The Contessa's Vendetta (33 page)

“
You wish to see Signore Gismondi, who is in retreat here?”

“
If it is not inconvenient or against the rules—” I began.

The shadow of a smile flitted across the
monk’s pale, intellectual face; it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“
Not at all,” he replied, in the same even monotone. “Signore Gismondi is, by his own desire, following a strict regime, but today being Christmas, all rules are relaxed. The reverend father desires me to inform you that it is now the hour for mass—he has himself already entered the chapel. If you will share in our devotions, Signore Gismondi shall afterward be informed of your presence here.”

I could do no less than accede to this proposition, though in truth it was
the last thing I wanted. I was in no humor for church, prayers, or worship of any kind. How shocked this monk would be if he could have known what manner of woman he had just invited to kneel in the sanctuary. I offered no objection and he bade me follow him.

“
Is Signore Gismondi well?” I asked as we left the room.

“
He seems so,” returned Brother Maurizio. “He follows his studies with exactitude, and makes no complaint of boredom.”

We were now crossing the hall. I ventured on another inquiry.
“He was a favorite pupil of yours, I believe?”

The monk turned his
passionless face toward me with an air of mild surprise and reproof. “I have no favorites,” he answered, coldly. “All the young boys and men educated here share equally in my attention and regard.”

I murmured an apology
. “You must pardon my curiosity, but as the future wife of the man who was educated here under your care, I am naturally interested in all that concerns him.”

Again the
cleric surveyed me. He sighed slightly. “I am aware of the connection between you,” he said, in rather a pained tone. “Signore Gismondi belongs to the world, and follows the ways of the world. Of course, marriage is the natural fulfillment of most young men’s destinies. There are few who are called out of the ranks to serve Christ. Therefore, when Signore Gismondi married the esteemed Contessa Mancini, of whom everyone spoke of so favorably, we rejoiced, feeling that his future was safe in the hands of a gentle and wise woman. May her soul rest in peace! But a second marriage for him is what I did not expect, and what I cannot in my conscience approve. You see I speak frankly.”

“
I am honored that you do so, brother!” I said, earnestly, feeling a certain respect for this sternly composed, yet patient man. “Though you may have reasonable objections, a second marriage is I think, in Signore Gismondi’s case almost necessary. He is young and handsome and needs an heir!”

The
monk’s eyes grew solemn and almost mournful. “His handsome face is his fatal, curse. As a young boy, it made him wayward. As a grown man, it keeps him wayward still. But enough of this, contessa,” and he bowed his head. “Excuse my fothrightness. Rest assured that I wish you both happiness.”

We had reached the
chapel door through which the sound of the pealing organ poured forth surges of melody. Brother Maurizio dipped his fingers in the holy water, and made the sign of the cross, pointed out a bench at the back of the church as one that strangers were allowed to occupy. I seated myself and admired the picturesque scene before me.

There was the sparkle of twinkling lights
; the bloom and fragrance of flowers. There were silent rows of monks, black-robed and bare-headed, kneeling and absorbed in prayer. Behind these men were a little cluster of youths also in black with drooped heads. Behind them, I could see one man’s form arrayed in dark and elegant clothes; his black doublet of embroidered glazed linen stood out like a star against the sombre vestments of the monks around him. The sheeny glitter of golden hair confirmed that he was my husband. How devout he looked bathed by the rainbow of colors from the stained glass windows. I smiled in dreary scorn as I watched him. I cursed him afresh in the name of the woman I had killed.

The stately service went on
. The organ music swept through the church as though it were a strong wind striving to set itself free. Amid it all, I sat as one in a dark dream, scarcely seeing, scarcely hearing, inflexible, and cold as marble.

The rich
deep voice of one of the monks in the choir singing the Agnus Dei, moved me to a chill.
Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.
No, there are some sins that cannot be taken away; the sins of faithless men.

Absorbed in thought, I knew not when the service ended. A hand touched me, and looking up I saw
Brother Maurizio. “Follow me, if you please,” he whispered.

I rose and obeyed h
im.

He paused outside
the chapel door. “Pray excuse me for hurrying you, but strangers are not permitted to see our members leaving.”

I nodded and
walked on beside him. Feeling forced to say something, I asked, “Have you many boarders at this holiday season?”

“
Only fourteen,” he replied, “and they are children whose parents live far away. Poor little ones!” The monk’s stern face softened into tenderness as he spoke. “We do our best to make them happy, but naturally they feel lonely. We have generally fifty or sixty young boys here, besides the day scholars.”

“
A great responsibility,” I remarked.

“
Very great indeed!” he sighed. “Almost terrible. So much of a man’s after-life depends on the early training he receives. We do all we can, and yet in some cases our utmost efforts are in vain. Evil creeps in, we know not how. Some unsuspected fault spoils a character that we judged to be admirable, and we are often disappointed in our most promising pupils. Sadly, there is nothing entirely without fault in this world.”

Thus talking, he showed me into a small, comfortable-looking room, lined with books.

“This is one of our libraries,” he explained. “Signore Gismondi will receive you here, as other visitors might disturb you in the drawing-room. Pardon me,” and his steady gaze had something of compassion in it, “but you do not look well. Can I offer you some wine?”

