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Down on the docks the voyagers were disembarking one by one, from the ship recently docked from Naples. While the sailors carried their trunks and luggage off the ship.
Miss Margaret Cindercroft steps onto the Docks and looked around the port, her eyes coming to rest on a tall man dressed in dark clothes. She gives him a long, appreciative glance, starting from his boots and working her eyes up, slowly.
Her sister, Lady Grubiella Foxglove follows her, gently crooning to the small dog in her arms.
He is quite handsome, that fellow over there, the one we travelled over with, don't you think, Grubiella?
Ohh Margaret, my poor little Princippe he really doesn't like the sea....he is quite off his feed! Look! He is still shivering...
You are right, Poor little "Princippe" he is indeed shivering.
Grubiella looks sideways at the tall Gentleman and whispers back.
But you are right about that man, though. He can pat my Pug any-time!
So forward sister! What will he think of us?
He will think whatever we want him to think....
Margaret gives the man another approving glance from his boots up, raising her eyes slowly and admiring his male form.
.and my forwardness has served us well in the past I seem to remember. What about that time you got into that tight spot with that French Captain at the barracks. continues Grubiella.
Tight spot, me? Margaret puts on her most innocent expression, while giving the tall man another admiring glance.
You were happy enough for me to be forwards that time, Grubiella gives Margaret a friendly hip push.
I seem to remember a friendly Frenchman, or two.Margaret smiles at the memory.
...or three or four...and they were all rather friendly I seem to remember. Grubiella giggles.

The tall Man, unable to ignore the Ladies, bows politely to them and introduces himself.
My name is Cesare Bertolini, from Mestre. At your service Signore.
Do you know this island, Signor Bertolini? Margaret smiles her second best smile.
I am afraid I don't. I too, am a stranger here. Cesare smiles back
I hope we meet again. Cesare bows again and walks towards the village.
I hope so too Signor. Margaret beams at his receding form.

Grubiella strokes Il Princippe and looks around.
I wonder what they will be like here?
Tanned and brown, I'm guessing...it's not like England here with all that dreadful rain. Margaret smiles.
I do still miss Ol'Blighty you know. Grubiella looks wistful for a very short moment. Will we ever return, do you think?
I don't know if England is on the cards for us, any time soon, Grubiella dearest. We have a job to do here, don't forget. For a fleeting second Margaret's eyes cloud over.
This is true. I don't forget. Grubiella nods seriously.
Margaret reaches over to pet Il Princippe warmly: There must be some sort of boarding house, where we can get some chicken stew for your little darling.
I certainly hope so, he hasn't eaten since Napoli.
I am sure there must be. Look around, it looks lovely here, and well appointed. Its not all huts and shacks. I think we should follow our noses for some food and drink, dear sister.
Grubiella nods in agreement: do you think the trunks and luggage will be safe here for the moment, or will everything be stolen?
I am sure they will be safe. This isn't Naples. Margaret waves to a local man in the distance, and signals him to come over: Pardon Signore? Can we safely leave our things here, while we look for lodgings?
He isn't bad either. Grubiella whispers to Margaret.

Welcome to Sorrentina Ladies. Of course you can leave your things here, they will be quite safe. Hugo bows to the two Ladies.
I couldn't help overhearing that you are looking for somewhere to refresh yourselves. There is an excellent coffee establishment, on your right down the walkway over there. Hugo points towards the walkway in the distance.
Bu-o-n-a se-r-a, Gi-o-va-n-o-tto. Grubiella tries her best Italian. Gr-a-z-i-e.
Hugo Bows again and strolls away.

A short while later, having found the Coffee house, Grubiella and Margaret savour their Coffee.
A most charming place, Marge. A lovely view, don't you think?
Very lovely, dear Grubiella. One really couldn't do this in England, without catching one's death.
Margaret pulls down her bodice a bit, just in case a man might pass by. A girl has to be prepared.
How much money do we have left? I imagine we will have to be a bit careful....you know these small places. Grubiella strokes Il Princippe, now fully revived, after tasting the local rabbit stew.
Do you want me to dig it out right now sister? Margaret looks around and giggles and thinks of the purse safely strapped to her upper thigh.
Don't be daft! I was just wondering how long before we would have to think about acquiring some more?
Not much, sister. We may well have to earn our supper soon. Margaret whispers.
That is what I was thinking. We shall have to see what the people are like here, and which of our methods will work best here. Grubiella continues.
I do wonder how many Men there might be on such a small island though... Margaret looks wistful.
It looks like an affluent place, so there may well be some men that will suit our needs. Grubiella narrows her eyes and looks around critically. ....Or Ladies with too many jewels... Grubiella continues.
We had best be polite then, to all we meet until the right opportunity presents itself. Margaret gives Grubiella a meaningful look.
I shall be politeness personified. I promise. I shall curtsey to everyone...ect...ect...not knive anyone...I know...I know
I do adore you Sister, and your wit. Margaret giggles. Have you hidden your dagger in a safe place?
Off course I have Dear Sister. Its strapped to my thigh. Its quite safe. Grubiella touches her thigh.

