The Contessa's Vendetta

by Sichirollo Patzer, Mirella

  We had both heard from Beatrice. Although he never showed me her letter to him, he told me she had been distressed to hear of Chiara’s death. The letter she had sent me, however, told a much different tale:

  You can understand, my dear contessa, that I am not much grieved to hear of the death of Carlotta’s child. Had she lived, her presence would have been a perpetual reminder to me of things I prefer to forget. The child never liked me and would have been a great source of trouble and inconvenience; so, on the whole, I am glad she is out of the way. My uncle is close to death, yet, he clings to life. The physician promises me that it will not be much longer, otherwise I shall return to Vicenza and sacrifice my inheritance. I am restless and unhappy away from Dario, though I know he is under your safe and protective care.

  I read this particular paragraph to my husband, watching him closely as I slowly enunciated the words contained in it. He listened, and his brows contracted in the vexed frown I knew so well.

  His lips parted in a chilly smile. “I owe you my thanks, contessa, for showing me the extent of Signorina Cardano’s insolence. I am shocked that she wrote to you in such a callous manner. My late wife’s attachment to her was so great that she now presumes to hold influence over me. I think she believes I am her brother and that she can interfere, as sisters sometimes do. I regret having been so patient with her and having allowed her far too much liberty.”

  How true, I thought as I gave him a bitter smile. My game was in full fervour now and I must make my moves with swift stealth. I could not afford the time to hesitate or to reflect.

  I folded Beatrice’s letter and replaced it in my purse. “I think Signorina Cardano is determined to be more than a sister to you.”

  “Then I fear Signorina Cardano is doomed to be disappointed,” he said with disdainful laugh. He rose and came to sit in a chair next to me. “Surely she is not so foolhardy as to hope I would marry her?”

  “Indeed, that is exactly what she confided to me.” Why did his duplicity continually catch me by surprise?

  “I am flattered, but how can you believe I would even consider marrying her?”

  And still, I struggled with his treachery. He seemed to have no conscience. Why had I been so blind to him all the years of our marriage? All the passionate embraces, the lingering kisses, the vows of fidelity, and words of caressing endearment meant nothing to him. He had blotted them all from his memory. For a brief moment, I pitied Beatrice. Her fate, in his hands, was evidently to be the same as mine had been.

  “Did you truly believe I might return Signorina Cardano’s interest in me?”

  I knew I must respond. “Of course I did. She is young, undeniably attractive, and on her uncle’s death will be quite wealthy. What more could you desire? Besides, she was your wife’s friend.”

  “And that is exactly why I would never marry her. Even if I liked her, which I do not, I would not wish to stir up such a scandal.”

  “I do not understand. Why do you suppose there would be a scandal?”

  “If I were to marry someone who was known to be my wife’s most intimate friend, people might believe there was something between us before my wife’s death. And I could not endure such slanderous scandal.” He paused. “They might even think I murdered her. A perfectly innocent woman like Signorina Cardano could not possibly foresee society’s condemnation.”

  And you Dario, are rancorous and cruel, yet you do everything in your power to gain everyone’s good opinion. You think you have fooled everyone who knows you, and you wish to entrap me, but you will not. Despite my building anger, I had to answer him. “No one in my presence would dare slander you,” I said with as much courtesy as I could summon. “But, if it is true that you have no interest in Signorina Cardano—”

  “Of course it is true. She is low-class and unsophisticated. I believe she drinks far too much wine and I find her insufferable.” His face had become sombre as he looked down at his clasped hands.

  “Then I feel sorry for Beatrice; she will be deeply hurt, but I confess that a small part of me is glad.”

  “Why?” he asked eagerly.

  I glanced away modestly. “Because now other women have a chance to garner the attention of the handsome Signore Gismondi.”

  He shook his head slightly. A fleeting expression of disappointment appeared, and then disappeared on his face.

