by May Burnett
“He had already expressed interest in the ball, and I did not see the slightest reluctance in his reaction.”
“Mr Wetherby may not feel quite so enthusiastic.”
“Forget Wetherby. Or rather, as Grandmother said, do your best to keep him out of my and our cousin’s way. He is just an inconvenience.”
“Very well,” Emily promised, not at all loath. She thought Wetherby the more interesting of the two Englishmen, but clearly hers was a minority view.
Would he prove to be a good dancer?
Chapter 4
Look well before you jump into matrimony.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
“Your cousins are pretty and well-brought-up girls.” Anthony and Conrad were picking their way along the steps of the Roman arena. It was huge, and surprisingly well preserved for its venerable age, but there were loose or missing stones here and there, that required visitors to look carefully where they stepped.
“Yes, especially the older one, Margaret,” Conrad replied. “Emily is more average in looks.”
“A pity that your aunt Mrs Bellairs was indisposed. I hope you will find her in better state when you call again tomorrow.”
“I really wish you would come with me again. That Contessa is a dragon. I nearly turned tail and fled when we first met her.”
“She did not make me feel particularly welcome. You are the family connection; there is no reason for me to intrude on them any further. Besides, we are to accompany the girls to that ball, have you forgotten? I shall accompany you then, to make sure you do not lose your head, but I draw the line at calling on your invalid aunt.”
“Very well,” Sir Conrad conceded, “now I think on it, she may speak more freely with me as a family member whom she has met before, as long as the Contessa is not present.”
“I doubt that tact is the Contessa’s forte, but if you plunge into a lengthy discussion of Bolland family news, she may get bored and leave you alone.” Anthony paused to enjoy the view. It was a clear, bright day. Too bad he had no talent for sketching or watercolours. There were fine prints to be bought in the Veronese shops, and he would select a few later, but it was not the same as fixing your memories on paper yourself.
“What did you think of that Austrian fellow, with the moustache?” Conrad asked.
“I wonder what interests he shares with the Contessa’s sons. They were in Vienna recently, I gather. How closely is the family aligned with Austria? Is there an Italian nationalist movement here?”
“Oh, politics,” Conrad said indifferently. “I thought he was a rather encroaching fellow, the way he kissed Margaret’s hand. It must have tickled, with that bushy growth on his face.”
“She did not seem to mind.”
“He’ll be at the ball too and plans to dance with my cousins. I cannot help feeling concerned. An Austrian officer is no suitable partner for them.”
“You cannot know that. Some officers have private means and can afford to marry where they please. Not that they usually look to dowerless girls.”
“Exactly. These soldiers leave broken hearts in their wake, or worse, wherever they go. It would be a tragedy if Margaret succumbed to such a rogue.”
“Or Emily.”
“Yes, of course, her too. I wish both my cousins well. The Contessa’s idea of chaperonage does not strike me as particularly judicious, and if the mother is unwell, who knows to what influences and pressures the poor girls are exposed.”
“They struck me as intelligent and level-headed. Don’t worry so much. The ball will afford a good opportunity to gauge your cousins’ situation and social standing, as well as their common sense.”
“Common sense?” Conrad threw Anthony a quizzical look.
“I have always considered it a most valuable quality in a woman or man.”
“How unromantic. Beauty, virtue, or courage are more important attributes in my eyes. But never mind that. Do you have suitable ball dress and shoes in your luggage?”
“Yes, of course.” Anthony had used the two weeks in Rome to replenish his wardrobe. “I hope your cousins can say as much. They were still dressed in mourning.”
“So they were. Can it be the Contessa is keeping them short of money, and they cannot afford anything more cheerful?”
“I would not be surprised. But if she is sending them to the ball, they will have to have something more suitable on hand.
“I look forward to seeing them in evening finery.”
“Especially Margaret, I suppose.”
“There is nothing wrong in innocently admiring my cousin. She is a beautiful woman.”
“So she is. She may make some lucky man an excellent wife someday.” Anthony hesitated before going on. “I think it an excellent plan to get to know your cousins better, but try not to rush into anything, or raise expectations before you are certain of your own mind.”
“I am not an inexperienced youth,” Conrad retorted with a slight flush. “There have been many women I found attractive over the years, even in India, and yet you see me still unattached. On the other hand, it is my duty to settle down with a family soon.”
They climbed higher. “Are you done with sightseeing for this afternoon?” Conrad complained. “It is all very historic and what-not, and I am not sorry we came to see the arena, but a little exploration of such ruins goes a long way. Admiring them from down below would be enough, instead of climbing all over like goats.”
“The thought of Romans in togas sitting right here all those centuries ago does not thrill you at all?”
“To be honest, no. Those Romans only came here to watch some barbaric show. Except for the different language and clothes, I imagine the crowd then was no different from their current descendants, whose bottoms in modern clothes are not thrilling either.”
“The Roman shows included fights to the death and wild animals. And somewhat more recently, heretics were burned in this place.”
