‘No offence taken, my Lord,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘But it has never yet been accounted reprehensible to win a wager by the use of one’s wits. For example, there was that amusing affair at Brighton last autumn, when little Sir John Lade bet the bulky Lord Cholmondeley that he would carry him on his back from opposite the Pavilion twice round the Steyne. To witness the settling of the bet, His Highness of Wales attended, accompanied by his friends and a bevy of beauties. Lade then declared that in the wager no mention had been made of his Lordship’s clothes, and, since Cholmondeley could not bring himself to shock the ladies by revealing himself m a state of nature, Prinny ruled that he had lost the wager.’
When the laughter had subsided Sheridan went on: ‘In this present business, had I thought it possible that Malderini could really levitate his wife I’d never have risked my money. I assumed from the first that he was a clever conjuror—that it lay with us to pit our wits against his and, by exposing him as such, make him pay up.’
Roger then made his only contribution to the discussion. ‘What you say of winning a wager by the use of one’s wits is acceptable. But it is my belief that Malderini staged his demonstration this afternoon with deliberate intent to lure several of us into betting big sums with him.’
‘That,’ Doopy nodded, ‘was my own thought, when a moment back I said I believed him to be a rogue.’
Sheridan stiffened slightly. ‘I do not know him well enough to guarantee the contrary; and I would have you remember, gentlemen, that I brought him here at Lady St. Ermins’s request; so you must not hold me responsible for his conduct.’
Georgina caught Esther’s eye and rose. The gentlemen bowed the ladies from the room, then reseated themselves at the Colonel’s end of the table, and commenced to pass the port. Soon they were deep in a discussion of the conditions of the wager, and the possibility that Malderini might win it by use of mass hypnotism.
It was Droopy who produced that idea. In his studies of the East he had read an account of an Indian conjuror throwing a rope up into the air, where it remained rigid while his small boy climbed it, and the explanation given had been that neither the rope nor the boy had left the ground; the audience, having been mesmerised by the conjuror, only imagined that they had done so.
The Colonel declared that he could no more credit the possibility of one person mesmerising half-a-dozen or more others simultaneously, to a degree that they were all victims of the same illusion, than he could the lifting of a human body into the air by will-power.
It was at that point that Roger, having made quick work of a second glass of port, asked to be excused, so that he might fulfil his first duty as an umpire, and make certain that the yellow drawing-room had been prepared in accordance with his instructions.
The room, which could be entered both from the hall and from the larger drawing-room, was some twenty-five feet wide by forty long, including the bay of a window that occupied the greater part of its far end. It could not have been better suited to the purpose, as the still good light of the long summer evening on the far side of the drawn curtains made a broad semicircular band on the parquet below them, and from it just enough light was reflected to enable people to recognise one another when in the room.
Having assured himself that no wires or any other secret apparatus had been installed in the room while they were at dinner, Roger chalked out a line nine feet long across the bay and twelve feet in from it. He then had the servants carry in ten chairs and directed their placing. One was put a yard away from each extremity of the line, and the other eight facing and some six feet away from it in a row across the room.
When he had dismissed the servants he went back into the big drawing-room and found the whole company now assembled there. Taking up a five-branched Dresden candelabra from a side table, he invited Malderini to inspect his preparations. The Venetian accompanied him into the yellow silk-panelled room and, after a careful look round, expressed himself as satisfied. Roger left him to inform the others, replaced the candelabra, and ushered them in.
Once the door was closed it seemed that they were in complete darkness, but after a few moments their eyes became accustomed to the gloom and they could see the outline of the row of chairbacks against the band of pale light below the hem, of the curtains round the big bay window. Roger offered his arm to the Princess and led her to the chair facing the right-hand extremity of the chalked line, then asked Malderini to take that at its other end, opposite to her. The rest of the party settled themselves in the row of chairs, the ladies in the centre, Sheridan on their right, and the Colonel, Droopy Ned and Beckford in that order on the left. Roger took the remaining chair on the extreme right, so that he was nearest to the Princess, called for silence, and told Malderini that they were ready for him to begin.
