Men On White Horses

by Pamela Haines

  Edwina, looking out into the throng, prayed silently : Oh Taddeo, Oh Stefano, come and rescue me.

  They were a foursome. Walking in front, Marchesa Vittoria and Father Gomboli, the chaplain, who at meals was usually silent : he spoke no English and little French. (Often he looked as if he might say something, pressing and unpressing his hands as if to pray. But ‘Dunque …’ or perhaps ‘ Insomma…’ would be all the results.) With his measured step he seemed to have some difficulty now in adjusting himself to the old Marchesa’s slow tread. Behind them came Edwina and the young Marchesa. Slowly the procession made its way down the corridor. It was just after midday.

  A little scream, high-pitched. The old Marchesa halted. Round the corner, hair coming unpinned, falling in an auburn mass over her face, hurtled Fanny. She stopped short. A tiny ‘Oh!’ and a giggle.

  ‘Hide and seek, you see,’ she said in a little voice, as Taddeo, breathless, stopping only with difficulty, followed her. He put both hands up in a gesture of contrition, smiling. Then with a shrug of his shoulders he blew a kiss to his grandmother and was gone.

  They were both gone. The old Marchesa’s face had settled into heavy lines of disapproval. Father Gomboli, turning, said something to her quickly – Edwina caught the word ‘bambini’, one of the few words she knew. Then in what was obviously meant to be reassuring tones, he added slowly : ‘Giocanna ancora a nascondersi…’ The Marchesa replied angrily : ‘ A me sembra invece che giochino a ritrovarsi – ’ She began to walk on.

  The young Marchesa had not moved. She was looking straight ahead, staring. Edwina turned to her’ ‘What did they say?’ She felt it suddenly to be of importance.

  ‘He has said they are only children, they still play at hiding themselves, but my mother-in-law says no, to her she thinks rather they play at finding each the other –I cannot make it very clear.’ She looked ill at ease. The light, shining on her face, emphasized the dark growth, thicker than Edwina had realized, on her upper lip.

  ‘Sometimes she is displeased, you understand. She has plans for them all, for all our children. Stefano– ’ she broke off. ‘Where is Stefano?’ she asked anxiously. ‘He said – ’ She put her hand to her forehead : ‘He tells me nothing.’

  ‘Who is this beautiful woman?’

  Edwina glanced quickly at the date beneath the photograph. May 1859. The old Marchesa’s finger stabbed at the picture. ‘Tell me, who is she?’

  ‘You,’ Edwina said. And certainly, in spite of the preposterous dress and the fixed almost astonished face, there was indeed a dark beauty. But looking now at the heavy folds of facial skin, the bloodshot eyes ringed by deep dark circles, the scant elaborately waved hair – she could not take her mind back sixty years. The heavy leather album stayed open at that page. Below was a wedding group. A taller, straighter-haired Stefano stood proudly beside his bride. January 1860. An immense entourage surrounded them. The old Marchesa pointed to a gentle-looking girl whose head hung forward. ‘That is Concetta, the mother of Adelina.’ She paused : ‘You like to see these? This marriage it was a great affair. You see, from two such big families-and we also have been many many years in Rome-there is much wealth. Many estates. But the times were not happy, you understand. Only some years and Rome was quite changed. This business of a king–we are naturally Blacks. Some they are more extreme –The Lancellotti, this family they have shut the front door so it cannot open. To remind of the Pope who is prisoner. When they have a ball – even then, all must go in at the side… And the city also, that is quite spoilt–these roads they have made. The new Rome. Everything goes then – Faraesini Pine, Villa Massimo Negroni, and so many, so many, destroyed.’ For a moment she sat quite still, lips pursed, eyes far away. Then turning a page : ‘Here you see Gelasio, who now is Marchese – this baby with the hat. He was not of course the best-Niccolo here and Leone, both are better – But he is the first. Here is another, here he looks before he is married – ’

  Edwina stared at the portrait. In a dapper way, with his wet eyes and look of one who needed protecting, mothering, the present Marchese seemed to have an attraction which he certainly didn’t possess now. ‘So.’ the old Marchesa remarked. ‘We have then this nonsense. They are cousins and they meet at a family party – or perhaps hunting? They meet and she is good then, how she was looking. And she, she is blind with love. She will have him. There is all this – nonsense. My husband is weak – he allows it. It was only to wait and the passion goes. Something more convenable is arranged. But no !’ She drummed three times on the page. ‘No! So we have this fine boy that you see each day at the table, who cannot eat properly, who is thinking nothing – An animal has come into the family.’ She was silent for several moments. ‘Mah!’ She stared ahead at the firescreen, wrinkled lips pressed together. ‘Mah!’