  “Other women would not aspire to such ambition or the belief it is her duty to watch over me.” His eyes sparked with annoyance. “I suppose Signorina Cardano wishes to keep me for herself; a most brazen and stupid concept. There is only one thing to do; I will leave Vicenza before she returns.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “To avoid her and to put some distance between us to cool her ardour for me,” he said, his face stone-like. “Lately, she frustrates me. I do not want her attentions and feel uneasy around her. But when I am with you, I am happy, peaceful, but I cannot allow myself to indulge in it.”

  The moment had arrived and I stepped closer to him. “Why not?” I said.

  He half rose from his chair. “What do you mean, contessa?” he faltered, his face hopeful. “I do not understand.”

  “You just said you are happy whenever you are with me, but that you cannot allow yourself to indulge in it. It seems to me that you could, if you were to take me as your wife.”

  “Contessa,” he stammered.

  I held up my hand to silence him. “I am perfectly aware of the disparity in years that exists between us. I am not young, healthy, or pleasant to look at. Trouble and bitter disappointment has made me what I am. But I have wealth, which is almost inexhaustible, along with position and influence.” I looked at him steadily. “And beside these things, I desire to give you all you deserve. If you think you could be happy with me, do not be afraid to tell me so. I cannot offer you the passionate adoration of a young woman, my blood is cold and my pulse is slow, but whatever I can do for you, I will!” I waited and gazed at him intently.

  He opened and closed his mouth alternately, lost in thought. Then a triumphant smile curved his mouth. He raised his eyes to mine tenderly. He came close up to me; his fragrant breath fell warm on my cheek. His strange gaze fascinated me, and a sort of tremor shook my nerves.

  “You mean that you are willing to marry me, but that you do not love me?” He laid his hand on my shoulder, his voice low and thrilling.

  I remained silent, and for a moment, I battled the old foolish desire to let him draw me to his heart, to permit his lips to cover mine with kisses. But I forced the mad impulse down and stood mute.

  He watched me as he lifted his hand and touched my hair. “Si, I believe you really do not love me, but I love you.” He held his head proud as he uttered the lie.

  I seized the hand whose caress stung me, and held it hard. “You love me? No, no, I cannot believe it. No man has ever loved me. It is impossible!”

  He laughed softly. “It is true though. The very first time I saw you I knew I loved you! I never liked my wife, though in some ways you resemble her, and are quite different in others. But you are far superior to her in every way. Believe it or not, you are the only woman I have ever loved!” He made the comment without flinching, with an air of conscious pride and virtue.

  “Then I will marry you,” I said, half stupefied at his manner.

  “I will make you love me very much!” he murmured, and with a quick, lithe movement, he pulled me softly against him and looked down at me with a radiant face. “Kiss me!” he said, and stooped to kiss me with his false lips.

  I would rather have placed my mouth on that of a poisonous snake, his kiss roused such fury within me.

  He led me gently back to the couch he had left, and I sat down beside him.

  “Do you truly love me?” I asked almost fiercely.

  “With all my heart.”

  “And I am the first woman whom you have really cared for?

  “You are!”

  “You never liked Signiorina Cardano?”


  “Never!”

  “Did you ever kiss her with all the emotion as you have me?”

  “Not once!”

  Dio! How the lies poured forth! A cascade of them and all spoken with an air of truth. I marvelled at the ease and rapidity with which they glided off his tongue. I took hold of his hand upon which he still wore the wedding ring I had once placed there and quietly slipped it off. Into his palm I placed a magnificent man’s ring with a square cut emerald. I had long carried this trinket about with me in expectation of this moment.

  “Oh, Giulia! How very lucky I am. How generous you are to me!” Leaning forward, he kissed me then slipped the ring on his finger. “You will not tell Beatrice?” he said with anxiety in his tone. “Not yet?”

  “No,” I answered. “I will not tell her until she returns. Otherwise she would leave Rome at once, and we do not want her back just yet, do we?” And I adjusted his collar, while I pondered the rapid success of my scheme.

