The Countess Gemini In From The Cold

Chapter XXIV

Pansy Osmond was quietly embroidering the border of a delicate handkerchief she planned to give to her stepmother for Christmas. She needed to keep her hands busy lest her imagination take hold. Her mind was capable of conjuring a less than desirable outcome for her future. She did not have an active imagination, she knew it, but thought it best to keep occupied nevertheless. Her future was very much on her mind but she was not unduly worried about it; her concern was more toward the present which had lost its sanguinity with a proposal of marriage from Prince Viticonti one week previous.

That she refused the prince had her father wildly agitated though he had not as yet spoke with her or determined how to rebuke his obstinate daughter. The fact was, Osmond had written Sister Catherine about having his daughter spend time with the sisters until “certain matters were attended to.” Her reply left him little in the way of options in that regard. Though we love her dear self so, she wrote to Osmond, we feel this is not the best place for her; we have girls in need of what we offer, your daughter has had the benefit and now must make her way in the world.

Pansy had taken it upon herself to retreat; she kept to her room purposely - the solitude gave her time to not only think - she had much to think about these days - but to work on her gifts. She finished the watercolour sketch she planned to give her father of their courtyard before the sprawling oak tree had been felled in a storm one of the most damaging in recorded history in Italy. She knitted Harold Ludlow two pairs of socks and a scarf to keep his neck warm. He wrote to her of how cold England was and how chilling a damp climate was to his bones. Just hearing these words from her beloved set her fingers immediately to work and with each stitch she thought of how cozy he would be, how sheltered, in a sense, she would be keeping him. As she worked she thought of nothing else and each stitch was mired in her love, feeling thus, was what her future was about. How it would come about, she was not sure but she was certain that it would. She had a vision and her vision held. Meeting Harold Ludlow had released the imagination she was said to have lacked. She gave little attention to this; but if she would have, she would say she was changed, had become a grown woman and this she thought, infinitely for the better.

She was also embroidering a handkerchief for her aunt, the Countess Gemini. Her stepmother let her know the countess would soon be in Rome, thought not to be staying with them at the Palazzo Roccanera.
“Why does she not stay with us, Mother? Why is she in a hotel? Has she quarreled with Papa?”
“She has, dear, but it is time for a reunion. We will go see her at the first chance.”
“Thank you. I miss her.”
“You do? I never knew if you cared for her especially. She can be abrasive and insensitive.”
“Yes, she was confusing to me when I was younger but I was fascinated - with her clothing, her manner, her speech. She was certainly like no one I encountered in the convent. I would like to see her again, talk with her…”
“So we shall, my dear, we certainly shall.”

This conversation took place a week ago and Pansy did not know if the countess was yet in Rome. Her stepmother seemed preoccupied and busy entertaining friends from England. She went out much and would sleep late, staying in her room most mornings. They had not spoken since the day of the prince’s proposal and then very little was said. Her stepmother held her hand when she emerged from the drawing room where she had been left alone with the prince; this was the first time she had ever been left alone with any man although her father and the Marchesa Viticonti were in the next room viewing the artworks on display. Her stepmother hovered in the vicinity unusually anxious, fearing what was coming, whether Pansy accepted or declined. Isabel wished she could take her place and do her bidding; she had much experience declining the offers of gentlemen but it was never a pleasant experience. For Pansy it would doubtless be agonizing - she had not her stepmother’s verve.

Pansy retreated immediately, slightly bewildered though not at a loss for her natural poise, but heard her father and stepmother arguing later that afternoon and her stepmother then took her dinner in her rooms. She wanted to go to her and tell her not to take pains on her account - she was an adult and though she could not determine her own fate entirely, she had determined who she would and would not marry.

