The Contessa's Vendetta (28 page)

I intended
to prepare an elegant feast for the party to honor Beatrice. I had requisitioned all the best resources. The villa’s cook had transferred her daily work to her underlings, and focused her culinary intelligence solely on producing the magnificent dinner I had ordered. Paolo, in spite of himself, broke into exclamations of wonder and awe as he listened to and wrote down my orders for different wines of the rarest kinds and choicest vintages. The servants rushed about to obey my various requests with looks of immense importance. Santina, took the setting of the table under her scrutiny. The talk everywhere was all about the grandeur of my forthcoming feast.

About six o
’clock I sent a male servants with the carriage to meet Beatrice as I had arranged. Then, I checked the dining hall to ensure the scenery, side-lights, and general effects were all in working order. The room was octagonal in shape, not too large, and I had it exquisitely decorated for the occasion. The walls were hung with draperies of gold-colored silk and crimson velvet and  interspersed with long mirrors ornamented with crystal candelabra, in which twinkled hundreds of lights under rose-tinted glass shades. At the back of the room there was a small conservatory full of rare ferns and subtly perfumed exotic plants, in the center of which a fountain flowed melodiously. Here, later on, a band of stringed instruments and a boys’ choir would perform, so that sweet music might be heard without the performers being visible. One of the long French windows of the room was left uncurtained, simply draped with velvet as one drapes a painting, and through it my guests would be able to enjoy a perfect view of Vicenza in the wintery moonlight.

The dinner-table, laid for fifteen persons, glittered with silver cutlery, Venetian glass, and rare flowers grown in elite conservatories. The floor was carpeted with velvet pile, in which some grains of ambergris had been scattered
. When walking over it, one’s feet sunk into the softness, rich with the perfume of spring blossoms. The very chairs where my guests would sit were luxurious and softly stuffed, so that they could lean back or recline at ease. Everything was arranged with a lavish splendor befitting the banquet of the highest nobility, and yet with such accurate taste that no detail was omitted.

I was more than satisfied
and returned to my room where Santina waited to help me dress for the party. Afterwards, I returned to the dining hall where I found Paolo wiping water stains from crystal wine glasses set on a tray on a sideboard.

“
Paolo!”

He
tensed. “Contessa?”

“
Tonight you will stand behind my chair and assist in serving the wine.”

“
Si
, contessa.”

“
You will attend particularly to Sigorina Cardano, who will sit at my right hand. The rare wine in the cabinet I showed you earlier is meant only for her and no one else, not even me.”

“
Of course, contessa.”

“
And take care to ensure that her glass is never empty.”

“As you wish, contessa.”

“
Whatever may be said or done,” I went on, quietly, “you will show no sign of alarm or surprise. From the start of dinner, unless I tell you otherwise, your place is to remain by me, serving only Signorina Cardano.”

He
looked a little puzzled. “
Si
, contessa.”

I smiled, and advancing, laid my hand on his arm.
“Is the rare wine bottle wiped down and set out, Paolo?”

“
It is ready, contessa,” he replied. “It sits ready in your cabinet.”

“
Good. You can leave me now and arrange the salon to receive my friends,” I said with a satisfied gesture.

I looked into a gilded mirror that hung on one wall and studied my appearance, which I
had take particular care with. For this evening, I had commissioned a most extravagant gown in a silver-colored silk embroidered with a rich, floral pattern in gold and silver thread. Gems and pearls decorated the entire gown from bodice to hem. Tiers of delicate gold cloth formed my sleeves, which ran to my elbows. Around my neck I wore gold choker with a pear shaped pendant studded with diamonds. A set of matching earings decorated my ears. A jeweled and feathered hair ornament in my neatly coifed hair matched the color of my gown. The dress was a work of art in itself. The garment became me, almost too well I thought. It would have been better for my purposes if I could have appeared older and more serious.

While I waited, I sat and
quietly read a book.

I had scarcely finished
reading the first page when the rumbling of wheels in the courtyard outside made the hot blood rush to my face, and my heart beat with feverish excitement. I waited in the room, composed. The doors were flung open and a servant announced Signorina Cardano.

She entered smiling, her face alight with good humor and
enthusiasm. She looked more beautiful than usual wearing a new mantle and matching travelling gown the color of the reddest wine. How appropriate and ironic for what was to come this evening, I thought.

“
Here I am,” she exclaimed, taking my hands enthusiastically in her own. “My dear contessa, I am delighted to see you! What an excellent friend you are! A generous-hearted woman who always strives to make others happy. And how are you? You look remarkably well!”

“
I can return the compliment,” I said, gaily. “You are more radiant than ever.”

She laughed, well pleased, and sat down, drawing off her gloves and loosening her traveling cloak. 

“Well, I suppose plenty of money puts a woman in good spirits and health,” she replied. “But dear contessa, you are beautifully dressed for dinner, and I am still in my travelling clothes. I am positively unfit to be in your company! You insisted that I should come to you directly on my arrival, but I really must change my clothes. Your man took my valise; in it are my dress-clothes for this evening. I shall not be long in putting them on.”

“
I know how you enjoy a glass a wine before dinner. Share one with me first,” I said, pouring out some of her favorite wine. I glanced at the cabinet where the special wine waited.
Soon, my dear Beatrice, very soon you will enjoy the finest of wines; a bottle I have already opened and prepared solely for you.
“There is plenty of time. It is barely seven, and we do not dine till eight.”

She took the wine from my hand and smiled.

