Chapter Four

Thursday

Porta Pia, Roma

"I must admit that I am more appreciative of the value and impact of monumental art now, and the iconography and motifs which are incorporated as decoration," Julia said as they made their way along the relatively empty cobblestone avenue. She had decided that spontaneity was preferable and today she was particularly glad that she had dismissed the cicerone tour guide yesterday in favour of doing her own research and freedom to do as they chose.

The short December day was dry but overcast and cold, sending most citizens to conduct their pre-Christmas lives and business indoors rather than stroll along looking 'up' at the buildings which, to the Roman natives, were merely everyday streetscapes. She and William, a pair of hearty Canadians, were mostly alone in that pursuit under grey skies on their second day of just wandering around Rome to see what they could see before their sojourn ended. Tomorrow, they would have a day at Vatican City before retracing their steps back home. Julia jokingly reassured him that her presence would not cause the "holy walls" to cave inward.

William had not pressed her regarding physical relations, seemingly happy and content to let things be, and she had slowly come to her own conclusions as well, which in turn made her fully at ease with him. The cold urgency she had felt just a few days before was replaced by a warmth which flowed between them, like a personal sun for just her and William to enjoy in their own little world: It felt good to have that again. It felt right.

"I also appreciate the debate over the best balance in art between the realistic depictions of nature versus idealization," she continued, pulling the new ocean-blue wool and silk shawl William bought her from a Roman shop tighter around her shoulders. "But I still like more modern, evocative works."

"Yes, you do," William agreed.

"I like something that leaves a little to the imagination," she gave him and arched eyebrow to remind him of their discussion about the sheer quantity of human figures in accurate anatomical detail displayed literally everywhere in the city. "And you still like a tree to look like a tree…no matter what you said about the new cubist style."

He smiled fondly. "Yes. I do…" he answered, enjoying the banter.

Julia squeezed his hand. She was in a fine mood after a rigorous day of sightseeing, from the Piazza di San Bernardo, to the Fontana dell'Acqua Felice, (or in English the Fountain of Moses), to Chiesa di Santa Maria della Vittoria with its exquisite Bernini Ecstasy of Theresa. William nearly waxed romantical about Theresa being pierced by the arrow of divine love.

To be honest with herself, this particular wall and neoclassical city entrance were dull and uninspiring in comparison to so many other public statues and carvings strewn about the city willy-nilly rather than being properly organized in a museum. If she saw one more Roman arch she might despair, but walking and talking with William, just the two of them immersed in each other was worth the fatigue to her feet. Saturday they were heading back home, retracing their route through Paris, Liverpool and across the Atlantic, leaving behind a plethora of antiquities, for a place in the New World which hadn't even been officially called a city until seventy-odd years ago.

A city whose morality laws and self-righteous citizens might insist on full - length tunics for each and every masterpiece so as not to offend anyone's gentle sensibilities with a display of bare limb, never mind the breasts, or, God-forbid, genitalia! she thought privately with a snort.

"Well, William, here we are at the Aurelian Wall where, after Napoleon's reign had fallen, the Papal State capital of Rome was wrested away by the Savoys to unify Italy in 1870." Julia was rather proud of how she memorized the guidebook. "The wall's breach respected the history of the entrance designed by Michelangelo; much better than Napoleon had respected the Egyptian Sphinx!" Julia grinned at William as she gestured to the interior facade of the entrance. "I understand the Pope remains displeased," she said with an innocent-sounding aside.

"Indeed. The native Savoys managed to honour and not destroy their own heritage. But I believe the Holy Father has modified his position on being a prisoner in the Vatican." William allowed her to go under the arch first.

As they went through, she noted a man and a petite dark-haired woman in shadows by the side of the archway engaged in an argument, their exchange a volley of French, an Italian expletive or two and rapid hand gestures which cut off immediately when she and William drew close. Julia sighed, thinking the couple were probably lovers and she was glad she and William had not erupted at each other lately.

William escorted Julia through the portal to the other side, then brought her a distance away so she could see the four-columned outer facade with central arch bracketed by two niches inhabited by the obligatory religious or historic statues. Once she was positioned for the view, she squinted and looked up, unimpressed. "Why did you want me to see this?"

