across London from Limehouse on the omnibus, carrying Pickle’s heavy cage on her knee and knew that she could not face going back to Sarah’s cottage without at least having spoken to the Contessa.
“Is the lady expecting you?” the clerk asked with a sniff. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Rosella replied and held out the Contessa’s card. “But an acquaintance of hers recommended I should call on her and he gave me this.”
The clerk shook his head, looking crossly at Pickle, who was now muttering to himself and preening his wings.
“I am afraid I must ask you to leave. We cannot have this kind of thing at The Palace Hotel .”
Several of the passers-by had stopped by Pickle’s cage and were peering at him. A gentleman reached down to poke a finger through the bars and before Rosella could warn him, Pickle had bitten his finger.
The gentleman shook his hand and laughed good-humouredly, but the clerk was furious.
He came bustling round to the front of the desk and confronted Rosella.
“Out!” he hissed. “You are causing a disturbance and inconveniencing our guests. Out!”
He picked up Pickle’s cage and made as if to fling it across the lobby and out of the front door of the hotel.
Rosella quickly pulled the parrot’s cage out of his hands before he could do so. It was clearly no use trying to persuade him to let her see the Contessa.
She would just have to go back to Limehouse.
She was about to make her way out of the hotel, pursued by the infuriated clerk, when there was a jangling, rattling noise and a hubbub of women’s voices from the other side of the lobby.
The hotel lift was descending to the ground floor packed with a full load of passengers.
The gilded gates crashed open and a small woman dressed in black, surrounded by three white-capped maids, emerged.
Rosella put down the birdcage and then watched in amazement as this woman, who was clearly very old and frail and carried a stick with a gold handle, marched up to the reception desk and began to ring the bell.
She was shouting loudly in a foreign language that Rosella could not understand and she seemed very angry indeed about something.
All the other guests in the lobby were staring at her with their mouths open, but no one made any attempt to speak to the woman.
The clerk scurried back to his post behind the desk, looking harassed.
“Contessa,” he began, struggling to get a word in edgeways. “What is the matter now?”
“ Limone ! Mi piace il te con limone, stupido !” the woman shrilled at the top of her voice and then launched into another torrent of words, as her white-capped maids stood around looking helpless.
Rosella could not help but think that all of this was far more of a disturbance than she and Pickle had caused.
At last the clerk seemed to have understood what the woman was trying to say.
“I am so sorry, Contessa,” he said, “we will send up some lemon for your tea at once. How regrettable that it should have been forgotten – again.”
“ Vergogna ! You are a disgrace!” the woman said with an imperious nod of her grey head and she turned to go back to the lift, followed by her attendants.
‘ Contessa ?’ Rosella caught her breath. ‘Surely this little woman must be the Contessa Allegrini.’
But it was too late to speak to her as they were all inside the lift and the porter was pulling the gates closed.
Just before the gilded gates had rattled shut, a small creature shot out of the lift and bounded across the lobby towards Rosella.
The Contessa gave a loud shriek.
“Aiuta! Auita!”
Pickle gave a loud squeal and flapped his wings.
“ Goodness me !” he cawed, his round eyes bulging with alarm.
A small monkey, dressed in a red silk coat, had run up to the cage and was now peering through the bars and chattering at Pickle.
Much to Rosella’s surprise, Pickle did not scream or try to bite the monkey. Instead, he nodded his head as if in greeting and then
“Is the lady expecting you?” the clerk asked with a sniff. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Rosella replied and held out the Contessa’s card. “But an acquaintance of hers recommended I should call on her and he gave me this.”
The clerk shook his head, looking crossly at Pickle, who was now muttering to himself and preening his wings.
“I am afraid I must ask you to leave. We cannot have this kind of thing at The Palace Hotel .”
Several of the passers-by had stopped by Pickle’s cage and were peering at him. A gentleman reached down to poke a finger through the bars and before Rosella could warn him, Pickle had bitten his finger.
The gentleman shook his hand and laughed good-humouredly, but the clerk was furious.
He came bustling round to the front of the desk and confronted Rosella.
“Out!” he hissed. “You are causing a disturbance and inconveniencing our guests. Out!”
He picked up Pickle’s cage and made as if to fling it across the lobby and out of the front door of the hotel.
Rosella quickly pulled the parrot’s cage out of his hands before he could do so. It was clearly no use trying to persuade him to let her see the Contessa.
She would just have to go back to Limehouse.
She was about to make her way out of the hotel, pursued by the infuriated clerk, when there was a jangling, rattling noise and a hubbub of women’s voices from the other side of the lobby.
The hotel lift was descending to the ground floor packed with a full load of passengers.
The gilded gates crashed open and a small woman dressed in black, surrounded by three white-capped maids, emerged.
Rosella put down the birdcage and then watched in amazement as this woman, who was clearly very old and frail and carried a stick with a gold handle, marched up to the reception desk and began to ring the bell.
She was shouting loudly in a foreign language that Rosella could not understand and she seemed very angry indeed about something.
All the other guests in the lobby were staring at her with their mouths open, but no one made any attempt to speak to the woman.
The clerk scurried back to his post behind the desk, looking harassed.
“Contessa,” he began, struggling to get a word in edgeways. “What is the matter now?”
“ Limone ! Mi piace il te con limone, stupido !” the woman shrilled at the top of her voice and then launched into another torrent of words, as her white-capped maids stood around looking helpless.
Rosella could not help but think that all of this was far more of a disturbance than she and Pickle had caused.
At last the clerk seemed to have understood what the woman was trying to say.
“I am so sorry, Contessa,” he said, “we will send up some lemon for your tea at once. How regrettable that it should have been forgotten – again.”
“ Vergogna ! You are a disgrace!” the woman said with an imperious nod of her grey head and she turned to go back to the lift, followed by her attendants.
‘ Contessa ?’ Rosella caught her breath. ‘Surely this little woman must be the Contessa Allegrini.’
But it was too late to speak to her as they were all inside the lift and the porter was pulling the gates closed.
Just before the gilded gates had rattled shut, a small creature shot out of the lift and bounded across the lobby towards Rosella.
The Contessa gave a loud shriek.
“Aiuta! Auita!”
Pickle gave a loud squeal and flapped his wings.
“ Goodness me !” he cawed, his round eyes bulging with alarm.
A small monkey, dressed in a red silk coat, had run up to the cage and was now peering through the bars and chattering at Pickle.
Much to Rosella’s surprise, Pickle did not scream or try to bite the monkey. Instead, he nodded his head as if in greeting and then
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