Down on the docks the voyagers were disembarking one by one, from the ship recently docked from Naples. While the sailors carried their trunks and luggage off the ship.
Miss Margaret Cindercroft steps onto the Docks and looked around the port, her eyes coming to rest on a tall man dressed in dark clothes. She gives him a long, appreciative glance, starting from his boots and working her eyes up, slowly.
Her sister, Lady Grubiella Foxglove follows her, gently crooning to the small dog in her arms.
He is quite handsome, that fellow over there, the one we travelled over with, don't you think, Grubiella?
Ohh Margaret, my poor little Princippe he really doesn't like the sea....he is quite off his feed! Look! He is still shivering...
You are right, Poor little "Princippe" he is indeed shivering.
Grubiella looks sideways at the tall Gentleman and whispers back.
But you are right about that man, though. He can pat my Pug any-time!
So forward sister! What will he think of us?
He will think whatever we want him to think....
Margaret gives the man another approving glance from his boots up, raising her eyes slowly and admiring his male form.
.and my forwardness has served us well in the past I seem to remember. What about that time you got into that tight spot with that French Captain at the barracks. continues Grubiella.
Tight spot, me? Margaret puts on her most innocent expression, while giving the tall man another admiring glance.
You were happy enough for me to be forwards that time, Grubiella gives Margaret a friendly hip push.
I seem to remember a friendly Frenchman, or two.Margaret smiles at the memory.
...or three or four...and they were all rather friendly I seem to remember. Grubiella giggles.

The tall Man, unable to ignore the Ladies, bows politely to them and introduces himself.
My name is Cesare Bertolini, from Mestre. At your service Signore.
Do you know this island, Signor Bertolini? Margaret smiles her second best smile.
I am afraid I don't. I too, am a stranger here. Cesare smiles back
I hope we meet again. Cesare bows again and walks towards the village.
I hope so too Signor. Margaret beams at his receding form.

Grubiella strokes Il Princippe and looks around.
I wonder what they will be like here?
Tanned and brown, I'm guessing...it's not like England here with all that dreadful rain. Margaret smiles.
I do still miss Ol'Blighty you know. Grubiella looks wistful for a very short moment. Will we ever return, do you think?
I don't know if England is on the cards for us, any time soon, Grubiella dearest. We have a job to do here, don't forget. For a fleeting second Margaret's eyes cloud over.
This is true. I don't forget. Grubiella nods seriously.
Margaret reaches over to pet Il Princippe warmly: There must be some sort of boarding house, where we can get some chicken stew for your little darling.
I certainly hope so, he hasn't eaten since Napoli.
I am sure there must be. Look around, it looks lovely here, and well appointed. Its not all huts and shacks. I think we should follow our noses for some food and drink, dear sister.
Grubiella nods in agreement: do you think the trunks and luggage will be safe here for the moment, or will everything be stolen?
I am sure they will be safe. This isn't Naples. Margaret waves to a local man in the distance, and signals him to come over: Pardon Signore? Can we safely leave our things here, while we look for lodgings?
He isn't bad either. Grubiella whispers to Margaret.

Welcome to Sorrentina Ladies. Of course you can leave your things here, they will be quite safe. Hugo bows to the two Ladies.
I couldn't help overhearing that you are looking for somewhere to refresh yourselves. There is an excellent coffee establishment, on your right down the walkway over there. Hugo points towards the walkway in the distance.
Bu-o-n-a se-r-a, Gi-o-va-n-o-tto. Grubiella tries her best Italian. Gr-a-z-i-e.
Hugo Bows again and strolls away.

