The Contessa's Vendetta (47 page)

As he stood with his eyes closed, I slipped from his arms and
went to stand behind him. From a pocket inside my mantle, I removed a dark silk scarf and blindfolded him with it.

“
This must be quite a surprise to need a blindfold,” he said with just a hint of nervous lust in his voice.

“
The blindfold is part of the surprise,” I replied. “Do not worry. You trust me, don’t you?”

He gave a slight grin.
“You know I do,” he said.

“
Are you certain you cannot see anything?”

“
Nothing at all,” he said

I came back around to face him and placed my hand on his hear
t. It was pounding with potential possibilities. I waved my fingers in front of his face, but he gave me no reaction. Satisfied, I lead him further into the vault. “Put out your hands,” I asked.

He did so almost eagerly and I bound them snugly together in front of him with a strip of silk fabric. I guided him closer to the wall and bade him sit on a small stool I had placed there; another carefully chosen item I had placed there
last night. I took his bound hands in mine and raised them above his head. From a hook high above I hung a longer silk scarf and tied it strongly to the scarves that bound his hands. Then to reassure him, I leaned forward and kissed him with depth and passion. When I pulled away, I could see his smile. I brought my hand to his chest and stroked it across him, down his torso. Sweat beaded on his forehead as I trailed my hand over his manhood, already hard against his breeches. And then I stopped.

“
Do not stop. I want you,” he whispered huskily.

“
And you shall have me.”

“
Hurry,” he said, his breathing ragged. He leaned back and sighed. I could tell he was trying to calm himself, trying to restrain his need. I could smell his scent, the taste of his mouth lingered on my lips.

“
Very well.” One by one, I lit all the remaining candles until the light within the enclosed space was dazzling. Then I reached behind his head, and removed his blindfold.

He looked at me first, his cheeks flushed with desire, and then he looked about the room. S
uddenly, and with a violent shock, he realized the gloom of his surroundings. The yellow flare of the waxen torches revealed the stone niches, the tattered palls, the decaying trophies of armor, the dreary shapes of worm-eaten coffins. His eyes widened with horror and he sat as immovable as a statue clad in coat of mail.  

“
This is a vault! A tomb! A place for the dead! Get me out of here—” He broke off abruptly, his alarm increasing at my utter silence. He gazed up at me with wild eyes. “Who in their right mind would come here on a wedding night? You told me you were taking me to where you stored your wealth. I demand to know what this is all about.” His anxiety forced his voice to become louder; his chest heaved convulsively with a fear I could see he was trying hard to disguise.

“
Hush. Have patience and keep your voice down. Consider where you are. You have guessed right. This is a vault, your own mausoleum, the burial crypt of the Mancini family and their spouses.” I spoke in measured accents, tinged with some contempt.

At these words
, he froze and he stared at me with a mixture of both shock and wonder.

“
Here lie all the great ancestors of your wife’s family, heroes and martyrs in their day,” I went on with methodical deliberation. “Here your own flesh will moulder. Here,” and my voice grew deeper and more resolute, “six months ago, your wife herself, Carlotta Mancini, was buried.”

He
uttered no sound, but gazed at me like a handsome pagan god turned to stone. Having spoken thus far, I now held my silence, watching the effect of all that I had said, for I sought to torture the very nerves of his soul.

At last
his dry lips parted. His voice was hoarse and indistinct. “You must be mad!” he said, with smothered anger and horror in his tone. “Untie me and get me out of here!” He glanced about him with a shudder. “Let’s leave this horrible place. As for the jewels, if this is where you keep them, leave them here. We can send someone to fetch them tomorrow. Come on!”

I
raised my hand to stop his ranting and pointed to a dark object lying on the ground near us—my own broken coffin “Look!” I said in a thrilling whisper. “What is this? Examine it well. It is a coffin of the flimsiest wood, a plague coffin! What does this painted inscription say? No, don’t turn your head away. Look at it! It bears your wife’s name. She was buried in it. Then how did it come open? And where is she who is supposed to be inside?”

He shifted uncomfortably where he sat.
A new and overwhelming terror had taken instant possession of him. Mechanically and with shock, he repeated my words. “Where is she? Where is she?”

“
Yes, where exactly is she?” My voice rang out through the hollow vault, its emotion no longer restrained. “Where is she? The poor, miserable, gullible victim, whose treacherous husband played the philanderer under her very roof, while she loved and blindly trusted him. Where is she?” I banged my fist against my breast. “Here, here! I promised you should see me as I am. I swore to grow young tonight for your sake. Now I keep my word. Look at me, Dario! Look at me, my twice-wedded husband. Look at me! Do you not recognize your own wife?”

Throwing
my dark hood back and removing my mask, I stood before him undisguised. As though some defacing disease had swept over him at my words, so his handsomeness suddenly vanished. His face became drawn and pinched and almost old. His lips turned blue, his eyes grew glazed and strained to stare at me. There was a gasping rattle in his throat as he turned away from me with a convulsive gesture of aversion to avoid my gaze.

“
No!” he shouted. “Not Carlotta! It is impossible. Carlotta is dead, dead! And you! You are a madwoman. This is some cruel joke of yours; some sick trick!”

He
broke off breathlessly, and his large, terrified eyes wandered to mine again with a reluctant and awful wonder. He struggled to free himself, but I had tied him well. I approached, and stood silently before him. He regarded me with a searching, anguished look, first of doubt, then of dread, and lastly of convinced and hopeless certainty. He suddenly closed his eyes as though to shut out some repulsive object, and then broke out in a low wail like that of a man in bitter physical pain.

