Bad Miss Bennet (27 page)

My excursions into this heaven were all too rare. It was all very well for Mrs Makepeace. She knew Paris intimately, as she never tired of reminding everyone. She scorned the new king, ineffectual little Louis XVIII, remembering the glories of Versailles in the past. Neither was she impressed by the number of uniformed officers present, having lost all taste for anything other than ices and Napoleon brandy.

‘In my day,' she declared, ‘one needed more than a few pairs of kid gloves and a foppish manner to enter the highest Parisian society. The city is full of mountebanks and officers without a penny to their names.' It appeared that I would not wear my new white gauze gown with its pink satin underskirt on this occasion, after all.

In fact, I had the opportunity to attend one
soirée
in the house of one of the nobility. I recall the white and gold panelled rooms and the creaking wooden floors. Once again accompanied by Captain Marshfield, wearing my white gauze and a soupçon of rouge, I was introduced to an elderly Duke who passed me on to a younger partner. We essayed a waltz and I was amused to see that the Parisian fashion was to dance on the balls of the feet while keeping one arm aloft. This made the dance so difficult that I was in danger of falling over many times. I was also disconcerted when my partner executed a pirouette or two; not a sight that would be seen in London. My journal, faithfully kept, grew more cosmopolitan by the day.

When we returned to the hotel my employer said, ‘There, my dear, you have had your taste of Paris.' Fortunately, the captain came to my assistance by warning her of the excessive cost of travelling through France and Italy. ‘Around eight guineas per day, I believe.' He enlarged upon the filthy inns, the appalling roads and the lack of decent food. ‘Travellers of my acquaintance have been forced to subsist on tea.' Mrs Makepeace, who seldom drank anything but alcohol, was not greatly disturbed by this last remark, but the captain's words cast some doubts in her mind and we continued our stay while she thought the matter over. She went as far as employing a Parisian laundry woman and instructing the staff to unpack her mountains of luggage.

When the time finally came to leave I gave vent to some sighs and tears as we repacked the household goods and chattels and set off on a journey of five weeks or more through the entire length of France and over the Alps into Italy. Eventually we would reach the Brenta canal, the traditional gateway to Venice.

As we trundled out of Paris I took comfort in the letter hidden in my reticule. I received it only yesterday from an Austrian acquaintance made at the gaming tables and it informed me that the Count had been recalled to Vienna. Was Vienna anywhere near Venice? I wondered. If only I had listened more attentively when papa taught us the use of the globes. I enquired of my employer who waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Calais and said it was ‘quite near.' This and the presence of Lord Byron in Venice offered me a few crumbs of comfort.

I will not trouble you, dear reader, with a description of our travels save to say that they were the stuff of nightmare. Captain Marshfield, on orders from the embassy, kindly escorted us to the Swiss border with two outriders. France remained an extremely dangerous country for travellers with remnants of Napoleon's defeated army marauding everywhere. Indeed, the captain had been so solicitous that I began to wonder if he was attracted to me. Surely he was not interested in my employer? She remained largely oblivious to the discomforts, being pickled in brandy most of the time.

When we reached the Alps we found the Swiss to be a dull and surly people surprisingly unwilling to help us across their mountains despite the good living they made from this enterprise. Captain Marshfield told me they lived mainly on cheese and chocolate which must affect their disposition. The awful and terrifying ordeal of crossing the Alps resulted in the loss of many household items and of the coach itself which literally disintegrated like matchwood.

I cannot imagine how the ancient general Hannibal conveyed elephants across these mountains. I remember papa telling us the story. Perhaps the Swiss were more obliging in those days. As soon as we were able to procure another vehicle we travelled on to the Brenta canal where we transferred to a horse drawn barge which was surprisingly comfortable and luxurious. The local people call them burchiellos.

We drifted along the canal past glorious Palladian villas belonging to Venetian nobles. It was most soothing after our ordeals. Finally, the magical city appeared through a light haze and, as we made our way through the basin of St Mark's, the sky was pale pink tinged with gold and the spires and domes pierced the sky as in a fairytale.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Venice, Winter 1817

The Hotel Europa on the Grand Canal was our designated abode. Mrs Makepeace was in ecstasies with the place and even Adelaide thought this city worthy of note although she has complained of foreigners and their ways right across Europe.

