Ariadne's Diadem Read Online Free PDF

of his, or rather Gervase’s, Spanish cigars. His deep antagonism was hidden behind a warm smile and tone as he addressed his cousin. “What are your plans after this? Do you intend serving the serving girl? Or will you perhaps languish alone dreaming dreams of sweet Anne Willowby?”
    It was another of the little close-to-the-mark gibes that Gervase found so irritating. He didn’t exactly dream dreams of Anne Willowby, but he certainly lay awake wondering what manner of bride she would turn out to be. He kept trying to banish her from his mind completely, but at night, when he was alone, she crept in and wouldn’t go away. He also wished now that he had called upon her, for at least then he would be able to put a face to the name. Pouring some more wine, he swirled the glass. The wedding night would probably be the one and only time he shared her bed, and he only hoped he’d be able to rise to the occasion! What if the head of the Mowbray family proved to be a limp bridegroom? What if the consummation proved to be a disaster like that of the Prince Regent and Caroline of Brunswick?
    Hugh saw his pensive expression and enjoyed the effect his comment had caused. He was about to spitefully press the point a little more when the maid returned to replenish the jug of wine. Before leaving, she bent to whisper in Gervase’s ear. “If you wish, I will make tonight special for you, signor...”
    Gervase hesitated. Her attentions all evening had only mildly stirred his interest, but Hugh’s sharp reminder about the unwanted bride awaiting his return to England suddenly made the Neapolitan girl of exquisite desirability. So he gave her one of his lazily seductive smiles and nodded.
    Her eyes shone, and she bent even closer to put her parted lips softly to his, but then there was a stir at the far end of the dining room, and she straightened to see what it was about. The other diners had suddenly fallen silent, and all eyes were upon a slightly built man, cloaked and hooded, who’d just entered. Someone whispered a name—Sylvanus—and on hearing it the girl gave a nervous gasp and hurried away. The name had the same effect on everyone else too, for there was a scraping of chairs, and in a few moments the only persons left, apart from the strange new arrival, were the two Englishmen and a local shopkeeper who was too drunk to know what was happening.
    Without removing his long voluminous cloak or even tossing his hood back, as one might have expected now that he was no longer outside, the stranger approached the cousins’ table. It seemed to Gervase that his steps were oddly light, almost like the pattering of little hooves, and when he spoke, his voice was peculiarly high and nasal.
    “Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Sylvanus,” he said, and as he inclined his head, all they could see of his face was the faint gleam of his eyes behind a mask, and a chin with a beard that put Gervase in mind of a he-goat.
    Hugh rather rudely waved the man away without speaking, but Gervase responded courteously enough. “Good evening, Signor Sylvanus.”
    “Just Sylvanus. I trust Naples is to your liking?”
    Gervase smiled a little. “How could Naples fail to be to our liking?”
    Sylvanus made a sound of approval that was vaguely reminiscent of a bleat. “Ah, yes, for it is the fairest city in all Italy, as so many of the more discerning of your countrymen are pleased to agree. Tell me, gentlemen, have you seen all the sights? Have you visited Pompeii?”
    “Naturally, and we’ve been to Herculaneum, the Cavern of the Sibyl, the island of Capri, Virgil’s tomb, and we’ve climbed Vesuvius—twice,” Gervase added, wondering what the man’s purpose was, for clearly there was one.
    “All things classical are precious to the British, are they not?” Sylvanus said then.
    Ah, now we come to it, Gervase thought. The fellow has some fake treasure or other to hawk. “We admire your heritage, sir, for it is our own,” he