by Joan Smith
“Then I shall have to persuade them,” she answered cryptically. “That should be amusing!”
“I shouldn’t think old Jalbert your type. It must be Claude you plan to seduce,” Belami ventured.
She stared at him. “Seduction wasn’t what I had in mind. Of course I haven’t met Claude. Perhaps he’ll come to my ball. Some uninvited always do sneak into a masquerade party. I shall be on the alert for him.” Carlotta rose and straightened her gown. “And now I’ll leave you two alone. I know it’s not necessary to caution you to behave, Belami.”
When she had gone, Belami moved closer to Deirdre on the sofa. Her gesture of moving away was only a token. Their shoulders brushed. “She didn’t even ask how much I was willing to give or try to up the price. I wonder what she has in mind,” Belami said. He raised his arm and placed it along the sofa back, not yet touching Deirdre, but at the ready.
“She plans to keep the dies and use them herself.”
His arm nudged lower, the hand just touching her shoulder. “It’s a big undertaking. You need a smelter and trained men. That can’t be it. The Jalberts could make a new set of dies for a thousand pounds, I should think.”
“We’ll just have to follow her at the masquerade party and see what she does.”
“It’s Pronto I’m worried about.” Memories of their old friend kept Deirdre from bolting when Dick’s fingers began stroking her raven hair. “Once he’s married to Elvira, he’ll be strongly inclined to protect her. Carlotta must plan to bleed him dry.”
“I was never so frustrated in my life.”
“It’s only one more day.” Belami consoled her with a squeeze on the shoulder. “We can’t do anything more about it tonight.”
This being the case, he settled down to follow his other project in good earnest. He put an arm around Deirdre. She allowed it to remain. He could feel the stiffness ease from her body. “Did I ever tell you your eyes, when you’re angry, are like a stormy sky?”
“Several times,” she answered, but it was a playful reply. In fact, it was a downright encouraging reply. “And how would you describe Carlotta’s eyes?”
“Does Carlotta have eyes? I never noticed.”
A gurgle of laughter caught in her throat. It brought out the dimples at the corner of her lips. Dick’s head had just begun to lower when the telltale tapping of Charney’s cane told him his nemesis approached. When Charney entered, she saw her niece and Belami sitting a foot apart, with Pronto’s silver goblets between them. This ploy didn’t fool her for an instant.
“I’d like you to come upstairs and read to me, Deirdre,” she announced. With a sapient eye at the rake, she added, “I see the contessa’s light is still burning. If you want someone to talk to, no doubt she is waiting to oblige you.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Belami replied blandly. “But Deirdre has already assuaged my appetite for conversation.”
On this cryptic speech, he bowed and left.
Chapter Fifteen
Réal had no success in finding Styger, and Nick had nothing new to report from the inn. Belami and Deirdre left for the wedding the next morning carrying their gifts. They sat gazing across the canal, wrapped in a pall of silence, thinking of the past and the future. Things would never be the same again. Pronto was an inconvenient friend, but his heart was always in the right place. It was true he misunderstood things and leaped with unparalleled agility to all the wrong conclusions. He never could keep his mouth shut and had pitched Belami into more scrapes than he liked to consider. If there were a message to be delivered. Pronto was sure to see it went astray. If there were a quarry to be followed, you could always count on Pronto to lose him. And when speed was of the essence, that was bound to be the time Pronto got drunk, or fell asleep, or in love.
“I was hoping we’d get word the wedding was called off,” Deirdre said, and sighed wearily.
“So was I. It might happen yet.” He hoped Pronto would be waiting at the landing, ringing his hands, and saying Elvira had changed her mind, or left Venice. But no one awaited them.
“Try to smile,” Belami urged Deirdre when they entered the Léon Bianco. They went, wearing smiles that smacked of rictus, to the private parlor that had been fixed up with flowers and candles. The minister, a Reverend Hackwell from Bath, was there with Pronto. They set their gifts on a table and went to speak to the bridegroom, all freshly shaven and shorn for the occasion, and looking like a stranger.
“This is the big day,” Belami said heartily. “I wish you all the best.” He reached to shake his old friend’s hand.
