Bianca!—Granton sniffed disdainfully—no one could make head or tail of Bianca. Her opinion was that the girl was half crazy. She had been in there that night crying, and telling her how much she liked the signora and the signorina, and how she hated to leave them.
‘But she isn’t going to leave,’ said Marcia. ‘We’ve decided to take her with us.’
Granton responded with a disdainful English shrug and the reiterated opinion that the girl was crazy. Marcia did not stop to argue the point, but set out for the kitchen by way of the ‘middle staircase,’ creeping along quietly, determined to catch the marauders unawares. Her caution was superfluous. The rear of the house was entirely deserted. No sign of a boy, no sign of a servant anywhere about. The doors were open and the rooms were vacant. She hurried upstairs again in growing mystification, and turned toward Gervasio’s room. The little fellow was in bed and sound asleep. What did it mean? she asked herself. What could have become of Gerald, and where had all the servants gone?
Suddenly a horrible suspicion flashed over her. Gervasio’s stepfather—could he have stolen Gerald by way of revenge? That was why Bianca was crying! It was a plot. She had overheard, and they had threatened to kill her if she told. Perhaps they would hold him for a ransom. Perhaps—as the sound of her uncle’s careless laugh floated up from below she caught her breath in a convulsive sob and stretched out her hand against the wall to steady herself.
CHAPTER XXIV
Collecting herself sufficiently to know that she must not cry out or alarm her aunt, Marcia hurried to the front staircase and stood a moment on the landing, hesitating what to do. Sybert was lounging in the doorway leading on to the loggia. She leaned over the balustrade and called to him softly so as not to attract the attention of the others. He turned with a start at the sound of his name, and in response to her summons crossed the hall in his usual leisurely stroll. But at the foot of the stairs, as he caught sight of her face in the dim candle-light, he came springing up three steps at a time.
‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ he cried.
‘Gerald!’ Marcia breathed in a sobbing whisper.
‘Gerald!’ he repeated, anxious lines showing in his face. ‘Good heavens, Marcia! What’s happened?’
‘I don’t know; he’s gone,’ she said wildly. ‘Come up here, where Aunt Katherine won’t hear us.’ She led the way up into the hall again and explained in broken sentences.