The Venetian stood up and said: ‘You will not object, I am sure, to my pinning up the lower end of the Princess Sirisha’s sari; otherwise it will trail upon the ground, and might lead you to suggest that with its folds obscuring her feet she is walking on the tips of her toes.’
Consent being given, he went over to his wife, knelt down in front of her and pinned up the white satin just high enough to show her white shod feet. Having warned them that they must be patient as it would take some time for him to concentrate his will to the degree needed to lift her by it, he stepped back a few feet, halted and began to make passes at her.
As in the afternoon, she jerked and rolled her head for some minutes, then stiffened and relaxed. Having put her under he stopped making passes and, with his hands hanging at his sides, stood, a dim bulky figure, staring fixedly at her. It was now that his audience had to exercise their patience. The long minutes dragged by—five, ten, fifteen, twenty—while they sat straining their eyes in the semi-darkness; but nothing happened. It began to look as if there was to be no trick after all, but that it was a genuine attempt, and this long sustained effort of concentration must soon exhaust him; so that he would have to give up and confess failure. Yet his breathing was not laboured, and he gave no other sign of fatigue, but continued to stand absolutely motioness.
Suddenly he threw up both his hands, in a lifting gesture.
Her hands were on the arms of the elbow chair in which she was sitting. Although Roger could only see their outline vaguely he got the impression that she levered herself up by them. Slowly she rose and her hands left the arms of the chair. Someone drew in a sharp breath. As her figure straightened it was apparent to them all that she had become much taller than her normal height, then that her feet had left the floor.
Malderini began to back slowly away from her, gesturing with his hands as though to draw her towards him. Slowly she began to advance along the chalk line. As they watched her they held their breath. Her body remained rigid, but her feet moved slightly in a slow regular progression, as though she was taking tiny steps through the air.
She covered more than half the stipulated distance and came opposite Colonel Thursby. At that moment a loud clatter shattered the silence of the room. The Princess threw out her arms and gave a piercing scream. Then pandemonium broke out.
The ebony walking stick the Colonel always carried had a crooked ivory handle. He had reversed it, leant forward, swept its crook along the floor below the Princess’ feet and, when it met resistance, jerked it hard towards him. Pitching forwards, she crashed full length on the parquet.
Next second Droopy Ned played his part in this little plot that had been hatched between them after Roger had left the dining-room. He scratched the top of a pocket tinder-box with a three-inch magnesium flare and held it aloft. Instantly the darkness of the room was dissipated and everything in it could be seen with almost blinding clarity.
As the Princess fell, her tight sari had rucked up exposing both her legs to the knees. She was wearing calf-length white kid boots, and to the inner side of her legs short, cloth-tipped black stilts were strapped. It was now obvious that Malderini must have adjusted them under her insteps when pinning up
her sari and that, had she reached the chair at the far end of her walk, he would have removed her feet from them while unpinning her sari, without anyone being the wiser.
When the fierce light of the flare revealed the scene, Roger found himself staring straight at the Venetian. His face was contorted with insane, diabolical rage. Next moment, howling like an animal, he flung himself at the Colonel. Everyone sprang to their feet, chairs were overturned, the women screamed. The flare went out, plunging the room again in darkness.
There was a short noisy scuffle. Voices were crying: ‘Lights! Open the door! Lights! Bring lights!’
Droopy Ned ran to the drawing-room door and wrenched it open. Enough light came through to reveal the scene. Georgina and Clarissa had run forward and were helping the Princess to her feet. Esther Sheridan had flung herself onto her husband’s bosom. Beckford had seized Malderini by the coat collar just in time to prevent him assaulting Colonel Thursby. The Colonel, now leaning heavily on his stick, was standing looking at him, a derisive smile on his thin face.