There had been no family gathering since; Osmond suffered a virus and took to his bed the next day. She went to his room to let him know she cared for him, that she wanted to sit with him in his illness but he brushed her aside and said he wished to be alone. Pansy was hurt but knew she couldn’t expect a sick man to wish his daughter by his side, especially when he was surely vexed with her. She wanted to explain but he blocked her opening sentences and said, “I am not a tyrant, my girl, I do not force a marriage on you. I am only disappointed you chose to refuse a fine man so inequitably. You will never see such an offer again, I’m afraid.” He then turned his head to the wall and Pansy crept out of his room, saddened but without self-reproach toward herself for her position. She would have to tell her father why she could not accept the prince but sensed it was not the moment. When he was well, she would confess.

After being turned out of her father’s room, she made the decision to retreat to her own room and be as quiet as possible. She did not write letters or visit her bother’s grave. She did not venture into the kitchen to try the new recipes sent to her from America by Harold’s mother. She stayed, alone, occupied, and found sustenance within the framework of her own mind. Silence had always been her very best friend.

Isabel Osmond was occupied also but it was not locked within her own mind and was indisputably not in quietude. Mr. Whistler had been in Rome for a nine days and she found herself in much demand. She was invited to several dinner parties, gave two elaborate parties in return, attended a ball and the opening of the Impressionists first exhibit in Italy. She and Mr. Whistler, with a grouping of various admirers and sycophants, visited the prominent sights of Rome and the surrounding area. They had picnics, luncheons in prestigious homes as well as restaurants. Mr. Whistler, it seems, had taken up Mrs. Osmond with a force and she found herself after years in Rome, suddenly on the inside of its society, at least the expatriate social circle though a few nobles made their way into the drawing rooms of this lately-come moneyed class. Most of these activities did not include her husband, not because he was excluded, but because he declined the invitations.
“You know my views on Impressionism, I cannot hide them.” Conversing with its practitioners, even if the artist had an extensive knowledge of art and, Osmond granted, exquisite taste for the most part, was more than he could stand for. He thought the man a poseur, a mountebank. He was polite to him when he dined in their home but said to his wife, “I would not go out of my way to seek his company. I leave him to you; I know how your taste runs.” To which Isabel only rolled her eyes and left him to his sketching. She had no more rancor toward her husband’s narrowness, it had somehow been dispelled.

Pansy was invited to participate in some of the daytime activities but she too declined. She told her stepmother that she was making her gifts, she was behind with her needlework and had rather more gifts to send out this year. Isabel waited some days before approaching her with the subject of which she knew her stepdaughter did not wish to dwell upon. She was curious as to how Pansy held her own; she would have liked her to confide but Pansy seemed locked away in a world of her own and could not be reached easily. Finally, Isabel broached the subject on a day when they met in the kitchen corridor to sort linens.
“Tell me dear, what did you say to the prince? How did you express yourself? Your father is quite of the mind that you insulted him but I know that is not possible. Do you wish to talk about it?”
“The less said, Mother, the better, I think. I hope I did not insult the prince, I did not try for that, but a prince can be insulted in ways we might not be aware of. If he was, that was not my intention.”
“But you did not give him the response he was seeking, you disappointed him?”
“He shouldn’t have asked such a thing. I never gave him any idea I would be…I would find his offer acceptable. Why did no one warn me? Why did not you or Papa tell me in advance so I was not taken unawares. If the prince was insulted, I am not responsible. I may have not had the poise I should have had but I was disarmed. I am irritated that Papa gave permission to speak to me on this subject. I am no more a child.”