  He grew pensive and distant, and for a few moments we were both silent. If he had known or imagined that he held his own wife in his arms, the woman he had duped and wronged, the poor fool he had mocked and despised, whose life had been an obstruction in his path, whose death he had been glad of, would he have smiled so sincerely? Would he have kissed me then?

  He remained leaning against me peacefully for some moments. “Will you do me one favor?” he asked. “Such a little thing, a trifle, but it would give me such pleasure!”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Take off those dark glasses. I want to see your eyes.”

  I rose from the sofa quickly. “Ask anything you like but that caro,” I responded with some coldness. “The least bit of light on my eyes causes me acute pain; pain that irritates my nerves for hours afterward. Be satisfied with me as I am for the present, though I promise you, your wish will one day be granted.”

  “When?”

  “On our wedding night,” I answered.

  “That is too long to wait,” he said crossly.

  “Not at all. We are now in November. May I ask you to allow me to set our wedding for the second month of the new year?”

  “But my recent widowhood! Chiara’s death!” he objected.

  “In February your wife will have been dead nearly six months. It is a sufficient period of mourning for one so young as yourself. And the loss of your child increases the loneliness of your situation. Society will not censure you for it.”

  A smile of conscious triumph parted his lips. “As you wish. If you, who are known in Vicenza as one who is perfectly indifferent to society’s opinion, wish it, I shall not object!” And he gave me a mischievous, amused look.

  I saw it, but answered, stiffly, “You are aware, Dario, and I am also aware that I am not a typical ‘lover’, but I readily admit that I am impatient.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because, I want you to be my husband, to allow you to completely possess me, and to know that no one can come between us, or interfere with us in any way.”

  He laughed. “Your dignity will not allow you to believe that you are in love with me, but in spite of yourself you know you are!”

  I stood before him in almost sombre silence. “If you say so, then it must be so. I have had no experience in affairs of the heart, and I find it difficult to name the feelings that possess me. I am only conscious of a very strong wish to become the absolute mistress of your destiny, and you of mine.” Involuntarily, I clenched my hand as I spoke.

  He did not observe the action, but he answered with a bend of the head and a smile. “I could not have a better future and I am sure my destiny will be bright with you in it.”

  “It will be all that you deserve,” I half muttered, and then with an abrupt change of manner I said, “I must wish you goodnight. It grows late, and with my state of health being so tenuous, it is important that I retire to bed early.”

  He rose from his seat and gave me a compassionate look.

  “You really suffer then?” he inquired tenderly. “I am sorry. Perhaps careful nursing will restore you. I shall be so proud if I can help you to attain better health.”

  “Rest and happiness will no doubt do much for me,” I answered. “Still, I warn you that in accepting me as your wife, you take on a pitiful woman, one whose whims are notorious and whose chronic state as an invalid may in time prove to be a burden to you. Are you sure your decision is a wise one?”

  “Quite sure!” he replied firmly. “I love you and you will not always be ailing. You look so strong.”

  “I am strong to a certain extent,” I said, unconsciously straightening myself as I stood. “But my nervous system is completely muddled. I—why, what is the matter?”

  He had turned deathly pale and looked startled. I extended my arm to him, but he pushed it aside with an alarmed yet appealing gesture. “It is nothing. A sudden memory I recalled. Tell me, are you certain you are not related to the Mancini family, even distantly? When you stood up just now, you were so much like Carlotta that for a moment I thought you were her ghost.”

  “You are tired and still distressed over your daughter’s death,” I said calmly. “No, I am not related to the Mancinis, though I may have aquired some of their mannerisms. Many women are alike in these things.” And pouring out two glasses of brandy, I handed one to him.

  He sipped slowly, leaning back in his chair, and in silence we both looked out on the November night. There was a moon, veiled by driving clouds. A rising wind moaned dismally among the fading creepers and rustled the heavy branches of a giant cypress that stood on the lawn. Now and then, a few big drops of rain fell like sudden tears wrung by force from the black heart of the sky.

