Part 5 (2/2)
A sense of distance from herself came over her. Her surroundings faded away, replaced by a dark room with a low ceiling. The room was filled with low moans. Luigi knelt by a narrow bed. She was certain it was him by the expressive brown eyes, though they sat in a face with jowls and under a mop of gray hair. Luigi was bent over a bed with a frail woman lying in it. The woman's skin was like yellowed paper in the light of the candles at the bedside table. Her eyes, a watery blue, searched Luigi's face.
”Mi amante,” she murmured. ”Don't mourn me.”
”I cannot live without you,” Luigi sobbed, holding her fragile hand to his lips.
”We will be together again soon...” The voice drifted farther away. The head turned away, as if answering some other bid for her attention, and stilled.
Luigi let out a shout of grief that collapsed into sobs as he laid his bulk over the small form in the bed.
Kate gasped as the vision faded and was replaced by the face of a much younger Luigi, looking concerned.
”Is the Signorina well?”
”Yes. Yes, of course,” she stuttered, breathing hard.
It had happened again, just like her other visions. Had she seen this man's future, the moment when he would lose the wife he loved very much? Kate found herself shaking, both from the fact that she might be having visions and the emotion that had filled that room. She experienced the love, the hopeless anguish of Luigi. She even knew the feelings his wife-Maria? Yes, Maria- had of drifting toward some other destiny, the moorings loosening, the emotion of her husband growing distant.
”Perhaps some coffee?”
Kate swallowed. ”Yes.” She followed him into the busy tavern. She kept her head down, since she had no veil.
”A private room, man,” Luigi called to the proprietor. He sat her at the table in the room the man indicated. ”I must go, Signorina, else they will fob off their worst slugs on Adolpho and that the master would never tolerate. Order as you will. But be quick. He wants haste.”
Luigi was gone. What a terrible responsibility to know his future sorrow. What could she say to him? She could not burden him with her knowledge. Yet, what if knowing he would lose his wife could make him treasure each moment more?
But man was not meant to know his future. It was not her place to tell him.With a start she realized that she believed she could see the future. How unlike her! She believed only in what she could see and touch and taste and hear. And now she seemed to have another sense. One that was disrupting her life.
The proprietor came in, pointedly avoiding looking at her. He had seen her scar and didn't know where to cast his eyes. She ordered breakfast for herself, an egg, some toast. Her appet.i.te was gone. The pudgy man turned to leave.
”Oh, signore,” she called. ”Could you also prepare a breakfast for my companion in the carriage?” The man looked wary. He was no doubt imagining her companion even more marked than she was, since he had not come in at all. That almost made Kate chuckle. And she needed to chuckle. ”Two rashers of Parma ham and four eggs, bread and cheese and mushrooms grilled, with a flagon of good, strong coffee.”
He looked surprised. Italians never ate so much in the morning. But he nodded at her decisive order and withdrew. As Kate was finis.h.i.+ng, Luigi entered to escort her to the carriage and took the basket exuding delightful smells the landlord brought.
”Did you and the boy have time to eat as well?” she asked Luigi.
He laughed, showing white, even teeth. ”The master says I always make time to eat. And I am training Adolpho well.”
This time she held her chin up as she followed him. There was no use doing anything else until she could procure a veil. Let the surrept.i.tious glances fall where they may. When she got to the carriage, she took the basket from Luigi.
”How does Maria do, Luigi?”
He looked surprised. ”She has some small complaints. They worry me.”
”Oh, I wouldn't worry. You'll have many happy years with her yet.” She smiled as he frowned at her. ”You don't have children.”
There had been only Luigi at Maria's bedside.
”The Lord has not blessed us,” Luigi said, sorrow in his eyes.
”Oh, yes He has, Luigi.” She opened the door and stepped up into the carriage with her basket, pulling it quickly shut after her.
Had she just had a vision of true love?
”Here,” she said unceremoniously, pus.h.i.+ng the basket over the seat to Urbano in the dimness. She could hardly see at all after the bright yard. ”I ordered you food. And not those paltry sweet breads Italians like, but a good English-style breakfast. You were looking peaked.”
