Ragna Part 43

For so long she had hardly thought of him; the realities of her everyday life had deadened her memory of the past, and unless something out of the ordinary occurred to recall them specially to her mind, her thoughts rarely turned to those days in Rome. Her household cares, the constant attention required by the children, her interest in her writing, which she still carried on, and the social intercourse with the little circle of friends she had formed, all these sufficiently occupied her time, leaving her but little leisure for brooding over past or present.

Egidio mocked at her social proclivities, at her friends, especially when they happened to be t.i.tled folk, and called her a sn.o.b, so that it was with terror and dismay that she viewed his arrival when any of her friends happened to be present, for unless they were young and pretty women, he exaggerated his habitual boorishness of manner. If a really pretty woman occupied his wife's drawing-room, his airs and graces were a sight to see, and caused Ragna even more shame than his rudeness.

It must be admitted that t.i.tles had an attraction for her, as they inevitably must to those in whose countries they are non-existent--strange that such should be the result of democracy--but a sn.o.b she was not. A t.i.tle to her represented continuity of race, historic and chivalric tradition, something removed from the plane of ordinary life, and which appealed to her sense of romance. This must have been strong indeed, to blind her to the faults and weaknesses of the bearers of some of these t.i.tles, but such was the glamour of an historic name that her otherwise clear vision and independent judgment not infrequently played her false and she saw the object of her veneration through a rose-coloured mist which exaggerated qualities and obscured defects.

She had gone on from day to day, bearing her heavy burden with a sort of sodden resignation. Now and again a scene worse than usual made her feel that this life was past enduring, and she beat her wings against the bars, but never for long. The treadmill of the daily round carried her on and her half-hearted attempts at self-a.s.sertion fell by the wayside. The utmost she could oppose to her husband's tyranny was a pa.s.sive resistance, infinitely irritating to him. His character was so much more violent than hers that if she attempted to meet him on his own ground, the force of his pa.s.sion bore her down, swept her from her feet, buried her beneath the floods of his wrath. She had grown patient, G.o.d knows she had need to be; and just lately a dim light had shone on her horizon, a vague hope of relief, for Ingeborg had written that Fru Boyesen was relenting, had inquired after her wayward niece, had even asked to see the photographs of the children. If she should be restored to favour, reinstated as her Aunt's heiress it would mean for her the independence that only the possession of money can give, and it would silence for ever Egidio's taunts as to her dowerless state. He would have to consult her wishes when she had the money, she thought with secret exultation.

So time had pa.s.sed, the present absorbing her whole being, barring out alike memories and regrets. The announcement of Angelescu's presence in Florence came to her as a trumpet-call, the dead rose from their graves, dead hopes, dead fears, dead emotions, and walked with her.

CHAPTER VII

She was relieved, when after dinner Egidio put on his hat and went out, not deigning any explanation, as was his custom. She took a book, and settled herself in an armchair by the lamp, but not to read; her eyes followed the printed lines but her thoughts were far away.

"If I had accepted Angelescu's offer," she mused, "what a difference it would have made. Why, oh why was I such a fool? I refused a good man, a loyal man,--I knew he was true and loyal--to come to this!"

Her eyes rose involuntarily to a portrait of her husband, the tribute of an enthusiastic if untalented pupil, which he had considered good enough for his wife's sitting-room, and she shuddered. The picture though poorly painted, was a striking likeness, almost a caricature. The cunning expression of the handsome eyes, the slight twist of the nose, the repulsive sensual mouth half hidden by beard and moustache were faithfully if naively depicted. The right hand hung over the back of a chair, a hand in curious contrast to the face, a well-formed strong but delicate artist's hand, but even here the slight grasping curve of the pointed fingers, the thickness of the thumb betrayed the nature of the man.

Often she had wished to destroy the picture, or at least to take it down, hide it, banish it from her sight, but Egidio would hear of no such thing; it seemed to possess, to fill the room with a hated presence as Valentini filled her life. Even when she turned her back upon it, the knowledge of its presence obtruded itself upon her inner consciousness, she could not escape it.

To-night, however, it seemed to have lost some of its customary power.

With a defiant lift of her shoulder she rose and went to her writing-desk, a monumental piece of furniture which had once belonged to a Cardinal, and opening a secret drawer, reminiscent of inquisitorial mysteries, took out her old writing-case, shabby and worn, with one of the hinges broken. The lock still held, however, and she opened it with a key on her watch-chain. Inside were the sketch Angelescu had made of her feeding the gulls, and his letter to her. She returned to her seat and studied the drawing; the paper was yellow, the pencil-strokes faded and rubbed, but the little sketch had kept its air of freshness and force, the girlish figure seemed to defy the elements with all the ignorant courage of youth.

"And that was I," said Ragna softly; it seemed to her that it must have been some other girl, long, long ago, in the dim ages past.

"And it was not eight years ago," she said, counting on her fingers. She put the drawing down and turned to the letter.

"What a blind fool I was not to understand! Oh if only, if only--! But I must not see him now, it would not be right. I must dree my weird.

Besides he will have forgotten me long ago--ah but will he? He said in his letter 'now and always,' and he meant it, but so much water has flowed under the bridges!"

