Rose in the Bud

by Susan Barrie

  The next day he had some sort of business to attend to at a distance, and she and Bianca saw little of him until evening, when once again there was to be a dinner-party in the palazzo. This time, Cathleen understood, it was to be a really large party, and some of the dresses would be really splendid.

  “Dress up and make yourself look really charming,” Bianca said to Cathleen as she followed her into the latter’s room before they separated to change for the evening. “I know you have some very pretty dresses, but to-night you must really shine. May I be permitted to look at your clothes and to select something for you from amongst them?”

  Surprised, but unable to think of any reason why she should say ‘No,’ Cathleen flung open the door of her capacious old-fashioned wardrobe and invited her to make her inspection. With a thoughtful frown drawing her brows together and an intent look in her eyes Bianca concentrated on the row of dresses, suits and other garments that succeeded in filling only a very small part of the wardrobe, and separated them with a slightly disdainful hand. She examined each in turn, and despite the fact that she had described them as pretty was obviously not very much impressed.

  She turned and studied Cathleen, and then shook her head.

  “You look well in colours, but you are at your best in white,” she said. “Apparently you have only one white dress suitable for evenings, and that is not really the type of dress I would wish you to appear in tonight. I wonder,” crinkling her brows, “whether you would take offence if I asked you to select something of mine to wear to-night? We are much of a size, and I should be so happy if you would allow me to lend you something.”

  Cathleen regarded her in perplexity.

  “But is there any particular reason why I have to appear at my best to-night?” she inquired, with a lightness that disposed of the idea that she had any particular desire to ‘shine,’ as Bianca phrased it, at any time. “I mean, I’m simply a guest here ...”

  “You are Paul’s guest, and mine,” Bianca said, as if that was really important, “and there will be people here to-night who might very easily make you feel dowdy if you do not do as I wish, and since you are our guest I do think you ought to consider us a little.”

  She smiled charmingly, and laid a gentle hand on Cathleen’s arm. “Will you, cara? To please us!”

  But still Cathleen hesitated.

  “But surely,” she protested, “if I wear something of my own ... I mean, I honestly can’t understand why you want me to look so smart. I couldn’t hope to compete with the better dressed of your guests, in any case.”

  “Couldn’t you?” Bianca inquired sweetly.

  “Well, I suppose if I felt like being extravagant I could buy something extravagant ... or I could have done if I’d known about this in time.”

  “My dear,” Bianca responded, with the same sweetness and air of gentle humour, “perhaps that was why we did not let you know. A hurried purchase of the wrong type of gown would not do at all, but if you wish to go shopping some time I shall be delighted to accompany you. I can, indeed, introduce you in all the right quarters and make certain that any new outfit of clothes will be the right outfit for you. But in the meantime I myself will be happy to come to the rescue, and you must make your choice from the contents of my wardrobe. Come along!”

  Her bedroom—part of a luxurious suite—was an enormous white room that rather took Cathleen’s breath away, it was so full of costly and exquisite things. If the di Rinis were financially insecure there was no evidence of it here. Her dressing-table was of beaten silver, almost certainly a priceless piece in itself, and the carpet was so thick the feet became lost in it. There were bowls of white roses, a white velvet robe hanging on the door that led to the bathroom. The atmosphere was heavy with perfume—perfume contained in giant crystal flagons on her dressing-table.

  Her wardrobe doors slid back easily, and inside the space was crammed with the kind of clothes that would delight the heart of any true woman. Cathleen, as Bianca separated them carelessly with her hand, caught back a gasp.

  How much, she wondered, did she have to spend on clothes in a year? And if she never paid another visit to her dressmaker, or couturier, could she ever, possibly, look shabby or badly dressed?

  “Take your pick,” the Italian girl invited, obviously faintly gratified by the admiration in Cathleen s eyes. “I have so many clothes that I can never possibly wear them all, since fashions change so constantly, and I really mean it when I say I do not mind in the least whatever you choose. But be guided by me and concentrate on something white. You are adorable in white, and Paul thinks so, too!”

  As if this clinched the matter, and Paul’s taste could never be criticised under any circumstances, she unhooked a satin-covered hanger on which a slim white sheath was supported. It was not quite white it had the very faintest touch of pink in it, and it was embroidered with seed pearls and gold thread. It was a simple satin tunic, or shift, slit rather daringly up one side of the skirt, and with very little in the way of a back to conceal the beauties of lightly tanned skin. It was rather like Cathleen’s own solitary white silk sheath-like dinner-dress, only far more elaborate, and plainly in the top couture class. Whereas Cathleen’s own dress had cost her fifteen guineas when she bought it in London at a well-known store, and felt unforgivably extravagant for doing so, this enchanting confection must have cost six times as much—at least. And a perfume like crushed rose petals mixed with something exciting like musk seemed to be permanently attached to it. Bianca threw it at her carelessly without making the gesture appear in any way rude or condescending, and then she unhooked a plain silver lame cut along similar lines and lifted it out of the wardrobe and draped it over the English girl’s arm.

