Page 55 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“On what charge?” Oscar shouted.

The officer handed me my clothes, shaking them at me when I didn’t move. My body reacted and went through the motions. I changed out of my pajamas and into the trousers and shirt. I didn’t bother with the jacket or tie but managed to put my shoes on before the officer marched me out of the room.

Oscar looked relieved upon seeing me, even though he was pinned to the wall by a very large Carabinieri officer. “Are you all right, Gavin?”

“Your lip! It’s bleeding.”

“I got in a facer or two of my own.”

The officer in charge gave an order and his men forced us along the corridor. Doors had opened and guests peered out to see what all the commotion was about. Some quickly disappeared back inside. More than one woman gasped at the sight of Oscar dressed only in his trousers, with no shirt under his suspenders. The gawps prompted the officer carrying Oscar’s shirt to place it around his shoulders. Oscar couldn’t put it on properly with his hands cuffed behind him.

It seemed they didn’t need the same precautions with me. I went willingly, almost numbly. My head felt light, as if all the thoughts had vanished, leaving an empty space. Indeed, not all thoughts. One remained. The notion that this couldn’t be happening. We were being arrested in a foreign country where we didn’t speak the language.

Downstairs in the foyer, Oscar again asked why we were under arrest. Finally the officer in charge, the one who spoke English, replied.

“Criminal association.”

“What criminals?” Oscar snapped. “Who have we associated with?”

“Anarchists.”

“We don’t know any anarchists.”

“A reliable witness heard you sympathize with them and their cause.”

That rendered Oscar speechless. Like me, he must have guessed the reliable witness was Pietro Scala, the wealthiest man in the district. A man who would have enormous sway with the local Carabinieri. A man I’d clashed with over his treatment of his factory employees and to whom I’d expressed opinions that aligned with the anarchy movement.

“That’s not a crime!” Oscar cried.

“It is here now,” the officer in charge said.

My knees buckled. I would have fallen if the officer hadn’t held me up. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Oscar.

He didn’t hear me. His body had gone rigid as another two Carabinieri accompanied Miss Wheeler down the stairs. “Release her this instant!”

“Be calm, Mr. Barratt,” she said, although she didn’t sound calm herself. A thread of steel ran through her tone. She was not upset or anxious. She was furious.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “This is all my fault.”

Chapter 18

“It is not your fault,” Miss Wheeler said as we were marched from the hotel to the Carabinieri station. “This is entirely on Scala’s head.”

Dawn cast the first rays of sunlight over the lake, just as the village awoke. Staff from the hotels and restaurants prepared outdoor tables for breakfast, and delivery carts brought in supplies from the countryside. A handful of early rising tourists were already promenading, taking in the serene lake dotted with fishing boats. It was too early for the large passenger ferries. The scene was one of idle tranquility.

Or it would have been if not for my churning gut and racing pulse.

The Carabinieri placed us in a barred cell all together, even Miss Wheeler. Its entire contents consisted of a single bucket, empty, thank God. I hoped I wouldn’t need to use it in front of Miss Wheeler. There was only one other cell, already occupied by a drunkard snoring loudly. At least the cuffs had been removed from Oscar’s wrists.

He had put his shirt on and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He clutched the cell’s bars and tried rattling them, but they didn’t budge. He dragged his hand through his hair then turned to face us. “Anyone got any ideas?”

Seeing Oscar finally relax a little, Miss Wheeler sat on the floor beside me. “Mr. Defoe will be informed, and he’ll pay a fee to the Carabinieri to set us free. The local police around here are quite corrupt, so I’ve been told.”

“The commotion didn’t wake him?” Oscar asked.

“It seems not, but it did warn me. Thank you, Mr. Barratt.”

He inclined his head in a nod. That’s why he’d been so loud. To warn Miss Wheeler, located on the floor below us. “Where are your two guests?” he asked.