Bad Miss Bennet (28 page)

He negotiated the rental of an elegant apartment in a palazzo on the Zattere, thus ensuring a long stay on our part. Mrs Makepeace was very satisfied with the move. The apartment, like so many in the city, was full of frescoes and faded grandeur and remarkably short of furniture. She did not consider that the man had become our virtual shadow. I, however, spent many hours in my room pondering the matter. I was convinced that I was the focus of his interest – although I could not fathom why.

‘Perhaps he's sweet on you, madam,' Adelaide said, but I could not agree. The man did not behave like a lover. I found I was unable to sleep at night. Often in the small hours I would gaze out of my window at the stupendous view, watching a cold moon rising from the sea and silvering the lagoon. I hated having to linger in this damp place redolent of lost hopes and dreams.

Was Marshfield following a long trail from the Prince Regent and Von Mecks, even from poor Mr Getheridge? My highwayman had said that the Von Mecks affair was not yet concluded. I shed a few tears. Everything in my life had turned to ashes. I had lost love, prospects and friends. I was an exile from my country and, worst of all, I was a lowly companion to a mad old woman who was reliving her youth while I festered on the sidelines. And it was all my own fault. I had encouraged her in this madness.

The one consolation I might have derived – a sight of Lord Byron – had eluded me. Wherever we went he had been there, often only minutes before, but he remained elusive, invisible. Sighing, I returned to my bed where my dreams were haunted by ghostly gondolas on misty canals on which I floated alone, searching for something that was always out of reach.

‘You look fairly like an antique remnant, madam,' was Adelaide's verdict the next morning.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The consul was a dullish but kindly man called Hoppner. My employer and I attended a luncheon party at his beautiful house on the Grand Canal. Captain Marshfield, inevitably, was in attendance waving tickets for the Benedetto theatre under our noses and insisting on accompanying us there. The consul remarked that he had entertained Lord Byron only a few days past. The events of my daily life had become set in stone; the captain would always be at my heels and Byron will have just left wherever I arrived.

The solution lay in acquiring a cloak and mask such as the Venetians wore during Carnival. The alleyways and humpbacked bridges of the city were thronged with these mysterious revellers disguised by the masks of the
commedia del'arte
– hideous long-nosed men, white faced clowns, quaint feline creatures and even a death's head. Surely this last would discourage the captain's attentions.

I asked Signore Grazzielli at the Hotel Europa to obtain a costume for me and sometimes I slipped away into the crowds while Mrs Makepeace enjoyed a siesta. I was determined to throw off these bouts of melancholia brought on by my position in society – or lack of it. I confided to my journal my failure to meet up with the Count, Lord Byron or indeed, anyone other than Captain Marshfield.

During one of my own masked wanderings I came upon Adelaide who had been disappearing into the back streets of the Castello district during her off duty hours. I was curious about her activities and as we wandered around she confessed everything. She had struck up a relationship with a relative of our gondolier, Tito Salieri.

‘Tito introduced me to his cousin Vittorio who is a baker in the Castello district. We sort of got to know each other better. He was lonely because his wife has taken up with that Lord Byron.'

‘Byron! Are you sure about that?'

She shrugged. ‘Everyone in Venice knows about it. The woman is very beautiful and spends most of her time at the Palazzo.' I swallowed my indignation and surprise. Why did my hero prefer Italian women to his own womenfolk?

‘What does the baker think about this situation?' I asked. Adelaide grinned.

‘He don't mind too much. You know how these Venetians are. He just wants a bit of company.' Adelaides's only problem was the fearsome temper and jealousy of La Fornarina, the baker's wife. She feared crossing the path of this virago.

‘If she found out I was a-dallying with 'er other 'alf I'd be mincemeat, madam,' she assured me. ‘That female 'as a fearsome temper and she always carries a knife.' Adelaide rolled her eyes indicating her amazement at the strange ways of foreigners.

‘It is the Italian character,' I told her.

‘They say she is like a wild cat,' my maid continued with a nervous giggle.

‘The women of Brighton are pussycats beside her.'