  “Take those to your room and try them on,” she advised. “If you decide upon the white—and I suggest that you keep them both for the time being—I have a necklace of rather fine small rubies that will go excellently with it and look charming about your neck, and if you need shoes or any other etceteras I can provide them also.”

  “Thank you, I have plenty of shoes.” Cathleen replied hurriedly, and would have liked to have departed there and then to her room if only to get away from the somewhat overpowering generosity of her hostess, but Bianca led her over to the dressing-table and pulled open numberless make-up drawers in search of something.

  “There!” she exclaimed, when she had found what she wanted. “I have noticed that you do not use the right shade of mascara, and this will emphasise the Anglo-Saxon beauty of your eyelashes. And this eyeshadow will be better for you, I think, than the one you put on in the evenings.”

  She smiled to soften the impression that she was critical.

  “Don’t think I have found many flaws in you, cara, but an older woman always knows what is best ... and I am several years older than you are!”

  She went to a wall-safe, unlocked it and drew out a shagreen case.

  “In here you will find the rubies. They are very fine specimens, so do be careful of them. Before you go to bed to-night return them to me.”

  “Of course,” Cathleen gasped, as she opened the case and saw the rubies lying on a bed of milk-white velvet and blazing away like a thousand diminutive fires. “But I would much rather not wear them!” she added, in an alarmed voice.

  Bianca patted her shoulder, and then pushed her gently in the direction of the door.

  “Don’t be silly, child. You must get used to wearing valuable stones ... and now do run away and try those things on, and if there is anything else that you need my maid, Francesca, will supply whatever it is. It might be a good idea,” surveying the gold-brown hair of the girl confronting her with a criticalness she could not quite keep out of her expression, “if Francesca washed and set your hair for you to-night, too. You have such pretty hair, and Francesca is an expert at dealing with it. Pray do take advantage of her cleverness.”

  “I ... thank you,” Cathleen replied, and then backed hastily out of the room before any more special
concessions were shown to her. She had no intention whatsoever of taking advantage of the maid Francesca’s skill as a hairdresser, but she was dying to try on the dresses over her arm.

  All the same, for some curious, perverse reason, she wished they had not been offered to her.

  Bianca smiled at her and waved her away.

  “Go, child,” she said. “Paul and I will look for a transformation to-night,” which was not particularly gratifying to the vanity of a young woman who was reasonably well satisfied with her appearance as it was.

  That night Bianca visited her in her room before she left it to make her appearance in the main rooms of the palazzo.

  Bianca herself was stiff with brocade and jewels, and her appearance was almost regal. She was frowning a little when she entered the room, after her light tap on the door had received a ‘Come in’ from Cathleen, but the frown vanished immediately she saw the result of her prodigality with the contents of her wardrobe. She compressed her lips together in a completely satisfied manner, and nodded her infinitely graceful head.

  “Perfect!” she declared. “Even better than I anticipated. But I wish you had allowed Francesca to do your hair!”

  She walked up to Cathleen and studied the effect of the new eye-shadow—which Cathleen had applied very sparingly—the mascara which contained an ingredient that emphasised the length and curious golden quality of Cathleen’s eyelashes. Then she ran her eye up and down the slim white shape that could hardly have looked more enchanting, missed the rubies and frowned again, quickly.

  “Where are they?” she demanded. “You must wear them—”

  “The—the necklace, you mean?” Cathleen had been hoping to escape the ordeal of wearing it.

  “But of course! Where is it? I insist that you put it on ... for this one night, at least!”

  She went to the dressing-table and searched in the drawers herself until she found the case. The rubies appeared to burn her white, slender fingers as she lifted them from their case and attached them to the other girl’s neck. She pointed out that the clasp was perfectly safe. It was, in fact, a double clasp, specially designed for the protection of the rubies.

  “You are not in the least likely to lose them,” she said, “so you need not be afraid.”

  On their way down the flowing marble staircase to the first floor of the palace she explained the form of entertainment that was to take place that night. It was to be what she called ‘a late occasion,’ with the guests arriving somewhere between eleven o’clock and midnight, and before that she and her brother and Cathleen would dine cosily a trois. Count Paul was waiting for them in the salon, and Cathleen had seldom seen him looking so arrogantly handsome and aristocratic in his white dinner-jacket—it was the kind of dinner-jacket he always favoured, although very occasionally he appeared in one made of velvet, and even silver lam6. Whatever he wore, there was something slightly effeminate about his appearance, and a curious, cat-like gleam of satisfaction often appeared in his eyes when something pleased him.

  It appeared in them to-night when he caught sight of Cathleen, following diffidently in the wake of his sister. With the revealing light of the crystal chandeliers pouring over her she looked young and exquisite and vulnerable, he thought.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, as he moved to greet them. He kissed first his sister’s hands, and then Cathleen’s. She always hated the feel of his definitely sensual lips as they touched her cool skin, and despite every effort she made not to do so she found it impossible not to display a certain shrinking from the anticipated and sometimes long-drawn-out salute, and always snatched away her hands if the Count made any attempt to retain them.

  To-night he merely smiled at her, and then produced something from his pocket. It was another case—a smaller one this time—and when he snapped it open she saw that it contained a ruby bracelet.

