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Miss Meredith

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[Pg 52] <h2>CHAPTER VI. COSTANZA MARCHETTI.</h2> One morning after breakfast I found the whole family assembled in the yellow drawing-room in a state of unusual excitement. Even the bloodless little Marchesa had a red spot on either shrivelled cheek, and her handsome old husband had thrown off for once his mask of impenetrable and impassive dignity in favour of an air of distinct and lively pleasure. Bianca was chattering, Romeo was smiling, and Annunziata, of course, was smiling too. Beckoning me confidentially towards her, and showing her gums even more freely than usual, she said: "There is great news. The Marchesino Andrea is coming home. We have had a letter this morning, and we are to expect him within a fortnight." I received with genuine interest this piece of information. From the first I had decided that the rebel[Pg 53] was probably the most interesting member of his family, and had even gone so far as to "derive" him from his father, in accordance with the latter-day scientific fashion which has infected the most unscientific among us. Bianca was quite unmanageable that morning, and I had finally to abandon all attempts at discipline and let her chat away, in English, to her heart's content. "I cried all day when Andrea went away," she rattled on; "I was quite a little thing, and I did nothing but cry. Even mamma cried, too. When he was home she was often very, very angry with Andrea. Every one was always being angry with him," she added presently, "but every one liked him best. There was often loud talking with papa and Romeo. I used to peep from the door of my nursery and see Andrea stride past with a white face and a great frown." She knitted her own pale brows together in illustration of her own words, and looked so ridiculous that I could not help laughing. I judged it best, moreover, to cut short these confidences, and we adjourned, with some reluctance on her part, to the piano. Lunch was a very cheerful meal that day, and[Pg 54] afterwards Bianca thrust her arm in mine and dragged me gaily up to the sitting-room. "Only think," she said, "mamma is writing to Costanza Marchetti at Florence to ask her to stay with us the week after next." "Is the signorina a great friend of yours?" Bianca looked exceedingly sly. "Oh yes, she is a great friend of mine. I stayed with her once at Florence. They have a beautiful, beautiful house on the Lung' Arno, and Costanza has more dresses than she can wear." She spoke with such an air of naïve and important self-consciousness that I could scarcely refrain from smiling. It was impossible not to see through her meaning. The beloved truant was to be permanently trapped; the trap to be baited with a rich, perhaps a beautiful bride. The situation was truly interesting; I foresaw the playing out of a little comedy under my very eyes. Life quickened perceptibly in the palazzo after the receipt of the letter from America. Plans for picnics, balls, and other gaieties were freely discussed. There was a constant dragging about of heavy furniture along the corridors, from[Pg 55] which I gathered that rooms were being suitably prepared both for Andrea and his possible bride. At the gossip parliaments, nothing else was talked of but the coming event; the misdemeanours of servants, the rudeness of tradesmen, and the latest Pisan scandal being relegated for the time being to complete obscurity. In about ten days Costanza Marchetti appeared on the scene. We were sitting in the yellow drawing-room after lunch when the carriage drove up, followed by a fly heavily laden with luggage. Bianca had rushed to the window at the sound of wheels, and had hastily described the cavalcade. A few minutes later in came Romeo with a young, or youngish, lady, dressed in the height of fashion, on his arm. She advanced towards the Marchesa with a sort of sliding curtsy, and shook hands from the elbow in a manner worthy of Bond Street. But the meeting between her and Bianca was even more striking. Retreating a little, to allow free play for their operations, the young ladies tilted forward on their high heels, precipitating themselves into one another's arms, where they kissed one another violently on[Pg 56] either cheek. Retreating again, they returned once more to the charge, and the performance was gone through for a second time. Then they sat down close together on the sofa, stroking one another's hands. "Costanza powders so thickly with violet powder, it makes me quite ill," Bianca confided to me later in the day; "and she thinks there is nobody like herself in all the world." When the Contessima, for that I discovered was her style and