A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS.
On returning from my last visit to the palace I had carefully noted
the way thereto, so I was able to escort Signorina Angello without
calling in the services of Peppino. I was unwilling to drive there, as
the presence of a fiacre even in that deserted piazza might be
noticed, and I did not want any comment made by the scandal-loving
Italian populace on our visit to this out-of-the-way locality. So in
company with Bianca, who had put on a veil, and who said nothing to me
from the time we left Casa Angello, being apparently occupied with her
own reflections, I walked down the gloomy, narrow streets towards that
terrible Palazzo Morone, the very idea of which inspired me with
horror and dismay.
It was one of those burning days common to that time of the year in
Italy, and much as I despised and cursed those drain-like alleys in
wet weather, yet I now saw there was method in the madness of their
style of building, for their cool shadow and humid atmosphere was
wonderfully pleasant after the glare, the dust, and heat of the great
piazza. We walked on the broad carriage-way, which was less painful to
the feet than the cobble-stone paving between, and every now and then
saw some typical picture of Italian life. A dark-faced woman with a
red handkerchief twisted carelessly round her head, leaning from a
high balcony, on the iron railings of which was displayed the family
washing; a purple cloud of wisteria blooming in some pergola near the
red roof-tops; sleek grey donkeys laden with panniers, stepping
complacently along the narrow way; slender Italian men presiding over
fruit-stalls, piled high with their picturesque contents; and over
all, the vivacious clatter and din of voices, struck through at times
with the sharp, metallic notes of the mandolin. It was very charming,
and, I would have enjoyed it thoroughly, artistically speaking, had it
not been for the local odours. Oh, the smells of those picturesque
streets! they were too terrible for description; and how the Italians
are not swept off the face of the earth by a plague of typhoid is more
than I can understand. I smoked cigarettes most of the time, as a
preventive against infection; but on beholding ideal paintings of
Italian scenes, I always shudder at the memory of the malodorous
reality, and on arriving in well-drained London again, my first prayer
was one of thanks for having escaped from ill-smelling Italy.
My thoughts during this portentous walk were, I am afraid, rather
frivolous; but so fearful had been the strain on my nerves for the
past few days, that it was a great relief to think idly of anything
and any one. Not so Bianca; even through her veil I could see the
glisten of tears, and catch the sound of her quick indrawn breath as
she strove to fight down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.
I saw that the poor child was nearly hysterical with her efforts to
control herself, and stopped short in dismay.
"Signorina, you are not well. Do not go to this palazzo."
"Yes, yes! I must, Signor Hugo. I cannot pass another night in this
state of suspense. I must know all, and at once. Is the Palazzo Morone
far off?"
"We are just at it, Signorina."
And so we were; for at that moment we entered the silent, grass-grown
square, at the end of which stood the palazzo, looking gruesome even
in the sunshine, with its broken windows, damp, disfigured walls, and
general air of weird solitude. Some swallows were shooting through the
still air and twittering round the rich sculptures of the façade, but
their merry chirpings only added to the eerie feeling inspired by the
great mansion--a feeling which I noticed thrilled Bianca with fear as
she paused shuddering, under the grinning masks and unlovely faces
peering downward from the arched entrance.
"Oh, how could he come to this terrible place at night!" she cried,
crossing herself, with a look of fear in her eyes. "Desolate as it is
in the sun, what must it be when the moon shines! It is an abode of
the dead--a tomb--a tomb! Dio! his tomb."
"Signorina, do not affright yourself thus! Things may not be so bad as
you think."
"It is like the Inferno of Dante! and turns my blood cold with fear;
but I will not go back! I must find Guiseppe, even if it cost me my
life. Come, Signor, presto! there is no time to lose."
She crossed herself once more, then flitted through the opening in the
iron gate like a noiseless-winged bird, upon which I hastily followed
her, and we stood for a moment in the lonely courtyard, gazing at the
great portals of the door leading to the hall, which stood half-open.
"Signorina, I will lead you to the room. You are not afraid? You do
not tremble?"
"Ah! I am afraid, and I do tremble, Signor, for I am only a girl; but
lead on, love will make me strong, and you will protect me. Give me
your hand, Signor; I am not afraid when I hold your hand."
With a fleeting smile on her pale lips, she placed her hand in mine,
and as I grasped its cold whiteness, I guessed how terrified this
delicate, superstitious girl was of this unholy place. But for the
resolute look on her pallid face, I would have insisted upon her
turning back; but it was useless to urge retreat now, so with the name
"Guiseppe! Guiseppe!" on her lips, as if to inspire her with courage,
she almost dragged me through the half-closed door into the hall of
shadows.
"Ah! Mother Mary, it is like a church!"
