I wondered what Dario would say, could he behold me, unmasked as it were, in the solitude of my own room. This thought roused another vision in my mind, a vision which made me smile grimly. I was a betrothed woman! Engaged to marry my own husband; to be wedded for the second time to the same man. What a difference between this and my first courtship. Then I was a fool, adoring, passionate, and devoted. Now, I was utterly ruthless and I must remain that way, for I had nearly reached the pinnacle of my vendetta.
I pondered the coming days and watched the end approaching neither slow nor fast, but steadily and silently. I was able to calculate each event in its due order, and I knew there was no fear of failure in the final result. I had formerly been very weak, fooled by my husband and friend. But now my strength worked like a demon within me. My hand had already closed with an iron grip on two false, unworthy lives, and I swore never to relax, never to relent until I accomplished my vendetta. Heaven and earth had borne witness to my vow, and now held me to its strict fulfillment.
Chapter Seventeen
Winter in Vincenza arrived with full force. The chilly air depressed my spirits. The people became carefree, their mood unaffected by the change of seasons. They drank more freely and kept their feet warm by dancing into the small hours of the morning. The plague was finally a thing of the past; a cleansing for the entire population. The sanitary precautions, so widely recommended to prevent another outbreak, were all neglected. The population tripped lightly over the graves of its dead as though they were covered with flowers and long forgotten. They thought only for today, not for what happened yesterday, or for what would happen tomorrow. All that, they left to God.
I could understand their foolishness, for many of the world’s bitterest miseries come from looking too often to the past or future, and of never living in the present.
Carnivale was approaching. Carnivale with all its festivities, would soon reel through the streets of Vicenza with picturesque, brilliant madness. I was reminded of this coming festivity on the morning of December 21st when I noticed Santina trying to control her expression. Despite her efforts, she kept smiling as though something funny had flitted across her mind. She betrayed herself at last by asking me whether I planned to take part in any of the festivities. I smiled and shook my head.
Santina looked dubious, but finally summoned up her courage. “Will the contessa permit—”
“By all means, go, partake of the foolishness with everyone else. Take your time, enjoy the fun.”
She was so grateful, she attended to me even more fastidiously than usual.
“When does the carnival begin?” I asked.
“On the 26th,” she answered, with a slight air of surprise. “Surely the contessa knows.”
“Si, si,” I said, impatiently. “I know, but I had forgotten. I am not young enough to keep dates of such celebrations in my memory. What letters have you there?”
She handed me a small tray full of different shaped notes, some from women who desired the honor of my company and others from tradesmen who desired the honor of my custom. Toadies, all of them, I thought contemptuously, as I flipped through the letters. One special envelope, square in form and heavily bordered in black grabbed my attention. The postmark Roma stood out distinctly.
“Finally!” I breathed, excited. I turned to Santina who was giving the final polish to my breakfast cup and saucer. “You may leave the room,” I said.
She curtseyed, the door opened and shut noiselessly, and she was gone.
Slowly I broke the seal of that fateful letter; a letter from Beatrice Cardano, a warrant self-signed, for her own execution.
My dear friend,
You will guess by the black trim on my envelope the good news I have to give you. My uncle is dead at last, thank God, and I am left his sole heir unconditionally. I am free, and shall return to Vicenza immediately, that is, as soon as some trifling law business has been completed with the executors. I believe I can arrange my return for December 23rd or 24th. Will you oblige me by not announcing this to Signore Gismondi as I wish to surprise him. Poor man! He must have been lonely without me, I am sure, and I wish to see the astonishment in his eyes when he first sees me after so long an absence. You can understand this, can you not, or does it seem silly to you? I know you will humor me in my desire that the news should be withheld from Dario. How delighted he will be and what a joyous Carnivale we will have this winter. I do not think I ever felt more light of heart. Perhaps it is because I am so much heavier in purse. I am glad of the money, as it places me on a more equal footing with him, and though all his letters to me have been full of tenderness, I believe he will think even more highly of me now that I am somewhat nearer to his own rank. As for you, my good contessa, on my return I shall make it my first duty to pay back with interest the rather large debt I owe to you. Thus my honor will be satisfied, and you, I am sure, will have a better opinion of me.
Your friend to command,
Beatrice Cordano
I read the letter over and over, burning the words into my memory as though they were a living flame.
All his letters to me have been full of tenderness. Oh, the miserable duped nitwit, fooled as I had been. And Dario, the traitor, doing his best to prevent her from entertaining the slightest suspicion or jealousy of his actions during her absence. So, he had written her; no doubt letters sweet as honey brimming over with endearing words and vows of fidelity, even though he had already accepted me as his wife. God! What a devil’s dance of death they played!
On my return I shall make it my first duty to pay back with interest the rather large debt I owe you. Rather large indeed, Beatrice, so large that you have no idea of its extent.
…thus my honor will be satisfied. And so will mine in part.
…and you, I am sure, will have a better opinion of me. Yours to command. Perhaps I shall, Beatrice, for I have many commands for you. Maybe when all my commands are fulfilled to the bitter end, I may think more kindly of you. But not till then!
