The Contessa's Vendetta (42 page)

His dark
eyes sparkled with gratitude as I spoke, and setting the valise down on the ground, he stretched out his hand half timidly, half frankly. I placed my hand in his and he kissed it. Then I bade him farewell.

“
I seem to be at a loss for words,” he said, with a sort of shamefaced eagerness, “There is so much more I ought to say to you, contessa, but for my life I cannot find the right words. I must thank you better when I see you next.”

“
Si
,” I answered wearily. “When you see me next, you may thank me if you wish, but believe me, I need no thanks.”

I watched him leave knowing we would never meet again – he to his life of wind and se
a, and I to—but I refuse to look ahead too far into the future. Rather, I preferred to go step by step through the labyrinths of my memory, over the old ground wet with blood and tears, not missing one detail on my dreary path towards the bitter end.

Later that
evening I met with Paolo. He was melancholy and reserved, a mood which was the result of an announcement I had previously made to him, namely, that his services and those of Santina would not be required during my wedding-trip. He had hoped they would both accompany me, a hope which had partially soothed his vexation over my marrying at all.

His plans were now
foiled, and if ever the good-natured fellow could be irritable, he was assuredly so on this occasion. He stood before me with his usual respectful air, but he avoided my glance, and kept his eyes fixed on the pattern of the carpet. 

“
Paolo! Joy comes at last, you see, even to me! Tomorrow I shall wed Dario Gismondi, the handsomest and perhaps the richest man in all of Vicenza!”

“
I know, contessa,” he said with the same obstinate expression and downward gaze.

“
You are not pleased at the prospect of my happiness?” I asked.

He glanced up for an instant, then as quickly
looked down again.

“
If only one could be certain that you would indeed be happy,” he answered, dubiously.

“
And you are not sure?”

He paused, then replied firmly
, ““No, contessa. You do not look happy. Instead, you seem sorrowful and ill.”

I shrugged my shoulders indifferently.
“You are wrong, Paolo. I am well and very happy. Who could be happier? But my health or happiness matter nothing to me, and should matter even less to you. Listen, I have something I wish you to do for me.”

He gave me a sidelong
, half-expectant glance.

“
Tomorrow evening I want you to go to Venice.”

He was utterly astonished.
“To Venice?”

“
Si
, to Venice,” I repeated, somewhat impatiently. “You and Santina. There is nothing surprising in that. You will take a letter from me to Signora Monti. Paolo, you have been faithful and loyal so far, and I continue to expect implicit fidelity. You will not be needed here tomorrow after the masquerade ball has begun. You and Santina can go directly to Venice, and I want you to remain there till you receive further news from me. You will not have to wait long, and in the meantime,” I smiled, “you can pay your respects to the lovely Lilla.”

Paolo
did not return the smile. “But—but,” he stammered, perplexed, “if we go to Venice, we will not be able to wait upon the contessa. There is the portmanteau to pack, and who will see to the luggage when you leave on Friday morning for Rome?” He stopped, his vexation was too great to allow him to proceed.

I laughed gently.

“How many more trifles can you think of, my friend, to oppose my wishes? As for the portmanteau, you can pack it today. Then it will be ready. The rest of your duties can, for once, be performed by others. It is not only important, but imperative that you go to Venice on my errand. I want you to take this with you.” I tapped a small square iron box, heavily made and strongly padlocked, which stood on the table near me.

He glanced at the box, but
hesitated, and his gloomy expression deepened.

I grew a little annoyed.
“What is the matter with you?” I said sternly. “If you have something you wish to say to me, then please, say it!”

My irritation
startled him. He looked up with bewildered pain in his eyes, and spoke with an eloquent appeal. “Contessa, you must forgive me if I seem too bold, but I am true to you and would go with you to death if need be. I am not blind, I can see how you suffer, though you try to hide it well. I have often watched you when you did not know it. I believe you have a wound in your heart, and it is bleeding, always bleeding. Such a wound often leads to death, just as if it were an arrow to the heart. Let me watch over you, contessa; let me stay with you. I am very fond of you.”

He
stepped closer and placed his tentative hand on mine. “You do not know the look that is in your face sometimes. It is the look of one who has been stunned by a hard blow. You are even sadder than before, and the look I speak of appears more often.
Si
, I have watched you, and lately I have seen you writing far into the night, when you should have been sleeping. Ah, contessa! I can see you are angry with me now, and I know I should not have spoken so openly, but tell me, how can I go to Lilla and be happy when I know that you are alone and sad?”

I withdrew my hand from his clasp
to stop his revelations. “I am not angry,” I said, with quiet steadiness, and yet with a touch of coldness, though his expressions of affection had deeply stirred me. “No, I am not angry, but I am sorry to have been the object of so much anxiety on your part. Your pity is misplaced, Paolo, it is indeed. Do not pity me. I assure you that tomorrow I will have won all that I have ever sought. My greatest desire will be fulfilled. Believe it. No woman has ever been so thoroughly satisfied as I shall be!”

Then seeing him
still look sad and incredulous, I clapped my hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Come, wear a merry face for my bridal day. I thank you from my heart.” I gave him a grave look. “For your well meant care and kindness, I assure you there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly well and happy. So, I can depend on you to go to Venice tomorrow evening?”

Paolo
sighed, but was passive. “It will be as you please,” he murmured, resigned to my request.