”Was I?” he rumbled. He pulled back the checked cloth even as the coach lurched forward. She watched him tuck into his breakfast single-mindedly. He was so... physical. The energy that always seemed to coil about him spoke of life and virility. She imagined his naked body moving inside his well-cut coat and clinging breeches. Her brows drew together. If she believed these visions she had were real depictions of the future, then someday he would be lying naked in chains while someone touched that stone to his body and gave him pain.
What nonsense! What one saw in the world was all there was. Physical substance and the venality of human nature-that was what you could count on. Everything else was wishful thinking. She was seeing what she wanted to see. And seeing Gian Urbano naked and forced to submit was but the unspoken fascination she had for his beauty and her desire to see him taken down a peg for his arrogance. She should be ashamed that her unacknowledged wishes were thus made corporeal in these ”visions.” The vision of Maria's death was really a wish that someone would love her. She hated to admit that desire, but it had been present ever since she'd been abandoned. It was her imagination that what happened with Urbano at the fountain in front of the burning building matched a vision she had had earlier. One always remade a supposed vision in the face of facts. Why had she seen a carriage accident'? Perhaps all these imaginings just revealed how badly she wanted to be ”special” now that she was alone in the world. She was making up supernatural powers for herself. Pathetic!
But Luigi had made no demur that his wife was named Maria. How had she known that?”You were kind to ask after Maria,” Urbano said, wiping his mouth with the napkin.
Kate realized he must have heard the whole conversation.
”Did Sophia tell you about her and Luigi?” he continued. ”They are quite in love, even after so many years. I am never quite sure if that is a mark of the lower cla.s.ses. Love seems to be in short supply among the aristocracy.”
That was it. Sophia must have told her about Luigi and Maria. She had been so tired she had just forgotten. ”In my opinion, love is an illusion altogether.” She had imagined that Luigi and Maria loved each other because she was weak and that's what she wanted to believe. Ever since she was abandoned, even through the a.s.signations Matthew had arranged for her and select ”admirers” before the scar, she must have held on to a wish that there was such a thing as true love. There wasn't, and she should get over such weakness immediately.
”It does exist,” he said, sipping his coffee, ”though I have never felt it personally.”
He was just being contrary, ”You take it on faith? I don't mean infatuation.” she warned.
He looked up at her. She could barely make out his features in the shadow of the swaying coach. ”My mother loved my father, and I believe he returned her love.” The pain that drenched his voice was palpable. Why would that give him pain? Unless he didn't believe it, and was just saying that to try to make it true. With his next words, he deliberately lightened his tone. ”He died long ago, of course. She knew he would. She always says it gave their love poignancy.” He snorted derisively. ”No good came of it. Certainly not my birth. And it ruined her for anybody else. Personally, I think she would have been better off not loving him.”
What could she say to that? He apparently shared her cynical view of the world at least. ”Did your father tell you he loved her in return?”
”He was not the type.”
”So you have only her word for it. People like to imagine themselves in love. Me, I never take anything on faith.”
”No faith...” he murmured. ”Unusual in one who was raised with nuns.”
”Not as unusual as you would think.” she said grimly.
”You are sure there is no G.o.d?”
She wasn't sure, and the question made her uncomfortable so she deflected it. ”And what do you believe in? Does it include G.o.d?”
He put aside his tray on the seat next to him and took a careful breath. When he let it out and leaned back into the corner, some of the arrogance seemed to be let out of him. ”G.o.d? I'm not sure anymore. But I believe you must live as if G.o.d existed. I...
believe in duty, I suppose... honor.”
”So you've said.” She let her voice reveal what she thought of that.
”I agree they're little enough,” he said, voice tight. ”Sometimes they're all that's left.”
She realized she had touched some painful point. They were like two hedgehogs set in a tiny box. They'd p.r.i.c.k each other b.l.o.o.d.y at this rate. But there was nothing else to do but talk to him or sleep. And she had slept her fill. She threw up her hands.
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