"One of Michelangelo's final commissions. On the left is a statue of Saint Agnes. I thought you'd appreciate her story."

Julia made a face. "Oh, I would, would I? If I recall it, according to the view shared by her "suitors" and the government, if she would not be one man's wife, she might as well be every man's whore. Failing these options, she might as well be dead. After all, as a live woman living out her normal life, she'd be of no interest to male historians or the Church Fathers." Julia said as sweetly as possible, trying to keep the creep of sarcasm out of her voice.

She almost followed up by saying that Catholics seemed to be rather obsessed about sex, but that would be cruel and brush upon the unspoken problem between them, so she bit her tongue in time. "She is lovely," Julia answered to rescue herself, "as an example of sculpture…"

William seemed to let the minor lapse go in his enthusiasm for his subject. "Yes, it is a fine example of carving. And yes, actually, I believe you will like the tale." He took her hand in his. "The martyrdom of Saint Agnes can be interpreted as the role model of a young woman who refused to cave into the pressure of her family and the state; refused to behave in the way she was told to behave, or to conform to the way Society insisted women be. Instead…."

Julia was certain William wanted to tell that story as some sort of message to her, but in the midst of his lecture, shouting from the other side of the entrance then a scream and a strangled cry echoed off the stonework, breaking his concentration. The two of them locked eyes with each other and as one, they ran towards the commotion.

Slumped against the wall in a tangled nest of her skirts was the dark-haired woman, her taller male companion standing over her, his eyes wild, and a knife dropping from his fingers. The woman's dress was drenched with blood.

Clearly, this was no lover's quarrel, Julia thought. Once the man heard them, he reached down to scoop something up, looked back one time, and took off.

"Tend to her!" William urged Julia, who was already rushing to the victim's side. "Stop!" he hollered. "Arrêtez!...Arresto!" while chasing after the assailant, getting his hand on the man's scarf; hauling back on it nearly took the escaping quarry off his feet. When the man whirled around to unwind himself from the scarf, a portfolio fell from his jacket and skittered to the cobblestones in the process.

William paused to snatch that up and was going to keep up pursuit when Julia shouted: "William, I need your help. She is not going to make it."

William thought he saw the assailant slack his space, but the woman's life was more important than the chase so he turned back to come quickly to Julia aide.

"Help me get her flat so I can staunch the blood," Julia commanded.

William placed his coat on the ground and got the woman down as fast as possible, allowing Julia to put more pressure on the wound. "We need to get her to hospital, right now. Get help," she ordered. William nodded and rose, looking around for anyone and anything useful for the situation.

"Non!" a voice croaked.

William and Julia were both shocked. The victim was conscious. "Ambassade…" she grunted out weakly.

"The French Embassy is close by," William explained, looking at Julia. "Can we get her there?"

"She needs a surgeon! Laying her down got enough blood up to her brain for a moment but she has lost a lot of it! You go get help while I stay. Why it is the one time we need to have a crowd of people around the street is deserted!" she complained. And it was true: all of a sudden there was no one anywhere in sight.

The woman stirred, gripping Julia's arms with surprising strength. "Non. Pas d'hôpital. Diplomatique. Ambassade Britannique. Demandez Olga…Seulement Olga ... promets-moi…

À l'arrière." The woman's voice was insistent. "Britannique."

"Madame, quel est votre nom?" William asked, but the woman passed out again.

Julia was puzzled. "What in Heaven's name does a French woman want with the British Embassy?"

William noticed a gold cross the woman was wearing, comprised of three crossbeams. "I don't think she is French, but it doesn't matter. We have to get her help and the British Embassy is closer anyway. Can you fold a pressure bandage?" He saw it was being done with Julia's new scarf. "Good." Taking the woman up in his arms, they went full speed down the avenue to a gate at the back of the British Embassy compound.

"Oy!... Hello!" William shouted, "We need immediate assistance!" while Julia struck the metal panel with one of her feet at the same time keeping pressure on the woman's chest..

The racket brought a uniformed guard to the gate. "What is going on here? State your business…"

Julia thought it was rather obvious and was about to say so when the guard's eyes opened with shock. "Good Lord!" He took his keys and opened the lock. "Who are you?" he demanded, helping William bring his limp burden inside and across a short courtyard to the building.