A short while later, having found the Coffee house, Grubiella and Margaret savour their Coffee.
A most charming place, Marge. A lovely view, don't you think?
Very lovely, dear Grubiella. One really couldn't do this in England, without catching one's death.
Margaret pulls down her bodice a bit, just in case a man might pass by. A girl has to be prepared.
How much money do we have left? I imagine we will have to be a bit careful....you know these small places. Grubiella strokes Il Princippe, now fully revived, after tasting the local rabbit stew.
Do you want me to dig it out right now sister? Margaret looks around and giggles and thinks of the purse safely strapped to her upper thigh.
Don't be daft! I was just wondering how long before we would have to think about acquiring some more?
Not much, sister. We may well have to earn our supper soon. Margaret whispers.
That is what I was thinking. We shall have to see what the people are like here, and which of our methods will work best here. Grubiella continues.
I do wonder how many Men there might be on such a small island though... Margaret looks wistful.
It looks like an affluent place, so there may well be some men that will suit our needs. Grubiella narrows her eyes and looks around critically. ....Or Ladies with too many jewels... Grubiella continues.
We had best be polite then, to all we meet until the right opportunity presents itself. Margaret gives Grubiella a meaningful look.
I shall be politeness personified. I promise. I shall curtsey to everyone...ect...ect...not knive anyone...I know...I know
I do adore you Sister, and your wit. Margaret giggles. Have you hidden your dagger in a safe place?
Off course I have Dear Sister. Its strapped to my thigh. Its quite safe. Grubiella touches her thigh.

Return to Sorrentina ~ Part 10 ~ The Past Haunts Hugo Dieter

Somehow, some way, the beast within had been released. Hugo was losing his grip on his reason, his pride and perhaps even his sanity. The last encounter with Mercury Gandt in the cafe at Rocca Sorrentina, had been a complete and utter disaster. Poor sweet Beatrice and Lady Aphrodite MacBain had looked on and then made a quick exit as Hugo raged, while the Conte Filippe Foscari had been forced to intervene. A duel between Mercury and himself may have happened right there on the spot, or even a summary execution.

Rocca Sorrentina had been so inviting and a haven from all the strife of Venezia. Beatrice, Elisabetta and Hugo has found a new home there and some solace, as least that is what Hugo thought. The tides of change were upon them and the past was coming back to haunt him. Hugo was muttering to himself as he sat on the beach, "Damnable sbirri, like a pebble in my shoe that won't cease to torment me. Beatrice and Elisabetta are probably no longer safe here, with Gandt being the sbirri pig that he is."

Hugo felt ridiculous, he had his suspicions about Gandt for some time now, but he had hoped it was lack of sleep and had managed to keep his temper in check, until now. His so-called friend, it was devastating how Beatrice has secretly learned of Mercury's true nature with the Conte leaving a document out revealing the truth. "Even helping Mercury with the Aubrey family mess back in England as I did, such stupidity, with Gandt's connections now, what difference does it make. I was such a fool."

Hugo was staring out at the waters surrounding Rocca Sorrentina, thinking of his own past dealings with the sbirri. Back in Venezia, Hugo had been so cocky, thinking he could outwit the sbirri at their own game. Always trying to keep one step ahead, he realized long ago he was dealing with the devil and he no longer wished to play. Cristoforo de Cristofoli, the head of the secret police, had kept his promise, allowing Hugo to run his opium through the Venetian port so the British East India Company didn't get wise. But at what cost?

Making his way to the church, the Chiesa di San Valentino, for some prayer and perhaps some absolution, Hugo thought back to the terrible night when he was called upon to do a despicable favor. Etched in his mind, he recalled the smell first, when the sbirri and Cristofoli himself had ordered him to a small warehouse near the docks and uncovered the bloated body of a dead man. The heat had created quite the stench, among other things, and Hugo had tried his best not to wretch in their presence. "Disposal," said Cristofoli in a hushed tone, pointing at the dead man and explaining further, "And we will never speak of this again else I confiscate all your holdings here in the city and leave you without so much as a wig to wear on your head. Delivering you to the British East India Company for violating their opium monopoly would bring me great pleasure, Signore Dieter. I doubt your countrymen would let you go quietly back to England to run the family tin mines, what will your dear parents think?"

Hugo remembered Cristofoli's menacing sneer and the smirks of his sbirri companions in the room. Hugo remembered the chill that ran along his spine as he held his coat sleeve over his own nose and mouth. He had nodded at Cristofoli and whispering quietly had asked, "Who is he?" Cristofoli had crossed the room quickly and gotten so close to Hugo's face he could almost smell his breath, even now that time had passed, "It's no concern of yours, you will take him on one of your ships, Signore Dieter, out of the harbor, far from shore and get rid of him, NOW!" Hugo had stepped back, away from this evil man, and simply nodded in compliance. Cristofoli had barked orders and his sbirri minions had covered the dead man up again and loaded the body into a crate, placing it in a small cart for transport to one of Hugo's ships.

