Connexions (25)
O, Verena – Verena, Countess of Imbremere, wife of Augustus, Earl of Imbremere that was the heir to the Marquess of Offgrange – had loved the Ukraine and the wide estates of her real father Count Rozovsky. She had not even minded the long winter and the deep snows &C, had quite relished 'em! Sleighrides through the forests &C –
And had not been idle, for while dear Gussie had been following in his father’s footsteps by studying upon the botany of those parts, she had begun learning the local tongue, and talking to the maidservants &C. While doing this, had come across the folktales of those parts, that she put herself to gathering, and also some of the songs. Finding her doing this, her father had sent for ancients from the villages thereabouts, and now she fancied she had quite enough to put together in a pretty volume when they returned to Town.
But much as they had enjoyed their time there and the more than generous hospitality, as it came towards spring, Rozovsky had groaned and declared that he supposed he should be making his way to St Petersburg – where one of his sons was in the Imperial Page Corps –
Gussie had sighed and said, had been thinking himself that they should be on their return to England. Sure his father was by no means old and in the halest of health, but news took a deal of a while to reach 'em where they were.
So they had all come to an entirely amicable agreement that the party should break up, and that Gussie and Verena were ever welcome, and Gussie extended a mutual invitation to come visit Dambert Chase was Rosovsky ever in England.
They decided to travel back southwards, by way of the Mediterranean – let us, Gussie remarked, make this a really extensive honeymoon voyage – have we not been quite exhorted to call at Lady Bexbury’s villa at Naples? – that indeed seemed a very pleasing prospect.
And here they were, so much sunlight, thought Verena, as she sat upon the terrace of the Villa Bexburi, looking over its magnificent vista of the Bay of Naples.
Had not quite anticipated to encounter the company they found there: here was Emma Reveley, that was, had married that most romantic figure, Bernardo di Serrante, half of antient Neapolitan aristocracy and half of Boston Quaker breeding, that one had heard had fought with Garibaldi in ’48, but now turned to the arts of peace and studied with the agrarian reformer, Marcello Traversini. Nardo was, she supposed, some connexion of her own? for was the son of Reynaldo di Serrante that was her elder sister Cara's father.
La, Signore Traversini was not the vision one conjured up when thinking agrarian reformer! Not in the least like pudgy little Artie Demington, more like unto some classical figure in the paintings one saw when one went call on various local inhabitants to whom one had introductions! A demigod of grapes and olives one might fancy as he walked among his vines and groves.
Along with Nardo, that was very fine-looking himself! Not that she inclined to any fellow but darling Gussie, but one must admit that the men hereabout were very pleasing to the eyes. Even Mr White, that ran the printing-press that produced a journal and pamphlets on agrarian matters, and was English – one might even detect a slight Cockney note in his speech – was quite a handsome chap for his years.
Sure did she dabble in watercolours like Emmy she would find that a great inspiration to her brush! but there was Mrs di Serrante, conscientiously painting away at depictions of scenery, and ruins, and mayhap a quaint olive-tree or so. Well, mayhap in private she prevailed upon her husband to present as a sleeping satyr or such….
Verena, that was lying in a long chair on the terrace, a novel drooping from her hand, looked over to where Emmy di Serrante was leaning upon the wall with her sketchbook and colour-box, intent upon a seascape.
It was really somewhat vexing! Verena had been wont to consider the Reveley sisters as a pair of dowdy provincials that had been quite thrust into Town Society upon the death of the late Lord Raxdell – Verena, like possibly every other young woman in her set, had passed through a girlish passion for that dashing Viscount, so handsome, such a prime sportsman, a most noted whip, and while she had recovered, still felt a pang at his untimely demise. Their mother had been no use at all to 'em –
So unlike dear Mama! Mama that knew not merely all about dress and how to be in the crack o’style, but all the little tricks of manner that gave one a deal of assurance when going into Society. And indeed, my darlings, you will need that, alas, I fear.
(Because of the whispers that Cara – Adeline – Verena Zellen is not Sir Hartley’s daughter. Even if, in all matters of affection, they were.)
So darling Mama had conveyed 'em knowledge of Society and its conventions that had served 'em all well, and Cara and Adeline had married well, and Verena herself had made this quite spectacular and enviable match, to Gussie, that she had liked since childhood and come to love.
