The Contessa's Vendetta (45 page)

I smiled wearily.
“Truly? And you are happy?”

“
Oh, yes, I am ecstatic and wish it could last forever. And, is it not strange, but I did not know I was so handsome till tonight.” he said this with perfect simplicity, and a pleased smile radiated his features.

I glanced at
him with cold scrutiny. “And some one has told you so?”

He
blushed and laughed. “
Si,
the daughter of the Venetian duke himself. And she is too noble to say what is not true, so I must be the most handsome young man here, just as she said, is it not true?”

I touched the
flower he wore at his breast. “Look at your flower, child. See how it begins to droop in this heated air. The poor thing! How glad it would feel if it was once again growing in the cool wet moss of the woodlands, waving n the fresh wind! Do you think it could revive now if a young woman told it that it was handsome or beautiful? The same is true about your life and your heart. Pass them through the scorching fire of flattery, and their purity will wither like this fragile blossom. And as for being handsome, are you more handsome than him?” I pointed to my husband who was at that moment courtesying to a most beautiful woman in the stately formality of the first quadrille. My young companion looked, and his clear eyes darkened enviously. “Ah, no! But if I wore such manly brocades and silks, and had such rich jewels, I might be more like him!”

I sighed bitterly. The poison had already entered this
boy’s soul. I spoke brusquely. “Pray that you may never be like him,” I said, with somber sternness, ignoring his look of astonishment. “You are young, you cannot yet have thrown off religion. When you go home tonight, kneel beside your bed, and pray with all your strength that you may never resemble, even in the smallest degree, that man, so that you may be spared his fate!” I paused, for the boy’s eyes were dilated in extreme wonder and fear. I looked at him, and laughed abruptly. “I forgot,” I said. “The man is my husband. I should have thought of that. I was speaking of another whom you do not know. Pardon me. When I am fatigued my memory wanders. Pay no attention to my foolish remarks. Enjoy yourself, but do not believe all the twitters and coquettery of young girls like the little Venetian duchess.
Arrivederci!”

Forcing a smile,
I left him to mingle with my guests, greeting one here, another there, jesting lightly, paying compliments to the men who expected them while striving to distract my thoughts with the senseless laughter and foolish chatter of the glittering cluster of people. And all the while, I desperately counted the tedious minutes, wondering whether my patience would until its destined time. As I made my way through the dazzling assemblage, Luciana Salustri greeted me with a grave smile.

“
I have had little time to congratulate you, contessa,” she said, “but I assure you I do so with all my heart. Even in my most fantastic dreams I have never pictured a handsomer hero than the man who is now your husband.”

I silently bowed my thanks.

“I am in a strange mood, I suppose,” she resumed. “Tonight this scene of splendor makes me sad at heart, and I do not know why. It seems too radiant, too astounding. I would as soon go home and read a good book.”

I
laughed satirically. “Why not do it?” I said. “You are not the first person who, being present at a wedding feast has had depressing thoughts, just as if you were a t a funeral!”

A wistful look came into h
er poetic eyes. “I have thought once or twice of that poor, misguided young woman, Beatrice Cardano. A pity, was it not, that you quarrelled the same night she died?”

“
A pity indeed!” I replied, brusquely. Then linking my arm with hers, I turned her around so that she faced my husband, who was standing not far off. “But look at the Roman god I have married! Is he not a good reason to cause a dispute? Why even bother to think of Beatrice at a time like this? She is not the first woman who has quarelled with another for the sake of a man, nor will she be the last!”

Luciana
shrugged her shoulders, and kept silent for a minute or two. Then she added with her own bright smile, “Still, it would have been better if it had ended cordially between you over a coffee. By the way, do you recall our talking of Cain and Abel that night?”

“
Perfectly.”

“
I have wondered ever since whether the real cause of their disagreement has ever been rightly told. I would not be at all surprised if one of these days someone does not discover a papyrus containing a missing page of Holy Writ, which will ascribe the reason of the first bloodshed to be over a love affair. Perhaps a woman drove the first pair of human brothers to desperation by her charms! What do you think?”

“
It is more than probable,” I answered, lightly. “Make a poem of it, Luciana and people might say you have improved on the Bible!”

I left
her to join other groups, and to take my part in the various dances which were now following quickly one after the another. The supper was to take place at midnight. At my first opportunity, I looked at the time. Quarter to eleven! My heart raced, and blood rushed to my temples and surged noisily in my ears. The hour I had waited for so long and so eagerly had come! At last!

Slowly, with a hesitating step, I approached my husband. He faced a young woman who leaned against the wall. With his right palm on the wall beside her head, he was leaning forward prepared to kiss her. We had only been married for a few hours and already he was ready to betray me.

I swallowed down my fury and pasted a false smile onto my face.
“Why there you are, Dario. I have been looking for you everywhere.”

He turned swiftly around, his face red with embarrassment.

The young woman, her face scarlet, gave me a quick curtsey and with a rustle of her skirts, disappeared into a crowd of people.

I gave Dario my coldest, most stern look.
“Permit me to remind you of your promise to come with me to see where I keep my treasures.”

