Pursued: Lillian's Story by Felice Picano

Author:Felice Picano [Picano, Felice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781636791982
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2022-04-01T00:57:46+00:00

To: The Very Reverend Jasper Horace Quill

The British Church at Campofieri

Town of Fiesoli

Province of Toscana

8 October 188—

Sir,

First things first: The lady is well. There are some minor adversities, but as you assured me more than once, the lady thrives upon them. At this hour, all of our little party sleep but me. Gone is the nervous condition that followed close upon my falling into the temptation of card-play. Now I am weary, and I will doubtless sleep deeply once this missive is sealed and left at the front desk.

Since it is germane to the lady and to yourself, sir, you ought to know that we are followed and have been, I must assume almost from the beginning despite so very many precautions. Or we are followed anew, the trail somehow picked up.

Our hunter was recognized by the chambermaid. She knew him in England, and her surprise at seeing him was so great she cried out and hid herself. He, however, does not seem to recognize her beyond her type. Perhaps that is the failure of lady-killers, for I do think him to be of that sort.

We eluded him here in Bolzano through wisdom, precautions taken, the use of the Greeks, and the very great aid of the lady herself. But why is he here? What does he hope to achieve? What did I write you recently, that I somehow recognized him? I have now seen him up close for the second time. The first, it turns out, was in Innsbruck, when I came upon him in the snow early one morning less than a week ago. He seems not as strong as myself. Rather slender, wide-browed, with a small, fine, straight nose and dark eyes that three volume novels for women refer to as “melting.” He is typically pretty and very much how your friend explained how our nemesis’s usual sort of young attendant would look. He dressed carefully, not too expensively to stand out, however, also without a hint of shabbiness. He affected a most soigné air as he lolled at the terminus seeking us out. But his eyes were quite amazingly alive.

We glided by, the lady over-dressed as an old grandmother, loudly bewailing her young Greek kin. The chambermaid was in charade, with tinted charcoal glasses she had obtained at Lake Garda and scarves about her throat, her irrepressible hair kept in a sort of turban hat, wearing one of her lady’s frocked coats from her neck to toes. She resembled nothing more than a sanatorium patient, perhaps on her last holiday, and I was her all-caring partner. The vain fool didn’t guess a thing. But we got a very good look at him, I can assure you, as the little minx stopped in her tracks not far from where he loitered and there she had to rewind her scarves with my assistance.

Of course, by then the trio, including the lady, were ahead of us and already within a vehicle. They arrived at our lodging by one cab, we by another, somewhat later.

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