  Then : ‘This time, this marriage, we leave Rome.’ Her finger drummed on the open page. ‘This time – we leave Italy.’

  ‘My word.’ Taddeo said, coming up behind her, ‘my word if I catch you bending – ’

  She said laughing, ‘Oh Taddeo dear, where do you learn these expressions?’

  ‘But I told you– ’ He looked hurt. ‘Don’t you remember when I say things?’ She shook her head, laughing at him still. They stood together for a moment in the late afternoon sun. She could feel his restlessness. He reached out and caught hold of her hand. His own was cool and firm. ‘Now you tell me something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why you are always so sad ?’

  ‘Taddeo, I’m not sad –I laugh a lot. You know I do.’

  ‘No, why you are sad even when you laugh?’ He whispered in her ear : ‘You tell Taddeo. I promise I won’t say. Boy scout’s honour. You love some Englishman? They don’t let you marry someone? What is it – you tell me…’

  She thought for a moment, standing in the gardens of the villa, that she might; that she could tell him everything. In a glance she saw it all. That she could say about even the walk across to Bay.

  ‘But first I tell you something. Here you walk very carefully. These flowers…’ But already it was too late : water sprayed up from the bed where she had trod, wetting skirt, sleeves. It missed her face. She laughed, shaky with relief that she had told him nothing. ‘You might have said – ’

  ‘I shall just say to you – they’re a joke, you see. But when we want to find them we don’t. I know only they’re somewhere here about. In this villa, you see, there lived an Antici-Montani with a sense of humour…’

  They had arrived in the middle of the day, motoring over from Rome, the four of them accompanied by Donna Laura. Uncle Frederick was spending three days at Villa D’Este with relations of Adelina’s. Stefano had needed to come to this villa, as he did quite often, on behalf of his father. The Marchese had been confined to his room for over a week now. Although he had not after all succumbed to Spanish ‘flu he had contracted something unpleasant of his own. Various reports filtered through : some days it was his liver, others his throat, and yet again his legs. The old Marchesa remarked with asperity that the trouble was ‘here’ – tapping her forehead lightly and with dignity.

  The drive, past high walls covered in roses and wisteria, on through olive groves – purple-black berries, silvery foliage gleaming – had enchanted Edwina. They were to stay the night. She felt that this was what she had wanted, to get away from the palace. She had not realized it was so oppressive, feeling now a sudden sense of freedom from the rolling eyes of Eugenio, Father Gomboli and his ‘insomma’, the young Marchesa’s nervy unhappiness. But most of all perhaps from the interest of the old Marchesa. Morning and evening she was watched, often discussed, she knew, occasionally quizzed. A horrible idea had come to her a few days ago – but she had dismissed it as preposterous.

  Fanny of course was not to be escaped. But for the last few days she had been gentler and even a little quieter : easy too, and disposed to find everybody and everything perfect. She told Edwina that she had heard Taddeo’s head wound was worse than eve
ryone thought, and that he might not live to be old – or even stay as he was. ‘His mother told me. The old dragon knows, naturally, but she doesn’t want to admit it. That’s why she always forgives him everything.’

  Fanny was with Stefano on the terrace when she and Taddeo joined them. The ilex trees threw dark shadows. The garden just below was formal, the flowerbeds – joke sprays and all – elaborately shaped. A little further on it changed to half-wild, tangled bushes of perpetually flowering roses. ‘Le rose di ogni mese’, Stefano called them. They drank a wine from the estate : white, sparkling. Fanny said, stretching luxuriously : ‘I’ve had this wonderful idea of staying on in Rome – ’

  ‘But of course,’ interrupted Taddeo, ‘you stay to marry me. Naturally. That’s all arranged.’

