On Beatrice I heaped all manner of rewards. To surprise her, I paid her debts at the local dressmaker. Apparently, all of my gowns that she had claimed for herself failed to satisfy her. Nevertheless, she appreciated it. I delighted her with many jewels and trinkets of small extravagance, toying with her like a cat to its prey. In this way, I won her confidence. Although I failed to trick her into confessing her affair with Dario, she kept me informed as to their progress. Clueless to whom she was confiding in, she told me many intimate details, and although the knowledge stirred my blood into wrath, I always managed to remain composed while it fueled my need for vengeance.
Sometimes, as I listened to her petty dreams that would never come true, an appalled bafflement would come over me. She seemed so sure of her future happiness, so certain that nothing could blight it. Traitor that she was, selfish to her heart’s core, she failed to fathom the possibility of retribution. On occasion, a risky urge stirred me; a desire to caution her that she was condemned woman with one foot on the brink of her grave; and to prepare for her death while she still had time. Often, I wanted to seize her by the throat, declare my identity, and accuse her of treachery. Thankfully, I always managed to bite my lips and keep a strict silence.
Beatrice loved a good wine; a secret flaw I knew about from our past together. Therefore, I encouraged her to drink at every opportunity. Whenever she visited me, I offered her the finest vintages. Often after a cordial evening spent in my apartments with a few other women of my class, she tottered away with slurred words and a deeply flushed face. I wondered how Dario would receive her, for although he saw no offense in his own drunkenness, he abhorred drunken vulgarity in a woman. Go to your lover, my dear Beatrice, I would think, as I watched her leave my residence staggering and laughing loudly as she went. Dario will turn against you soon and will look upon you with disgust and repugnance.
Dario and Beatrice welcomed me at Villa Mancini at any hour. I could sit in my own library and read my own books or stroll leisurely through my beautiful gardens accompanied by Chiara and an eager Tito. The villa was completely at my disposal, though I never passed a night beneath its roof.
I played my character of a prematurely aged woman well. Cautious in all interactions with my husband in Beatrice’s presence, I guarded against any word or action that could rouse her jealousy or mistrust. I treated her with consideration and formality, but Dario was quick to perceive that my interest lay with him. As soon as Beatrice’s back was turned, he would look at me with a knowing, mocking smile, or utter some disparaging remark about her while he complimented me. It was not for me to betray his secrets. I never disclosed to Beatrice that Dario regularly sent Giacomo to my apartments with fruit and flowers; or that Paolo carried gifts and similar messages from me to him. And this was all part of my plan, unfolding so perfectly.
By the start of November, my own husband was secretly courting me and I reciprocated his romantic behavior with equal secrecy. The fact that I was often in the company of other men piqued his vanity. He knew many sought my hand in marriage and resolved to win me for himself; and of course, I was determined to let him win me.
Beatrice never suspected anything between Dario and me. She had often mentioned how poor Carlotta had been too easily duped; yet never was there a woman more duped than she was. She was too self-assured of her own good fortune to see what was happening before her very eyes. I sometimes wished to stir up her distrust and hostility, but I could not do it. She trusted me as much as I had once trusted her. Therefore, the devastation that would befall her would be unexpected as well as lethal. It would be better that way.
In my numerous visits to the villa, I saw Chiara often. The poor little thing was naturally fond of me. Often, Annunziata would bring her to my rented villa to pass the time just her and I. Chiara delighted in these visits, especially when I took her on my knee and recounted a tale about a girl whose mama suddenly went away, and how the child grieved for her until fairies helped her mother to return. It became her favorite. I spent as much time as possible with Chiara. I yearned to pull her to me in a fast embrace and relieve her grief and pain by confessing my true identity. Somehow, I found the strength not to do so, for it would ruin the plans I had spent so much time preparing. To compensate, I bestowed her with my full attention and unfettered love. The knowledge that soon, Chiara and I would be fully reunited was my solace. My patience would one day be rewarded.
At first, I was nervous around old Annunziata. After all, she had once been my guardian. Could it be true she did not recognize me? The first time I met her in my disguise, I held my breath in suspense, but because she was nearly blind, the good old woman could scarce make out my facial features. She truly believed Carlotta was dead.
Giacomo, however, did not. The old man had an obsessive belief that his young mistress could not have died so suddenly, and he grew so obstinate in this conviction of Carlotta being alive, that Dario declared him demented.
Annunziata talked of Carlotta’s death to me. “It was to be expected, contessa. She was too good, and the saints took her. God takes the best among us. Poor Giacomo will not listen to me, and refuses to believe she is dead. Poor man, he loved the mistress very much,” she would say in a solemn voice. “I always knew my mistress would die young. She was as delicate as an infant and too kind-hearted to live long.” Then Annunziata would shake her hoary head and reach for her rosary, muttering an Ave Maria for the repose of my soul. Much as I tried, I could never get her to talk in detail about her mistress’ life, the one subject on which she remained ever silent. Once, when I spoke of the young contessa’s beauty and good deeds, she scrutinized me, but said nothing.