The morning after our arrival I was in the lobby of the hotel gazing out across the water, lost in thought, when the proprietor, Signore Grazzielli, approached me in an overly familiar manner. Speaking in excellent English he pointed out some of the magnificent buildings across the canal, San Giorgio Maggiore with its tall tower and the church they call Zitelle, which means ‘the spinsters'.

‘There was a convent there which took in destitute females.' He showed me the colourful façade of the Palazzo Dario and mentioned its sinister reputation, adding in a more conspiratorial fashion, ‘Welcome to Gehenna by the sea, signora!' He was leering at me in an unsettling continental manner. ‘This city is given over entirely to sinfulness and pleasure, every vice is indulged here.'

‘Really?' I replied, ‘and you have such beautiful surroundings for it.' The man eyed me warmly. ‘You and your mistress will be very satisfied in Venice. The English especially appreciate what we have to offer.' I disliked his inference.

‘Are you by any chance referring to Lord Byron?' The man leered again,

‘Indeed, signora, the English milord is famous here. He appreciates our women, our culture, our indulgences.' He moved away as Mrs Makepeace appeared demanding to know whether any mail had arrived from England.

When my employer had finished fussing and fuming the proprietor advised us to take chocolate or an aperitif at Florian's in the Piazza San Marco. He procured a gondolier for our exclusive use while we were in the city, whistling up a gondola rowed by a burly and quite handsome fellow called Tito Salieri who sang constantly and quite charmingly in the Venetian manner.

He did not seem too happy to have Wellington in his vessel. I fancy he muttered something uncomplimentary about the English as we set off across the Grand Canal. I had already observed that the city must be a sad shadow of its former self. I knew it was once a great and splendid republic but it has been ruled by the Austrians for several years and their soldiers were very noticeable in the throng around the Piazza San Marco. There was no longer a doge, their maritime empire had vanished, the canals were weed-choked, and the exquisite buildings were crumbling and scarred with leprous patches of plaster. But the lagoon glittered in the sun and the lambent quality of the light continued to delight artists and lovers.

When we arrived in the Piazza San Marco we were overwhelmed by the huge number of people of all kinds and nationalities who were thronging the place. The piazza was a vast square. Napoleon called it the drawing room of Europe because you may in due course meet everyone you know.

As we sat in Florian's sipping prosecco, a delightful sparkling wine, I was surprised to see Captain Marshfield entering the café. He had left us before we crossed the Alps to return to Paris, as I thought. He acknowledged us nonchalantly and asked permission to join us. Mrs Makepeace scarcely seemed to remember him.

‘This is Captain Marshfield from the embassy in Paris,' I reminded her. I looked keenly at him but he affected not to notice.

‘What a coincidence that we all arrived in Venice at the same time. You made no mention of coming to Italy when we parted in France, captain.'

‘Indeed, madam, I was unexpectedly given a mission to Venice which I hope to execute in the next few days. I shall then be free to enjoy a short holiday in this glorious city. I am sure our paths will cross; of course if I can be of any assistance …'

‘Charming! Charming!' Mrs Makepeace interrupted. ‘How delightful to see you dear boy. Where are you staying?'

‘At the consul's house on the Grand Canal.'

‘We are at the Europa,' I remarked, ‘although I am sure you already know that.' He refused to meet my eyes which confirmed my suspicions. The man was following us – but why? Either my employer had committed grand larceny of which I was unaware, or the man was in thrall to my attractions. I was flattered of course, but not greatly complimented. The captain was nondescript in every way. He had one of those instantly forgettable faces, was of average height and bearing, and appeared to have no fortune worth noting. I have had my fill of penniless officers, even if they had the ear of Wellington himself. I fear he will be tiresome if he insists on escorting us to social events.