I declined this offer with many expressions of gratitude, and assured h
im I was perfectly well.

He
hesitated. “I trust you were not offended at my remark concerning Signore Gismondi’s marriage with you? I fear I might have been too hasty.”

“
Not so,” I answered earnestly. “Nothing is more pleasant to me than an honest opinion. Unfortunately, I have grown accustomed to deception—” Here I broke off and added hastily, “Please do not think me capable of judging you wrongly.”

H
e seemed relieved and gave me a shadowy, flitting smile. “No doubt you are impatient, contessa; Signore Gismondi shall come to you directly,” and with a small gesture, left me.

Surely he was a good man, I thought
. I wondered about his past history—that past which he had buried forever under a mountain of prayers. What had he been like when young, before he had shut himself within the monastery, before he had set the crucifix like a seal on his heart? Had he ever trapped a woman’s soul and strangled it with lies? I fancied not. His look was too honest and candid. Yet who could tell? Were not Dario’s eyes trained to appear as though they held the very soul of truth?

A few minutes passed. Then came
the shuffle of familiar footsteps. The door opened, and my husband entered.

He
approached with his usual lion-like majesty and agile stride, his lips parted in a charming smile.

“
So good of you to come, and on Christmas morning too!” He held out his two hands as though he invited an embrace, and then paused. Seeing that I did not move or speak, he regarded me with apprehension. “What is the matter?” he asked. “Has anything happened?”

I looked at
him and saw that he was worried. I made no attempt to soothe him. I merely gestured at a chair.

“
Let us sit first,” I said, gravely. “I am the bearer of bad news.”

He
waited for me to sit first, and then sank into the chair. He gazed at me nervously.

Watching
him keenly, I observed his unease with deep satisfaction. I saw plainly what was passing through his mind. A great dread had seized him; the dread that I had discovered his treachery. Indeed I had, but the time had not yet come for him to know it. Meanwhile I could see he suffered a gnawing terror; suspense ate into his soul. I said nothing, but waited for him to speak.

After a pause, during which
his face had lost all color, he forced a smile. “Bad news? What can it be? Some unpleasantness with Beatrice? Have you seen her?”

“
I have seen her,” I answered in the same formal and serious tone. “I have just left her. She sends you this,” and I held out my diamond ring that I had drawn off Beatrice’s dead finger.

If he had been pale before, he grew paler now. All the brilliancy of h
is complexion faded into an awful haggardness. He took the ring with fingers that shook and were icy cold. There was no attempt at smiling now. He drew a sharp quick breath; he thought I knew everything that he and she had done.

I
deliberately kept my silence.

He
looked at the diamond signet with a bewildered air. “I do not understand,” he murmured. “I gave her this as a remembrance of her friend, Carlotta. Why does she return it?”

Self-tortured criminal! I studied h
im with a dark amusement, but answered nothing.

Suddenly he looked up at me
. “Why are you acting so cold and strange? Do not stand there like a gloomy sentinel; kiss me and tell me at once what has happened.”

Kiss
him! So soon after kissing the dead hand of his lover! No, I could not and would not. I remained where I was, unyielding, soundless.

He
glanced at me again. “Do you not love me?” he murmured. “You could not be so stern and silent if you did. If there is bad news, break it to me. I thought you would never keep anything secret from me.”

“
I agree and that is what I mean to do,” I said interrupting his complaint. “In your own words, you told me that your adopted sister, Beatrice Cardano, had become loathsome to you. Remember, I promised that I would silence her? Well, I have kept my word. She is silenced—forever!”

H
e tensed. “Silenced? How? You mean—”

I
rose and stood so that I faced him. “I mean that she is dead.”

He exhaled a pent up breath, not
of sorrow but of disbelief. “Dead? That is not possible. Dead!”

I bent my head gravely.
“She became suddenly ill, perhaps from an illness she caught while in Rome. We spoke, and forgave each other in the moments before she died.”

He
listened intently. A little color came returned to his face, but he still looked anxious.

“
Did she mention my name?” he asked.

I glanced at
his troubled features with contempt. He feared the dying woman might have made some confession to me. “No.”

He
heaved a sigh of relief. He was safe now, he thought. His lips widened into a cruel smile. “What bad taste.” he said, coldly. “Why she would not think of me, I cannot imagine. I have always been kind to her – too kind.”

Too kind indeed
. Kind enough to be glad when the object of all his kindness was dead. For he was glad. I could see that in the murderous glitter of his eyes.

“
You are not sorry?” I inquired, with an air of pretended surprise.

“
Sorry? Not at all! Why should I be? She was a very good friend while my wife was alive to keep her in order, but after my poor Carlotta’s death, her treatment of me was quite unbearable.”

Take care,
handsome hypocrite, take care! Take care lest your poor Carlotta’s fingers should suddenly nip your throat with a convulsive twitch that means death.
Heaven only knows how I managed to keep my hands off him at that moment. Any beast of the field had more feeling than this wretch whom I had made my husband. Even for Beatrice’s sake, I could have slain him in that very moment, but I restrained my fury. “Then I was mistaken? I thought you would be deeply grieved; that my news would shock you.” I spoke in a calm and steady voice.