The longest walk of Hugo's life had taken place that night, with darkness covering them but not necessarily the stench, the group found one of Hugo's ships and loaded the 'cargo' aboard. Cristofoli and the other sbirri stood on the dock for a moment, watching the ship leave the harbor of Venezia before being swallowed up by the darkness. Hugo's crew and captain knew better than to ask questions and they quickly made their way out to sea, the ship always stood ready.

Hugo had wondered who the poor dead soul was and stared at the crate as the Captain was steering the ship to open waters. Steeling himself against the stench, Hugo remembered opening the crate once more and looking for something, anything that could be useful. Hugo had then spied the ring, an elegant ring on the corpse's hand. "One step ahead of them," he whispered into the night as he took the ring off the dead man's hand and carefully tucked the limb back into the crate. Hugo had pocketed the ring for safekeeping as the Captain had announced, "Far enough Signore Dieter, let's be done with our task." Pulling the crate to the edge of the ship's deck, Hugo ordered two small cannonballs to be placed in with the deceased before the crate was nailed shut and then pushed overboard, quickly sinking and being swallowed up by the sea.

Hugo had made sure to stay away from Venezia after that awful night, as much as he could. And then sweet Beatrice's letter had come, asking for his help, in the one city he could barely stand. Hugo had been reunited with Beatrice, met Gandt and heard of the tale of the missing Contessa Elena Foscari. Beatrice's sister, Elisabetta, had been wrongly imprisoned by the sbirri in Venezia to gain the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Contessa Elena. The dead man's ring came in quite handy, trading that ring for the freedom of an innocent. Beatrice was overwhelmed with happiness when her dear sister, Elisabetta, was released. Hugo had assured Cristofoli that the ladies and himself were never going to be heard from again. Cristofoli had laughed and toyed with the ring, letting Hugo know he was sure that nothing more would come of this favor as Cristofoli announced haughtily, "Dead men tell no tales, do they Signore Dieter?"

Rising after his long prayer or rather re-living his tortured memories, Hugo was stiff and stretched his muscles. The ladies and himself had sailed here to Rocca Sorrentina for a fresh start. But, it was not to be it seemed. Walking out of the church, he made his way to the lawn in front of the Villa Vesuviana. Staring up at the beautiful facade of the villa, Hugo thought out loud, "The Conte is here yet his elusive daughter, the Contessa Elena, is still missing. Signore Gandt is in fact sbirri and the Conte made a slip with Beatrice, on purpose or by accident, of his occupation. The Conte uses his influence to control Gandt and myself, almost like the sbirri and that bastard Cristofoli. Will sweet Beatrice and Elisabetta be safe here with sbirri pigs at our heels? To duel or not to duel Signore Mercury Gandt, that will be the next question." Shaking his head, thinking of sleep, Hugo walks away with unclear and scattered thoughts still running through his head.

Return to Sorrentina ~ Part 10 ~ The Past Haunts Hugo Dieter

Somehow, some way, the beast within had been released. Hugo was losing his grip on his reason, his pride and perhaps even his sanity. The last encounter with Mercury Gandt in the cafe at Rocca Sorrentina, had been a complete and utter disaster. Poor sweet Beatrice and Lady Aphrodite MacBain had looked on and then made a quick exit as Hugo raged, while the Conte Filippe Foscari had been forced to intervene. A duel between Mercury and himself may have happened right there on the spot, or even a summary execution.

Rocca Sorrentina had been so inviting and a haven from all the strife of Venezia. Beatrice, Elisabetta and Hugo has found a new home there and some solace, as least that is what Hugo thought. The tides of change were upon them and the past was coming back to haunt him. Hugo was muttering to himself as he sat on the beach, "Damnable sbirri, like a pebble in my shoe that won't cease to torment me. Beatrice and Elisabetta are probably no longer safe here, with Gandt being the sbirri pig that he is."

Hugo felt ridiculous, he had his suspicions about Gandt for some time now, but he had hoped it was lack of sleep and had managed to keep his temper in check, until now. His so-called friend, it was devastating how Beatrice has secretly learned of Mercury's true nature with the Conte leaving a document out revealing the truth. "Even helping Mercury with the Aubrey family mess back in England as I did, such stupidity, with Gandt's connections now, what difference does it make. I was such a fool."

Hugo was staring out at the waters surrounding Rocca Sorrentina, thinking of his own past dealings with the sbirri. Back in Venezia, Hugo had been so cocky, thinking he could outwit the sbirri at their own game. Always trying to keep one step ahead, he realized long ago he was dealing with the devil and he no longer wished to play. Cristoforo de Cristofoli, the head of the secret police, had kept his promise, allowing Hugo to run his opium through the Venetian port so the British East India Company didn't get wise. But at what cost?