It pleased me to see her strongly devoted to Chiara, who returned her affection. But as the days progressed, I noticed how my daughter became pale and gaunt and she became easily fatigued. Because of her increasing thinness, her eyes looked unnaturally large. I called Annunziata’s attention to these signs of poor health.
“I have spoken to the count about it,” she answered, “but he has taken no notice of the child’s weakening condition.”
I then mentioned the matter directly to Dario and offered to call a physician.
“Really, contessa, you are too good.” He gave me a grateful smile. “Chiara’s health is excellent. Perhaps I overindulge her and permit her to eat too many sweet cakes, and she is growing rather fast. Nevertheless, you are very kind to think of her. But, I assure you, she is quite well and there is no need for a physician to visit her.”
I was not so certain, but masked my worry lest it betray me.
Around mid November, something happened which forced me to accelerate my vendetta. The days became colder and I was in the process of organizing a few dinners and masque balls for the approaching winter season, when one afternoon Beatrice hurried into my apartment unannounced and slumped into the nearest chair with a vexed expression.
“What is the matter?” I asked. “Is it a matter of money? If so, permit me to help.”
She smiled nervously. “Grazie, contessa, but it is not that. It is...it is...Dio! How unlucky I am!”
I put on an expression of profound concern. “Is it Dario? I hope he has not played you false. Is he refusing to marry you?”
She laughed with derisive triumph. “No, there is no danger of that. He would not dare to play me false.”
“Would not dare? That is a rather strong statement.” I gave her a hard look.
She blushed. “Well, I did not mean that exactly. Of course he is perfectly free to do as he likes, but I doubt he could refuse to marry me with all the attention he pays me.”
“Not unless he is an outright scoundrel, but we both know he is a most decent man, so have no fear. If it is not about love or money, then what is troubling you? Judging by your expression, it must be serious.”
She twisted a loose thread on her sleeve; a green damask gown that had been a favorite of mine, turning it round and round her index finger. “I have to leave Vicenza for a wh
ile.”
My heart pounded with excitement. She was leaving the field of battle, enabling me to reap victory. What good fortune, indeed! Fortune surely was on my side. “Going away? Where? Why?” I asked with false sincerity.
“My uncle is dying in Rome. He has no sons or daughters, so I am to inherit everything. For the sake of decency, I must be by his side and attend him in his final days. I do not know how much time he has left, but the solicitor insists I be present, otherwise the old man may disinherit me with his last breath. I do not think I will be gone for long, perhaps two weeks at the most.” She gave me an anxious look and hesitated.
“Please say what you have to say, cara,” I urged. “Do not hesitate to ask anything of me. I am only too happy to help.”
Beatrice rose and walked to the window where I sat. She took the chair opposite to me, sat down, and laid a hand on my wrist. “There is something you can do for me and I know I can depend upon you. Watch over Dario. He will have no one else to watch over him and he is so handsome and can be impulsive at times. Watch over him as a mother would. After all, you are a family friend and this in itself merits your vigilance over him. You can prevent other women from meddling and pushing themselves upon him now that he is an eligible widower.”
I rose from my seat with an air of false tragedy. “If any woman dared to come between you, I would make her regret it.” I grinned as I said this. She had uttered those exact words when I had witnessed her with my husband that first time in the avenue.
Something about the words must have seemed familiar to her because she looked a little bewildered.
I hurried to change the topic of our conversation and became serious. “I apologize for my flippancy. I can see this subject is far too sensitive for you. Let me assure you that I will watch over Dario with the jealous scrutiny and the prudence of an elder sister even though I admit it is a task unsuited and repugnant to me. Still, I will do it so that you can leave Vicenza with an easy mind.” I took hold of her hand. “I promise to be a true and worthy friend and demonstrate the same devotion and faithfulness you showed to your dead friend Carlotta! The past could not provide me with a better example of honesty and loyalty!”
She tensed as if my words stung. All color drained from her face. Doubt shone in her eyes.
I feigned an expression of reassurance.
“Grazie. I know I can rely upon your loyalty and friendship,” she said composing herself.
“You most certainly can, as confidently as you can rely on mine towards you.”
Again, she winced.
I released her hand. “When are you leaving?”
“Early tomorrow morning. I’m taking the coach from The Black Horse Inn.”
“Well, I am glad you told me.” I glanced at the unsent invitations on my writing table. “I will delay all festivities until you return.”
She gave me a grateful look. “Truly? That is very kind of you, but I did not mean to cause you any inconvenience.”
“Think nothing of it, cara amica. The masque ball can wait for your return. Besides, it will be better for you if you know Dario will be relatively isolated during your absence.”
“I would hate for him to be bored.”
I showed no reaction to the insincere tone in her voice and smiled. “Oh, you need not worry about that!” As if, Dario would permit himself to be bored! “I will take care of everything and arrange small diversions like a quiet drive into the countryside or the opera to occupy him. Any dances, dinners, or musical evenings shall wait for your return.”
Her eyes flashed with delight.
“You are very good to me, contessa. How can I thank you?”
“Do not worry. The day will come when you will have an opportunity to to thank me and show me your gratitude. Now, I am sure you have much to attend to and much packing. I will come and see you off in the morning,” I dismissed.