Julia answered directly as they went. "I am Dr. Julia Ogden and this is my husband William Murdoch. We are Canadian citizens on holiday. This woman was attacked and badly wounded by a knife just moments ago and we interrupted the assault. She insisted we bring her here and ask for a woman named Olga, and only Olga. She is bleeding and needs immediate medical attention or she will die."

When the guard hesitated, William raised his voice, walking right up to the outer door. "You heard the doctor. Take us to this Olga immediately and locate your house medic if you have one."

Wordlessly, the pale-faced guard brought William and Julia through the outer ground floor entrance, and a second set of doors which led along a narrow corridor. Instead of going downstairs to where the servant's quarters and medical staff were likely housed, he took them to an elevator and up to the third floor residence. The guard opened the door to a room and gestured for them to place the woman on a small bed. "Help her. I will get the doctor."

Julia got down to business, examining the wound, frustrated she had none of her medical equipment with her, only able to use pressure on the wound using the only thing available which was her scarf. The woman was failing and she knew the knife had sliced a vein or artery; she only hoped it had not also punctured visceral organs. "Who do you think she is William? She speaks French but you do not think she is French? Is she perhaps from Quebec or the Maritimes?"

He shook his head. "She is wearing a Russian Orthodox Cross. French is, or at least was the Russian court language and since she is also asking for a woman named 'Olga' who is perhaps a servant or possibly a translator for the Embassy here..." he paused, looking sadly at the woman Julia was tending to, "I believe she may be a Russian courtier or diplomat, perhaps seeking asylum…if she lives…"

"She is not seeking asylum." An anguished voice came into the room, spoken by a slender, delicate-featured woman in her forties who rushed immediately to the bed and picked up the victim's hand. "She is Princess Alexandra Nikolayevna Loanova-Rostovskaya. I am Olga, her sister," the new woman said tearfully. " And she must live! Please, doctor- Fafka must live!"

William and Julia looked at each other simultaneously, surprise mirrored on their faces. A man accompanying Olga (presumably the doctor) came around to the other side, lifted the makeshift bandage and rapidly took the princess' vital signs. The lady was nearly white, cold to the touch with a weak heartbeat. Her blood pressure was nearly unmeasurable. "She is in hypovolemic shock," Dr. Park pronounced gravely, estimating the blood loss from what was absorbed by his patient's dress and Julia's blue shawl. He rose from the bed, shaking his head. "I am so very sorry madam," he said to Olga, "she has lost too much blood. I can make her comfortable but…." He said this with a greatest compassion, causing the princess's sister to weep.

"Wait!" Julia interjected. "You cannot give up! If we can repair the damage and get her blood volume up she might make it!"

Dr. Park frowned and answered. "She needs more than fluids, I'm afraid."

"Yes, exactly! Let us give her a blood transfusion," Julia asked, looking down at the nearly lifeless princess.

William saw the effect of Julia's plea on Olga and Dr. Park: hope from one and skepticism from the other.

"Is this so?" the sister asked, her voice breaking.

"Yes," Julia assured her. "I am Dr. Julia Ogden. I am familiar with Karl Landsteiner's work on blood types and in Toronto I have presided at two such transfusions. Both patients lived. I have had a transfusion myself, which saved my own life. If you have the equipment we can proceed."

"You are a physician?" Dr. Park merely seemed to be confirming, not challenging, Julia's credentials. "Dr. Ogden, there is no time for blood comparisons. We might merely hasten her death."

Olga, who had been witnessing the exchange spoke passionately. "She is my flesh and blood, so take mine, doctor!"

Dr. Park shook his head again. "Dear Lady, I cannot, not in your, condition…" He left the reason vague but as Olga's hand unconsciously went to her abdomen, Julia and William suspected a pregnancy.

"Then I will do so," William spoke up. "Dr. Park, I have the blood type which is shown to be compatible to give to everyone. Please: my wife is right, if you work quickly, she may be saved…."