I paused to think for a few minutes, and then sitting down, I penned the following note.
Cara amica,
I am delighted to hear of your good fortune, and still more enchanted to know you will soon enliven us all with your presence. I admire your plan to surprise Signore Gismondi, and will respect your wishes in the matter. But you must do me a small favor. Things have been very boring since you left, and I propose beginning the gaieties afresh by hosting a Christmas Eve dinner in honor of your return, and your new wealth and status in society. It will be a feast for women only. Therefore, I ask you to oblige me by ensuring you return on that day, and when you arrive in Vicenza, come straight to my apartment so that I may be the first to welcome you home, as you deserve. Send me your answer and the arrival hour of your coach, and I shall have my carriage meet you. The dinner-hour can be fixed to suit your convenience, of course, but perhaps eight o’clock may suit? After dinner, you may leave to go to Villa Mancini. Signore Gismondi’s surprise will be keener for having been slightly delayed. Trusting you will not refuse to gratify an old woman’s whim, I am,
Yours for the time being,
Giulia Corona
Having finished this note in the disguised penmanship I had so patiently honed, I folded, sealed, and addressed it.
Summoning Paolo, I bade him to post it immediately. As soon as he left, I returned to my breakfast and tried to eat as usual. But my thoughts were too lively for appetite. I counted on my fingers the days. There were only four, between me and what? One thing was certain. I must see my husband, or rather, my betrothed. I must see him this very day. I then began to consider how my courtship had progressed since that evening when he had declared he loved me.
I had seen him frequently, though not daily. His behavior had been sometimes affectionate, adoring, timid, gracious, and once or twice, passionately loving, though the latter, I had always coldly curbed. For though I could bear a great deal, any sham of sentiment on his part sickened me. It filled
me with such loathing that I feared my pent-up wrath might break loose and compel me to kill him swiftly and suddenly as one crushes the head of a poisonous adder; an all-too-merciful death for someone like him. I preferred to woo him with gifts. He was always eager to take whatever gift I presented him. From a rare jewel to a new horse, he never refused anything. After all, his strongest passions were vanity and greed. Sparkling riches from Negri’s pilfered hoard; trinkets specially chosen for him – chains of gold, leather pouches filled with silver, silk for a new shirt – he accepted them all with a covetous glee he did not bother to disguise. In fact, he made it clear that he expected such things from me.
After all, what did it matter to me? Of what value was anything I possessed other than to assist me in carrying out the punishment I had destined for him? I assessed him with critical coldness. I saw the depravity he craftily concealed beneath his false virtue. Every day he sunk lower in my eyes, and I wondered how I could ever have loved so coarse and noxious a man. Handsome he certainly was, and as shrewd as gamblers, who, in spite of their addiction, I now considered less vile than the man I had wedded.
Mere beauty of face and form can be bought as easily as one buys a flower, but the loyal heart, the pure soul, the inner strength, the lofty intelligence which makes a man special, these are not purchasable and seldom found by good women like me. Yet, how was it that I who now loathed the creature I had once loved, could not look upon his good looks without a foolish thrill of passion awaking within me – passion that carried murder, admiration that was almost brutal, feelings which I could not control, though I despised myself for experiencing them. There is weakness in the strongest of us, and wicked men know well where we are most vulnerable. One dainty pin-prick well-aimed and all barriers of caution and reserve are broken down. We are ready to fling away our souls for a smile or a kiss.
I lost no time that day in going to Villa Mancini. I drove there in my carriage, taking with me the usual love-offering, this time, a thick golden bracelet. I recalled the words Beatrice spoke to me after Chiara was born. How mysterious they had seemed to me then; how clear their meaning now! But the world is always filled with suspicion. Jealousy’s stiletto is ever ready to strike, justly or unjustly. Children are well versed in the ways of vice. Penitents confess to priests who are worse sinners than they are, and fidelity is often a farce.
When I arrived, I found my fiancé in his bedchamber, attired in a wine-colored velvet robe. He sat in an easy-chair in front of a sparkling wood fire, reading. His attitude was one of ease and grace, but he sprung up as soon as his valet announced me, and came forward with his usual charming words of welcome as if he were a monarch receiving a subject. I presented the gift with a few complimentary words uttered for the benefit of the servant who lingered in the room, and then added in a lower tone, “I have news of importance. Can I speak to you privately?”
He smiled and motioned for me to take a seat, and then dismissed his valet.
As soon as the door closed behind the man, I spoke at once and to the point, scarcely waiting till my husband resumed his easy-chair before the fire. “I received a letter from Signorina Cardano.”
He tensed slightly, but said nothing. He merely bowed his head and raised his arched eyebrows with a look of inquiry as if to say, ‘Why should that concern me?’
I watched him through narrowed eyes. “She is coming back in two or three days.” Here I smiled. “She says that you will be delighted to see her.”
This time he half rose from his seat, his lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but he held his silence and sunk back into the velvet cushions, his face anxious.