I laughed scornfully.
“Well, do you know me at last?” I cried. “It is true that I am somewhat altered. My hair was once black, if you remember, but it is pure white now, blanched by the horrors of a living death such as you cannot imagine, but which,” and I spoke more slowly and impressively, “you will experience yourself soon. Yet in spite of all these changes to my appearance, I think you know me. That is good. I am glad your memory serves you thus far!”

A low sound that was half a
groan and half a yelp broke from him. “Oh, no, no!” he muttered, again. “This is some vile plot. This cannot be true!”

I s
tepped closer to him. “Listen to me,” I said, in clear, decisive tones. “I have kept silent, God knows, and patient, but now, it is my turn to speak.
Si
, you thought me dead. You had every reason to think so. You had every proof to believe so. How happy my supposed death made you. What a relief it was to you. What an obstruction removed from your path. But I was not dead. I was buried alive!”

He inhaled a sharp breath and
looking wildly about, strove to wrench his hands free. “Think of it, husband of mine, you to whom luxury has been second nature, think of my poor body straightened, packed and pressed into yonder coffin and nailed up tight, shut out from the blessed light and air forever! Who could have dreamed that life still lingered in me, life still strong enough to split open the boards that enclosed me, and leave them shattered, as you see them now!”

He
shuddered and glanced with aversion toward the broken coffin, and yanked hard to loosen his hands. He looked at me with a burning anger in his face. “Let me go!” he panted. “You are a madwoman! Liar! Let me go!”

I stood erect, regarding
him fixedly. “I am no madwoman,” I said, composedly. “I am Carlotta Mancini. You know as well as I do that I speak the truth. When I escaped from that coffin I found myself a prisoner in this very vault, this house of my perished ancestors who lived their lives with truth and honor. How they would recoil from your polluted presence.”

He
fixed his eyes on mine; they glittered defiantly.

“
For one long awful night, I suffered here. I might have starved or perished of thirst. I thought no agony could surpass what I endured, but I was mistaken. There was an even greater torment in store for me. I discovered a way of escape, and with grateful tears I thanked God for my liberty, for my life. What a fool I was though, for I never imagined how those who professed to love me wanted me dead. How could I have known that I would have been better off dead than to have returned home!”

His
lips moved, but he uttered no word. He shivered as though with intense cold. I drew nearer to him. “Perhaps you doubt my story?”

H
e gave me no answer.

A rapid fury possessed me.
“Speak!” I cried, fiercely. “Or by God, I will make you speak!” I drew the stiletto out of my purse. “Speak the truth for once. It will be difficult for someone like you, a man who loves lies, but this time, you
will
answer me. Tell me, do you know me? Do you, or do you not believe that I am indeed your wife, your living wife, Carlotta Mancini?”

He
gasped for breath. The sight of my infuriated face, the glitter of naked steel before his eyes, the suddenness of my action, the horror of his vulnerability, all terrified him into speech. He found his voice at last. “Mercy, Carlotta! “Oh, God! Surely you don’t intend to kill me? Anything, anything but death. I am too young to die!
Si, Si,
I know you are Carlotta, my wife, whom I thought dead. You said you loved me today, when you married me! Why did you marry me? I was already your husband. Why?” And then his eyes widened as he comprehended. “I see, I understand it all now! But do not kill me, Carlotta. I am afraid to die!”

I detested his grovelling.
As quickly calmed as I had been stirred into fury, I put back the stiletto. I softened my voice and spoke with mocking courtesy. “Rest easy,” I said, coolly. “I have not the slightest intention of killing you. I am no vulgar murderer. You forget, I may be a passionate woman, but I am also a woman of finess, especially when it pertains to matters of vengeance. I brought you here to tell you of my existence, and to confront you with the proof. We have plenty of time to talk. With a little patience I shall make things clear to you!”

He
nodded, lifting his eyes to mine with a long, shuddering sigh.

I knelt by his side, pressed my face close to his, and laughed.
“What! No loving words for me? Not one kiss, not one smile, not one word of welcome? You say you know me. Well, are you not glad to see your wife? You who were such an inconsolable widower?”

His face twitched
, but he said nothing.

“
There is more to tell,” I said. “When I broke loose from the coffin, when I came home, I found my vacant post as mistress of my villa already occupied. I arrived in time to witness a very pretty pastoral play. The scene was in the avenue of Villa Mancini and the actors were you, my husband, and Beatrice, my best friend!”

He
raised his head and uttered a low exclamation of shock.

I
paced a step or two and spoke more rapidly. “There was moonlight, and the song of nightingales.
Si,
the stage effects were perfect. I watched the progress of the comedy with great emotion, as you can imagine. I learned much that was news to me. I became aware that for a man of your large heart and sensitive feelings, one wife was not sufficient.” I laid my hand on his shoulder and gazed into his face, while his eyes, dilated with shock, stared hopelessly up to mine. “And that within three short months of your marriage to me you took up a lover.”

He shook his head.

“No, do not bother to deny it. Beatrice Cardano was a wife to you in all things but name. But I mastered the situation. I rose to the emergency. Trick for trick, comedy for comedy. You know the rest. As Contessa Corona you cannot deny that I acted my part well. For the second time, however, it was I who courted you, but only half as eagerly as you courted me. And I have married you for the second time. No one can deny that you are most thoroughly mine—mine, body and soul, till death do us part!”

And I loosened my grasp of
him. He writhed away from me as if he were a wounded serpent. His features were rigid and wax-like like those of a corpse. Only his dark eyes shone, and these gleamed with an evil luster. I moved away, and turning my own coffin on its side, sat down upon it as indifferently as though it were an easy-chair in a drawing-room. Glancing at him then, I saw a wavering light upon his face. Some idea had entered into his mind. He watched me carefully, with a tinge of fear. I made no attempt to stir from the seat I occupied.