The Gadfly by Ethel Voynich (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

culpa? You wise beast, you never ask for opium, do you? Your ancestors were gods in Egypt, and no man t-trod on their tails. I wonder, though, what would become of your calm superiority to earthly ills if I were to take this paw of yours and hold it in the c-candle. Would you ask me for opium then? Would you? Or perhaps⁠—for death? No, pussy, we have no right to die for our personal convenience. We may spit and s-swear a bit, if it consoles us; but we mustn’t pull the paw away.”

“Hush!” She took the cat off his knee and put it down on a footstool. “You and I will have time for thinking about those things later on. What we have to think of now is how to get Domenichino out of his difficulty. What is it, Katie; a visitor? I am busy.”

“Miss Wright has sent you this, ma’am, by hand.”

The packet, which was carefully sealed, contained a letter, addressed to Miss Wright, but unopened and with a Papal stamp. Gemma’s old school friends still lived in Florence, and her more important letters were often received, for safety, at their address.

“It is Michele’s mark,” she said, glancing quickly over the letter, which seemed to be about the summer-terms at a boarding house in the Apennines, and pointing to two little blots on a corner of the page. “It is in chemical ink; the reagent is in the third drawer of the writing-table. Yes; that is it.”

He laid the letter open on the desk and passed a little brush over its pages. When the real message stood out on the paper in a brilliant blue line, he leaned back in his chair and burst out laughing.

“What is it?” she asked hurriedly. He handed her the paper.

“Domenichino has been arrested. Come at once.”

She sat down with the paper in her hand and stared hopelessly at the Gadfly.

“W-well?” he said at last, with his soft, ironical drawl; “are you satisfied now that I must go?”

“Yes, I suppose you must,” she answered, sighing. “And I too.”

He looked up with a little start. “You too? But⁠—”

“Of course. It will be very awkward, I know, to be left without anyone here in Florence; but everything must go to the wall now except the providing of an extra pair of hands.”

“There are plenty of hands to be got there.”

“They don’t belong to people whom you can trust thoroughly, though. You said yourself just now that there must be two responsible persons in charge; and if Domenichino couldn’t manage alone it is evidently impossible for you to do so. A person as desperately compromised as you are is very much handicapped, remember, in work of that kind, and more dependent on help than anyone else would be. Instead of you and Domenichino, it must be you and I.”

He considered for a moment, frowning.

“Yes, you are quite right,” he said; “and the sooner we go the better. But we must not start together. If I go off tonight, you can take, say, the afternoon coach tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“That we must discuss. I think I had b-b-better go straight in to Faenza. If I start late tonight and ride to Borgo San Lorenzo I can get my disguise arranged there and go straight on.”

“I don’t see what else we can do,” she said, with an anxious little frown; “but it is very risky, your going off in such a hurry and trusting to the smugglers finding you a disguise at Borgo. You ought to have at least three clear days to double on your trace before you cross the frontier.”

“You needn’t be afraid,” he answered, smiling; “I may get taken further on, but not at the frontier. Once in the hills I am as safe as here; there’s not a smuggler in the Apennines that would betray me. What I am not quite sure about is how you are to get across.”

“Oh, that is very simple! I shall take Louisa Wright’s passport and go for a holiday. No one knows me in the Romagna, but every spy knows you.”

“F-fortunately, so does every smuggler.”

She took out her watch.

“Half-past two. We have the afternoon and evening, then, if you are to start tonight.”

“Then the best thing will be for me to go home and settle everything now, and arrange about a good horse. I shall ride in to San Lorenzo; it will be safer.”

“But it won’t be safe at all to hire a horse. The owner will⁠—”

“I shan’t hire one. I know a man that will lend me a horse, and that can be trusted. He has done things for me before. One of the shepherds will bring it back in a fortnight. I shall be here again by five or half-past, then; and while I am gone, I w-want you to go and find Martini and exp-plain everything to him.”

“Martini!” She turned round and looked at him in astonishment.

“Yes; we must take him into confidence⁠—unless you can think of anyone else.”

“I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“We must have someone here whom we can trust, in case of any special difficulty; and of all the set here Martini is the man in whom I have most confidence. Riccardo would do anything he could for us, of course; but I think Martini has a steadier head. Still, you know him better than I do; it is as you think.”

“I have not the slightest doubt as to Martini’s trustworthiness and efficiency in every respect; and I think he would probably consent to give us any help he could. But⁠—”

He understood at once.

“Gemma, what would you feel if you found out that a comrade in bitter need had not asked you for help you might have given, for fear of hurting or distressing you? Would you say there was any true kindness in that?”

“Very well,” she said, after a little pause; “I will send Katie round at once and ask him to come; and while she is gone I will go