CHAPTER XLII. MARK LYLE'S LETTER
The following letter was received at Lyle Abbey shortly after the events recorded in our last chapter had happened. It was from Mark Lyle to his sister, Mrs. Trafford:—
“Hotel Victoria, Naples.
“My dear Alice,—While I was cursing my bad luck at being too late for the P. and O. steamer at Marseilles, your letter arrived deciding me to come on here. Nothing was ever more fortunate: first of all, I shall be able to catch the Austrian Lloyds at Anevna, and reach Alexandria in good time for the mail; and, secondly, I have perfectly succeeded—at least I hope so—in the commission you gave me. For five mortal days I did nothing but examine villas. I got a list of full fifty, but in the course of a little time the number filtered down to ten possible, and came at last to three that one could pronounce fairly habitable. To have health in this climate—that is to say, to escape malaria—you must abjure vegetation; and the only way to avoid tertian is to book yourself for a sunstroke. These at least were my experiences up to Tuesday last, for all the salubrious spots along the seashore had been long since seized on either by the King or the Church, and every lovely point of view was certain to be crowned by a royal villa or a monastery. I was coming back then on Tuesday, very disconsolate indeed from a long day's fruitless search, when I saw a perfect gem of a place standing on the extreme point of a promontory near Caserta. It was of course 'royal'—at least it belonged to a Count d'Amalfi, which title was borne by some younger branch of the Bourbons; yet as it was untenanted, and several people were working in the gardens, I ventured in to have a look at it. I will not attempt description, but just say that both within and without it realizes all I ever dreamed or imagined of an Italian villa. Marble and frescos and fountains, terraces descending to the sea, and gardens a wilderness of orange and magnolia, and grand old rooms, the very air of which breathed splendor and magnificence; but à quoi bon? dear Alice. It was a palazzotto reale, and one could only gaze enviously at delights they could not hope to compass.
“Seeing my intense admiration of the place, the man who showed me around it said, as I was coming away, that it was rumored that the Count would not be indisposed to sell the property. I know enough of Italians to be aware that when a stranger supposed to be rich: all English are in this category—is struck with anything—picture, house, or statue—the owner will always part with it at tenfold its value. Half out of curiosity, half to give myself the pretext for another morning's ramble over the delicious place, I asked where I could learn any details as to the value, and received an address as follows: 'Count Carlo Caffarelli, Villino del Boschetto, Chiaja, Naples.' Caffarelli I at once remembered as the name of Maitland's friend, and in this found another reason for calling on him, since I had totally failed in all my attempts to discover M. either in London, Paris, or even here.
“The same evening I went there, and found Count Caffarelli in one of those fairy-tale little palaces which this country abounds in. He had some friends at dinner, but on reading my name, recognized me, and came out with a most charming politeness to press me to join his party. It was no use refusing; the Italian persuasiveness has that element of the irresistible about it that one cannot oppose; and I soon found myself smoking my cigar in a company of half a dozen people who treated me as an intimate friend.
“I may amuse you some day by some of the traits of their bonhomie. I must now confine myself to our more immediate interests. Caffarelli, when he found that I wanted some information about the villa, drew his arm within my own, and, taking me away from the rest, told me in strictest confidence that the villa was Maitland's,—Maitland being the Conte d'Amalfi,—the title having been conferred by the late King, one of the very last acts of his life.
“'And Maitland,' said I, scarcely recovering from my astonishment; 'where is he now?'
“'Within a few yards of you,' said he, turning and pointing to the closed jalousies of a room that opened on a small separately enclosed garden; 'he is there.'