She sank into a reverie, calling up his every word and look, his steady dog-like eyes, the firm grasp of his hand. She tried to imagine what her life would have been like all these years, if instead of Egidio she had had him by her side. A knock on the door startled her; she would not have been surprised to see Angelescu himself on the threshold, indeed she all but expected it for an instant, but the door opening, only disclosed the familiar figure of Carolina, who came forward timidly, quite stripped of her usually a.s.sured manner.

"What is it, my girl?" asked Ragna kindly.

"Signora," she answered, with lowered head, "I do not know how to say it nor what you will think of me, but I have come to give notice, I wish to go."

"You wish to go!" exclaimed Ragna with the greatest surprise, "you wish to leave me? Why, Carolina, what in the world do you mean by that?"

The girl stood nervously rolling and unrolling a corner of her ap.r.o.n between her fingers, her eyes on the floor.

"It is just that, Signora, I wish to go."

"Are you going to be married?"

"No, Signora!"

"Then why? Are you not happy here? You have been with me so long, to leave suddenly like this, what is the matter?"

"Don't ask me Signora, I--I can't stay."

"Carolina," said Ragna sternly, "look at me!"

The maid raised unwilling eyes to her mistress's face.

"Don't you know that that is no way to speak to me? Now tell me frankly, why it is you wish to leave me after all these years. Have I not been kind to you? What cause have you for complaint? Think, what will Mimmo do without you?"

The girl began to cry and dabbed ineffectually at her eyes with her ap.r.o.n.

"Stop crying and tell me!" cried Ragna, exasperated.

"Signora mia, Signora mia," sobbed the maid, "I do not want to tell you, I do not want to add to your troubles. Please don't ask me!"

Ragna's face grew hard, she more than guessed what was coming.

"I command you to speak out and hide nothing," she said in a tense voice.

"It is on account of the Signor Padrone, Signora."

"Ah!" said Ragna, "go on, what has he done?"

"Signora," said the maid hanging her head and working her toe in and out of the heelless slipper she still sometimes wore in the house. "The Signor Padrone used to say things to me when he pa.s.sed me, and sometimes he would chuck me under the chin or pinch my arm, but I thought nothing of it, it is the way of many Signori and means nothing."

"Go on," said Ragna coldly, as the girl paused.

"Well, Signora, he got more pressing, and I kept out of his way all I could, and then one night he surprised me in my room--"

"Why did you not call out?"

"I did, Signora, but you know where my room is." Ragna did,--down at the end of a long corridor shut off by a door from the rest of the house.

Why, oh why had she been so blind?

"And Cook was out, nursing her sick mother. Afterwards I said to him: 'I will tell the Signora,' and he said: 'You will do nothing of the kind.

If you dare so much as hint to her I will throw you out neck and crop without a character. Be good, Linella, and I will give you a present. I said I did not want his present, that I was not afraid of being turned out. Then he grew very angry and put his hands round my neck, and said he would strangle me if I would not promise to keep quiet.

'_Padronissimo!_' I answered, 'but if you kill me the police will get you!' He was very angry, but that frightened him, and he let his hands drop and I stood facing him with my arms crossed,--so! 'Look here, Carolina,' he said suddenly in a wheedling voice, 'you are fond of the Padrona, I know, if you tell her it will grieve her and you do not want to do that!' Signora! he had the courage to say that, after the way he treats you and all! But it was true and I knew I would have to be quiet, so I said, 'If I do say nothing it will be because of the Signora and not for you. I despise you, I hate you, but I do not fear you, you cannot harm me!' 'Have a care!' he said, and his eyes got like those of the Evil One in that picture in the studio. 'You are a little devil, Carolina, but I am more than a match for you. I tell you, beware!'

Signora, that fired my blood, I stood up to him and I said: 'You are the husband of my Padrona, but you are not my master. I will keep silence because I don't want to hurt her, she has always been kind to me, but if you ever dare touch me again I shall tell her; it is better that she should know than be shamed in her own house, and I will kill you, I swear it on the Cross!' He sneered at me, Signora. 'And the police you mention so freely,' he said, 'what of them?' 'I will tell them I did it to save my honour.' 'Honour,' he said, 'you guttersnippet, who would believe you? Do you think they don't know your story in Questura?' It made me mad, I took my scissors from the table and I flew at him--he nearly broke my wrist wrenching them from me, but not before I had scratched him well. 'Little viper!' he yelled, 'a.s.sa.s.sin!' I thought he was going to kill me, but he turned and went away."

Ragna had followed every word, every gesture, with a sickening horror; she had imagined some tale of annoyance, but not this, and the leer of the portrait on the wall seemed to confirm every word of the girl's tale.

"Well, my poor child, has,--has he,--?"

The girl threw herself impulsively on her knees, beside her mistress and lifted the hem of her skirt to her lips.

"Signora mia," she moaned, "you are too good, you are an angel! Any other lady would have thrown me into the street without hearing me out."

"Hush, my poor girl," Ragna interrupted, "you are a victim and to be pitied. How should I blame you, since your wrong is partly my fault, I should have seen, should have guessed--"