“I am glad your mother did not marry him, for then I would not be here, eh? Perhaps I would have been you! Ah, but that is funny, is it not? I would be you, and you—you would not exist.”
The oddest little chill ran through me when she said that. For a moment I almost fancied that the merry black eyes had lost their sparkle and were regarding me with cold dislike.
But the next moment she was laughing heartily as she draped herself in a piece of heavy gold brocade, and stalked up and down the chamber pretending to be Cleopatra.
The castle was a vast storehouse of treasures, including enough fabric to clothe an entire boarding school, but Galiana declared that most of it was too old-fashioned, or too worn, or inadequate in some other way. So another messenger was sent off to merchants in Florence. Of course I should not have expected to wear colors for another year; but I told myself it would not hurt to have the fabric on hand. If Grandfather should insist that I disobey society’s rules about mourning—which he was quite capable of doing, since he preferred to ignore my poor dear father’s very existence—then filial duty would require that I obey.
I don’t like to think how shallow and vain I was at that age. In fact, when I look back on my behavior during those first weeks in Italy, I am heartily ashamed of myself. My painful experiences ought to have taught me that the vanities of this world are not to be relied upon, but I did not want to think about the past. All the happy memories of my father had been overshadowed by the final revelations, as a spreading ink stain can spoil a pretty gown. There were moments when—I confess it with shame—I thought of him almost with hatred. It would have been better for my character if I had been received by Grandfather as he had originally intended to receive me; then I would have had to win his affection with patience and good behavior. But he gave me his love and I accepted it complacently—as we always accept things we have not earned.
I am glad to say I had enough decency to be concerned about Miss Perkins. It was not selfishness that prompted my interest in her—not entirely—for by then I had smugly decided that I needed no companion. Was I not the spoiled darling of a wealthy prince? I had a friend of my own age in Galiana; and if there was some patronage in my attitude toward the girl, I wasn’t aware of it. I thought of myself as being very kind. …Oh, dear. It is so depressing to look back on one’s past failures.
At any rate, I saw little of Miss Perkins in the days immediately following our arrival. I wasn’t worried about her, for I knew she could amuse and entertain herself anywhere; if she went to Purgatory instead of Heaven, she would poke her head into all the dark corners and interro-gate the attendant imps about the various methods of torture. Of course we met at meals, but I did not speak to her at length until one bright afternoon a week or so after we arrived. Galiana was with her mother, who spent many hours in her room reading and meditating and praying. I went out into the courtyard looking for amusement, and there I found Miss Perkins seated on a fallen column. Her hands rested on her knees and she was staring solemnly at the great sarcophagus with its statue of a reclining Etruscan.
“Did you know that his Excellency your grandfather excavated that object himself?” she demanded, motioning for me to take a seat beside her. “Your cousin the Count informs me that there is an entire Etruscan cemetery not far from here. I do hope I shall have time to see it, and your grandfather’s collection of treasures, before I leave.”
“Leave?” I stared at her. “But, Miss Perkins—”
“Well, my dear, I was hired to bring you here and I have done it,” said Miss Perkins.
She turned her cheerful smile on me. I was conscious, all at once, of paler streaks in her iron-gray hair, and of the deep lines in her face. Impulsively I threw my arms around her.
“Miss Perkins, please stay. There is a great deal more for you to do. I need you. Please don’t leave me alone.”
“But, Francesca, you are not alone. You have a whole new family, and you are the pet. Why do you need me?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “That is—I know I have been very fortunate. But I would like you to stay. Unless you have duties, connections, in England—”
“No, I am quite independent. However—”
“Oh, splendid. I will ask Grandfather now.”
“Wait—Francesca, don’t be so impetuous—”
I paid no attention. Leaving her staring after me, I ran up the steps and into the house. I did have the courtesy to knock before I entered the library; and the gruffness of my grandfather’s voice as he shouted “Avanti!” made me think that perhaps I ought to have waited. But it was too late to retreat now; I opened the door.
As soon as he saw me, Grandfather’s scowl turned into a beaming smile. Stefano, who was seated beside the desk, did not look so pleased. He lifted his black cane in a mocking salute.
“How charming,” he exclaimed, as I stood with Grand-father’s arm around me. “Curls flying, frills and ribbons fluttering, the fresh young face flushed…We must have your portrait taken in just that pose, Cousin.”
