The Contessa's Vendetta (11 page)

The nightingales paused their song. The wind
scattered a shower of jasmine blossoms at my feet. Symbols that my past with its days of sweet illusion and dear remembrance had withered and perished forever. Henceforth my life would be like a blade of steel; firm, bitter, and indestructible. I knew what must be done and I resolved to do it.

I
walked back down the lane, swung open the private gate and stepped back onto the main road. A loud clang made me glance up as I walked past the main entrance of the Villa Mancini. I glanced beyond the gates to my beloved ancestral villa.

Beatrice Cardano stepped out onto the upper balcony. She glanced lazily
outwards in my direction, her beautiful face clearly visible in the bright moonlight. But all she saw was a white-haired old woman passing by the front gates. Her look only rested upon me for a brief second before she withdrew it.

An insane
desire possessed me to scream at her, to rush back and climb the trellis to spring at her throat, to throw her in the dust at my feet, to spit at her, and trample upon her. But I repressed my fierce emotions. I had a better game to play. I had an exquisite torture in store for her. Vengeance ought to ripen slowly in the heat of intense wrath. So I let my dear friend, my husband’s consoler, dream her dreams without interference.

I
re-entered Vicenza, and found lodging at a small convent. There, in a tiny cell meant for guests, my recent illness, fatigue, and roiling emotions threw me into a deep slumber. But the most soothing opiate was the knowledge that I had armed myself with a practical plan of retribution, more terrible than any human had ever before devised.

The
following morning, I rose early, eager to set my plan in motion. After acquiring a small lantern, a hammer, and some nails, I set out for the cemetery. Not a soul was in sight when I arrived. A blessing, for now I could work freely without worrying about being accidentally discovered by someone. 

At the Mancini vault,
I removed the shrubs and debris, and uncovered the secret passage. Despite my fear and aversion, I entered. Once more, the cold and dark surrounded me. The dreadful memory of my ordeal resurfaced. My anguish flooded back, but I refused to allow it to distract me.

I lit the lantern and glanced about.
The coffin with the treasure lay undisturbed where I had hidden it. Raising the lid, I removed all the gold coins I could find, hundreds and hundreds of them, and tucked it into the pouches secreted beneath my gown. I also took several pieces of masculine jewelery to add to the pendant in the shape of a ship I had first found and that still hung from my neck. With the tools, I repaired the damage I had made to the casket when I had forced it open, and nailed it up tight so that it looked untouched. This work did not take me long, for I was in a hurry. I planned to leave Vicenza this very day and would not return for several weeks.

I
glanced one last time at my own coffin, undecided whether to repair it too so that it would appear my body still lay inside. I decided to leave it as it was, broken and forced open. One day soon, it would serve its purpose. I crawled through the secret tunnel and carefully covered it back up behind me. Then I returned to the convent to spend one last night.

* * *

My first task was to hire a lady’s maid and a steward to oversee business matters, for no woman should travel alone. The nuns at the convent suggested I hire Santina, a young woman of eighteen years, and her elderly father, Paolo. The nuns assured me of their good nature and diligence at any tasks assigned to them. I agreed. They both suited me perfectly. It pleased me to see how eager they were to come with me. We liked each other instantly and I showed my gratitude by leaving the abbess with a sizeable donation. 

The next morning,
I hired a coach, which took us to Venice. There I made inquiries and learned a ship would soon leave port headed for Pescara. Since Pescara would suit me as well as any other place, I sought out the captain of the vessel.

He was a
cheerful man with a sun-battered, olive-colored complexion. When I expressed my desire to take passage with him, his smile revealed a wide gap between his two yellowing and overly large front teeth. He charged me a fair and moderate sum, but which I learned late was actually three times the usual fare. But the charismatic scoundrel swindled me with such charm and politeness, I did not let it bother me. I would rather be duped by an friendly, polite man than receive fair value for my money from a brusque boor who lacked the good manners to wish me a good day. Besides, I could afford to be generous.

We
left port about mid-morning. While Santina and Paolo settled us all in our quarters below deck, I sat idly on the vessel’s edge. The sun shone bright, and a cool breeze blew. The water rippled against the sides of our vessel with a gentle cadence. I looked down into the clear waters of the Adriatic, blue as an ocean of sapphires, and retreated into my thoughts, reflecting on the past as well as the future. Lost in contemplation, a touch on my shoulder startled me. I looked up.

The
captain of the brig stood beside me, smiling. “You are enjoying the beauty of the water,
dama
?” he said courteously.

“
Why do you call me
dama
?” I inquired brusquely. Surely the used clothing of the drowned woman I still wore could not be mistaken for those of a noblewoman.

The man shrugged and bowed
courteously, a larger dimpling his olive cheeks. “Ah, I understand. As the
dama
pleases.”

I looked at him
sternly. “What do you mean?”

The captain
pointed a brown finger at my hands. “These are not the hands of a woman who launders or scrubs a house clean.”

I glanced down at them. True enough, their
delicate softness betrayed me. The sharp-witted captain had noticed the contrast between my supple hands and the inferior quality of my gown, though no one else I had come in contact with, had noticed. At first I was embarrassed, but after a moment’s pause I met his gaze. “And what of it?”

