but you have something better to look at.

See, the crucifix! Behold Who bleeds and suffers there-Who founded the Catholic Church of which I am a humble member, and in whose name I speak.

At one time, if I may believe what I hear, you were not quite so fond of Naples as you seem to be now. I have heard that you went to the land of the heretics-that Island of England which has so long denied the faith, but which I am glad to find is abandoning its heresy, repenting of its sin, and returning to the Holy See. When we see the sister of an English Prime Minister find salvation in the bosom of the Holy Church, when our sacred officials are run after in all the highest circles, when they astonish all London by their works of charity and labours of love, by their eloquence and learning and saintly lives; when these Islanders, insolent and haughty as they are to one another, crowd as they do to Rome, and prostrate themselves at Rome's feet as they do, we know that the end is near-that the time of the triumph of the one Catholic and Universal Church, to whom St. Peter committed the care of the keys, is at hand. Pray that that blessed time may soon arrive. I have been to St.

Paul's-I know Westminster Abbey-it would rejoice my heart to hear that once more there was performed in them the Holy Service of the Ma.s.s.'

'Holy father, that is my daily prayer.'

'I am glad to hear you say so. But tell me, when you were among the heretics were you always a daughter of the Church?'

'Always, holy father. I fulfilled my mission-you know what that was.'

'I have heard something of it.'

'I should think so,' replied the lady with a smile. 'I had money, and I drew around me its worshippers. I was of an old Italian family, and stood well in the upper London circles. I had beauty-smile not, holy father, though you see me old and yellow and wrinkled-and beauty, as you know, never spreads its net in vain. I believe, also, I had wit, and wit goes far in that land of fogs and foxhunters, of prudish women and milksops, of cant and humbug.'

'Ah,' said the monk, with a smile of approbation, 'you seem not to have liked those English-those heretics-those lunatic sightseers who, as they never can be happy at home, come to us to forget their sorrows, and who fancy that by doing so they are amusing themselves.'

'Truly no, holy father. How could I? They do not even worship the Virgin Mary!'

The holy father shook his head and sighed.

'I think, daughter, you wished to have a chat with me. There was something on your mind.'