This was the most vehement Pansy had ever been to Isabel’s knowledge. Her stepdaughter indeed, was no more a girl. Isabel admired the way she stood up for herself, as she herself had when approached with a proposition she was not seeking, it being handsome, only made matters less concise, fraught with insistence. In the past, Pansy crumbled or went silent. Now she not only seemed to know what she is about, but equally so, who she was not.
“Pansy, I didn’t tell you because your father forbid me to speak until he had a chance. He said he would talk to you beforehand. I trusted that he would find the chance. But he became ill and the prince demanded an audience with you and he let it take place. He meant to talk with you, I believe. He thought you would be so pleased to have such an offer - the prince so handsome, so charming. You would have a grand life.”
“It would be someone’s grand life but not mine. What would I do, dress several times a day to sit around with stuffy people I do not know and be silly and idle? Draped in silks and satins to sit in drafty rooms alone because I couldn’t go out anywhere or speak to most of the population of Italy. That is not my life. That is the life for a different woman. I hope the prince finds her and is very happy. I told him so. I was very kind to him. I wished him every happiness.”
“I think the prince connected his happiness with you and was dismayed to find you were not enamored of the role of princess.”
“Let us not speak of it further, I wish to forget about it, I have my thoughts elsewhere and I think you know what they include. Or should I say, whom.”
“Yes dear. Is it still your wish to marry Harold?”
“Of course it is, Mother. I am not fickle. I hold to my promise. I’m sure Harold will hold to his. We have only to wait. I wish we could wait at Gardencourt. Can we really go there in the spring?”
“First we have to tell your father of your intentions. We must do this soon. As soon as he is well. Then we will make our plans. Let’s take good care of him while he is ill, have a beautiful Christmas and begin the new year with hope. That is what we can do, what we should do.”
“Yes, Mother. I’m happy to know there is a plan, that I can depend on you, that you will take any confusion I have and see me through. Thank you.”

Isabel hugged her stepdaughter tightly. They stood before the window, in each others arms for a moment. They heard the clicking of horses hoofs echoing in the drive in front of the Palazzo Roccanera and assumed it was the doctor who was coming to look in on Osmond. After a time Isabel made to leave Pansy’s room when a knock was heard on her door. Both women were more than a little astonished when who should make her entrance but the Countess Gemini, resplendent in a vermillion cloak over an emerald silk day dress with matching gloves. There was an replicated bird of various hues situated on her hat, its tail feathers fanning the forehead of the grand lady, elaborate even for the inspired tastes of the countess.
“My dears, I am at last, here for you. Oh my delightful niece, how you’ve grown in just this year. Why you are a proper lady altogether. I mean, darling, you have become a woman. Oh, give your old aunt a hug, I’ve come a long way just for this moment. You can’t imagine how I’ve missed you, longed to see you.” She held out her arms and Pansy could do nothing but enter them and return the affection.
“Aunt, I’ve missed you too. I was just telling…I was just saying that if you quarreled with Papa you should see him and make it up. He is ill but maybe he would like to see you.”
“My dear girl, your Papa has it in his head I did him an injustice but I did not. Oh, let’s not talk of that. I want to know all about your recent proposal. Is it true you have refused a prince? I was so astounded at this droll idea I came at once despite my brother’s intention to keep me away. I am at your service. Tell me all about it. Maybe I can help.”
“Hello Countess,” said Isabel, ignored up to this point. The two women lightly kissed each other’s cheek.
“Oh, Isabel, I’ve missed you too. How I’ve wondered about you, your feelings, your thoughts. If only she would write I kept saying to myself. Why have you not? Do you think I did you a disservice? Surely you are not as petty as my brother? I give you credit for more than his brand of narrow-mindedness.”
“I was not expecting you but it is good to see you, Countess. As you can see, we are well, although your brother has a virus and is indisposed at the moment. We thought you were the doctor arriving. As for help, what would you help with? We had just now finished talking of the subject you allude to and it is now closed. I do not think the prince will make a second offer and would not be encouraged to do so.”
“I see. Well, we’ll talk more. Do you think you could rummage up a cup of tea for a family member who has come so far?
“Let us go downstairs, Countess and leave Pansy to her needlework. I’ll arrange luncheon if you like.”
“No, just tea. I couldn’t eat a thing so anxious was I about my niece.”
“There is no need for anxiety, Countess. She is quite well, as you see.”
“So you say.”