  Fanny dimpled. Edwina said, ‘Marry me, so that I don’t have to leave Rome either.’

  Stefano said, ‘He will marry you both – he is quite capable. What do you call this, that you mustn’t do?’

  ‘Bigamy,’ Edwina said.

  ‘He does bigamy easily. He is like that – ’

  Taddeo said, only half-laughing, ‘What’s this, always bad about me? And I’m so good. I was always the good one. I gave my toys to Eugenio when he was already twelve and I knew that he would break them. And it was so. Also, I’m nice to Nonnina always. Fanny, Edwina – defend me – ’

  ‘You’re perfect,’ said Edwina.

  ‘You see, Stefano, that I’m thought well of – the cat’s whiskers perhaps – somewhere. It is you, Stefano, with the temper. He had a temper then like thunder– he was not always so pleasant. And also – ’

  Fanny interrupted : ‘That’s not fair,’ and Stefano added, ‘It’s not just at all. We speak of perhaps ten, fifteen years ago – ’ His voice was quite light, but his face was set.

  Taddeo said gaily, ‘I marry Cora, I think. As soon as I’m in England and this nuisance with the head is arranged, I shall go everywhere I am invited, and of course I meet her.’ Edwina, glad of the change of subject, told him that her Aunt Josephine had already written. Cora and Mother were in London and apparently enjoying themselves.

  ‘I shall find my way about. Already I have so many introductions. She will certainly wish to marry me when she sees my great beauty and that I’m the youngest son of a great house.’

  ‘What a snob,’ said Fanny.

  Edwina agreed, teasing him. He was pleased, as if they had ruffled his hair playfully. But Stefano’s face – turned now to greet Donna Laura as she joined them on the terrace – was still dark.

  They ate some orange-yellow mushrooms, marinated, called ovoli, pasta with a green sauce, sour-sweet duck with pine-nuts, and a rich but very light fresh cherry pudding with rum and lemons. The meal was late and leisurely. A neighbour had been invited, a bachelor also – a little older than Stefano. He had lived in the area all his life. With his receding hair, short strong frame and dark lively eyes, he attracted Edwina’s attention. He was very assured : of himself, his home, his life, how everything would be. He spoke easily, in excellent English. When Fanny talked he paid her courteous attention. But with Edwina he not only asked questions, he also watched as she answered. His eyes roamed over her unconsciously it seemed. She felt suddenly a blend of gratitude – as if by doing this he had somehow made her different. Excitement too, as if in a darkened room the lights had been summarily lit. Fed by admiration her mood grew, so that, animated, she knew she looked well.

  The atmosphere was such that even Donna Laura, separated from her mother, came a little out of her shell. Eating an orange, nervously dipping in the fingerbowl with its small floating flower, she talked to Stefano of the estate. Her questions showed that she knew nothing of it, nor perhaps of any of the others. She told Edwina in halting English : ‘I like our little villino in Forte dei Marmi…’

  The talk had drifted on to politics, had settled there uneasily. Fanny, who knew little of the situation, had the most to say, it seemed to Edwina. She had become quite excited. They were speaking of Fiume and D’Annunzio and the outrageous piratical exploits of his uscocchi. She said, ‘I should just like to see him – ’

  ‘Ah now,’ said Taddeo, ‘now I can use such a good word. He is a bounder. No doubt of this.’

  Fanny said, ‘But he looks a dear little man – ’

  ‘Not so.’

  Stefano remarked, ‘Maddalena, she met him some times. She became of a different opinion. It is the voice, I think.’

  Donna Laura said, ‘All is disgusting.’ But his charm was agreed upon. ‘Magnetism, I think you call it,’ Taddeo said. That is all. A gift from God, which of course I have – Oodles of it.’

  ‘What are oodles?’ Angelo asked.