Making his way to the church, the Chiesa di San Valentino, for some prayer and perhaps some absolution, Hugo thought back to the terrible night when he was called upon to do a despicable favor. Etched in his mind, he recalled the smell first, when the sbirri and Cristofoli himself had ordered him to a small warehouse near the docks and uncovered the bloated body of a dead man. The heat had created quite the stench, among other things, and Hugo had tried his best not to wretch in their presence. "Disposal," said Cristofoli in a hushed tone, pointing at the dead man and explaining further, "And we will never speak of this again else I confiscate all your holdings here in the city and leave you without so much as a wig to wear on your head. Delivering you to the British East India Company for violating their opium monopoly would bring me great pleasure, Signore Dieter. I doubt your countrymen would let you go quietly back to England to run the family tin mines, what will your dear parents think?"

Hugo remembered Cristofoli's menacing sneer and the smirks of his sbirri companions in the room. Hugo remembered the chill that ran along his spine as he held his coat sleeve over his own nose and mouth. He had nodded at Cristofoli and whispering quietly had asked, "Who is he?" Cristofoli had crossed the room quickly and gotten so close to Hugo's face he could almost smell his breath, even now that time had passed, "It's no concern of yours, you will take him on one of your ships, Signore Dieter, out of the harbor, far from shore and get rid of him, NOW!" Hugo had stepped back, away from this evil man, and simply nodded in compliance. Cristofoli had barked orders and his sbirri minions had covered the dead man up again and loaded the body into a crate, placing it in a small cart for transport to one of Hugo's ships.

The longest walk of Hugo's life had taken place that night, with darkness covering them but not necessarily the stench, the group found one of Hugo's ships and loaded the 'cargo' aboard. Cristofoli and the other sbirri stood on the dock for a moment, watching the ship leave the harbor of Venezia before being swallowed up by the darkness. Hugo's crew and captain knew better than to ask questions and they quickly made their way out to sea, the ship always stood ready.

Hugo had wondered who the poor dead soul was and stared at the crate as the Captain was steering the ship to open waters. Steeling himself against the stench, Hugo remembered opening the crate once more and looking for something, anything that could be useful. Hugo had then spied the ring, an elegant ring on the corpse's hand. "One step ahead of them," he whispered into the night as he took the ring off the dead man's hand and carefully tucked the limb back into the crate. Hugo had pocketed the ring for safekeeping as the Captain had announced, "Far enough Signore Dieter, let's be done with our task." Pulling the crate to the edge of the ship's deck, Hugo ordered two small cannonballs to be placed in with the deceased before the crate was nailed shut and then pushed overboard, quickly sinking and being swallowed up by the sea.

Hugo had made sure to stay away from Venezia after that awful night, as much as he could. And then sweet Beatrice's letter had come, asking for his help, in the one city he could barely stand. Hugo had been reunited with Beatrice, met Gandt and heard of the tale of the missing Contessa Elena Foscari. Beatrice's sister, Elisabetta, had been wrongly imprisoned by the sbirri in Venezia to gain the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Contessa Elena. The dead man's ring came in quite handy, trading that ring for the freedom of an innocent. Beatrice was overwhelmed with happiness when her dear sister, Elisabetta, was released. Hugo had assured Cristofoli that the ladies and himself were never going to be heard from again. Cristofoli had laughed and toyed with the ring, letting Hugo know he was sure that nothing more would come of this favor as Cristofoli announced haughtily, "Dead men tell no tales, do they Signore Dieter?"

Rising after his long prayer or rather re-living his tortured memories, Hugo was stiff and stretched his muscles. The ladies and himself had sailed here to Rocca Sorrentina for a fresh start. But, it was not to be it seemed. Walking out of the church, he made his way to the lawn in front of the Villa Vesuviana. Staring up at the beautiful facade of the villa, Hugo thought out loud, "The Conte is here yet his elusive daughter, the Contessa Elena, is still missing. Signore Gandt is in fact sbirri and the Conte made a slip with Beatrice, on purpose or by accident, of his occupation. The Conte uses his influence to control Gandt and myself, almost like the sbirri and that bastard Cristofoli. Will sweet Beatrice and Elisabetta be safe here with sbirri pigs at our heels? To duel or not to duel Signore Mercury Gandt, that will be the next question." Shaking his head, thinking of sleep, Hugo walks away with unclear and scattered thoughts still running through his head.