The door had been open only a moment when the Venetian broke free from Beckford’s hold and, mouthing curses, again threw himself at the Colonel. Roger was some feet away. In his anxiety to protect the elderly man whom he looked on as a father, he made an awkward jump between them. He was still off balance as Malderini struck out. The blow caught him in the face. He went over backwards and fell with a crash among the chairs.
By the time he had scrambled to his feet, Beckford had again got hold of Malderini and now held him in a firmer grip. Roger, with one hand to his bruised face, and his blue eyes blazing, snapped out:
‘Damn you, Sir! You shall give me satisfaction for that!’
With Clarissa’s help, Georgina had got the Princess up into a chair. Turning from her. she cried, ‘Roger, I pray you let this shocking business go no further!’
Ignoring Georgina, he continued to scowl at Malderini. But the Venetian had now begun to sob with frustrated rage and, between his sobs, gasped out to the Colonel:
‘That was a brutal thing to do. Oh, you horrible man! The shock might have killed her. And you ruined my illusion. I suppose you expect me to pay. But I won’t! I won’t! Why should I, when I should have won had it not been for your interference?’
‘You will, unless you wish me to have you barred out of every club in London,’ replied the Colonel tartly.
‘And you will give me satisfaction for that blow,’ added Roger, ‘unless you prefer to taste my horse-whip about your shoulders.’
Georgina had come up. Catching him by the elbow she pulled him round to face her and said in a firm voice, ‘This matter is deplorable enough already. I’ll allow no duel to be fought about it. You’ll oblige me, Mr. Brook, by retiring from the room.’
Stepping back, he made her a leg and replied at once, ‘Your Ladyship’s servant.’ But he did not attempt to lower his voice as he said to Droopy a moment later, ‘Be good enough, Ned, to act for me and arrange a meeting.’ Then he stalked through the door that gave on to the corridor.
Malderini had, meanwhile, staggered back to a chair and collapsed into it. He was now breathing heavily and, after a moment, muttered thickly, ‘Send for Pietro ... send for Pietro. ... Tell him ... tell him to bring my pills.’
Sheridan came forward and said quickly, ‘Excitement has brought on one of his attacks. He has them occasionally but they are no matter for grave concern. Pietro is his valet, and gives him massage for them. If we can find Pietro, he’ll be as right as rain again in half an hour.’
‘Clarissa!’ Georgina cried. ‘Run please; run to the servants’ quarters and fetch Signor Malderini’s man.’
Clutching her wide skirts with both hands, and lifting them some inches, Clarissa ran from the room. Beckford had just brought in the Dresden candelabra from the drawing-room and set it on the chimney piece; so there was now more light to see by. Malderini’s pudgy face had gone grey; his eyes were closed and his breath came with a rasping noise. His wife made no attempt to approach him. Apparently she had not been seriously hurt by her fall, as she sat quite silent. But her head was bowed and with one hand she was holding the end of the sari, which she usually wore over the top of her head, across her face, as though too ashamed to meet the gaze of her hostess and her fellow guests.
After an uneasy few minutes, the sound of running footsteps came again. Well ahead of Clarissa, Pietro erupted into the room. He was a tall, thin, bony middle-aged man with a shock of black hair. Showing scant ceremony as they made way for him, he ran to his master, fell on his knees before him, and began to babble excitedly in Italian. Malderini muttered something and Pietro thrust a pill into his mouth, then began to chafe his hands.
The Venetian’s breathing eased and his eyes opened. For a while he remained seated, then he got to his feet. The tall Pietro stooped and drew one of his master’s arms across his shoulders, so that he could support him as he walked. With no word said they crossed the room. Beneath the end of her sari, the Princess had evidently been watching them, for she rose too, and followed. Instinctively the ladies dropped her curtseys and the men bowed as she passed.