But the Reveley girls – so awkward – but then they were took up by Lady Bexbury, one supposed as it were as a bequest from Lord Raxdell – had long been give out that there were feelings 'twixt 'em of great affection – and had he not left her the famed pink diamonds? – though there had also been vulgar speculations concerning his feelings for Lady Ferraby –
That had conveyed 'em somewhat more of polish – and the elder of the two, Miss Harriet, received a most eligible offer from the Honble Brumpage Parry-Lloyd, heir to Lord Abertyldd, not perhaps the most thrilling of suitors but an excellent match.
Still, they might have improved considerable, but Verena had still been wont to consider 'em unsophisticated creatures compared to the Zellen sisters that had been brought up in Town Society from their earliest years. One was kind, of course, there was no need to be spiteful and cattish like that set that used to gather round Lady Trembourne before her disgrace, but in the way one was to visiting relatives or neighbours from Cornwall.
Yet, here was Emmy not in the least awkward – fluent in Italian, including the particular tongue of this region – on the easiest of terms with Signor Traversini and Mr White – and widely received in the very various social circles hereabouts.
Had, Verena discovered, the entrée to the local nobility by way of her husband – and also to the Americans that came here for assorted reasons – of course to English Society – also, one discovered, to a deal of savants through introductions from Signora Umberti, whose late husband had been an esteemed professor before fleeing into exile, and had been by way of a governess to the Reveley sisters.
And took this all with entire easiness and one could only say, aplomb.
Was, it appeared, in quite a constant whirl of routs, balls, excursions to sites of interest, invitations to come view this or that one’s villa or gardens, &C&C. One supposed she had to find some diversion while her husband went about with Signor Traversini or others learning about grapes and making wine with the intention of in due course setting up to do the like on American shores. Or going to meetings of agrarian reform societies.
Both couples were attending this ridotto at some palazzo: indeed, very fine, but such a mob of company, thought Verena, that found her head aching a little at the noise. Feeling a little chagrin at observing Emmy di Serrante quite the sparkling butterfly, flitting from group to group, demonstrating a little discreet flattering flirtatiousness to this or that older fellow. Nardo, Verena observed, was smoking on a terrace with a group of younger chaps – perchance former comrades?
Gussie took her hand and said, had a notion that there was dancing a little further on, and they were about to go there, for they danced together exceedingly well and it was quite of their greatest pleasures, when came bustling up to 'em some lady she had met in the English set with Emmy – fancied her husband was here for his health? – begging to make known to Lord and Lady Imbremere her American friends.
This was undoubtedly what Mama would consider encroaching presumption, but one could hardly go so far as to deliver a cut, so they conceded to have the Rutledges, from Virginia, introduced to 'em, that made exceeding effusive –
Had not Emmy said somewhat about 'em, and that for citizens of a democratic nation they were greatly dazzled by tinsel show?
One gleaned that impression!
Upon finding that Gussie was an earl and a botanist, Mr Rutledge launched into the tale of his father’s friend, that had also been a botanist, and had gone plant-hunting in the Virginia forests with an English earl some considerable while ago. And alas, the fellow was attacked and killed by a bear, did not know the ways of things with the wild animals in those parts –
Gussie said drily that that must have been his grandfather – his mother’s father – that died before he was born.
This put a considerable chill on the conversation.
The following morning Verena found herself feeling considerable qualmish – somewhat she had consumed perchance – and said she would lie in a little when Gussie rose. A little later, feeling no better, she got up to seek her smelling-salts. Her maid had not seen them, very tiresome.
She would go ask Emmy did she have such thing as a smelling-bottle about her.
There was Emmy, sitting out on the terrace, carefully shaded from the sun, writing at a lap-desk. Shielding her own eyes from the glare of light, Verena went over to make her request.
Why, certainly, cried Emmy, I will go fetch it immediate, as she closed the lid of the lap-desk, not before Verena had observed that she had been writing in what looked like cypher – had come across Gillie Beaufoyle about the like. Gillie, challenged about this, had shrugged and revealed that he had been desired to make use of his sojourn in the Ukraine by his superiors –
But Emmy, about secret communications?