Looking at them, Deirdre saw a film of moisture in Pronto’s eyes. She blinked away a tear and offered her best wishes, too. “I hope you’ll be very, very happy,” she said in a trembling voice, and kissed Pronto on the cheek.
“A fellow never had such good friends,” Pronto said, and sniffed into a handkerchief. “I see you brought presents and all, like a real wedding. Thank you. I’ll let Elvira open them. She likes presents.”
Dick and Deirdre exchanged a speaking glance. Pronto handed Belami the ring. “You give me this when the minister starts the bit about ‘with this ring, I thee wed.’ Do I look all right, Dick? The dashed barber skinned me like a rat. Cut my hair so that it don’t wave as it ought. My hair was always my best feature.” He patted it nervously.
“You look fine,” Deirdre assured him, though she secretly agreed the barber had destroyed his hair. It was strange the Suttons weren’t here yet. It was only minutes till the ceremony should begin.
“Where is Elvira?” Belami asked, glancing at his watch.
“Here the Suttons are now,” Deirdre exclaimed as the door opened. She and Dick looked resignedly at each other. There was now no hope that the wedding wouldn’t take place.
They all turned to view the bride. Elvira looked enchanting, as usual. She wore no trace of nervousness or indecision as her moment drew near, but her usual calm air of self-possession. She strode forward, smiling, to greet the party. Her dark hair was mostly concealed under a band of flowers, but that was the only indication that she was the bride, other than the nosegay of pink rosebuds and babies’ breath she carried. Her gown was one often seen before—a pretty blue—though Pronto said she was having a new gown made. There were some general greetings and comments on the flowers and candles.
“You look lovely, Elvira,” Deirdre said. “And you, too, Lucy.” Lucy wore a rose gown and looked more nervous than the bride.
Mrs. Sutton was pale and distracted. “We might as well get on with it,” she suggested.
“Ready when you are,” Pronto agreed, and wiped his moist hands on the sides of his trousers. “We’d best go and stand together. Oh, we are standing together.”
They arranged themselves before Reverend Hackwell, who stood with his open book to read the service. Pronto appeared a comic figure beside his statuesque bride. Elvira’s shoulder rode a few inches higher than the groom’s. Dick ranged himself beside Pronto, angled to see them both, and Deirdre took up a similar position on the other side, with Mrs. Sutton and Lucy standing off to the left. As the fateful words began, Belami felt overcome with sadness.
“We are gathered together before God,” the minister began.
But in Belami’s mind, they were no longer together, Pronto and he. Pronto was leaving him, and he felt as though he were losing a part of himself. Pronto was about to become the lifelong partner of this woman beside him. This woman who hadn’t even the grace to blush or to buy a new gown for her wedding day. Elvira stood like an odalisque, her set jaw showing nothing but satisfaction.
Belami fingered the ring in his hand. It slid up his little finger as he played with it. It was loose there, so he palmed it again. He didn’t want to drop the ring in midservice as Pronto could be relied on to do if—when—he and Deirdre got married. Even a shabby wedding was a solemn occasion, one bound to bring memories of the past and hopes for the future in its wake. Belami looked at Deirdre and wished with all his heart that they
were the bridal couple. He caught her eye, and they exchanged a long, meaningful look.
He glanced at Pronto, who was clenching and unclenching his lips and taking little darting peeps at his bride. Elvira never once glanced at him. She kept her head high, looking straight ahead. What was she thinking? There, she was looking at Lucy now. A slight smile trembled on her lips then, as they exchanged one brief look. Lucy had a tear in her eye. Did she feel as sad to lose Elvira as he felt to lose Pronto? The sisters were obviously very close.
Dick stood alert, ready to prompt his friend if Pronto forgot his lines. “I, Ernest Rodney Pelham Pilgrim, do solemnly swear...” He was afraid Pronto would trip over that long name. Strange to think of old Pronto having such an impressive array of names. How had he come to be called Pronto?
It was Elvira’s turn to speak. Dick listened to learn her full name. “I, Elvira Sutton, do solemnly swear...” It was odd she only had the one name. A wistful smile lifted Dick’s lips. “Odd”—that was Pronto’s clue that something was suspicious. But there was really nothing suspicious in a girl having only one Christian name.