As if he had read my thoughts the captain said, ‘Most of the nobility in this city are virtual paupers. They squander their money in casinos and at theatres and endless balls. Their poverty does not seem to be a hindrance to their enjoyment.'

‘Why not? We are a long time in the grave, sir.'

‘Indeed,' my employer added with feeling. ‘I am well-acquainted with the truth of that, for am I not one of the living dead?' We looked at her in horror. ‘I did not mean literally, my dears, only that I have been a recluse for so long.' I smiled and patted her hand.

‘Do not fret, madam, now you are in Venice, the carnival of Europe.'

The captain asked if we would be staying for the carnival. This event began on the day after Christmas in Venice, and, as it was still early November I doubted that Mrs Makepeace would stay the course. She surprised me by declaring her intention of remaining. The captain turned to me, bent on furthering my education.

‘Did you know, Mrs Wickham, that this city was built on stilts? Huge wooden piles were sunk into the lagoon and this wondrous place – this city of decadence – was erected on top of them.' He sipped his wine thoughtfully, watching the
melee
around us. Gehenna by the sea, Signore Grazzielli had called it. So it was decadence on stilts – an alarming and provoking image. The captain's eye was on me again and I strove to change the subject,

‘They say Lord Byron often comes to Florian's. I hope to have a sight of him.'

Marshfield snorted and waved a hand at the crowds thronging the piazza, Greeks, Turks, Arabs, Europeans and Austrian officers in the fanciest of uniforms. Orientals were puffing on pipes called shiskas and a goodly number of Venice's thousands of whores were parading their wares. Hawkers, street people and musicians milled around. It was a veritable maelstrom of humanity. ‘Would you recognise an English aristocrat in this crowd – or anyone else for that matter?'

Nevertheless I felt I should know the poet's noble features anywhere.

The captain eventually took his leave assuring us that he would make enquiries about renting an apartment on our behalf. No-one of consequence stayed in a hotel for any length of time, he assured us. I thought the man was impertinent. We had not asked for his assistance and the Europa was perfectly comfortable.

We remained to be ogled and clucked over by passers by and men in the café. A Turkish gentleman approached us and courteously asked if I would consent to become his fifty-fourth concubine. The man was obviously a person of note but I was not impressed. He claimed to have been overcome by my fair English looks. There were noticeably few of our countrymen and women in evidence. Mrs Makepeace rapped him with her reticule and told him to be off. He departed evidently overcome with grief. Incarceration in a seraglio was not part of my plans although it would certainly have solved some of my problems.

I came back to earth when my employer decided to return to the hotel. Adelaide was instructed to accompany me to the Venice
poste restante
to retrieve the mail. Pulling my cloak around me I took possession of the passports and weaved my way through the crowds followed by Adelaide. Once again I remarked how few English people were in evidence. Florence and Rome were their favoured cities and they seldom stayed more than a day or two in Venice, but my employer was an incurable romantic and the water city bolstered her fantasies.

As we returned to the hotel through tiny side streets bordering sluggish green canals the marine melancholy of the place became more apparent, adding to my own barely suppressed sorrows. I handed a small parcel to Mrs Makepeace containing a copy of Lady Caroline Lamb's scandalous novel
Glenarvon
which she received with joy. I declared firmly that I would not read a book that slandered Lord Byron. In the excitement my employer almost forgot to show me the invitations she had received. I was to accompany her to a conversazione at Countess d'Albrizzi's palace and to a luncheon with the British consul.

During the following weeks Mrs Makepeace seemed to shed ten years while I felt myself ageing imperceptibly although I was barely twenty-one. The dampness made my bones ache and I found the food disagreeable. There was too much of rice and liver for my taste, although the fish was plentiful and fresh.

Because we were unable to speak the language our opportunities for conversation were limited. Wherever we went Captain Marshfield would materialise in the vicinity. Even when Tito rowed us out into the lagoon, the captain would endeavour to draw alongside in his own gondola. He offered to escort us to the theatres for which Venice was famous and Mrs Makepeace was delighted with his attentions. The captain spoke French and Italian fluently. He was a diplomat, after all.