The Marriage Market (25 page)

James said, “Thank you, Mr. Benelli, but I fear that I enjoyed your fine wine rather too much at dinner, so I will not overdo this delicious liqueur.  You will have to tell me where to purchase a bottle to bring home.”  The ladies also declined a second glass, but Stephano helped himself to another.

“So, Mr. Wovington, what will you do while you are on holiday?” Clara asked.

“I have not made any plans yet, Mrs. Benelli.  I have never been to Italy before, and I had hopes that Jemma might be my guide.”

Stephano cleared his throat.  “You should not waste anymore time in the country, Wovington.  You must go to Rome to see the important sights.  A friend of mine conducts tours there.  I will write to him.  He will take you to the best places and show you what the tourists don’t get to see.  You should go soon before the weather is too cold.  That would be the best plan.”

James contemplated him for a moment.  “That is a very kind offer, Mr. Rossi, but I do not plan to go as far as Rome.”  He turned to Jemma.  “I had hoped that you would show me Florence, my dear.  I would like to see where you used to live, the market where you bought your food, and your favourite shops.  I have heard of the city’s beauty, and I would like to see something of your old life.  Will you take me?”

Jemma smiled at him and nodded.  “I would like to show you Florence, James.  I was very happy there, once.”

Clara winked at her husband and steered the conversation to Cecilia’s upcoming nuptials.  Stephano remained hunched in his corner, mechanically refilling his glass when it was empty.  Suddenly, he stood.

“It is getting late and you will have to be back before they lock the door at the inn, Wovington,” he said.  “I will walk you to the stable and help you to harness your horse.”

“You are right, Mr. Rossi, it is getting late.  I lost track of the time.”  James stood, and Jemma rose as well.  “I will be back again after breakfast, Jemma, to discuss our plans.  Perhaps we can go to Florence the day after tomorrow, or would that be too soon?”

Clara said, “We will help you pack one of your trunks tomorrow, Jemma, so that you can leave for Florence right away.  You can leave the rest of your things with us, or we can send them to you, whatever you like.”

Jemma looked at James, smiled, and shrugged.  “It would seem that I am at your disposal, sir.”

He took her hand and kissed it.  “Until tomorrow, then.  Sleep well, Jemma.  I hope that you all rest well,” he said, turning to the Benellis and bowing.  Stephano bowed in a parody of James’ formality and gestured to the sitting room door.  James indicated that Stephano should precede him from the room.  Stephano exited quickly, if a little unsteadily, and headed coatless for the front door.  The Benellis and Jemma escorted James to the door, where they waited for him to don his cape and hat.  Bidding them good night, he followed Stephano into the night.

“Don’t be out too long, Stephano.  I need you to bring more wood for the kitchen stove,” Clara called out the door.  She squinted into the darkness and saw her nephew waiting on the gravel walk for James.  James joined him, and the two men walked together out of her sight.  Clara sighed and closed the door.

The sky was overcast and the wind had risen.  The lantern that Stephano carried did not cut the murkiness beyond the path, and James felt alone in the world with his sullen companion.  It was obvious from the young man’s unsteady gait that he had imbibed too freely of the plum liqueur.  Stephano turned to look at him, and James could see a sneer upon his face. 

“Well, Wovington, I must say that things are going well for you.  Jemma has agreed to go to Florence with you.  That is very generous of her.  She must hold you in high esteem.”

“I hope so,” James replied.

“Jemma is a wonderful woman.  We all love her like she is one of the family.  We would not like to see any harm come to her.”

“I can understand that, Rossi.”

“Good.  Then you will not mind my asking what your intentions are toward Jemma?”

James looked up at the big man walking beside him.  “I intend to marry her, Mr. Rossi, and to take her back to England with me.”

“Is that so?  But there is something I do not understand, Wovington, and I want you to explain it to me.  If you love Jemma, why did you not marry her back in England, eh?  Why did you let her come all this way alone?  Here in Italy, we do not let our women travel alone and unprotected.”

“It is a complicated matter, Mr. Rossi, and one that I do not care to discuss with you.”