I left her to return to her baker reflecting that my trusty maidservant had a determination to make the most of every opportunity and to seize the day that was in tune with my own desires. We were very compatible. I feared this relationship of Adelaide's was the closest I would get to Lord Byron.

Despite her fear of the baker's wife Adelaide continued to spend her free afternoons with Vittorio, returning to our apartment with a toothsome collection of Venetian pastries and breads. The consul's wife had told me that Venetians made terrible servants, intent only on robbing their employers.

‘This is such a corrupt city,' she had said. ‘Deception is in the very air, even Lord Byron takes care to have English servants. Venetians are good only as lovers!'

Vittorio was certainly good for Adelaide. She positively glowed and bounced as she went about her duties. I was glad that she had recovered from her passion for the footman in England. A distracted, lovelorn retainer would have been of little use to me. Adelaide was my eyes and ears and I needed her in peak condition.

The affair, however, came to a sudden and painful end. I met Adelaide as she tried to board the traghetto, the communal gondola used by the common people to cross the Grand Canal. Several people can be accommodated in a standing position on payment of a few coins. My maid was in an agitated condition and in danger of overturning the vessel. A small riot seemed imminent. Still clad in my carnival costume, I was forced to pluck her from the hostile crowd and deposit her on a seat by the canal. After snivelling for a few minutes she confessed the latest developments in her romantic saga between loud sobs.

‘His lordship 'as thrown over that woman, the baker's wife.'

‘What happened?'

‘I suppose 'e got tired of all the temper tantrums. But that's not the worst of it, madam.' I sighed, there was always trouble following us like a stray dog sensing leftovers.

‘Tell me everything,' I urged. More sobs ensued.

‘The baker's wife rushed out of the palazzo and threw 'erself in the Grand Canal.'

‘Is she drowned?'

‘No, they fished her out and sent her back to the baker. I managed to slip out of the back door before she saw me, but … she knows about me, madam. Someone must 'ave told 'er, and she 'as sworn to kill me.'

‘Nonsense! You are with me and she would not dare attack you in my presence. You must not go out alone. Always go with Tito, he will protect you.'

I wondered if there was now a vacancy at the palazzo but my maid assured me that it had already been filled – by another Italian.

Naturally, all Venice was agog with this latest development, as Captain Marshfield hurried to remind me. A few days later we were walking near the little church called the Miracoli when he turned to me and said,

‘Your hero has added another notch to his bedpost. I do not know why he is so successful with women. They say he is no great lover – it is merely his title and his reputation that attracts them.'

‘And possibly his looks and his poetry,' I added. ‘Quite a formidable collection of advantages, would you not agree?' The captain's upper lip contorted in imitation of the humpbacked bridge on which we were standing. I enjoyed watching his discomfort. When we returned to the apartment I informed him that Mrs Makepeace could not receive him that morning. ‘She is having a little conflict with the rheumatics. The dampness of this city is a trial to us all.' He gave me a speculative look.

‘Do you think she will wish to move on soon?' I shrugged. ‘She sometimes mentions Rome and Florence, but nothing more. I fear she is overcome with Venetian indolence.' Marshfield nodded,

‘I do not know how these people became a great trading nation. Nowadays they cannot rouse themselves to do anything. First Napoleon had them by the throat and now the Austrians.'

I could see he was getting into his stride for a long, political speech. I made an excuse that I needed to collect letters from the
poste restante
. Adelaide would accompany me. The captain looked nonplussed and finally left us.

As we walked along Adelaide cast nervous glances over her shoulder.

‘Are you sad about the baker?' I asked. She sighed.

‘There's no use in wanting someone you can't 'ave.' Perhaps this girl had more sense than her mistress.

‘Have you had many romantic entanglements, Adelaide?' I was curious about my maid's past in Cheapside. She looked coy and hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, I did 'ave a beau when I lived at 'ome. He was my pa's apprentice and his name was Jack Perry. I called him Jacko or Jackie. We might 'ave tied the knot and lived 'appily ever after, but pa didn't approve. You see, Jacko was a foundling. My parents took 'im in. They thought I could do better for myself.'