  ‘What are oodles?’ Edwina asked helplessly. ‘I don’t know. Lots, a lot…’

  Taddeo was excitable again. Fanny was pulling restlessly at the pearls round her neck. She was wearing the Fortuny frock. She wore it whenever possible. Beside it everything of Edwina’s looked either dowdy or excessively jeune fille. A few days ago the old Marchesa had surprised and touched her by saying, ‘I arrange, I think, that we buy you such a frock as Frances has. It has become necessary…’

  They must dance. There was no question about it, Taddeo said, arranging everything, looking out records (‘everything here is old hat’), finding a tango and dancing it with Fanny in a frenetic showing-off manner. Donna Laura watched with her hands on her lap and an air of disapproval. Stefano insisted that he should dance with Fanny next : he was not very good and she stumbled and clung to him at one point. She was laughing almost continually. Edwina was swept round by Taddeo. He smelt clean and scented but had a frailty almost about him. His clasp was gentle as when he had held her hand outside. He was attractive without attracting her-She thought, I would like him for a brother, and was taken up short, sweating, shaking, thinking : Uncle Frederick, Mother. Coming out of hiding, the memory hurtled towards her heart. The word brother, it would no longer do. But then because it was an easy evening, she thought, laughing at something he said, ‘cousin’, that will do instead.

  She would have liked to dance with Stefano. She danced well (Madame Lambert and Cecil had perhaps been more successful than they realized) and thought that she could probably make him appear good too. Also, she felt sorry for him because he had less charm than Taddeo and was perhaps a difficult character.

  Angelo, who’d shown little interest in the dancing, asked her for the next, a one-step. Taddeo and Fanny were together again, showing off, Stefano busying himself with the gramophone. Angelo danced with a competent ease, but his attention seemed more on talking to her. They continued the conversation they had had while sitting out. Smiling, lifting his eyebrows at Fanny and Taddeo doing a showy variation of the step, he said : ‘I am in Rome next month. I hope I see you then?’

  ‘We’ll have left, we have to go back – ’

  ‘It’s for another time perhaps…’ There was an easy feeling about it all. If I wished, she thought, I could take this further. And because he so frankly admired her, she thought : it could be quite easy after all, to be alive again.

  ‘That Angelo what’s-his-name was boring,’ Fanny said. ‘Heavens-was he. Usually I like older men but this time – did I tell you that Prince in Venice, he distinctly felt for my foot under the table –I mean, I couldn’t have been mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll follow you here and marry you,’ said Edwina tiredly, suppressing a yawn.

  Fanny said quite seriously, ‘He’s already married as a matter of fact.’ She looked round the bedroom : ‘You always get a better room than me.’ She tapped her foot : ‘Don Stefano, Don Taddeo. I never realized, it means “Lord”-Lord Stefano! I got terribly excited when I thought of that the other day…’

  Edwina wanted to say, ‘Oh, go to bed.’ Then, suddenly remembering, she said : ‘Whatever’s this about staying on in Rome?’

  ‘Oh, it’s quite serious– I’ve already told Taddeo, and Stefano. I was going to surprise you and Uncle Fr
ederick. Annette’s brother – I’ve been invited to join the family party. I spent a morning last week with them while you were closeted with the old dragon and it was all arranged. They may go up into the mountains if it gets very hot but the plan is that I stay with them for as long as I want-I thought even of learning some Italian. Mainly I’ll be painting and sketching. I’ve written express to Marmee. I don’t think for a moment they’ll say “no” – they’re worried anyway I’ll go off when I’m twenty-one. Now that I know what I know … In any case they approve of Annette’s family and all that. The aunt’s writing too. You don’t mind?’

  Edwina shook her head. ‘No, nice for you.’ She yawned again. Fanny, stretching, tossed back her unpinned hair : ‘I’m thinking seriously of getting it bobbed.’ When Edwina, yawning once more, didn’t take it up, she moved restlessly, kicking her foot against an oak coffer near the chair.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I feel so frantic sometimes, so –I don’t know, pent up inside me. I feel almost, sometimes, as if I could murder someone..

  In her dream she hurried down the long corridors. This figure of eight – no way out. Was she hiding, or seeking? Certainly she had lost something. Then, running behind her, steps.

  She was in a salotto, and from behind a gilt screen Stefano appeared suddenly. He said, ‘I’ve been sent to catch you,’ and took hold of her wrists. He pulled her towards him, close, so that they were one, pressed from head to toe. It seemed pointless to resist-wrong even. The easy fit surprised her. In her dream she knew she dreamed, but the lightness continued. They didn’t speak (indeed how could they?).