It was like a church--like some old deserted church, filled with
the chill atmosphere of the grave; and the slow movement of the
wind-shaken tapestries, the glimmer of the ghostly white stairs in the
dim distance, and the solemnity of the huge pillars of black marble,
made me think of those God-cursed cities of the "Thousand and One
Nights," whose silence is only broken by the voice of the one survivor
chanting the melancholy verses of the Koran. Bianca, overpowered by
this mute spectacle of a dead past, clung convulsively to my arm with
faltering prayers on her lips, and I became afraid lest, by a feeling
of sympathy, her terror should unnerve me also, so with a cheerful
laugh, which echoed dismally through the vast vestibule, I led her
onward towards the grand staircase.
"Come, Signorina, do not be afraid. You are quite safe with me."
"Yes, yes! Guiseppe! Guiseppe!"
We slowly ascended the staircase, gained the corridor, and at length
arrived at the second flight of shallow steps leading to the secret
room. Here Bianca, seeing the darkness, nearly fainted with nervous
fear, for, deeply imbued with grim Italian superstitions, she beheld
unseen terrors in every shadowy corner. I again wanted her to return,
but with wilful obstinacy she refused, so, as I luckily had a
pocket-flask of brandy with me, I made her take a little to revive
her. The fiery spirit put new life into her sinking limbs, and, after
lighting my candle as usual, I led her up the steps, through the short
corridor, through the tapestried ante-chamber, until at last we stood
in the fatal room.
"Here, Signor Hugo!"
"Yes!"
She flung back her veil with a feverish gesture, and peered into the
darkness, which was hardly broken by the feeble light of the small
candle I carried. Suddenly a thought struck me which I at once put
into execution, and lighted all the tapers yet remaining in the
candelabra on the table. To the darkness succeeded a blaze of mellow
light, and Bianca, with a look of surprise on her face, gazed round
the singular room with the white pillars, the ominous blood-red
hangings, and the banquet of the dead set forth with such splendid
display on the gilt table.
"What a strange room!" she said timidly. "Signor Hugo! what does it
mean?"
"I have told you all I know, Signorina. Your lover was lured to this
room. I saw him pass through that door, and then I was drugged as I
have said."
"You did not then see who received him here?"
"No! I did not."
The first part of the lie was difficult to utter on account of a
choking feeling in my throat, but the last sentence came out with
tolerable grace.
"And you do not think Guiseppe left this room again?"
"I'm afraid not, Signorina!"
"Then, where can he be?" she asked with an anxious look around.
"I think he is concealed in some secret cell, the entrance to which is
from this apartment."
"Oh, Signor Hugo, let us look for it at once."
"Certainly!"
"A meal on the table--all this gold and silver. It is a robbers' cave,
Signor."
"Y--es--I suppose so!"
"Come, let us be quick then, or the robbers may arrive."
She looked nervously towards the door, but I, taking a candle off the
table, reassured her with a gay laugh,--
"Do not be afraid, Signorina. No one comes here during the day."
"Hush! what is that?"
Infected by her terror my heart gave a jump, and I listened intently,
but could hear no sound.
"It is nothing, Signorina. Your nerves are unstrung!"
"No! No! I can hear it. Some one is coming. Listen!"
In order to humour her fancy I remained silent with all my senses on
the alert, and with a feeling of dread I heard the sound. The light
fall of footsteps, the rustle of a silken dress--a dress!--the full
horror of the situation rushed on me at once.
"It must be the Contessa Morone!"
In a moment I had blown out all the candles, and, dragging Bianca with
me, retreated in the darkness to the far end of the room. The girl
gave a little cry as the lights disappeared, but I pressed her hand
significantly.
"Hush, Signorina. Not a word!"
At the time I heard the steps they were at the door of the
ante-chamber, where the new-comer was evidently pausing a moment, and
as the curtains of the inner room had been half drawn aside on our
entrance, it was for this reason we had heard them so clearly. The
steps recommenced. I heard their soft, light fall on the marble floor,
the rustle of the silken gown, like the sound of dry leaves in an
autumnal wind, and then I felt that this woman was standing in the
arched doorway, looking straight at myself and the shrinking girl
through the darkness.
"Why are you here, Signor Hugo, and who is that woman?"
It was the voice of the Contessa, and I gave a cry of horror as I
suddenly remembered how ineffectual the darkness was to conceal us
from the eyes of this nyctalopist. Bianca, however, knew nothing of
this woman, or of her gift of seeing in the dark; so, overcome with
fear at the demoniac power she believed the unknown possessed, she
gave a shriek of terror and sank fainting at my feet.
"What does this mean?"