Roger, meanwhile, had gone to the dining-room and helped himself to a glass of port. He was, for once, in an exceedingly ill humour, as he loathed being involved in quarrels; yet he saw no way out of this one, which had risen so unexpectedly. Malderini had knocked him down, and that was a matter which no gentleman could ignore with honour. Even an apology could not settle such a case. It demanded that either he must meet the Venetian with weapons or, if he proved a poltroon, horse-whip him. Being an exceptionally fine swordsman and a first-class pistol shot, Roger had no qualms about the outcome of such an encounter; but he felt that, owing to Malderini’s now being the accredited envoy of the Serene Republic, the affair was liable to cause the most troublesome repercussions. Gloomily, he finished his wine and, anticipating that the others would by now have congregated in the large drawing-room, decided to join them there.
As he came out into the hall, he saw Malderini being helped up the stairs by his valet. They were about a third of the way up the flight and, their backs being towards him, neither of them caught sight of him. But the Princess, who was following them, had reached only the bottom stair. As he emerged from the dining-room, she turned and her dark eyes held his for a moment.
He had very little doubt that her husband had forced her to play the part she had in the deception; so he felt deeply sorry for her. With a view to expressing his sympathy, he made her a much deeper bow than he would have normally. As he raised his head, he expected her to incline hers, then pass on up the stairs; but she did neither. Instead, she remained poised on the bottom stair, her glance searching his face intently.
It seemed pointless to address her, as he could not expect her to understand him; so he simply stood there returning her solemn gaze. For a few moments neither of them moved, then she looked away from him and up the stairs. Malderini and Pietro had just reached the landing; so they were now out of earshot. Her big almond shaped eyes switched back to Roger.
Suddenly she spoke in a deep low voice. And she spoke in heavily accented, but perfectly clear, English. ‘You will fight him. You must kill him. He is evil; utterly evil. Have care not to look in his eyes. But kill him! Kill him!’
5
The Duel
Before Roger could reply, she had turned away and was running up the stairs as swiftly as her sari would permit. His expression of astonishment gave way to a cynical little smile. Since she spoke English he had no doubt now that she also spoke Italian, French and German. As he had thought possible in the afternoon demonstration, when Malderini had appeared to be reading out the questions, he had actually been giving her their answers. His sending Clarissa to sleep by a few passes proved him to be a competent hypnotist, but all the miracles he claimed to work were fakes.
From their recent encounter, Roger judged that Malderini’s wife was his unwilling tool, and did as she was ordered only through a
cute fear of him or, perhaps, because she lived for the greater part of the time subject to his hypnotic domination. If the latter were the case, the inference was that his semi-collapse had enabled her temporarily to escape from it. After a moment’s thought he decided to refrain, for the time being, from disclosing that she had spoken to him. Then he crossed the hall and entered the long drawing-room.
It was still early and Georgina, in a determined attempt to restore a normal atmosphere, had endeavoured to organise a round game. But Droopy and Sheridan had both asked to be excused and her father had gone up to his own rooms; so she had had to make the best of sitting down to a game of ombre with Beckford, Esther and Clarissa.
The first hand was being dealt as Roger came in and, giving only a glance at the group seated round the card table, he joined Droopy and Sheridan, who were talking in low voices in a corner.
‘He’ll fight,’ Sheridan was saying, as Roger came up. ‘He must; he has no alternative.’
‘But is he in a fit state to do so?’ Roger asked. ‘I saw him a few minutes back being half carried up the staircase by his man.’
Sheridan shrugged. ‘He is suffering only from a temporary indisposition. I’ve seen him in a similar state on two previous occasions, and on both he has re-appeared looking as strong as a horse in the morning.’
‘Then, if his health permits, he must give me satisfaction,’ Roger declared firmly.
‘We’ll give him half-an-hour to recover himself; then I will go up and see him,’ Sheridan volunteered. ‘The odds are that he’ll ask me to be his second. If so, in the circumstances, I can hardly refuse.’
‘In that case it will be for you and me to make the arrangements,’ said Droopy. ‘Mr. Brook has already asked me to act for him.’
Sheridan bowed. ‘Charmed, m’Lord. I can think of no one with whom I should be happier to settle the formalities. And now, gentlemen, I suggest we leave this painful subject and kill time by taking a glass of wine together,’
The Rape of Venice Page 7