  “Shut the window!” my husband demanded harshly.

  His abrupt, rude command caused me to frown.

  At my look of reproach, Dario quickly changed his tone. “I do no know what came over me, but I felt bothered, very uncomfortable with you.”

  “That was hardly a complimentary way to speak to your future wife,” I remarked, quietly, as I closed and fastened the window shutters in obedience to his request. “Should I not insist upon an apology?”

  He laughed nervously.

  “It is not yet too late,” I resumed. “If you have second thoughts and would rather not marry me, you have only to say so. I shall accept my fate with composure, and will not blame you.”

  At this he seemed quite alarmed, and rising, laid his hand on my arm.

  “Surely you are not offended?” he said. “I was not really bothered by you, you know. It was a stupid reaction, one I cannot explain. But you make me happy and I would not risk losing your love for all the world. You must believe me.” He touched my hand with his lips.

  I withdrew it gently. “If so, we are agreed, and all is well. Let us both try to take a long night’s rest. Do you wish me to keep our betrothal a secret?”

  He thought for a moment. “For the present, it would be best. Though,” he laughed, “it would be delightful to see all the other men envious of my good fortune! Still, if the news were told to any of our friends it might accidentally reach Beatrice, and—”

  “I understand! We must be discreet. Buona Note. May your dreams be of me!”

  He responded to this with a gratified smile, and as I left the room he waved. The emerald ring flashed upon his hand. The light from the wall sconces that hung from the painted ceiling highlighted his handsomeness, softening it into near godliness.

  When I left the house and walked into the night air heavy with the threatening gloom of a coming tempest, the vision of his face and body flitted before me like a mirage; hands that seemed to beckon me; lips that had left a scorching heat on mine. Distracted with such torturous thoughts, I boarded my carriage and returned home. There I stared out at the world from my room for what seemed like hours.

  The storm broke at last. The rain poured in torrents, but heedless of wind and weather, I felt forsaken. I seemed to be the only human being left alive
in a world filled with wrath and darkness. The rush and roar of the wind, the pounding rain that fell, were all unheeded by me.

  There are times when one can grow numb under the pressure of mental agony; when the soul, smarting by some vile injustice, forgets. Such was my mood. An awful loneliness encompassed me; one of my own creation. There was nothing in all the world except me and the dark brooding horror of vengeance.

  Suddenly, the mists in my mind cleared. I no longer moved in a deaf, blind stupor. A flash of lightning danced vividly before my eyes, followed by a crashing peal of thunder. In my thoughts, I saw to what end of a wild journey I had come. The memory of heavy gates, undefined stretch of land, and ghostly glimmers of motionless tombstones emerged. I knew it all too well - the cemetery. Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. I recalled the marble outline of the Mancini vault. There the drama had begun, but where would it end?

  I conjured the vision of my lost child’s face as it had looked in death, and then I experienced a curious feeling of pity. Pity that her little body should be lying stiffly out there, not in the vault, but under the wet sod, in such a relentless storm of rain. I wanted to pull her from the cold earth, carry her to a home filled with light and heat and laughter, warm her to life again within my arms.

  As my mind tossed about these foolish fancies, slow hot tears forced themselves into my eyes and scalded my cheeks as they fell. These tears relieved me. Gradually my tense nerves relaxed, and I recovered my composure. Turning deliberately away from the window, I knew where I was going. Left alone at last in my sleeping chamber, I remained for some time before actually going to bed. I took off the black spectacles which served me so well, and looked at myself in the mirror with curiosity. Without my smoke-colored glasses, I appeared what I was, young and vigorous in spite of my white hair. My face, once worn and haggard, had filled out. My eyes blazed with life. I wondered, as I stared moodily at my own reflection, how it was that I did not look ill. All the mental suffering I had experienced, my intense grief over Chiara’s death, my gloomy satisfaction over my vendetta, should have destroyed my features.