He became aware that Pronto was reaching for the ring and handed it to him. He turned his gaze to Elvira as Pronto pushed the ring over her finger. Large as it was, it was a little tight. Pronto muttered as he rammed it home. Belami found himself wondering if Pronto had had any luck in trying his list of endearments on her. Elvira’s hair really was as black as a raven’s wing. It looked lovely against her flower band and pale face. The ears were not precisely seashells—a generous ear on her. And a generous nose, too, a handsome nose it would be called if it graced a gentleman’s face. Dick noticed a little nick on the side of Elvira’s jaw, nearly invisible. She’d covered it with powder. Pronto must have got at her last night after all. The girl was lucky she wasn’t maimed. Now how had Pronto done that—it looked like a scratch from his fingernails.
And suddenly the ceremony was over. The minister was closing up his book. Pronto, blushing like a blue cow, pulled Elvira into his arms for the traditional kiss. Elvira, shy or aloof, turned her head slightly aside so that the kiss only grazed her cheek.
“Your turn, Dick,” Pronto said. “This is the only chance you’ll have to kiss my bride. And don’t make it long either.”
Belami smiled and inclined his head for the token gesture. He felt Elvira’s body stiffen. Again she turned her head aside so that he only nipped the corner of her chin. She was more demonstrative with her mother and the ladies. They were allowed to embrace her.
“Well, it’s done,” Pronto exclaimed with satisfaction. “Now it’s time for the vino and viando.” He turned to Dick and muttered, “Don’t make a day of it. We only have this afternoon to—you know—consummation devoutly to be wished and all that.”
Belami bit back a smile. It seemed almost fitting that Pronto should unwittingly have referred to Hamlet’s suicide soliloquy in his choice of quotation. “Going to the masquerade party tonight. Haven’t told Elvira yet that I ain’t going to be her slave.”
“Don’t worry, she can’t back out of it now. And I shan’t linger long. Good luck with the consummation.”
Pronto yanked at his shirt collar. “I’ll need it. I’ll tell you, Dick, your list of compliments ain’t worth a tinker’s curse. I made no progress at all last night. Thought she was going to land me a facer when I tried to get at her.”
“I think you did land her one,” Dick joked.
“No such a thing. Never got within ame’s ace of a kiss.”
They joined the minister to sign the wedding certificate. “A nice little ceremony.” Reverend Hackwell smiled and left.
The remaining party moved toward the door, the ladies first. At the dining parlor, Elvira held the door for them.
“Let me do that, my dear,” Pronto said, and leaped forward, jostling his bride.
“Watch what you’re about!” Elvira exclaimed angrily.
Really, the woman was a confirmed shrew. The wedding not five minutes old, and already she was acting like a harpy.
“Sorry, my love,” he muttered.
Bearing Pronto’s request in mind, Belami didn’t linger over dinner. No one seemed very hungry. Pronto in particular didn’t eat a bite, though he had several glasses of wine. When dinner was over, Dick rose and made a short speech, praising the bride and informing the Suttons that they were indeed fortunate to have gained Pronto as a member of their family. They all clapped lightly, and it was Pronto’s turn to praise his bride.
He rose on unsteady limbs and cleared his throat. “Prego, everybody. I never was much in the speechmaking line,” he said, and pulled from his pocket a piece of paper. “Ladies and gentlemen: Che bella. Hair. raven’s wing. No, dash it, that ain’t it. Ah, here we are,” he exclaimed, and read his short speech, written with much soul-searching and uncertainty.
Elvira gazed at her plate and did finally blush then, when her bridegroom hovered from compliment to compliment, comparing her to the sun and the moon, the lilies of the valley and Eclipse, the first Derby winner. “Eclipses them all. Even Eclipse,” he finished, and lifted his glass in unsteady fingers.
As soon as the last toast was drunk and Pronto sat down again, he cast a commanding look at Dick. “Daresay you and Deirdre want to run along now. Thankee kindly for coming. Oh, they’ve left us presents in the other room, Elvira. Your mama can take them up to our room. No, her room. We shan’t want to be disturbed.”