“If I were a superstitious man, I would wonder if those poor heretics haunt the place.” Conrad looked around, as though expecting to see one of the ghosts he evoked, but the arena was peaceful enough and mostly deserted, apart from other sight-seers in a different section of the large oval structure. “I suppose it is evidence that the town was already important in Roman times, and of the grandeur of their civilisation, but we have already heard that ad nauseam during our school years.”
“I still like seeing the remains for myself,” Anthony said. “This amphitheatre is amazingly well preserved. But if you like, let’s go back to the inn. It is getting time to dress for dinner soon, and we still have to buy the tickets for that ball.”
***
As agreed, Anthony did not accompany Conrad when the latter called upon his aunt, Mrs Bellairs, the next morning. Instead he strolled about the streets of the ancient city and observed the shops and markets. The town was very busy, and rather more prosperous and cleaner than Italian cities further south. Though it could not compare with Florence in grandeur, he was quite taken with Verona.
The shops were well-stocked and modern. He wandered about the Piazza delle Herbe, the marketplace, and noted the number of Austrian uniforms. German was heard almost as frequently as Italian in its various dialects.
He was studying a medieval statue when someone addressed him in English with a German accent.
“That is St. Zeno, the patron of this city, and a former bishop here.” Upon turning, he perceived Hauptmann Ehrenblatt.
“Good morning, Hauptmann,” he said. “I was not aware you spoke English too. You are quite an accomplished linguist. How many languages have you mastered?”
“Six so far, apart from my native German. I find that the more of them I speak, the easier it becomes to acquire additional ones.”
“St. Zeno, is it? Does he have any particular specialties?”
“Of course, like all saints. One of them is help against high waters and inundations. Will you join me for coffee in yonder coffee
shop, Mr Wetherby? I would appreciate the chance to practice my English.”
The officer was fluent enough not to need the practice. What was really behind the invitation? Anthony hesitated only a moment. “Very well.” After walking for over two hours, a short rest would not come amiss.
As they waited for their order to be filled, they talked about Verona’s history and attractions. Ehrenblatt had made a thorough study of the subject, though he had only been posted to Verona weeks earlier.
The coffee, when it arrived, was strong and excellent. They were also served flat crescent-shaped biscuits covered with pine kernels.
“I like Italian food,” Anthony said after trying this chewy sweet. “When I am back in England, I shall miss it.”
“Ah.” Ehrenblatt took a sip of his coffee. “Forgive my asking, and I would not want you to betray any confidences, but what exactly is your friend’s connection to the Mardiglio household?”
Was there any harm in telling this man? Anthony opted for the frankness of a guileless, innocent tourist.
“None really, except that his aunt and cousins, Mrs Bellairs and her two daughters, are living there. Mrs Bellairs was his father’s sister. It is natural enough to call upon such a close relative, when in the area.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be. Is Sir Conrad connected to your government in any capacity?”
Anthony smiled and shook his head. “By no means. He is completely uninterested in politics or government. In any case, he has spent the last several years in the Far East, as I can personally attest. If you think him some sort of spy, I can set your mind at rest. May I ask what your own interest in the Mardiglios is?”
“I met the brothers in Vienna not long ago,” the Austrian replied. “I am thinking of doing some business with them, and prefer to know as much as possible about anyone I have dealings with.”
“You mean the old Contessa’s sons? Sir Conrad and I have not had occasion to make their acquaintance yet, or that of her husband, the Count.”
From the officer’s expression Anthony gathered that he was no great admirer of the Mardiglio family. “In Italian nobility, the sons are also called Count. Well, not Guiseppe, because he is a priest, but Armando.”
“They must be in their forties already,” Anthony said. “Does Armando have a family of his own? He is the heir, I assume?”
“I understand he was married twice, but both his wives have died without issue.”
“Bad luck, that,” Anthony said.
“Indeed, especially for the poor young women.”
They talked a while longer. Anthony wondered if he was also suspected of being a spy. Maybe it was a mistake to travel here without the protection of his title and English servants, but he did not sense any real menace from Ehrenblatt, an intelligent and educated man once you saw past the oversized moustache. His name indicated that unlike many Austrian officers, he was not of the nobility.
As they called for the modest bill, the officer gave Anthony his card, and scribbled his direction in the military quarters on its back, urging him to make use of it should he find himself in any unexpected difficulty while in Verona.
“I don’t expect it will be necessary,” Anthony said, “this seems a perfectly civilised place, but thank you, Hauptmann. In any case, I expect we will meet again at the dance at the City Hall to which my friend will escort his young cousins.”
“They are very pleasant young ladies. I am looking forward to the occasion, and to the dances they promised me.”
“So am I,” Anthony said, surprised to discover it was true.
Chapter 5
Being well dressed subtly raises the spirits.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
Studying the fit of her new green gown in the mirror, Emily could not suppress a feeling of satisfaction. It was the first time in over two years she was dressed in anything but mourning, and for once not a hand-me-down from Margaret, that had to be taken in at the bosom and shortened by two inches. No, this simple but pretty dress had been made for her, Emily; the colour expressly chosen to complement her honey-coloured hair. Though she would hardly turn heads, in this gown she could attend a ball or dinner party and not immediately stand out as a poor relation amongst more fortunate ladies. The matching slippers, of soft green suede, were comfortable enough.