title, had detached her fashionable bird-cage veil from the brim of her large hat, I fell to observing her with some curiosity from my modest corner. She was no longer in her first youth—about twenty-eight, I should say—but she was distinctly handsome, in a rather hard-featured fashion. When she was introduced to me, she bowed very stiffly, and said, "How do you do, Miss?" in the funniest English I had ever heard. "It is so good of you to come to us," said the Marchesa, with her usual stateliness; "to leave your gay Florence before the end of the Carnival for our quiet Pisa. We cannot promise you many parties and balls, Costanza." Perhaps Costanza had seen too many balls in her[Pg 57] time—had discovered them, perhaps (who knows?), to be merely dust and ashes. At any rate, she eagerly and gushingly disclaimed her hostess's insinuation, and there was voluble exchange of compliments between the ladies. "Will you give Bianca a holiday for this week, Miss Meredith?" said the Marchesa, presently. "Certainly, if you will allow it," I answered, saying what I knew I was intended to say. Costanza looked across at me coldly, taking in the modest details of my costume. "And when does the Marchesino arrive?" she asked, turning to his mother. "Not till late on Thursday night." Bianca counted upon her fingers. "Three whole days and a half," she cried. "On Friday," said the Marchesa, "we have arranged a little dance. It is so near the end of Carnival we could not put it off till long after his arrival." "Ah, dearest Marchesa," cried Costanza, clasping her hands in a rather mechanical rapture, "it will be too delightful! Do we dance in the ball-room below, or in here?" "In the ball-room," said the Marchesa, while Annunziata nodded across at me, saying— [Pg 58] "Do you dance, Miss Meredith?" "Yes; I am very fond of it," I answered, but it must be owned that I looked forward with but scant interest to the festivity. My insular mind was unable to rise to the idea of Italian partners. Costanza raised her eyeglass, with its long tortoiseshell handle, to her heavy-lidded eyes, and surveyed me scrutinizingly. It had been evident from the first that she had but a poor opinion of me. "I hope you will join us on Friday, Miss Meredith," said the Marchesa, with much ceremony. I could not help feeling snubbed. I had taken it for granted that I was to appear; this formal invitation was inexpressibly chilling. I did not enjoy my holiday of the next few days. I had always been exceedingly grateful for my few hours of daily solitude, and these were mine no more. The fact that the ladies of the household never seemed to need either solitude or silence had impressed me from the first as a curious phenomenon. Now, for the time being, I was dragged into the current of their lives, and throughout the day was forced to share in the ceaseless chatter, without which, it seemed, a guest could not be entertained, a ball[Pg 59] given, or even a son received into the bosom of his family. Here, there, and everywhere was the unfortunate Miss Meredith—at everybody's beck and call, "upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's chamber." "It is fortunate that it is only me," I reflected. "I don't know what Jenny or Rosalind would do. They would just pack up and go." For, at home, the liberty of the individual had always been greatly respected, which was, perhaps, the reason why we managed to live together in such complete harmony. As for Bianca and her friend, they clattered about all day long together on their high heels, their arms intertwined, exchanging confidences, comparing possessions, and eating torino till their teeth ached. In the intervals of this absorption in friendship my pupil would come up to me, throw her arms round me, and pour out a flood of the frankest criticisms on the fair Costanza. To these I refused to listen. "How can I tell, Bianca, that you do not rush off to the Contessima and complain of me to her?" "Dearest little signorina, there could be nothing to complain of." "Of course," I said, "we know that. I am perfect. But, seriously, Bianca, I do not understand this [Pg 60]kissing and hugging of a person one moment, and saying evil things of her the next." Bianca was getting on for nineteen, but it was necessary to treat her like a child. She hung her head, and took the rebuke very meekly. "But, signorina, say what you will, Costanza does put wadding in her stays because she is so thin, and then pretends to have a fine figure. And she has a bad temper, as every one knows...." "Bianca, you are incorrigible!" I put my hand across her mouth, and ran down the corridor to my own room. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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