Inspired by William Hogarth (* 10. November 1697 in London ; 26. Oktober 1764 )Written by Jean-Matisse & Alessandra de Fiorentino Conti

Chapter IV "The First Meeting"

The next day Comtesse Jeanne Adelaide just woke up from her rest after the Lunch , Jean was already prepared with her "Medicine". That strange brew had a strong smell after spiced Rum, but Grandmere swore on its healthy effect. "I have allowed myself to pray for you Madame, while you were resting...." said the little Moor with a big smile.

"What a precious little Angel you are...." answered the Comtesse and reached out for the little tray with Petitfours to reward her little servant.

"Oh my Medicine,very good!.........You are right Jean..." said the Comtesse thoughtfull"...today we will need all our faith. That person from court......what was his name again?.... will be here within an hour...""Belgrave,....Madame......His name is Belgrave" She caressed his cheek, while Jean was eating his Petitfour. After a short while the Comtesse rose and went down the stairs , crossed the hall into the Garden. "Be careful...the Sun, Madame!"shouted the little Moor, grabbed a parasol and went after his Mistress.

The air was filled with the sweet fargrance of the roses when the two reached the garden Terrace "What a beautiful day, Madame.....we should thank our dear Lord afterwards!" "How thoughtful my little Darling!" Grandmere stopped and opened her little golden candy box "OH, merci Madame", Jean gleamed.

"I do hope the day stays that beautiful....." said the Comtesse as she spotted her Granddaughter with the young gentleman. Monsieur de Belgrave and Duchesse Alessandra were chatting on the terrace and seemed to await the Comtesse and the little servant.

Grandmere immediately perceived the strong perfume of the Monsieur. Even Jean noticed it "A bit too much..." he whispered and gave the Comtesse a lace handkerchief. The comtesse held it to her mouth and nose " I recognize the Odor from the abyss....my dear....you can trust me" she anwered quietly.

"Ahhhh...There you are!" said Alessandra as she saw her Grandmother and Jean. The Comtesse entered the terrace a bit hesitantly.

"May I introduce...." Alessandra smiled brightly.

Inspired by William Hogarth (* 10. November 1697 in London ; 26. Oktober 1764 )Written by Jean-Matisse & Alessandra de Fiorentino Conti

Chapter IV "The First Meeting"

The next day Comtesse Jeanne Adelaide just woke up from her rest after the Lunch , Jean was already prepared with her "Medicine". That strange brew had a strong smell after spiced Rum, but Grandmere swore on its healthy effect. "I have allowed myself to pray for you Madame, while you were resting...." said the little Moor with a big smile.

"What a precious little Angel you are...." answered the Comtesse and reached out for the little tray with Petitfours to reward her little servant.

"Oh my Medicine,very good!.........You are right Jean..." said the Comtesse thoughtfull"...today we will need all our faith. That person from court......what was his name again?.... will be here within an hour...""Belgrave,....Madame......His name is Belgrave" She caressed his cheek, while Jean was eating his Petitfour. After a short while the Comtesse rose and went down the stairs , crossed the hall into the Garden. "Be careful...the Sun, Madame!"shouted the little Moor, grabbed a parasol and went after his Mistress.

The air was filled with the sweet fargrance of the roses when the two reached the garden Terrace "What a beautiful day, Madame.....we should thank our dear Lord afterwards!" "How thoughtful my little Darling!" Grandmere stopped and opened her little golden candy box "OH, merci Madame", Jean gleamed.

"I do hope the day stays that beautiful....." said the Comtesse as she spotted her Granddaughter with the young gentleman. Monsieur de Belgrave and Duchesse Alessandra were chatting on the terrace and seemed to await the Comtesse and the little servant.

Grandmere immediately perceived the strong perfume of the Monsieur. Even Jean noticed it "A bit too much..." he whispered and gave the Comtesse a lace handkerchief. The comtesse held it to her mouth and nose " I recognize the Odor from the abyss....my dear....you can trust me" she anwered quietly.

"Ahhhh...There you are!" said Alessandra as she saw her Grandmother and Jean. The Comtesse entered the terrace a bit hesitantly.

"May I introduce...." Alessandra smiled brightly.

Deep in thought, the Conte took a sip of his Grappa. He savored the sharp taste, and its heat at the back of his throat, as he swallowed. He needed something to calm his nerves after the meeting with the Proffesore's friend Abu bin Malachi. His soul filled with bitter sweet memories of Istanbul, the Conte stared out of the window, as a peaceful sunset colored the quiet Port of Sorrentina, in shades of orange and pink.