.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

British Embassy

Via Venti Settembre, Roma

William was reluctant to leave Julia, but as he had no other practical help to offer, he accepted being escorted into the hallway. Dr. Park had just finished his surgery and Olga and Julia were still at the princess's bedside. He himself was a little woozy from giving blood, but the princess's colour was better, her heart rate improved, and she was resting comfortably. William had not yet been formally introduced to Olga, but it was clear that 'Olga' was not a servant or translator, and as the sister of a princess might be some sort of royalty herself. He could certainly see a family resemblance in the heart shaped face and glossy dark hair on a petite frame.

That back embassy gate did not open up out of altruism: the guard recognized Princess Alexandra, William said to himself. Why two Russian princesses were at the British Embassy in Rome he could not say. William also noticed that two armed guards now stood on either side of the door, with two more officers and what he assumed was an embassy functionary ready to question him. Whether the guards were to protect the princess from further assault or make sure she was confined to the room was also unclear.

"Sir? If you will come with me?"

It was not really a request. William tried to straighten his blood-soaked suit jacket and brush his trousers then gave up, hoping the dark coloured fabric was going to hide most of the damage. The embassy official did not offer his name, so William shrugged and went with him downstairs to the Embassy's ground floor business offices, the two guards following closely. On the way down, he observed the embassy was preparing for a large event of some kind. Carpets were being rolled up and removed from the floors and bunting was being added to the walls. A short rap on an office door and William was admitted to a formally appointed room. Behind the desk was a robust-looking gentleman in a frock coat.

"Good afternoon. I am George Greaves, Canadian Delegate to Rome. Please have a seat, Detective Murdoch."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Greaves." William hoped his clothing was not going to soil the yellow silk upholstery on the chair as he sat. The guards were shooed out, but he suspected did not go very far. He was impressed and a little unnerved that this man knew he was Detective Murdoch. How did he know?

Greaves sat back at his chair and centered a brown file folder on the desk in front of him. There were no unnecessary pleasantries. Greaves got right to the point: "You and your wife interrupted an assault and were persuaded to bring the victim here. What can you tell me about the assault and the assailant?"

The diplomat asked no other questions. William was unused to being the question-ee, but able enough in delivering factual information, so he provided a succinct statement while, interestingly, Greaves took not a single notation.

Greaves nodded when William stopped talking then flipped his folder open. "Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary, on leave from his position. Travelling with his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden, also on leave from her position with the city, both on an abruptly scheduled extended holiday. Left from Halifax on the RMS Lucania to Liverpool then Le Havre. Paris, Nice, Monte Carlo, Florence and now Rome." Another flip. "I have a notation here that you saved the life of His Royal Highness Prince Alfred and helped prevent an assassination attempt on the life of Lord Treadstone, for which you received a personal note and a reward from Her Majesty Queen Victoria. You also were commended by Wilfred Laurier for saving Toronto from being extorted by a madman." Greaves closed the folder. "I have other reports here of a more classified nature." He looked at William skeptically. "You also at one time were accused of murder, as was your wife."

"Yes." William was not going to offer any defense. If the man knows this much about us then he knows we were exonerated.

"Detective, what I am about to tell you is a ….."

"Matter of national security?" William had it out of his mouth before he thought about it, feeling his face redden in embarrassment.

Greaves frowned. "Levity is inappropriate, Mr. Murdoch! We have an urgent security issue with a resident member of His Majesty's Embassy, on a day we are preparing for more than a hundred diplomatic guests for the annual Christmas Ball tomorrow night. Did you happen to observe if the assailant carried anything away with him?"

William understood the diplomat was much more interested in this question than his first one. Of course, that is really what this is all about. William reached into one of his special jacket pockets and retrieved a small portfolio. Placing it on the desk, he pushed it forward with a finger, watching Greaves' hands twitch.

"Have you opened this? Read the contents?" Greaves asked while giving William a penetrating look.

"No, sir. I have not." William answered, feeling wary now.

Greaves placed his hand on the portfolio William had placed there, and drew it over the desktop towards himself. The diplomat's voice was flat and cold. "You certainly should hope not…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Soft breathing from Princess Alexandra and the ticking of a large clock were the only sounds reaching Julia's ears as she and Olga sat on either side of the bed. As soon as Dr. Park excused himself, Olga kissed her sister's forehead and made a sign of the cross, similar, but not exactly the same as how William performs the blessing. "Thank you, Dr. Ogden, thank God for you and your husband."