My reassurance seemed to satisfy her and she left.
I did not see her again that day. I knew she was with my husband, no doubt extracting promises of fidelity from him. I envisioned him holding her in his arms, kissing her with passion as she beseeched him to be faithful, night and day, until her return.
I smiled coldly at this vision. Si, Beatrice, kiss him now to your heart’s content, for you will never do so again. Dario will no longer bewitch you with his glance. He will no longer sweep your jealous body into his embrace. His kisses will no longer burn upon your curved sweet lips. Your day is done, my dear Beatrice. The final moments of pleasure born from your transgressions has arrived. Make the most of them. No one shall interfere. Drink the last drop of sweet wine. I shall not disturb your final night of love. Turncoat, swindler, and charlatan – may your wretched soul fall to ruin. Take one last look at Dario. May he murmur persuasive lies into your ears. I will be true, he will tell you, and I hope you believe him as I once did. May your parting be sweet, because this time, you will part forever. You will never see him again.
* * *
The next morning I met Beatrice in front of The Black Horse Inn. She appeared ashen-faced and weary, but she gave me a slight smile when I descended from my carriage, which had come to a stop behind the passenger coach headed to Rome.
I could see at once that she was in a foul mood. She scolded the old porter who struggled to load her heavy trunk on top of the conveyance. Tension surrounded her and it was a relief when she at last ascended into the coach. She carried a small leather volume in her hand.
“Is that an amusing book?” I asked.
“I do not know yet because I only recently purchased it. It is by Antonio Francesco Grazzini from Florence. In his writing, he delights in praising low and disgusting things and in jeering at what is noble and serious. His work is said to be both playful and bizarre.” She held up the cover for me to see.
“Si, I have heard of this book. I Parentadi.” The Marriages. How appropriate, I thought.
“The bookseller told me it is about a wife betrayed by her husband and the ensuing loss, romance, and unexpected discoveries.”
“Ah, I see. Betrayal always brings excitement, but be forewarned; the ending may be tragic. You must lend it to me when you have finished reading it. I am always interested in such tales.”
All was ready and the other passengers had boarded. I watched her alight. The driver was on the verge of driving away when she leaned out of the coach window and beckoned me to come closer.
“Remember!” she whispered, “I entrust Dario into your care.”
“Do not worry. I promise to do my best to replace you during your absence.”
She gave me a troubled smile and squeezed my hand with gratitude.
These were our last words, for at that moment, the driver called out a warning, gave the reins a slap, and I watched the coach drive away.
A sense of unqualified freedom swept over me. Now I could do as I pleased with my husband. If I wanted to, I could even kill him. No one would interfere. I could visit him that evening, declare myself to him, and accuse him of infidelity before stabbing him in the heart. Then I could flee without suspect because the world believed I was dead. But no, I would do none of that. My original plan was better, and I must keep to it and allow it to unfold with patience, even though my patience was difficult to keep in check.
Just as I was about to enter my carriage, I was startled by the unexpected appearance of Santina, who came upon me quite suddenly, out of breath from running. I slid over to make room for her in the carriage and she handed me a note marked Urgent. It was from Annunziata.
Please come at once. Chiara is very ill, and asks for you.
“Who gave you this?” I asked.
“Giacomo from Villa Mancini brought it,” Santina said.
My heart sunk and a great fear rose within me. I bade Paolo to hurry to Villa Mancini first and then take Santina home afterward.
Despite the fact Paolo hurried, the ride to Villa Mancini seemed to take forever. When we finally arrived, the gates were already open i
n expectation of my arrival. I ran from the carriage to the entrance. Before I could knock, Giacomo swung open the door, his face creased with worry.
“How is Chiara?” I asked him anxiously as I swept inside, mantle billowing behind me.
He shook his head solemnly and gestured to a sympathetic looking man descending the stairs. I instantly recognized him as a physician who practiced in the vicinity of the villa.
“How is the child?” I asked the physician.
He gestured for me to follow him into a side room and closed the door behind us. He shook his head. “It is a matter of flagrant negligence. The child has been in a weakened state for quite some time, and therefore an easy target for disease. She was once hale and hearty, that is most evident. If someone had summoned me when her symptoms first developed, I believe I might have been able to cure her. The nurse, Annunziata, tells me she was afraid to enter the father’s bedchamber to disturb him in the night, otherwise he might have checked on the child and summoned me. How unfortunate. Now, it is too late, there is nothing I can do.”
I listened to his every word as if I were trapped in a nightmare. Not even old Annunziata dared enter her master’s room in the night, despite the fact, the child was ill and suffering. And I knew why. Last night, while Beatrice lay in my husband’s arms delighting in amorous embraces and lingering farewells, my little daughter suffered without a mother or father’s comfort. Not that it would have made a difference, but I was fool enough to hope that one faint spark of fatherhood remained in Dario, the man upon whom I had squandered all my love.
The physician watched and waited as my mind raced with these thoughts.
“The child is asking to see you, contessa. I persuaded Signore Gismondi to send for you, though he seemed reluctant because he feared you might catch the disease. Of course there is always a risk of contagion—”
The Contessa's Vendetta Page 14