Of course these fine feathers were an investment, not a gift, as far as her Grandmother was concerned. That would not prevent Emily from enjoying them.
Would her mysterious admirer, whose proposal had led to this largesse, be present at the City Hall ball? If he was prosperous, quite likely; anyone who could afford the expensive subscription and dressed the part of lady or gentleman was welcome. Sometimes even servants sneaked into such large balls, in outfits borrowed from their masters.
She had already promised dances to three gentlemen – Sir Conrad, his friend Mr Wetherby and that officer, Hauptmann Ehrenblatt. Would her dancing pass muster? Margaret had taught her the steps, but that was some time ago.
From the settee where she was reclining with a prayer book, her mother watched Emily’s slow turn in front of the mirror. “You look just as nice from behind as from the front, dear,” she said softly. “But promise me to be cautious now that you are going out among society. There are so many rogues, and even if you try to do everything right, you still cannot know what misfortunes may befall.”
A chill ran down Emily’s back. Was her mother referring to her own choice of husband? Rupert Bellairs had been handsome and well-off when her parents had married. It had been expected that his youthful wildness would abate, that he would settle down as a family man. It was only later that his fatal weakness had inexorably ruined the family.
“It is just a dance,” she said uneasily. “You know me, Mama, I am not likely to run away with some rake. All I want is a respectable man who can offer me security and loyalty.”
Her mother winced. “Even that is not easy to find, particularly in a foreign country.”
“I don’t think the country has anything to do with it. There are good men and rogues in any society.”
“Of us all, you have adapted best to Italy,” her mother said, “and yet I would wish that you could return to England someday. It is our home, no matter how long we are in exile.”
“True, but in the meantime I can still enjoy the more interesting parts of our exile, and make the best of the situation.” Emily went to kiss her mother, looking down in worry at her frail figure. Since arriving in Italy Mrs Bellairs had lost half a stone, and she had not been a stout woman before. There were more white hairs than her age of forty-two warranted, and her movements were few and listless.
“What did you think of Sir Conrad?” she asked. She had not been present when the young man had called on Mrs Bellairs the previous morning.
“I had met him before, and he has changed little. Conrad is very like my brother in looks, but more good-natured and less rigid in character. I liked him, but it would be optimistic to rely on his doing anything to ease our situation.”
“We can hope,” Emily said. “That he sought us out so far from England is definitely a good sign, and he was rather taken with Margaret.”
“You are just as attractive in your way, particularly when dressed in this colour. I am sure you will soon have a suitor of your own.”
“I only hope Grandmother does not take it into her head to marry me off to some old man, or anyone I dislike,” Emily stated her main concern.
“Nobody can force you into marriage against your will, Emily.”
No, but they could make her life here impossible; their position was precarious enough already. “I hope not. It is likely premature to worry about something that may never come to pass.”
“I shall pray for you to find a rich, healthy, handsome young husband who loves you.”
“That is asking rather much,” Emily told her mother. “My dreams are more modest than that. But it would be good to be loved and love in ret
urn; in that case the rest would not matter so much.”
“You deserve the best, dear. And our family is certainly due some good luck for a change.” Mrs Bellairs looked at the dress again. “It wants something on the bosom to set it off – your grandmother will surely lend your one of her less valuable necklaces if you ask her. I wish I had not had to sell all my own jewels.”
“It could not be helped. At the time, getting food and medicine for Papa was more important. Without your jewels we might well have starved.”
“There is that,” Mrs Bellairs acknowledged. “That is the true purpose of a lady’s jewels, apart from demonstrating her husband’s wealth and importance; as a last-line defence against penury. But they can only be sold once.”
“Some people put theirs in hock over and over.”
“That is only possible in a temporary embarrassment, with the prospect of income somewhere in the near future.” They both knew all too well that such had not been their own situation.
***
As she approached her grandmother’s sitting room to ask for the loan of a necklace, Emily was brought up short by the sound of male voices talking in Italian. She hesitated outside the half-closed door, reluctant to intrude on a family discussion. She was about to turn away when her own name caught her attention, and she stood still, listening hard.
“You should have accepted that offer for young Emily,” Armando said. “What do we care that it is not from a gentleman? We can always cut the connection after the wedding.”
“No, Mother was right,” Monsignore Guiseppe objected. “That you do not yourself value an object, is not a good reason to sell it cheaply to the first bidder. We do not want a farmer with a family connection to us, so close to home. I agree with Mother that it should be possible to find another, more suitable suitor.”
“Without a dowry?” Armando sounded highly sceptical, as well he might.
“Both our nieces are young and quite pretty, if dressed properly. For an older man in comfortable circumstances, that might be good enough. It is worth trying for a few weeks at least.”