'But – why from the common people?'
He rounded on her at that, with sudden violence, his head lowered like a bull about to charge, and Marianne shivered for she heard the fires of hell roaring in his voice and guessed that Lucinda had ignited them.
'Because she could then dispose of them without awkward questions. There were men of her own rank who gratified her and them she kept, safe in the knowledge that they were her slaves and would not live without her. But how many young men vanished without trace after giving all their youth and ardour to the insatiable she-wolf in one night of love? No one – no one can imagine what that woman was like. She could awaken the basest instincts, the ultimate madness, and she liked to see death as the end of love. Perhaps, after all, the legend was right —'
'What legend?'
'Men said that her deathless beauty was the outcome of a pact with the devil. One night, as she was studying herself anxiously in the mirrors of her bedchamber, a handsome young man dressed in black appeared to her and offered her, in exchange for her soul, thirty years of unfading beauty, thirty years of pleasure and power. They say that she agreed but that time passed and she had made a fool's bargain because before the thirty years were up her servants entered her room one morning to find only a carcass, crawling with worms.'
Marianne sprang to her feet with a cry of horror but he gave her a contemptuous smile.
'It is only a legend, my lady. The truth was quite different for, as I told you. Dona Lucinda perished in the fire which ravaged the temple – a fire she lighted with her own hands the night she found a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth. I dare say, Princess, you may be wondering why she should choose so terrible a death. Well, I will tell you. She did not wish that marvellous body which she had cherished with such care to rot slowly in the ground with all the horrors of decay. She preferred to see it consumed by fire! That was a dreadful night. The fire burned so fiercely that the flames were seen far off and the peasants still swear in terror that it was the fires of hell opening for her. I can still hear her screams… like a wild beast howling… But I know that she is not wholly gone. She lives on.'
'What do you mean?' Marianne cried, struggling to shake off the horror which threatened to overwhelm her.
Matteo turned glazed eyes on her. He smiled, drawing his lips back over his strong, yellow teeth. His answer came in a voice of mysterious, incantatory power.
'She still walks in this house – in the gardens – in your chamber, here she used to stand, naked, watching herself in the mirrors, always comparing her beauty to that of the statue which she had placed there. She brought a curse to this place and she is watching over that curse, which is her revenge. You will not stop her!'
His tone changed abruptly. Almost obsequiously, he asked: 'Is there anything more your highness wishes to know?'
Marianne wrenched herself out of the spell in which the steward's words had held her enthralled. She coloured violently under the insolent gaze which seemed to be studying her boldly in every detail and, striving to hold her own, she returned his gaze haughtily and answered: 'Yes. Since she had such a predilection for peasants – were you also one of her lovers?'
He did not hesitate. With triumph in his voice, he answered her.
'Why, yes, my lady. And believe me, I can never forget the hours I owe her.'
Unable to control her anger any longer, Marianne merely indicated to him with a gesture that she had no further need of him. But, left alone, she sank down, prostrate, on her chair and remained so for a long time, fighting down the panic terror that filled her. All the beauty of the place where, for a short while, she had found peace and happiness had been destroyed, smirched and defiled by the memory of the she-devil who had left her mark on it. The recollection of the dark figure of the man bestriding Ilderim in the night made her heart ache with pity; it seemed to her that between the Prince and the curse which lay upon him was an unceasing struggle, a battle lost and always recommenced. It took all her resolution not to send for her coach and her baggage at once and fly back to France without a moment's delay. Even the sound of the fountains now seemed charged with menace.
But she had promised to wait for the cardinal, and there was also the curious promise which Matteo had made to the ghost of Lucinda. Marianne meant to find out the exact nature of the promise and, if need be, to intervene. Could it, perhaps, be the means of exorcising the devil that haunted the house of Sant'Anna at last? Her eye fell on the family crest embroidered on the back of a chair and she was suddenly struck by the powerful symbol which it represented. The snake and the unicorn. The venomous, crawling beast, silent and deadly, and the creature of legend, clothed in white light. This strife must cease before her child was born. She did not mean him to rule a world in Lucinda's image. Her maternal instinct awoke, violently opposed to the slightest shadow on her child's future. She, Marianne, must make an end of the devils. Even if she had to risk her life to do it, she would be present that night to see what those ties were which bound Matteo to the evil dead. Afterwards, she would do as her conscience dictated, even if it meant forcing herself on her unseen husband.
Yet, when night returned to cover the villa and its gardens, all Marianne's heroic plans melted away before the most primitive of all terrors, the terror of the unknown perils that lurk in darkness. The thought of going back to that ill-omened glade, and looking again on that devilish statue now that she knew the truth, chilled her to the marrow. Never in all her life had she known such fear, not even in that moment after Francis Cranmere's escape when she feared for her own life. Francis was, after all, only a man, whereas Lucinda belonged to the unseen, immeasurable world of the supernatural.
In her fear of being obliged to meet the steward again, she had spent the better part of the day shut up in her own rooms. Not until the afternoon, when she had seen him set off in the direction of the main road, did she venture down to the stables and there she spent a long time meticulously examining Ilderim, as if by some sign the beautiful stallion could give her the key to the mystery of his master. She said nothing to Rinaldo who had watched with some surprise the Princess's long colloquy with the thoroughbred.
Indoors again, she had waited for the night in a state of utter indecision. Curiosity urged her to go back to the ruins of the unholy temple but all that Matteo had told her of Lucinda filled her with an uncontrollable disgust and she feared the sight of that shameless statue almost as much as that of the fanatical servant.
She partook of a light supper, soon over, and then allowed her women to undress her for the night, but she did not go to bed. Her rich bedchamber, her splendid bed, now filled her with horror. She seemed to see the statue still standing there and hardly dared to turn her eyes to the mirrors for fear of seeing the ghost of the evil Venetian woman reflected there. Although it was still very hot, she had had all the windows tightly closed and the curtains drawn, prompted by an impulse of childish terror of which she was secretly ashamed. She had stared for a long time at the moving panel and ended by piling up a table and some chairs in front of it, reinforced by a few heavy metal objects, such as candlesticks, so that it was quite impossible for anyone to open it from the other side without causing a resounding crash.
Before sending Agathe and Dona Lavinia away, she had requested the housekeeper to send Gracchus to her. Her idea had been to make her youthful coachman sleep on a mattress in the short passage connecting her room with Agathe's, but Gracchus, unaware of his mistress's terrors, had gone to spend the evening with Rinaldo, with whom he had struck up a great friendship, at the farm-house where he lived on the far side of the estate. Marianne was obliged to deal with her fears alone, fears which a hundred times that day had sent her hand creeping to the bell to send for her coach. Her will had prevailed but now she was obliged to live through a night which seemed fraught with dangers. The few hours that must pass before the sun rose again seemed an eternity.