His angry frown at being interrupted disappeared as he recalled our previous discussion. He gave me a warm smile.
“And I am impatient to fulfill it! Do we go now?”

“
Now, if you wish. You know the private passage through which we entered here on our return from church?”

“
Perfectly.”

“
Meet me there in twenty minutes. We must avoid being observed as we leave. But, make sure you wear something warm. In your room you will find a new cloak trimmed in sable. A small wedding gift.”

“
I am the most fortunate of men to have found such a considerate bride.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are we going far?”

“
No, not far.”

“
We will be back in time for the late meal, I hope?”

I bent my head.
“Naturally!”

He grinned.
“I am delighted with your mystery tonight,
cara
. A moonlight stroll with my bride! There is even a bright moon to light our way.”

“
Yes there is.” I gave him a seductive look as I ran my finger teasingly across his lips. “I promised to reveal everything to you this night – wealth, jewels, and your bride without glasses. You must trust me, for I promise you will not be disappointed. It will be a night to remember for the rest of your life.”

He took my hand and kissed my palm
with a lingering kiss emphasized by the heat in his eyes. “Then I look forward to our jaunt. I will meet you in twenty minutes at the passage you described. I promised the next dance to a young woman, and then I will leave to prepare to meet you.”

And he turned his attention
back to the dance floor where his eyes met with the same woman whom he had been about to kiss, who at that moment met his gaze and cast him a encouraging smile.

I watched him make his way to her
, and sweep her into his arms as they glided onto the dance floor.
Dance, Dario, dance, now while you still can.
Biting back the curse that rose to my lips, I hurried away. Up to my own room I rushed with feverish haste, full of impatience to be rid of the disguise I had worn so long.

Within a few minutes I stood before my mirror, transformed into my old self as nearly as possible. I could not alter the snowy whiteness of my hair, but I restyled it to the way I used to wear it in
the days before I was deemed to be dead with the plague. Because of the mask I had worn, my glasses had not been needed, and my eyes, densely brilliant, and fringed with the long lashes that had always been a distinguishing feature, shone with all the lustre of a strong and vigorous young woman. I straightened myself up to my full height, and studied my lithe, shapely body. I laughed aloud in the triumph of my womanhood. I thought of the old rag-dealing woman who had said,
You could kill anything easily
. And so I could, even without the the aid of a swift stiletto, which I now drew from its sheath and stared down at while I carefully felt the edge of the blade from hilt to point. Should I take it with me? I hesitated.
Si!
It might be needed. I slipped it safely and secretly into my purse.

And now the
items of proof. I had them all ready and gathered them quickly together. First the items that had been buried with me: the gold chain upon which hung the medallion with Dario and Chiara’s initials, the purse and card-case which Dario had given me, the crucifix the monk had laid on my breast in the coffin. The thought of that coffin moved me to a stern smile. That splintered, damp, and moldering piece of wood would speak for itself shortly. Lastly I look the letters sent me by the Gilda D’Avencorta, those beautiful, passionate love letters Dario had written to Beatrice Cardano when she was in Rome.

Now, was that all? I thoroughly searched both my rooms, ransacking every corner. I had destroyed everything that could give the smallest cl
ue to my actions. I left nothing behind except furniture and small valuables, a respectable gift to the landlord.

I glanced again at myself in the mirror.
Si
, in spite of my white hair, I was once more Carlotta Mancini. No one that had ever known me intimately could doubt my identity. I had changed my fancy ball gown for a simple everyday one. I placed my mask back on too. Over this I threw my long fur-lined cloak, which draped me from head to foot. I pulled its hood well over my head and over my eyes. There was nothing unusual in such a costume; it was common enough to many Vicenzians who have learned to dread the chill night winds that blow down from the Alps in early spring. Thus attired, I knew my features would be almost invisible to him, especially since our meeting place was the long dim passage lighted only by a single oil-lamp that led into a private garden, and far from any other entrances or exits to and from the building.

Into this hall I now hurried with an eager step. It was deserted. He was not there yet. Impatiently, I waited. The minutes seemed hours! Sounds of music floated toward me from the distant ballroom; a dreamy waltz. I could almost hear the
dancers’ steps. I was safe from all observation where I stood. The servants were busy preparing the marriage supper, and all the inhabitants of the hotel were absorbed in watching the festivities.

Would he never come? Suppose, after all my planning and scheming, he should escape me? I trembled at the idea, then put it from me with a smile at my own folly. No, his punishment was just, and in his case, fate would be inflexible. So I thought and felt.

I paced up and down feverishly. I could count the thick, heavy throbs of my own heart. How long the moments seemed! Would he never come? At last! I heard a rustling and a heavy step. A wisp of his spicy cologne wafted on the air. I turned, and saw him approaching. He came to me eagerly, his heavy cloak trimmed with rich Russian sable falling back from his shoulders and displaying a glimpse of his elegant clothes beneath. He resembled a Roman god, framed in ebony and velvet.

He laughed, and his eyes flashed saucily.
“Did I keep you waiting,
cara
?” he whispered and kissed the hand with which I held my cloak muffled about me. “I am so sorry I am a little late, but that last waltz was so exquisite I could not resist it; only I wish you had danced it with me.”