"You are welcome... is it Princess Olga?" Julia did not know how else to address the woman so she took a guess so as not to offend.

Olga made a face. "Where are my manners? My only thought was for my sister so I have neglected to make formal introductions. I am Olga, daughter of Prince Nicholas Lobanov-Rostovsky of Russia. Considering it is my sister you saved, you must call me Olga." She brought herself upright. "I am also your hostess, and it is my honour to be the wife of Sir Edwin Henry Edgerton, British Ambassador to the King of Italy. Welcome to our home."

"Lady Olga, then…. Your sister is still gravely ill. I don't want you to get any false hope," Julia warned. "That man stabbed her rather severely."

"My sister is stronger than anyone might imagine." Olga sent a look of pity mixed with exasperation towards her sister. "Alexandra, my younger sister whom we call 'Fafka,' is an eccentric... never had any interest in marriage, you understand. She has always been an adventurer, brave and reckless, has always been able to make one laugh…" Her voice broke, then she took in a ragged breath to steady herself.

Julia recognized the sentiment. "I too have a brave and reckless, younger sister," she admitted, "who has gotten herself into scrapes, no matter how I have tried to counsel her."

"Exactly! Those qualities were why two Grand Duchesses took her as a lady-in-waiting… because of Fafka's joie de vivre," Olga smiled at some memory, then faced Julia directly to explain. "Ours is a family of diplomats; for Fafka, with a title and no fortune, being a lady-in-waiting was an honourable way to get on in this world without attachments."

A groan emanated from the bed. Instantly, Olga was hovering over her sister, murmuring reassurances and more thanks to God in three languages. Then the tone changed. Julia understood a few of the basic French phrases and almost nothing of the Russian, but the sisters were definitely arguing. Julia put her hand gently on her companion's shoulder. "Lady Olga, please! Your sister needs her rest."

Alexandra managed to get her fingers in Julia's sleeve. "You! I saw you. What happened to him?" The question was weak and desperate in heavily accented English.

Julia wanted her patient to be calmed, assuming the woman needed to know she was no longer in danger. "You are safe now. He got away but, rest assured they will find him as soon as you identify him."

"He escaped?" Alexandra's pale face smiled faintly before the she passed out again.

Julia was astonished to realize the princess appeared pleased that her assailant got away. Olga paused, considering how much intimacy to share with a stranger. "I believe that man was her lover," she told Julia.

Julia recalled her original assumption of a lovers' quarrel when she saw them by the arch. "I'd say the relationship was not one of love, since it ended in attempted murder."

Olga sighed. "If I don't miss my guess, it was my sister who brought the knife."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

William devoured the tea and biscotti which a guard brought in. He'd been left in Mr. Greaves' office and told politely to wait. "Wait" of course, meant under guard, as evidenced by the presence of embassy security to keep him company. He was more concerned for Julia's whereabouts and welfare, nervous that if the Princess took a turn for the worse, somehow they'd be blamed. Once he felt his strength return he paced.

What is taking so long?

He nearly jumped when Mr. Greaves came back in, irritated with his own nervousness.

"We have been able to speak, briefly, with Princess Alexandra, as well as your wife, who corroborate your version of events. It seems the Princess will recover. You and your wife will never know how much, but you have rendered a great service to your King and brought honour to your country," Greaves coughed. "And you never met the Princess and this incident never happened.…"

"Of course." William said. He knew exactly what Greaves meant: this was about national security, or at least preventing a scandal from jeopardizing Ambassador Edgerton's and England's reputation.

What else was there to say?

"There can never be any public acknowledgement of your activities, but I have also been instructed by the Ambassador to offer you and your wife a generous reward." Greaves sat at his chair and selected a large ledger from his center desk drawer. Opening it to an official looking page, Greaves prepared to write a cheque.

William thought about it, then sat up straight, brushing his fingers over his forehead and forming a sideways smile on his face.

"Actually, Mr. Greaves. I was thinking of a reward of a different sort…."