Stephano stopped in the middle of the path, blocking James’ way.  “Is that so?  But I don’t care what you want, Wovington.  I want Jemma to marry a good man, and I am not sure that you are good enough.  As a matter of fact, I think that I would make a better husband for Jemma.  What do you say to that?”

“I think that you have had too much to drink, Mr. Rossi, and that your judgement is impaired.  I also think that it is getting late, and that I am leaving now.  Excuse me.”  James pushed past Stephano, but he took hold of James’ shoulder and spun him around. 

Shoving his face close to James', Stephano said, “But I want to talk about it now.  Just the two of us, alone, without a woman’s skirts for you to hide behind.”  He pulled a pistol from his trouser pocket and pointed it at James.

James stared at the weapon for a long moment.  “Do you intend to shoot me, Rossi?” he asked coldly.

“Yes and no.  I intend to duel with you.  A duel will prove who is the best man and who should marry Jemma.”

“Don’t be stupid, man.  It doesn’t matter who the best shot is.  What matters is what Jemma wants.”

“No, no, you are wrong there,” Stephano said, shaking his finger at James like a school master correcting his pupil.  “A woman admires strength, and I think that you are weak.  This is how brave men settle things.  I will show Jemma that I am the better man, and that you are not worthy of her.” 

He shoved the lantern at James and drew a second pistol from his coat pocket.  “Come, we will walk a little further to the yard by the stable.  There is more space there, and I will light some lanterns.  We will duel there.”

“I will not duel with you, Rossi.”

A sneer spread across Stephano’s face.  “I am not surprised to find that you are a coward, Wovington.  Sadly for you, you have no choice.”  He prodded James in the shoulder with the pistol.  “Move.”

Back at the house, the women were finishing up in the kitchen while Antonio damped down the sitting room fire.  He hummed a snatch of song to himself as he returned to the dining room and replaced the liqueur bottle in the cabinet.  Turning to leave, his attention was drawn to a cabinet drawer that was ajar.  Frowning, he pulled it open all the way.

“Clara, is Stephano back yet?” Antonio shouted as he rushed into the kitchen.

“No, Tony, he is still out at the stable.  Why?”

“I was putting away the liqueur bottle when I saw that the drawer where I keep my gun was open.  I looked inside, and my pistol was missing!”

“Your pistol?”  Clara’s mouth dropped open.  “Oh, that stupid boy!  Hurry, Tony, we must stop him!”

Alarmed, Jemma caught Clara’s arm.  “I am coming with you,” she said, and they ran for the front door with Cecilia racing after them.

They burst out the front door and sprinted along the side of the house.  Before they had gone far, however, a shot rang out.  Jemma gasped.  In the distance, she could hear the dogs barking.  She began running down the path toward the stable, her breath coming in little sobs.  As she got closer, she could see two lanterns hanging from the stable rafters.  She broke into the stable yard and saw Stephano, gun in hand, bending over James lying sprawled on the ground.  Stephano’s head flew up as Jemma screamed, “James!” 

Darting forward, Jemma pushed Stephano out of the way and flung herself onto her knees beside James.  She cradled his head in her hands, and his eyes fluttered open.  “Thank God,” she said.

Clara, Cecilia, and Antonio rushed into the yard and stopped to stare.  Clara was transfixed for a moment before turning on Stephano, shouting at him and striking him on the head.  He staggered back and raised his arms in defence, the gun still in his hand.  Clara snatched it from him and threw it into the shadows.

Antonio knelt on the ground beside Jemma and held the lantern high to see James.  He pulled back the cape, the material spilling on the ground around the fallen man, and muttered when he saw the blood oozing from James’ side.  Antonio turned his head and shouted, “Clara, stop beating the boy.  Come here and help me.” 

He pulled a linen square from his pocket and pressed it against the wound.  James flinched and clenched his teeth.  Jemma’s eyes welled with tears.

“Jemma, hold that cloth there,” Antonio said.  “We must stop the bleeding, but we can do nothing out here in the dark.  Stephano, come here and help me lift him.  We will carry him back to the house.”