Again the voice of the Contessa sounded cruel and menacing in its
tones; so feeling myself at a disadvantage in the dark, through not
possessing the terrible attribute of this woman, I staggered forward
and lighted the candles. At once out of the gloom sprang that evil
face with a frown on the white brow, a deadly glitter in the cruel
eyes, and an ominous tightening of the thin lips.
I don't think I can call myself a coward, but at that moment my blood
ran cold at the horror of that Medusa-like countenance, and I stood
before this phantom of Lucrezia Borgia as if turned into stone, unable
to move or speak.
The Contessa moved forward to the table and looked at me steadily,
with a wicked smile frozen on her red lips.
"You do not reply, Signor Hugo; but I begin to understand. You have
been here before?"
"Yes!"
I hardly recognised my own voice, so hoarse and broken did it sound,
stealing in a whisper from between my dry lips. She still looked at me
steadily, and I felt fascinated with dread by the snake-like glare of
those cruel eyes.
"When were you here, Signor?"
"On Monday night!"
"And you saw--nothing," she said in a meaning tone.
"Yes!" I replied, lifting my head boldly, "I saw you receive Guiseppe
Pallanza, and I saw you give him the poisoned cup!"
She gave a cry of rage like a trapped animal, and made a step forward,
but restraining herself with a powerful effort, sank into a chair and
leaned her elbow on the table. Dressed in heavy black garments of
velvet and silk, she looked more like the Borgia than ever, and the
ruby necklace she constantly wore flashed forth rays of red fire in
the glimmer of the tremulous light.
"I understand now why you said Guiseppe Pallanza would not come back,"
she said with a scornful smile. "I thought last night you knew more
than you told. Eh! Signor, and it was you who sang at the door of the
Ezzelino."
"Yes, it was I."
"Meddlesome Englishman that you are, do you not fear that I will treat
you as I treated that false one?"
"No! I mistrust your wine!"
"True, Signor Machiavella! forewarned is forearmed. So you came here
to look for Pallanza?"
"I came to look for his body, Madame Morone, but I do not know where
it is."
"No; nor will you find it. And who is this woman?"
"Guiseppe's betrothed."
The Contessa gave a cry of rage, and, rising from her seat, rushed
towards the unconscious girl where she lay in the darkness. Owing to
her singular gift she needed no light to see by, but examined the face
of her rival minutely in the gloom. I had stepped forward, fearing
lest, carried away by jealous anger, she should do the poor child an
injury; but such was not her intention, for after a minute's
examination, she arose from her stooping position with a burst of
wicked laughter.
"So it was for this white-faced thing that he was going to leave
me--me, Giulietta Morone! Eh, I feel much flattered at having such a
rival. Why is she here, Signor Hugo?"
"To find Pallanza," I replied shortly.
"She will never find him; he is lost to her for ever. But," she added,
with a wicked smile, "I am not afraid of your betraying me, Signor
Hugo. I am not afraid of this poor fool, who thought to take Guiseppe
from me, so I will revenge myself."
"Revenge yourself?"
"Yes; I have said it. You came here like a thief in the night, and saw
what you were not meant to see. She comes in the daylight to seek her
lover. Well, she shall see him. Wait till she revives, and I will
blast her eyes with the sight of what he is now."
"You are a demon!"
"I am a wronged woman, whom a man sought to deceive. Ecco! Behold,
then, Englishman that you are, how we Italian women revenge
ourselves!"
She stepped past the unconscious body Of the girl, and, going to one
of the pillars on the right side of the room, apparently touched a
spring, for the whole pillar--which, as I have described before, was
half built into the wall--revolved slowly with a grating sound and
displayed a cavity. I bent forward with a shudder of horror, and
saw--nothing!
The cavity was empty!
Signora Morone gazed at it with a look of horror on the wild beauty of
her face; then, with a cry of rage, of fear, and of dread, rushed out
of the room.
I heard her shriek, "Lost! lost! lost!" three times, then the sound of
her retreating footsteps died away in the distance, and I was left
alone in the ghastly gloom with the unconscious girl at my feet, and
an agony in my heart such as I never hope to feel again in this life.
How I got out of that accursed room I hardly know; but I faintly
remember lifting Bianca in my arms, and, guided by instinct, stagger
through the dark corridors, down the silent stairs, and out into the
courtyard. The fresh air seemed to revive me, and, collecting my
scattered senses together with a gigantic effort, I looked round for
some means by which to bring Bianca out of her faint, the length of
which alarmed me terribly.
In the corner of the courtyard there was a sculptured trough, which
the late rains had brimmed over, so, hastening towards this, I filled
my cap with water, and, returning to Bianca, threw it in her face.
She revived slowly with a shuddering sigh, and looked round vacantly;
then, with a sudden recollection of what she had come through, she
flung herself into my arms with an imploring cry,--
"Oh, that voice! that voice! Take me away from that cruel voice!"