The Contessa's Vendetta (19 page)

The door creaked slowly open and my daughter stepped cautiously into the room. In the short span of time since I had seen her last, she had changed. Her face looked gaunt and she bore a miserable, frightened expression. The sparkle in her
eyes no longer existed and it disheartened me to see her stand there with an aura of pained resignation. No smile graced her lips and her chestnut tresses were unbound and uncurled. She wore a yellow satin gown with a long pointed bodice and matching satin petticoat. The many tiny pleats that gathered in her skirt showed wrinkles and several stains. It was obvious she had been neglected. She walked toward us as hesitantly, pausing partway into the room to give Beatrice an apprehensive look.

Beatrice met my daughter
’s gaze with a scornful smirk. “Come, Chiara!” she urged with a wave. “There is no reason to be frightened! I will not scold you unless you are naughty. What a silly girl. You look as if I am about to eat you up for dinner. Come and greet this woman. She knew your mama.”

At this, Chiara
’s eyes brightened. Her steps became more confident as she came to a stop before me and placed her hand in mine.

The feel of her soft, tentative fingers almost shattered me. I lifted her onto my lap. Under pretence of kissing her, I buried my face in her hair and inhaled the aroma of childhood. Tears pooled in my
eyes. Somehow, I managed to quell my emotions.

My poor, darling. I do not know how I maintained my composure under the power of her serious, but questioning gaze. She did not seem to be afraid of the black spectacles I wore and
seemed content to sit on my lap as she studied me intently.  

Dario and Beatrice observed her
with indifference, but she ignored them and kept on staring at me. A sweet smile dawned on Chiara’s face. Then she extended her arms, wrapped them around my neck, and kissed me.

At first, the affectionate peck on my cheek startled me, but intuitively, I pulled her tight to my heart and returned her embrace.

I stole a quick glance at Dario and Beatrice. Had they become suspicious? I discounted this thought. Beatrice herself had witnessed my burial. Reassured, I gave my child a warm smile. “You are a very charming young lady. I am told your name is Chiara, just like a pretty white star.”

She became pensive.
“Mama always said so too.”

“
Your mama spoiled you!” Dario interrupted. “You were never as naughty to her as you are to me.”

Chiara
’s bottom lip quivered, but she said nothing. 

“
Oh, goodness, naughty? You? I do not believe it,” I exclaimed. “All little stars are good and brilliant and serene, aren’t they?

She said not a word, but a deep sigh heaved
from her tiny breast. Leaning her head against my arm, she raised her big round eyes to me. “Have you seen my mama? Will she come home soon?”

Stunned, I could not answer, but Beatrice did, and roughly.
“Don’t be foolish. You know your mama has gone away forever. You were too naughty, so she will never come back again. Now she no longer has to endure your aggravating disobedience.”

What nasty words! At once, I comprehended the dire anguish my daughter must be suffering. They had convinced her that I had abandoned her because of her
behavior. Poor Chiara must have taken this to heart; brooding upon it in childish innocence, blaming herself, confused. Yet, whatever Chiara was thinking or feeling, she did not give vent to it by tears or words. Instead, she looked at Beatrice and gave her a haughty, scornful look – the Mancini look; a look I had often seen in my father’s eyes, and I knew were visible in my own from time to time.

Beatrice noticed it too and burst out laughing.
“There! Now she looks exactly like her mother. It is positively astounding – completely Carlotta! She only needs one thing to make the resemblance perfect.” Approaching Chiara, Beatrice snatched her dishevilled curls and twisted them up on top of her head.

Chiara
’s face reddened and she tried to escape Beatrice’s touch, hiding her face against me. The more she struggled, the more Beatrice tormented her. Her father did not interfere. All he did was laugh. 

I sheltered her in my embrace, and stifled my indignation.
“You must play gently and fairly, signorina!” I said to Beatrice. “An adult’s strength turns into bullying against a child’s innocence.”

Beatrice emitted a nervous, uncomfortable laugh, ceased her mischief, and walked to the window. I smoothed Chiara
’s tumbled hair. “This
bimba
will have her revenge when she grows up one day. She will remember how she was teased, and in return, may tease back. Do you not agree with me, Signore Gismondi?” 

Dario shrugged.
“I do not agree, contessa.
Si
, she will remember the woman who teased her, but she will also remember the other who was kind to her – yourself.”

Unused to being flattered by my own husband, I acknowledged the subtle compliment with an agreeable nod. Married couples are like candid friends, unafraid of speaking blatant truths to each other and avoiding the smallest morsel of flattery.

At that moment, Giacomo, my father’s chief steward and mine, stepped into the room to announce dinner.

I set my daughter down from my lap.
“I will come and see you again soon,” I whispered into her ear.

She beamed and then obeyed her father
’s gesture to leave the room.

I watched her every step as she strode from the room.
“What a charming child,” I praised as soon as she disappeared from sight. “As beautiful and as lovely as her mother was at the same age.”

My admiring comments received only a cold glare and no response from either my husband or his lover.

We all went in to dinner. As the guest, I had the privilege of being escorted by my spouse.

When we reached the
dining room, Dario paused. “You are such an old friend of the family, contessa, perhaps you will do me the honor of sitting at the head of the table.”

“
You pay me a great compliment, signore!” I responded as I sat in Dario’s place at the head of my own table. Beatrice sat on my right and Dario on my left. Giacomo stood as always behind my chair, and I noticed that each time he poured my wine, he studied me with nervous curiosity, but I wanted to believe it was my odd appearance that accounted for his curiosity.

