“I wouldn’t trust him,” replied Mrs Maxwell, shaking her small head. “Remember, he’s a Sicilian.”
“And what has that to do with it? What do you expect him to do to me? Oh, Mary, really this is too absurd!”
“Very well. Only don’t say you weren’t warned,” returned the other huffily. “What is it that I am to ask? Oh, the man’s address. As if he had one!”
But she made no more remonstrances, and indeed exerted herself so far as to question Peppina that evening. Peppina answered volubly, and flung in much extraneous matter. There was no better workman, no one so clever, so handsome, so ill-used in all Rome. It was because he did not bribe the police that they were hard on him. Others did what they liked, and made it square; but Cesare was too honourable for such ways, and suffered in consequence, poor fellow! She grew guarded the instant Teresa’s desire was touched upon. If it had been the signora, now—Cesare had once seen her, and had ever since called her Peppina’s beautiful signora. Mrs Maxwell believed this to be a lie; yet was pleased by it.
“You had better persuade him,” she said.
“Sissignora, but why? Is there money to be had?”
“I daresay. Yes, I am sure there is. The marchesa is likely to pay well for whatever she asks him to undertake.”
“Sissignora, I will do all that is possible. I will try to see him some day when you do not want me.”
And she was in earnest. She always wanted Cesare to make money, and she thought if he could but have something to spare for the lottery, he might draw such a fortune as had fallen to a crier of the Tribuna only a few months earlier. With this idea in her head she resolved to use all her powers of persuasion, and believed in success, because it was not Donna Teresa whom he hated so much as Wilbraham.
But Wilbraham, meanwhile, had heard of the scheme.