“She will likely be distressed when she learns of our engagement. It may be better for me to be the one to tell her. I advise you to visit some friends for a few days, till she has time to get used to our betrothal and accept the fact that you have chosen me instead of her. Then you can return. What do you say?”
He pondered my question for a few moments. “I think that may be a good idea. Signorina Cardano can be rash and hot-tempered at times. But surely you shouldn’t have to face her alone. She may insult or offend you when she learns the truth.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me.” I said, quietly. “Besides, I can easily pardon any outburst of temper on her part, in fact, I expect it from her. To lose all hope of ever winning your love will most definitely set off her fury. Poor woman!” I sighed and shook my head with benevolence. “By the way, she tells me she has received letters from you.”
I asked this question carelessly, but it took him by surprise. He caught his breath and stared at me with an alarmed look. When he noticed my blank expression, he regained his composure.
“Oh, si! I wrote to her once or twice on matters of business connected with my late wife’s affairs. Unfortunately, Carlotta made her responsible for some trivial matters. She has no doubt exaggerated the number of times I have written to her. How ill-mannered of her to do so.”
I let his lie pass without response. I reverted to my original theme. “What do you think, then? Will you stay here or will you go away for a few days?”
He rose and approached me. “I can visit the monks at my old school in Padua. There, I can devote some time to rest and contemplation and can plan for our future. What do you think?” He seized my hands and held them hard.
“I think it is a fine idea. None of us knows what the future holds. We cannot tell whether life or death awaits us. It is always wise to prepare for the future. Go visit your old friends, the monks, by all means. I am sure they will be happy to see you again. Please let them know that I will visit you there once Beatrice’s reaction has been smoothed into resignation. Si, go to Padua and while there, pray for yourself and pray for the peace of your dead wife’s soul for me. Earnest, unselfish prayers uttered by someone as good as you, will fly swiftly to heaven! And as for Beatrice, have no fear. I promise you that she will not bother us any more.”
“Ah, you do not know her,” he murmured, lightly kissing my hands. “She’ll not let me go so easily and may give you trouble.”
“I know how to silence her,” I said, releasing him as I spoke, and watching him as he stepped closer to me. “Besides, you never gave her reason to hope you would be together, therefore she has no reasons to complain or be upset.”
“True!” he replied with an untroubled smile. “But I hate hurting anyone. When do you think I should leave for Padua?”
I marvelled at how he could lie so effortlessly. I shrugged my shoulders with an air of indifference. “We are not married yet, so you are free to choose your own time and can suit yourself,” I said coldly.
“Then, I will leave today. The sooner the better. My instinct tells me that Beatrice may return before expected. Si, it is better to go today.”
I rose to take my leave. “Then you will need some time to prepare.” I straightened my gown. “Please leave me the address of where you will be staying and do not forget to let the monks know I may be visiting.”
“Of course!” he replied.
“Enjoy your time with the monks.”
“I most definitely will.”
“And will you, an untainted soul, pray for me?” I asked with a satirical smile, which he did not see.
He raised his eyes to mine. “I will indeed!”
“Thank you!” I choked back my contempt and disgust at his hypocrisy.
He stood before me, his hair glittering in the mingled glow of the firelight and the wintery sunbeams that shone through the window. “A kiss before you go?” he asked.
Chapter Eighteen
For a moment I lost my composure. I scarcely remember now what I did. I know I clasped my arms around his neck. I know that I permitted him to kiss my lips, throat and brow, and in the fervor of our embrace, the thought of how vile he was came swiftly upon me. I pushed him away with such suddenness that he caught the back of a chair to regain his balance. His face was flushed and he looked astonished, yet certainly not displeased. No, h
e was not angry, but I was thoroughly annoyed, bitterly vexed with myself for being so foolish. “Forgive me,” I muttered.
A smile stole round the corners of his mouth.
“I should be the one to apologize,” he said. “It was I who kissed you.” His smile deepened. Suddenly he broke into a hearty rippling laugh that pierced me to my soul. Was it not the same laughter that had ripped my heart in half the night I witnessed his passionate conversation with Beatrice in the avenue? Had not the cruel mockery of it nearly driven me mad? I could not endure it. I sprung to his side. He ceased laughing and looked at me in wide-eyed wonderment.
“Don’t laugh like that! It upsets me! Once, long ago, I loved a man. He was not like you; he was a liar. He lied to me with every word he uttered. He used to laugh at me, too. He trampled on my life and spoiled it. He broke my heart! It is all in the past now, and I never think of him anymore, except now, your laughter reminded me of him.” I paused, taking in his lack of expression. “It’s time for you to get ready for your journey, is it not? Please let me know if I can help you in any way. Travel safely and may the peace of a pure conscience be with you.”
I laid my burning hand on his head. He thought this gesture was a motherly blessing. I thought, well, God only knows what I thought, yet if curses can be so easily cast, then this curse had just marked him. I dared not trust myself any longer in his presence, and without another word or look, I left him and hurried from the villa.
I knew he was startled and at the same time gratified to think he had moved me to such emotion, but I refused to look back at him to catch his parting glance. I could not because I was sick of myself and of him, and was weary of my broken spirit, for which there could never be a cure.
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