On the wall directly facing me, hung my father
’s portrait. My disguise permitted me to look at it intently and give vent to the deep sigh that broke from my heart. My father’s eyes seemed to gaze into mine with heartbreaking compassion. I could envision his lips trembling in response to my sigh.

“
Is that a good likeness?” Beatrice asked.

Her question startled me and I quickly collected myself.
“The resemblance is so accurate that it arouses many memories in my mind, both bitter and sweet. Ah! The man was very proud.”

“
Carlotta was also very proud,” Dario said. “Indifferent and haughty, too.”

Liar! How dare he vilify my memory! Indifference was never in my nature, but now I wished that it had been. I should have been a block of ice incapable of thawing in the sunlight of his first smile. Had he forgotten all that I had done for him
, all that I had given him? What a poor fool I was to have believed in his hypocritical caresses and feigned love. “It surprises me to hear you say that. The Mancini family may be noble, but every member was always kind and respectful of everyone. I know my friend always treated her family and dependants gently and kindly.”

Giacomo coughed apologetically behind his hand. It was an old trick of his, which signified his
desire to speak.

Beatrice laughed, as she held out her glass for more wine.
“Giacomo remembers both the Mancinis. Ask him his opinion of Carlotta. He worshiped his mistress.” She took a sip as if it could hide her sarcasm. 

I turned to address Giacomo.
“I do not recognize you, my friend. Perhaps you were not here when I used to visit the elder Contessa Mancini?” This was an attempt on my part to dispel any suspicions he may have about my true identity.  

Giacomo rubbed his wrinkled hands nervously together.
“I came into my lady’s service only a year before the mother of the young countess died.” 

“
Ah, in that case, I missed making your acquaintance.” I pitied the gentle soul when I noticed his lips tremble and how he looked so forlorn. “You knew the last contessa from childhood, then?”

“
I most certainly did.” His watery eyes roamed over me inquisitively.

“
You loved her well?” I asked, watching him despite the hint of guilt I experienced at having to lie to this most caring, loyal servant. 

“
She was decency itself—an extraordinary, kind-hearted, generous woman. May the saints cherish her soul! Sometimes I cannot believe she is gone. My heart broke when I heard she died and I have never been the same since. My master will verify this; he is often dissatisfied with me.” Uncomfortable, he turned his wistful gaze to Dario.

My husband frowned. I once believed that he frowned whenever
he became irritated, but now I believed it was much more; it was a sign of his temper. “
Si
, indeed, Giacomo,” he said harshly. “You are growing so forgetful that it is quite annoying. I have to repeat myself several times when one command ought to suffice.”

Clearly troubled, Giacomo hung his head, sighed, and fell silent. Then, as if remembering his obligations, he refilled my glass, and retreated to his position behind my chair.

The conversation turned to mundane topics. Dario had always been an excellent talker, but this evening he surpassed himself. He was determined to charm me and spared nothing to succeed in his ambition. Witty remarks coupled with sharp satire and humorous stories briskly told, all flowed effortlessly from his lips. Although I knew him well, he surprised me with his glibness. I once thought him charming, even godly. Now, for the first time, I saw him for what he was – a devil disguised as an angel.

While he spoke, I noticed how Beatrice responded to his
allure. The brighter and more amiable he became, the more she became silent and sullen. I pretended not to notice her mounting tension and I continued to draw her into the conversation, forcing her to give opinions on various subjects. She hesitated to speak at all; and when compelled to do so, responded with abrupt, snappish retorts.

Dario finally laughed at her
gruff behavior. “You are quite ill-tempered this evening, Beatrice!” When he noticed he had addressed her informally, he turned to me. “I always call her Beatrice. She has always been like a sister to me.”

Beatrice glared at him and her
eyes flashed dangerously, but she kept her jaw tightly clenched and did not utter a word.

Dario seemed delighted in jabbing at her pride and vexing her.

She stared at him in reproach and he burst out laughing.

Rising from the table, Dario made us a gallant bow.
“I will leave you two ladies to finish your wine together. I know women love to share a little gossip and talk a little scandal. Afterward, please join me for a coffee on the veranda.” 

I watched as he strode from the room grinning
after he poured more wine in our glasses. Beatrice sullenly eyed her reflection in the polished rim of a silver fruit-dish on the table in front of her. Giacomo had left the room earlier and we found ourselves entirely alone.

I pondered my vendetta for a moment or two
. The game held me in its fascination as if I played a shrewd game of chess. With the thoughtfulness of a cautious player, I made my next move. “What a fascinating man!” I murmured before taking a sip of my wine. “Very intelligent too! I admire your taste in men,
signorina
!”

She seemed startled.
“What do you mean?”

I gave her my most benevolent smile.
“Ah, young blood,” I sighed. “Do not be ashamed of your feelings. Anyone who fails to appreciate the affections of so ardent an admirer is truly a fool. Not every woman is lucky enough to have such a good chance at happiness.”

“
Do you think...you believe that...that I—”

“
That you are in love with him?” I said. “Most certainly I do. And why should you not love him? I am sure that the late contessa would be pleased to see her handsome widower wed her best friend. Permit me to congratulate you and wish you all the success in your love.” I took another sip of my wine. Pathetic fool! I had completely disarmed her and I could see any suspicions she harboured against me melted away like night’s mist in morning light.

Her expression
turned more cheerful. She took my hand and pressed it warmly. “Forgive me, contessa. I fear I have been impolite and distant this evening. You have made me feel better. You may think of me as envious and silly, but I truly believed you were attracted to him. In fact, please forgive me, but I was daydreaming about how to...to kill you.”