Grandfather’s right hand moved in one of those eloquent Italian gestures, and Stefano subsided, with a vulgar wink at me.
The relationship between my cousin and my grandfather was a curious one. Grandfather regarded Stefano with a mixture of respect and contempt—respect for his cool intelligence, contempt for his physical weakness. There were times when his infirmity troubled Stefano a great deal, and then he kept to his own rooms, not even appearing for meals. At other times he served as a useful adviser to Grandfather in business matters. The two of them spent long hours in the library. The discussions were not always amicable; one could often hear voices raised in anger, even through the heavy carved door. Voices, did I say? No; Grandfather was the only one who shouted. Stefano never lost his temper, he only incited other people to lose theirs.
I was determined not to let him incite me, so I ignored the wink and plunged into my speech. I knew some Italian by then, but in my excitement I forgot what little I knew. Grandfather always seemed to understand me anyway.
“It is about Miss Perkins,” I exclaimed. “I would like her to stay here. Couldn’t she be my governess or companion, or something like that?”
For once Grandfather didn’t understand. He turned a bewildered look on Stefano. who was watching me with his familiar narrow smile. He translated what I had said and added, in English, “What a high-handed young person you are, Francesca. It is in your blood, I suppose. Interesting, how quickly personality can adjust to changes in fortune.”
He would have gone on with more sly digs at me if Grandfather had not waved him to silence.
“You may have anything you wish, child,” he said. “If you want her to stay, it is settled.”
“Just a minute,” said Stefano. “You can’t dispose of a lady’s person so easily. Suppose Miss Perkins doesn’t want to stay.”
“Oh, she does,” I said eagerly. “She told me she had no relatives in England and she is fascinated by Italy—especially by Grandfather’s antiquities. Couldn’t she help you with that, Grandfather? La vostra collezione—antichità—er—”
“Sì, Sì, carissima. She will be very useful.”
“Grazie!” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
He patted me on the head. Courteous as he was, I could see he was anxious to get back to his interrupted work. Before I could take my leave, Stefano spoke again.
“One more question, Cousin. Why are you so anxious to have Miss Perkins remain? She can’t be of any use to you.”
“It is just barely conceivable that I might be of use to her,” I replied sharply. “She is not young. I don’t suppose she is rich—”
“Ah, it is sheer benevolence on your part, then.” Stefano nodded. “What a beautiful thing to see.”
That was the day when I realized how thoroughly I disliked my cousin Stefano.
It was also the day when we received a formal call from Captain De Merode. I had almost forgotten about him; and when he was announced, I was fool enough to be flattered. He must be interested in me after all, I thought.
We ladies were sitting in the main drawing room—the Salon of the Sybils, as it was called, from the paintings that covered the ceiling. This was a penance I paid daily, unless I could think of some excuse for not joining in the teatime ritual—a ritual long established and insisted upon by Miss Rhoda. I must say that she had trained the servants to prepare the beverage and its accompaniments quite nicely, and I found the delicious little sandwiches and cakes some compensation for the dull conversation. I don’t know what moved the Contessa to join us; it couldn’t have been the food, for she ate like a bird. She displayed no especial warmth toward Miss Rhoda, only her usual gentle courtesy, and since she spoke no English and Miss Rhoda no Italian. conversation between them was severely limited. Galiana told me that teatime was much less dull since Miss Perkins had arrived, for that indomitable lady did her best to converse with everyone, translating when possible, and carrying on a cheerful monologue when no one else spoke. She found it heavy going, however; Galiana was too intimidated by her mother to risk a remark often.
Usually the gentlemen did not join us for tea, but on this particular afternoon Grandfather and Stefano were both present. The latter, seated next to Miss Perkins, was discussing antiquities with her, and Grandfather was giving me an Italian lesson, to our mutual amusement, when the Captain was announced.
Grandfather rose. He was usually punctilious about such courtesies, but I could see that he was honestly pleased to see the young man. De Merode was in full dress uniform, and looked quite handsome. His spurs, sword hilt, and decorations shone brilliantly; his boots had been polished to a mirror finish, and his tall helmet, which he held under one arm, had a lovely white egret plume.