  “This is for you, most beautiful,” he told her softly. “I mean it is really for you!”

  He reached for her hand, but she kept it determinedly behind her back.

  “No, no,” she declared, “I couldn’t possibly accept it!”

  Brother and sister glanced at one another, and then they both smiled.

  “How really charming!” Bianca exclaimed appreciatively. “A lovely young woman who is not carried away by the sight of jewels ... and loath to have them pressed upon her! But, my dear,” she continued, addressing Cathleen, “my brother really means it when he says the bracelet is for you. You are to accept it and look upon it henceforth as your own, and you are not to be oppressed by the thought that it once belonged to an ancestress of ours who was a lady-in-waiting at the court of Catherine of Russia. She was our great-great-great—I cannot tell you how many ‘greats’!—grandmother, and the very first Contessa di Rini. Now, does not that incline you to wear the bracelet?”

  But if anything it completed Cathleen’s sensation of dismay. She insisted that she couldn’t possibly wear it under any circumstances, and she found it quite impossible to understand why they should even wish her to do so, let alone accept it as a gift ... an heirloom of such obvious importance. Even if they suspected her of being an heiress who could do much to restore the fortunes of the di Rini family, they could not possibly know whether this was true or not ... and they were surely taking an unpardonable risk with their family treasures when they sought to press this one on her?

  “No, please, I can’t wear it.”

  Bianca’s indulgent expression was replaced by one that endeavoured to conceal a certain amount of impatience.

  “My dear child, of course you can! And since you are wearing my rubies you must wear it to-night. The necklace complements the bracelet, and vice versa. Paul,” she commanded, “since Cathleen is shy about putting it on herself you must put it on for her. It, too, has a double safety catch, so she need have no fear that she will lose it.”

  Despite continued resistance on her part Paul managed to capture Cathleen’s wrist, and the bracelet was securely attached to it. With a heightened colour she stood looking down at it and the red fire of the rubies actually seemed to dazzle her for a moment, and at the same time she was conscious of annoyance because her wishes had been so completely disregarded.

  Bianca, with the satisfied smile returned to her face, stroked her cheek caressingly with the tip of a be-ringed finger as she passed her on the way to the dining-room, and once inside the dining-room conversation seemed to flag for a short time. Paul’s eyes dwelt constantly on the English guest, letting her see how much he admired her in his sister’s glistening gown and trinkets, but either he was feeling hungry and wished to concentrate on his dinner, or for the time being he considered further flattery unnecessary, but he said nothing at all until they were half-way through the second course, and even then it was merely to comment on the excellence of one of the side dishes.

  The meal, as always, was somewhat long-drawn-out, and although there were only the three of them the table was loaded with silver and flowers, and the high-piled dish of fruit formed a splendid centrepiece. Cathleen knew that, when she returned to England, and her mother sent her to the greengrocer’s to buy fruit, she would remember that gorgeous arrangement of all the rarer kinds of fruits and wonder whether she had actually dreamed that she was a favoured visitor in an Italian palazzo instead of being the actual thing.

  And every time the weight of the ruby bracelet seemed to burden her wrist she wondered whether she would ever win free of the somewhat hampering feel of it, and wished that she had had the strength of mind to refuse to allow Paul to fasten it about her wrist.

  After dinner they returned to the salon and Bianca poured out coffee from a centuries-old exquisite crested coffee-pot, and then while Paul drifted out on to the balcony and Cathleen sat somewhat stiffly on a tapestry-covered chair the Count’s sister seated herself at the handsome grand piano and played a little Chopin for their edification while the advent of the guests was awaited.

  Cathleen was unwilling to join Paul on the balcony—a
lthough it was a gorgeous night, with stars suspended like lamps in the deep violet sky, and spreading fight ripples on the dark waters of the canal as the windows of other palaces sent forth their mellow signals that they, too, were inhabited—because of that strange, proprietorial look in his eyes at dinner, and the uneasy feeling that she had that, any moment now, she might be forced to declare her true position.

  Which, if they were genuinely attracted by her and her personality, would lead to little embarrassment. But if, as she strongly suspected, it was neither her nor her personality that lured them, embarrassment could be quite acute.

  She was turning over in her mind the desirability of cutting short her visit and, if there was any awkwardness about getting away, sending herself a telegram to the effect that she was badly needed at home and would have to say her regretful farewells to Venice, when Paul called to her familiarly, and she couldn’t very well ignore the summons.

  “Come out here, cara! The night is so warm, and you are missing so much!” As she joined him unwillingly—she was afraid the unwillingness was very obvious—on the flower-draped balcony beneath those incredible, far-away stars, she saw him smile at her indulgently, and he laid a hand caressingly on her shoulder. “You know,” he said, “you are quite unlike your sister Arlette. She was never in the least diffident or shy, and you are so constantly both. You seem to find it impossible to believe that everyone who sees you must like you immediately for what you are ... and not what unflattering calculation might decide you are!”

  The slim, dark, masculine hand pressed warmly on her shoulder.

  “I wonder what you mean by that?” Cathleen murmured, as she looked up at him with slightly crinkled brows. But she didn’t really wonder ... she knew precisely what he meant.