Elvira turned a demure face to him. “You are rushing our guests, Pronto, my dear. There is still plenty of wine,” she pointed out.
“We’ll take it upstairs,” he said, and grabbed a bottle.
“I want another glass of wine now, dear,” she insisted.
“Oh. Well, if you feel you need a little encouragement, I daresay it don’t matter whether we have it here or there,” Pronto agreed, and filled her glass to the brim.
She took a suspiciously long time over it.
“Drink up, my pet. We haven’t got all day,” he urged once or twice.
“We have the rest of our lives, dear,” Elvira told him.
Pronto smiled blissfully. “She’s right, you know.” But as he glanced at his watch, he saw he had only a few hours till it would be time to dress for the masquerade ball. “Don’t hurry your last drink,” he added, with emphasis on the “last.”
With this subtle hint, Belami set down his glass. “We have to be going now. Good luck, Pronto, and to you, Mrs. Pilgrim, every happiness for the future.”
“We’ll see you tonight,” Deirdre added. When they left, Elvira was just filling her mother’s and sister’s glasses once again.
Pronto frowned, wondering just how firm a bridegroom ought to be. Didn’t want her disguised—on the other hand, to play the heavy wouldn’t put her in a loving mood. To solve this problem, he poured himself another glass of wine.
Before leaving, Belami stopped to speak to Nick, who was sitting in the hotel lobby. “Did anything interesting happen while we were busy?” he inquired hopefully. Nick shook his head. “I’ll be at the palazzo if they turn up.”
“Why do I feel I’ve just attended a wake?” Deirdre said as they went to the gondola.
“I felt like bawling,” Dick admitted.
“It’s enough to turn a man against marriage.”
“Only against marrying Elvira Sutton. Elvira Pilgrim now. I’ve failed Pronto. He may never speak to me again when I have to turn her in.”
“She didn’t even buy a new gown. At least you can stop wondering whether she’s married to Claude. He would never sit still for her marrying someone else.”
“Much he’d have to say about it if she treats him as she treats Pronto. We know who’ll wear the breeches in this marriage.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if she buys herself a curled beaver and cane, and even takes up shaving,” Deirdre said.
She suddenly realized she was walking alone. Dick had stopped dead in his tracks. “What is it?” she asked. Belami looked as though
he had just been struck by lightning. “She already has a razor,” he said. His voice was light, questioning.
“I know. Come on, Dick. I have to try my costume gown on. Haskins is hemming it for me.”
Belami was so excited he didn’t seem to notice he had ceased being Belami. “Wait, just a minute,” he said, and began slowly pacing the landing. “I’m either insane or inspired. Let me think.” After a few laps he said, “I’ve got to go back to the hotel, Deirdre. Will you come with me?”
“Oh, very well.”
He walked so quickly she had to run to keep up with him. He went directly to his valet. “The night Elvira got into the hotel without being seen, Nick, you mentioned a young man coming in. He didn’t register, you said—just went upstairs. Can you describe him to me?”
Nick wrinkled his face and described him. “He was a good-looking youngster. Smallish but well-set-up. Black hair. Wearing a bluejacket with brass buttons.”
“An English jacket, would you say?”
“I’d go a step further. It was the work of Stultz. The young lad was a strutter—you know the sort.”
“Was he carrying anything?”
“He had a small case with him, an overnight bag.”
“But he didn’t check in?”
“No, I fancied he must be joining his wife here, or a lightskirt. We get a bit of that.”
“I’ll bet there was some of it that night. Have you seen him around since?”
“Not before nor since. Is it important?”
“It’s crucial.”
“Should I follow him if he shows?”
“He won’t show. At least I don’t think... But if he does, stop him. Stop him dead.”
“That I will, sir.”
“Thank you, Nick.” With a broad smile he turned to Deirdre. “Let’s go, my dear. We want to prepare for the ball.”
“What was all that about?” she demanded. “Was the man Claude?”
“Of course it was. I should have seen it days ago.”
“But Claude was described as fair-complexioned. I assumed he had fair hair.”