‘What happened?'

‘In the end Jacko left and joined the army. I went into service. I couldn't bear to stay at 'ome. I don't go back often.'

‘And what about the footman?' She gave me a reproachful look.

‘There was no future there either, what with us moving about so much. Leastways, I'm a-gettin' to see the world.'

We were threading our way through the myriad arcades of the Frezzeria as we spoke. I recollected that I also could not wait to leave my home and I had had much leisure in which to repent my decision. We stopped to admire the famous doll in a shop window, the
Poupée de France
who was always dressed in the latest Paris fashion. Venetian ladies were able to follow the trends by copying
la poupée's
ensembles.

All kinds of materials were on display, brocaded fabrics with gold thread, striped satins and Pekin silk. We feasted our eyes before returning to the apartment where Mrs Makepeace complained of the lack of visitors. I was obliged to read another chapter of
Glenarvon
to her greatly against my inclinations.

Mrs Makepeace had been invited to a masked ball at one of the palazzos and I accompanied her. Gaming was always a feature of these events and this would be an opportunity to replenish my personal coffers. I could not hope to become an independent woman on the meagre allowance I received from Mr Darcy and the modest one from my employer. I was surprised that my brother-in-law had not reduced the amount now that I was employed. No doubt I owed that to Lizzie's intervention.

Now that carnival was under way there were balls and entertainments every night. In truth this differed little from normal life. It appeared to be carnival every day here. The Venetians coped with their loss of status in the world by throwing one long continuous rout which ceased only during Lent. Indeed, poor Getheridge should have set up his business here where his banking methods would not have been considered unusual.

As we were preparing for the ball a surprising thing happened. When I had dressed in a new silver gauze gown trimmed with red roses I presented myself to my employer who produced a velvet covered box which I had never seen before. I was familiar with her everyday jewellery – unremarkable pieces in heavy, old-fashioned settings – but when she opened the box I was astonished to discover it contained several rows of lustrous, milk white pearls of the finest quality and a necklace of diamond and sapphire links with matching earrings. I exclaimed over these beauties while my employer nodded approvingly.

‘These are my finest pieces. I seldom have occasion to wear them now. The pearls were my mother's and the sapphires were a gift from my husband.'

Along with the bountiful wine cellar, of course. Then Mrs Makepeace produced an exquisite letter M in diamonds attached to a black velvet ribbon. ‘It was given to me by the queen – M for Marie Antoinette. She singled me out, as you know. I have always treasured it.' She wiped away a tear and replaced it in the box. ‘Tonight I shall wear the sapphires. It is fitting that I should wear them once more before I die.'

Adelaide and I exchanged glances. Mrs Makepeace was given to making these mordant comments of late although her health and spirits had improved greatly since we left England, except for the rheumatics. Her maid dressed her in a gown of grey silk and velvet, added the sapphires and a blonde wig, a cape and a clown mask, and we set off. She had offered to loan me some of the pearls for the night but I had decided to wear the prince's necklace again. It would not cause comment in this city. The Venetians cared nothing for the niceties of English society.

The night air was chilly but full of magic as we glided along the Grand Canal. The windows of the palaces were ablaze with candlelight that gilded the black waters beneath and picked out the bobbing red lanterns in the gondolas of the ladies of pleasure which flickered like dozens of fireflies. Tito joined other gondoliers in song as mandolins played in the distance.

The palazzo was vast and after I had deposited my employer on a seat where she could watch the dancing, I went in search of the gaming tables. When I settled myself at a table I saw Captain Marshfield sitting nearby with a plate of delicacies at his side. By this time I would have been surprised if he had been absent.

After a prolonged game of bassetto, a Venetian version of faro, I had made few gains and I decided to stop before my luck ran out completely. I noticed that the captain had been losing steadily. Evidently his sleuthing skills were superior to his gaming abilities. Nevertheless he carried on regardless with a glittering, manic expression in his eyes that I had seen many times before when people were losing at the tables. Wickham often wore such a look.