It was obvious from their conversation, that the Ottoman envoy did remember him, and certainly knew his story. The Conte did not feel nervous that Abu bin Malachi would speak of it, or even share his knowledge with the Professore. He hadn't acquired the reputation of being the best Spy in the Ottoman Empire for being a gossip! The Conte, however, wouldn't have called what happened harmless trouble, but more a social scandal, which had ended in tragedy and had seen him sent back to Venice in disgrace to administer the estates at home, and an arranged marriage with Giovanna Mocellini.

He had been honest with Giovanna from the beginning. She, for her part, had been accepting and generous, and had given him six more children. With the passing of time they had grown fond of one another, and he had been genuinely heartbroken when she had died giving birth to their last child, Federico.

The Conte sighed and gazed out of the window at the port bellow. In the distance he could see Devi sitting dejected on the wall next to the entrance of the villa. He had let her linger on purpose, to see if she would manage to fit in, or not. It seemed, as he had suspected, that Devi had not managed to fit into life at Sorrentina. He hoped that she would come to her own conclusions and return to the north of her own volition. Observing her from his window, he was now in a quandary. Should he tell her what he had learnt about Achille's whereabouts, or was it kinder to leave her in ignorance, and let her conclude that Achille had abandoned her?

Devi liked the spot she had found. From here she could watch the port and all its comings and goings, without drawing attention to herself.

It had been several weeks now since Achille had disappeared without a word. She had spoken to the Conte, and as yet he had allowed her to stay, delaying his trip to the north and then Prussia, for some reason she didn't know, but she didn't really care why, for it had bought her some more time in Sorrentina, and the hope that Achille would return before she was forced to return north. It was obvious that the Conte knew more about the situation than he was telling her, and that Professore had proved a much tougher nut to crack for information, then she had originally thought. That nice, quiet Professore had smiled at her sweetly and feigned ignorance, and nothing she could do had worked. It hd been like extracting blood from a stone. Devi signed. The Conte had been right, life in Sorrentina wasn't going to be easy. She didn't know anyone, or the ways of this place. It was small and everyone knew one another and strangers like herself stood out like a sore thumb. Being neither servant or Aristocrat, Devi was finding it difficult to fit in.

The Fishermen were friendly enough, but although they knew Achille they could tell her nothing she didn't already know.

Sior Achille?...Si...Si...e andato via sulla piccola barca....

Achille had told her he ran the Taverna in Sorrentina, so she had gone there and had tried asking the surly Barmaid, Lizabetta, but at the mere mention of Achille's name, this one had gone from surly to aggressive, and had chased Devi out of the taverna, calling her a Dirty, Gypsy Slut! Which was most insulting, as she was neither dirty or a slut. As she wandered back through the port, Devi wondered who this Lizabetta was, and made a mental note that she would have to be replaced, when she took over as Achille's wife. A Barmaid like that was bad for business. Devi hoped that Lizabetta didn't turn out to be Achille's sister, or God forbid, his mother.

And so, Devi sat on the wall, staring aimlessly at the travelers disembarking from the most recent ship to arrive from the mainland.

Deep in thought, the Conte took a sip of his Grappa. He savored the sharp taste, and its heat at the back of his throat, as he swallowed. He needed something to calm his nerves after the meeting with the Proffesore's friend Abu bin Malachi. His soul filled with bitter sweet memories of Istanbul, the Conte stared out of the window, as a peaceful sunset colored the quiet Port of Sorrentina, in shades of orange and pink.

It was obvious from their conversation, that the Ottoman envoy did remember him, and certainly knew his story. The Conte did not feel nervous that Abu bin Malachi would speak of it, or even share his knowledge with the Professore. He hadn't acquired the reputation of being the best Spy in the Ottoman Empire for being a gossip! The Conte, however, wouldn't have called what happened harmless trouble, but more a social scandal, which had ended in tragedy and had seen him sent back to Venice in disgrace to administer the estates at home, and an arranged marriage with Giovanna Mocellini.

He had been honest with Giovanna from the beginning. She, for her part, had been accepting and generous, and had given him six more children. With the passing of time they had grown fond of one another, and he had been genuinely heartbroken when she had died giving birth to their last child, Federico.

The Conte sighed and gazed out of the window at the port bellow. In the distance he could see Devi sitting dejected on the wall next to the entrance of the villa. He had let her linger on purpose, to see if she would manage to fit in, or not. It seemed, as he had suspected, that Devi had not managed to fit into life at Sorrentina. He hoped that she would come to her own conclusions and return to the north of her own volition. Observing her from his window, he was now in a quandary. Should he tell her what he had learnt about Achille's whereabouts, or was it kinder to leave her in ignorance, and let her conclude that Achille had abandoned her?