He
gave me an apologetic look. “I did not mean to offend,
dama
. Not at all. Please understand. Your secret is perfectly safe with me. I am prudent and do not gossip. You,
cara
dama,
must have good reason for concealing your identity, I am sure. You have suffered; it is evident in your face. There are far too many things that bring sorrow into one’s life.” He tallied them on his fingers. “There is love, there is vengeance, there are disputes, there is a loss of wealth, any of these will drive a person away. You,
dama,
are
entrusted to me while on this ship and I assure you of my discretion and best service.”

He
tipped his hat with such polite charm that in my disheartened state, his act touched me deeply. Wordlessly, I extended my hand to him and he kissed it with respect.

“
Do you mind if I enjoy a cigar?” he asked.

“
Please, do not hesitate on my account.”

“
Excellent!” he answered, showing his sallow, lacklustre teeth in his amused smile. He pulled one out of his short jacket and lit it from the flame of a nearby lantern someone had forgotten to distinguish or which had been left burning for this very purpose. He inhaled deeply and let out a puff. “A cigar of the finest quality, a gift from a man who will smoke nothing but the best. Ah, Cesare Negri, what a generous man he is.”

The familiar name startled me and words remained trapped in my throat for a few moments.
What twist of fate kept putting this notorious bandit in my path? “You know the man?”

“
I know him very well, indeed. While I was docked in Venice, he found me alone on the brig; my men had gone ashore. He told me the authorities were after him and offered me more gold than I had ever seen in my life if I would take him to Pescara. From there, he could get to one of his hiding-places. If I refused, he threatened to slit my throat. He brought a woman named Teresa with him. Even though I knew he was a scandalous rogue, I agreed to take him and assured him I would not betray him. My agreement seemed to surprise him, for he smiled that dark smile of his, which might mean gratitude or murder. Teresa placed her hands on mine, tears in her pretty, blue eyes. She told me I was a good man and that I deserved the love of a good woman.”

I looked at him with
a gnawing at my heart. Here was another self-deluded wretch like me who believed in dreams and love. “You are a happy man.” I forced a smile. “You have a guiding star for your life as well as for your boat; and a woman that loves you and is faithful to you? Is it so?”

He
raised his hat politely and smiled. “Si,
dama
, my mother.”

I was deeply touched by his
unexpected reply; more deeply than I cared to show. A bitter regret stirred in my soul. Why had my own mother died so young? Why had I never known the same joy that shone through the sparkling eyes of this common sailor? Why must I be forever alone, with a curse of a man’s lie on my life to weigh me down so miserably? Something in my face must have revealed my turmoil.

“
The
dama
has no mother?” he asked softly.

“
She died when I was a child.”

The
captain puffed lightly at his cigar as we stood together in the silence of compassion.

“
You spoke of Teresa? Who is Teresa?” I asked to divert the topic of our conversation away from me.

“
No one knows who she is. She loves Cesare Negri, and that is all I know. Such a tiny thing, and as delicate as foam on the waves. And Cesare, you have seen Cesare,
dama
?”

I shook my head.

“He is huge and coarse and mean as a wolf. Teresa is like a small cloud in the sky. She is tiny and light with hair that ripples with curls, soft eyes and hands, not strong enough to snap a twig in two. Yet Cesare would do anything for her. She is the one soft spot in his life.”

“
I wonder if she is true to him,” I muttered, half to myself and half aloud.

The captain
’s brows rose. “True to him? One of Cesare’s own band of thugs, as ruthless and handsome a cut-throat as ever lived, fell madly in love with Teresa. He pursued her like a beaten mongrel. One day he found her alone and tried to kiss her. She reached for the knife she kept at her waist and stabbed him with it. She did not kill him. Cesare did that later. To think of a little woman like that with such viciousness in her! She boasts that no man, save Cesare, has ever touched so much as a ringlet of her hair.
Si,
she is true to him; more’s the pity.”

“
You do not believe her false?” I asked.

“
No. A false man or woman deserves death. Still, it is a pity Teresa has fixed her love on Cesare. Such a vile man! One day the authorities will capture him. Then he will face the galleys for life, and she will die. You may be sure of that. If grief does not kill her quickly enough, then she will kill herself, I am certain! She is as slight and frail as a delicate flower, but her soul is as strong as iron. She will have her own way in death as well as in love. They say it is usually the weakest-looking women who have the most courage. In her case, this is very true.”

A sailor who came to ask the captain a question interrupted our conversation. With an apologetic smile and bow, the
talkative captain left me to my own reflections.

I was not sorry to be alone. I needed a
reprieve in which to think, though my thoughts revolved solely around vengeance.
A false man or woman deserves death.
Even this simple Venetian mariner agreed.

Go and kill
him! Go and kill him!
The rag-picker’s words repeated in my mind until I found myself nearly pronouncing them aloud. My soul sickened when I thought about Teresa; mistress of a loathsome villain whose name was spoken with fear. Even she remained faithful, keeping herself free from the wicked touch of other men. She was proud of being faithful to a man whose temper was treacherous and unpredictable. A woman who took pride in her fidelity to her blood-stained lover, while Dario, the wedded husband of a noblewoman descended from an ancient and unsullied noble family, could trample upon the dignity of our marriage and cast it away like rubble in the dust. Dario, a man so low and vile that even this common Teresa would pollute herself to touch him. What had Cesare Negri done to deserve the priceless gift of a true heart? What had I done to merit such foul deceit as that which I now must avenge?