“
Good. Now that you know my wishes, please ensure nothing interferes with your departure. And, please do me one more favor. Please cease to watch me. Plainly speaking, I do not like being under your scrutiny. No, I am not offended. Far from it. Loyalty and devotion are excellent virtues, but in my case I prefer obedience – strict and implicit obedience. Whatever I may do, whether I sleep or wake, walk or sit still, go about your duties and pay no attention to me or anything that I may say or do. That is how you can best help me. Do you understand?”

“
Si
, contessa.” He sighed again, and reddened with his own inward confusion. “You will forgive me, contessa, for being so forthright? I feel I have done wrong—”

“
I forgive you for something that never needs to be pardoned – an excess of love. Knowing you love me, I ask you to obey me in my present wishes, and thus we shall always be friends.”

His face brightened at these last words, and his thoughts turned in a new direction. He glanced at the iron box I had pointed out to him.
“That is to go to Venice, contessa?” he asked, with more alacrity than he had yet shown.

“
Si
,” I answered. “You will place it in the hands of Signora Monti, for whom I have a great respect. She will take care of it till I return.”

“
I shall do as you wish, contessa,” he said, rapidly, as though eager to atone for his past hesitation. “After all,” he smiled, “it will be pleasant to see Lilla. She will want to hear a full accounting of your wedding.”

S
omewhat consoled by the prospect of seeing Lilla, he then left me. Shortly afterward I heard him humming a popular love-song while he packed my portmanteau for the honeymoon trip, a portmanteau destined never to be used or opened by its owner.

That night,
in contrast to my usual practice, I lingered for a long time over my dinner. Afterwards, I poured two full glasses of fine wine. Secretly, I mixed a dose of a tasteless opiate into them. I invited Paolo and Santina to join me and bade them drink it to privately celebrate my nuptials before they left for Venice. They both drained the contents to the last drop as we celebrated.

Outside, a tempest blustered
with high winds and heavy, sweeping gusts of rain. Santina cleared the dinner-table, yawning as she did so. As usual, Paolo took my mantle and went to his bedroom, a small one adjoining Santina’s, to brush off any dust and dirt from it. 

I opened a book, and pretending to be absorbed in
the story, waited patiently for about half an hour. Then I went softly to their bedroom doors and looked in. It was as I had expected; overcome by the sleeping opiate, Santina now lay on her bed in a profound slumber. Paolo too, lay in his bed in his room, the unbrushed mantle by his side. I smiled as I watched them; my faithful servants could not follow me tonight.

I left
them to their slumber, and wrapping myself in a thick cloak that muffled me almost to the eyes, I hurried out into the dark storm toward the cemetary, the abode of the dead. Fortunately I met no one on the way. I had work to do there. Work that must be done. I knew that if I had not taken the precaution of drugging my devoted servants, Paolo might, despite his protestations, have been tempted to follow me. As it was, I felt I would be safe for at least four hours, when the opiate would wear off and Paolo and Santina would wake up.

I arrived at the crypt and went to work.
Though I worked as quickly as possible, it took me longer than I thought. Hatred and reluctance slowed me down. This was a gruesome, ghastly work of preparation, and when I finished it to my satisfaction, I felt as though the bony fingers of death itself had been plunged into my very marrow. I shivered with cold, my limbs would scarce bear me upright, and my teeth chattered as though I were seized by strong fever. But the importance of my task kept me motivated and working until all was completed, until the stage was ready for the last scene of the tragedy. Or comedy? Betrayal by a spouse is a more bitter evil than death.

When I returned from my
dismal walk through the lashing storm I found Paolo still fast asleep. I was glad, for had he seen me in my plight, he would have had good reason to be alarmed concerning both my physical and mental condition. I caught a glimpse of myself in the looking glass, and recoiled at the horrible image that reflected back at me. My eyes appeared haunted and hungry eyes as they gleamed out from under a mass of disordered white hair. My pale, haggard face was set and stern. Glittering raindrops dripped from my dark cloak. Dirt and mud stained my hands and nails, and my shoes were heavy with sludge and clay. By my entire appearance and demeanor, it was obvious I had been engaged in some abhorrent deed too repulsive to be named.

I stared at my own reflection and shuddered
. Then I laughed softly with a sort of fierce enjoyment. Quickly I threw off all my soiled garments, and locked them out of sight. Arraying myself in dressing-gown and slippers, I glanced at the time. It was half-past one. The morning of my wedding! I had been absent three hours and a half.

I went into my salon and remained there writing. A few minutes after two o
’clock, the door opened noiselessly, and a very sleepy Paolo appeared with an expression of inquiring anxiety. He smiled drowsily, and seemed relieved to see me sitting quietly in my accustomed place at the writing-table. I surveyed him with an air of affected surprise. “Paolo! What has become of you all this time?”

“
It was the wine,” he stammered. “I am not used to drinking. I have been asleep.”

I laughed, pretended to stifle a yawn
, and rose from my easy-chair.

“
Truly, so have I,” I said, lightly, “And if I want to be a radiant bride, it’s time I went to bed.
Buona notte,
Paolo.”

“
Buona notte,
contessa.”

And we
both retired to rest; he satisfied that I had been in my own room all evening, and I, overjoyed with what I had prepared out there in the darkness, without a single witness except for the whirling wind and rain.