I returned the smile. “It gives me great pleasure to receive you, Beatrice! I have been impatient for your return, almost as impatient as—”

She paused in the act of drinking, and her
eyes flashed delightedly. “As Dario has been? How I long to see him again! I swear to you, I would have gone straight to the Villa Mancini had I heeded my own desire, but I promised you I would come here first. The evening you have planned will do just as well,” she laughed with a covert meaning in her laughter, “perhaps even better!”

My hands clinched.
“Why certainly. The evening will be much better,” I said with forced gaiety. “You will find him the same as ever, perfectly well and perfectly charming. It must be his sincerity and clear conscience that makes him even more handsome. It may be a relief for you to know I am the only woman he has allowed to visit him during your absence!”

“
Thank goodness for that!” Beatrice devoutly sipped her wine. “And now tell me, my dear contessa, who is coming tonight? After all I am more in the mood for dinner than romance!”

I burst out laughing harshly.
“Of course! Every sensible woman prefers a delightful meal to a good man! Who are my guests you ask? I believe you know them all. First, there is Federica Marina.”

“
Federica? Goodness!” interrupted Beatrice. “A haughty woman who challenges anything or anyone. Can she lower herself enough to share a meal with all of us?

I
ignored this interruption. “Anna Fraschetti and Emilia Giulano will also join us.”

Beatrice laughed.
“Emilia drinks too much, and if she mixes her wines, she may strike out at any of the servers before the dinner is half over.”

“
In drinking and mixing wines,” I returned, coolly, “she will but imitate your own example,
cara mia
.”

“
Ah, but I can tolerate it!” she said. “She cannot! Few women in Vicenza are like me!”

I watched her narrowly, and went on with the list of my invited guests.
“After these, comes Louisa Freccia.”

“
What! That raging bible devourer?” exclaimed Beatrice. “Every second word that comes out of her mouth is religious in some way.”

“
And the illustrious Cristina Dulci and Antonia Biscardi, aspiring artists like yourself,” I continued.

She frowned slightly
, and then smiled. “There was a time when I envied their talent. Now I can afford to be generous. They are welcome to the whole field of art as far as I am concerned. I have said farewell to the brush and palette. I shall never paint again.”

True enough, I thought, eying the shapely white hand with which she stroked her cheek; the same hand on which my family diamond ring glittered like a star. She looked up suddenly.

“Go on, contessa, I am all impatience. Who comes next?”

“
More haughty mannered women, as I suppose you would call them,” I answered. “Gilda D’Avencorta and Eugenia d’Angelo.”

Beatrice looked astonished.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “They are the most bitter of enemies. Together in one room? Your choice surprises me.”

“
I thought they were your friends,” I said, composedly. “If you remember, you introduced me to them. As for their enmity, my dinner table is no battlefield and will scarcely encourage any bitter discussions between them.”

Beatrice laughed.
“Well, no, but these young women would love to make it one. They will pick a quarrel for the mere lifting of an eyebrow. And the rest of your guests?”

“
Are the inseparable sisters, Carla and Francesca Respetti, Elizabetta Mancona, Luciana Salustri, poet and musician, and the fascinating Ippolita Gualdro, whose conversation, as you know, is very charming. I have only to add,” and I smiled half mockingly, “the name of Beatrice Cardano, a most true and loyal friend, and the party is complete.”

“
Fifteen in all including yourself,” said Beatrice counting them on her fingers. “With such good company and a hostess who will entertain us like queens, we shall have a grand evening. And did you organize this banquet, merely to welcome back so unworthy a person as myself?”

“
Solely and entirely for that reason,” I replied. “And to introduce you into the higher ranks of society now that you are a wealthy woman.”

She jumped up from her chair and clapped her two hands on my shoulders.
“But why, in the name of the saints or the devil, have you taken such an interest in me?”

“
Why have I taken such an interest in you?” I repeated, slowly. “My dear Beatrice, I am surely not alone in my admiration. Doesn’t everyone like you? Are you not a favorite at dinner parties and social gatherings? Have you not told me that your late friend the Contessa Mancini held you as her dearest friend in all the world after her husband? Why do you underrate yourself?”

She let her hands fall slowly from my shoulders and a look of pain contracted her features. After a little silence she said,
“Carlotta again! How her name and memory haunt me! I told you she was a fool. It was part of her foolishness that she loved me too well, perhaps. Do you know I have thought of her often lately?”

“
Indeed?” and I feigned to be absorbed in straightening a ribbon on my sleeve. “Why is that?”

A
serious, meditative look softened the usually defiant brilliancy of her eyes. “I saw my uncle die,” she continued, speaking in a low tone. “He was an old man and had very little strength left, yet his battle with death was horrible! I still see him, his yellow convulsed face, his twisted limbs, his claw-like hands tearing at the empty air, the ghastly grim and dropped jaw, the wide-open glazed eyes! It sickened me!”

“
Well, well!” I said in a soothing way, still busy with arranging my ribbon. I secretly wondered what new emotion was at work in the volatile mind of my victim. “No doubt it was distressing to witness, but you could not have been very sorry. He was an old man, and, though it is an experience not worth repeating, we must all die.”

“
Sorry?” exclaimed Beatrice, talking more to herself than to me. “I was glad! He was an old scoundrel, deep into every sort of social villainy. No, I was not sorry, but as I watched him in his frantic struggle, fighting furiously for each fresh gasp of breath, I do not know why, but I thought of Carlotta.”

Profoundly astonished, but concealing my
shock beneath an air of indifference, I laughed. “Upon my word, Beatrice! Pardon me for saying so, but the air of Rome seems to have somewhat obscured your mind! I confess I cannot follow your meaning.”