The Man with the Double Heart Part 37

"What is that tower?" McTaggart pointed. "I can see it from my bedroom window."

"The Torre del Mangia," his aunt replied, "above the palace of the Commune. You must see the frescoes in the Chapel, by Bazzi--pure quattro cento. And there is the famous Fonte Gaia--after Giacomo della Quercia. The original fragments are in the museum. That is a copy--but still fine. This Square is where 'il Palio' is run, the two occasions in the year when Siena awakes to life----" she smiled scornfully as she spoke.

"Dio!--I shall be glad to go--it is a city of the dead. And cold...!"

She s.h.i.+vered and drew her furs closer, aware of the sunset hour.

They came at last into the palace. Beppo received them in the hall with letters for his young master. McTaggart eagerly gathered them up.

"Bring 'sweet wine' into the boudoir," said the Marchesa to the servant. She turned to her nephew. "It's warmer there. I will join you when I get rid of my furs."

But McTaggart went to his room first, anxious to find if the letters held any news of Cydonia, and, locking the door, sat down by his stove.

There were three of them, sent on from his club. A line from Bethune, a tailor's bill and an envelope in a clerkly hand. He tore it open carelessly.

Then, quickly, he turned it over, glanced at the signature, set his teeth; and his face flushed with growing anger as he went through the contents again.

It was signed "Ebenezer Cadell," and contained a narrow unfastened note.

He read that too, then leaned back and swore aloud in his bitter chagrin.

Never in all his wildest dreams had he pictured himself a jilted man!

Yet here it was--he smiled sourly--Cydonia had thrown him over!

Cydonia--the woman he loved. The girl for whom, in his loyalty, he had sworn to sacrifice the pride of his ancient and historic name.

She had "made a mistake." He read it again, holding to the light of the stove the mauve paper with the monogram "C" engraved in a fantastic wreath.

She was "too young"--as her "parents said"--"to think of marriage for some years." She hoped "Peter would understand"--and "not feel very hurt!" She would "like to keep him as a friend."

("I'll be d.a.m.ned if she will!"--said the angry man.)

Her Mother had been "quite ill" again, upset by their "secrecy."

("Dash it all!" In the midst of his pain McTaggart smiled. "She can't expect a proposal in public--whatever is she driving at?")

Cydonia hoped he would not write. "Father" thought it better not. She was "_VERY_ sorry." For the first time the careful writing shook a little. A line crossed through revealed the fact that she would "miss him dreadfully."

But she thought her parents "knew best." They had been "very kind" to her--and "Father was writing to explain."

This statement was distinctly true. For Cadell rubbed salt into the sore!

McTaggart turned once more to his letter.

To begin with it was plain he mistrusted McTaggart's unforeseen departure; only too evident that he thought this foreign trip a way of escape from the outcome of an evening's folly!

But, in any case, whether or no his intentions toward Cydonia were honorable and uninvolved by any "pecuniary consideration," McTaggart stood no earthly chance of success as his son-in-law.

Cydonia was destined to higher flights ... (McTaggart thought of Bethune's words: "Some young a.s.s with a t.i.tle and debts!")

She would inherit a large fortune and her beauty and costly education "would fit her for any position."

"She's _almost_ worthy," McTaggart sneered, "to become the Marchesa Maramonte."

For anger was still dominant. The lonely longing was to follow.

The letter, pompous, devoid of tact, went on to a definite prohibition.

Cadell closed the door of his house in the face of the undesirable suitor. A note of spite rang out sharp in the older man's reference to his daughter's note. "The enclosure will make the matter clear."

It did. McTaggart leaned down and pushed both letters into the stove, watching the flames rise high, turning love into ashes.

Long he sat there, his chin on his hands, his blue eyes staring into s.p.a.ce. The clock ticked on noisily, marking the death of more than Time. Broken ideals, vanished dreams ... enthusiasm, loyalty; wasted at an unworthy shrine--his mind veered round at last to Fantine.

Women were all alike, it seemed. Creatures of impulse, without honour...

There came a knock at his bedroom door--a message from the Marchesa.

He rose to his feet with a curious smile. The French maid was waiting outside.

McTaggart, pointing to Bethune's letter, explained that business of importance required an immediate answer. He would be with her mistress shortly--the time to write a hurried line...

He paused as the girl raised her eyes and, in the darkness of the pa.s.sage, slipping an arm round her waist, he stole a kiss from her fresh mouth, amused at the maid's swift surrender.

Then he pa.s.sed her and went downstairs. "That's the only way to treat them!" he said to himself, with no sense of pleasure, but a perverse, cold disgust.

In the hall he sat down, drew out a sheet of black-edged paper with a coronet engraved upon it and wrote forthwith to Cadell.

He abided by the parent's decision ... Cydonia was, indeed, young ...

He wished, however, to make it clear that his departure for Italy had been, by its nature, unavoidable.

His uncle and his cousins were dead. He gave them their full sonorous t.i.tles. And, as heir to their fortune and estates, his presence had been imperative.

A faint flicker of malice pa.s.sed over his mouth as he wrote the phrase and pictured the recipient's eyes starting out of his red face.

Mr. Cadell could rest a.s.sured that never again would McTaggart trespa.s.s across the threshold of his house ... He thanked him for past hospitality.

Then he signed it, read it through, folded it neatly and enclosed it.

Before him lay a bunch of seals and a long stick of black wax. He lit the taper and, smiling slightly, gathered up the largest of these on which were the Maramonte arms surmounted by a coronet.

He pressed it down heavily onto the liquid splash of wax.

"It's sn.o.bbish"--his lips curled--"but I know Cadell--it will make him squirm!"

He rang and handed the letter to Beppo. "For the post--presto!"--and walked upstairs. "May I come in?" He opened the door of his Aunt's boudoir, his eyes bright with the pain his smiling mouth concealed.

"Ah, mon cher, how late you are!" It might have been Fantine--he said to himself. But there he misjudged his aunt.