Clara took the lantern while Antonio and Stephano lifted James between them.  Jemma walked beside them, pressing the cloth against James’ side.  Cecilia darted ahead to the house.

On the walk back, Stephano sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.  Forgive me, Jemma.  I did not mean to kill him.”

“Hush, Stephano, that’s enough,” Antonio said sharply.  Jemma said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes fixed upon James’ white face.

They carried James into the house and laid him on the sofa in the sitting room.  He was unconscious by then.  Clara ran to fetch a basin, water, and towels.  Cecilia had stoked up the fire in the hearth and lit candles.  She stood at the head of the sofa, holding a candelabrum over James.  Stephano hovered anxiously by the sofa while Jemma helped Antonio remove James’ cloak and jacket.  The exposed shirt front was soaked with blood.  Rather than trying to lift the garment over James' head, Antonio reached for his pocket knife and cut the shirt open.  The wound was ugly, blood still oozing from his right side.  Jemma clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.  

Clara hurried back into the room with her supplies.  “Here, Clara, give me that,” Jemma said, taking a towel from her.  She dipped it into the basin of water and began to wash away the blood.

“The bullet went in here,” Antonio said, pointing.  “Here, Jemma, press the towel against it while I turn him a little on his side.”  Antonio rolled James partway over and pulled the shirt away from his back. 

“Look, here is where the bullet came out.  That is good.” 

He turned and waved at his nephew.  “Stephano, run and saddle Cesar.  You must ride over to Doctor Schmidt in the village and bring him back here right away.  Hurry.  There is no time to waste!”  Stephano ran out of the room, and a moment later, they heard the front door slam behind him.

Clara hung over the sofa.  “Does he feel hot or cold, Tony?”

Alberto laid his hand upon James’ forehead.  “He is cold, Clara.”

“I will get some blankets to warm him.  His clothes are damp from lying on the ground.  Cecilia, boil some water and fetch the hot water bottle.” 

Antonio left the room with the others to fetch clean water for the basin, leaving Jemma alone with James.  She sank onto the floor beside him, her hand still pressing the towel to his side.  With her free hand, she brushed away some gravel embedded in the side of his cheek.

“Oh, James, don’t die,” she moaned softly.  Tears were streaming down her face as Clara hurried back into the room.

“Here, let me get the stool for you to sit on,” she said, helping Jemma off the floor and propping the seat beneath her.  Clara covered James with the two heavy blankets she had brought and felt for a pulse at his throat. 

“Clara, what am I going to do,” Jemma cried.

“Don’t talk like that, cara.  Doctor Schmidt is a good doctor.  He does not live far away.  I know that Stephano will ride very quickly, and they will be back soon.  Mr. Wovington is strong and young.  He will survive this.”

“I cannot lose him, Clara.  Not James, too.”

“Hush, now.  We will pray and it will all be fine.  Come, help me to take off his boots and wet clothes.  Better to do it while he cannot feel the pain.”

Jemma and the family were gathered around James when Doctor Schmidt returned with Stephano.  The doctor pushed his way past them and bent over his patient.  He checked James’ pulse and heart rate.  James opened his eyes when the doctor drew back the blankets to examine the wound. 

“Ah, Mr. Wovington, you are with us again.  My name is Schmidt.  I am a surgeon.  I am going to examine you and see what damage the bullet has done.  We will have to move you to a firmer surface.  Do you understand me, sir?”

James nodded, his eyes glassy.

“Good.  Mr. Benelli, where is your kitchen table?  We will carry him there.  Mrs. Benelli, I will need sheets, a pillow, more water, and clean rags.  And bring all of your oil lamps to illuminate the table.”

Clara and Cecilia hurried to follow the doctor's directions.  Stephano disappeared somewhere outside.  When all was ready, the doctor and Antonio lifted James from the couch and carried him to the kitchen.  Jemma followed them with the doctor’s bag. 

Doctor Schmidt said, “Good, now everyone leaves except for Mr. Benelli.  I will need you to help me turn him, sir.  I will call out if I need anything else, ladies.”  Reluctantly, Jemma left the room and waited with Clara and Cecilia in the dining room.