Devi liked the spot she had found. From here she could watch the port and all its comings and goings, without drawing attention to herself.

It had been several weeks now since Achille had disappeared without a word. She had spoken to the Conte, and as yet he had allowed her to stay, delaying his trip to the north and then Prussia, for some reason she didn't know, but she didn't really care why, for it had bought her some more time in Sorrentina, and the hope that Achille would return before she was forced to return north. It was obvious that the Conte knew more about the situation than he was telling her, and that Professore had proved a much tougher nut to crack for information, then she had originally thought. That nice, quiet Professore had smiled at her sweetly and feigned ignorance, and nothing she could do had worked. It hd been like extracting blood from a stone. Devi signed. The Conte had been right, life in Sorrentina wasn't going to be easy. She didn't know anyone, or the ways of this place. It was small and everyone knew one another and strangers like herself stood out like a sore thumb. Being neither servant or Aristocrat, Devi was finding it difficult to fit in.

The Fishermen were friendly enough, but although they knew Achille they could tell her nothing she didn't already know.

Sior Achille?...Si...Si...e andato via sulla piccola barca....

Achille had told her he ran the Taverna in Sorrentina, so she had gone there and had tried asking the surly Barmaid, Lizabetta, but at the mere mention of Achille's name, this one had gone from surly to aggressive, and had chased Devi out of the taverna, calling her a Dirty, Gypsy Slut! Which was most insulting, as she was neither dirty or a slut. As she wandered back through the port, Devi wondered who this Lizabetta was, and made a mental note that she would have to be replaced, when she took over as Achille's wife. A Barmaid like that was bad for business. Devi hoped that Lizabetta didn't turn out to be Achille's sister, or God forbid, his mother.

And so, Devi sat on the wall, staring aimlessly at the travelers disembarking from the most recent ship to arrive from the mainland.

~The Tale of the Silhouette Ship ~

And they were arriving, the men aboard the ship tired and wary of their cargo. The journey had not been long, but the strain was beginning to take it's toll.

Leaving Naples had been the easy part. The Captain and the crew had heard the rumors, the island off the coast, called Rocca Sorrentina could be more forgiving when it came to cargo of questionable origins.

The Captain went below, checking the manifest once more and muttering under his breath, "If I would stay out of the damnable brothels and gambling dens I wouldn't have to make these types of deliveries."

Walking back on deck, the Captain closes his eyes and lets the warm sun touch his face. Turning around and looking onto the horizon, he sees the island of Rocca Sorrentina coming ever closer.

"Make ready for our arrival," says the Captain to his First Mate. "And here's hoping our stay be quick and without incident. Best be done with this and on our way as soon as the tides favor us."

The First Mate grimaces and answers him, "Aye Captain, I hope there aren't any brothels on this island to tempt us or games of chance to distract you this time around." Then the First Mate wanders off shouting orders to the rest of the small crew to make ready.

Watching the First Mate walk away, the Captain slips his hands into his pockets and sighs carefully, whispering, "I hope not, I certainly hope not. Damn my soul if there is."

(( Note, there's no brothel at Rocca. Just a little writing I did and thought I would post here on the Ning ))

~The Tale of the Silhouette Ship ~

And they were arriving, the men aboard the ship tired and wary of their cargo. The journey had not been long, but the strain was beginning to take it's toll.

Leaving Naples had been the easy part. The Captain and the crew had heard the rumors, the island off the coast, called Rocca Sorrentina could be more forgiving when it came to cargo of questionable origins.

The Captain went below, checking the manifest once more and muttering under his breath, "If I would stay out of the damnable brothels and gambling dens I wouldn't have to make these types of deliveries."

Walking back on deck, the Captain closes his eyes and lets the warm sun touch his face. Turning around and looking onto the horizon, he sees the island of Rocca Sorrentina coming ever closer.

"Make ready for our arrival," says the Captain to his First Mate. "And here's hoping our stay be quick and without incident. Best be done with this and on our way as soon as the tides favor us."

The First Mate grimaces and answers him, "Aye Captain, I hope there aren't any brothels on this island to tempt us or games of chance to distract you this time around." Then the First Mate wanders off shouting orders to the rest of the small crew to make ready.

Watching the First Mate walk away, the Captain slips his hands into his pockets and sighs carefully, whispering, "I hope not, I certainly hope not. Damn my soul if there is."

(( Note, there's no brothel at Rocca. Just a little writing I did and thought I would post here on the Ning ))