Isabel led the countess to the first floor parlor she used for afternoon guests. She rang for tea to be brought in. The countess wasted no time with her interlocution. “Isabel, tell me what really went on with the prince. Hints and innuendos come my way but I could not believe half of what I heard. Rather than listen to rumor, I decided to learn the facts. Surely you do not begrudge me that when it involves my niece?”
“I do not begrudge you anything, Countess.”
“You say that but you look as if you are still put out. Do you really dislike me for what I said to you when we last met? It has been some time now, almost a year. Can’t you forgive me?”
“Countess, I have nothing to forgive. You tried to help me. I never thanked you but at the time I was suffering.”
“Suffering over my brother?”
“Suffering over my cousin and my husband’s …”
“Your husband’s reluctance to have you see him one last time.”
“Yes. It all came down on me at once and I needed time to think.”
“And what have you thought? Obviously, you did not stay away. I thought you might. I thought we may never see you again. I dare say even my brother, arrogant and assured as he is, thought you might not come back. He was peevish, I can tell you. He barred me from your home. I’ve had no word on you or my niece since. It was only that I had the pleasure of talking briefly with Mrs. Touchett that I decided I would come to Rome and see for myself.”
“Mrs. Touchett? You spoke with my aunt?”
“My dear, Florence is a small society. It is more unlikely that we never meet.”
“And how is my aunt?”
“She is thoroughly American. I like her so. Oh, she keeps her distance from me, that is to be expected, but she granted me a few words. Like me, she wonders about you. She said you do not confide in her. I’m afraid our one topic of commonality was limited by what neither of us knew about the doings in the Palazzo Roccanera.”
“There is nothing to know. I came back as expected and life goes on.”
“She did tell me you inherited your cousin’s house. That must be gratifying. If only I could inherit a house separate from my husband. How I should love that. To get away, seek my own way…”
“Yes, it is very nice. Pansy and I have recently returned from Gardencourt where we had a wonderful visit from my sister. And my friends the Bantlings, you remember Henrietta? She is now married and settled in London.”
“Interesting. I heard she is to start a magazine.”
“We have already seen the first issue. I will show it to you. Perhaps you would like to subscribe since you are an expatriate, of sorts.”
“I don’t go in for reading, but if there is anything interestingly juicy, I could make an exception.”
Isabel laughed. “You know, Countess, I have missed you too. I forgot that you can lighten a mood. In truth, I wanted to write you…I just wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Say anything. You know me, it does not have to ring with sincerity or cleverness. I’m undemanding, really. No need to hesitate with me. I’m always ready for whatever people put on offer. I’m not wedded to ideas, you know. I take what comes my way.”
“Yes. I think I may admire that.”
“Really? It’s good of you to say so. I’d like to be admired for something. I’m not at all. No one gives me much thought. It is only by stirring things up that anyone pays any attention at all to me.”
“Is that what you do - stir things up for attention?”
“I am not malicious, Isabel. I hoped you would know that. I never do anything to hurt anyone. It’s just that people take themselves so seriously. My brother is a prime example of that.”
“You brother has mellowed. He is not quite so set in his ways as he once was. He goes his own way and allows others to do the same. Oh, he still has his arrogance and will not suffer fools easily but he is not quite so inflexible. His art collection keeps him busy and focused.”
“So you give him a good allowance, I take it?”
“I give him what he needs or asks for. I take no pleasure in depriving him. His collecting is harmless and a good investment. His artworks will never depreciate unlike some other investments. He has me convinced we can’t go wrong with fine art. Of this he is assured.”
“Ah yes, Osmond and his trinkets. Well, better than keeping women.”
“They are more than trinkets these days. We have quite a marvelous gallery. Would you like to see it?”
“Perhaps later. Art means little to me. I admit it. I’m a philistine, as my brother once refereed to my husband.”
“How is your husband?”
“Odious. How else can he be? He has no other way. There is no nuance.”
“Ah, Countess, you are too funny. How long are you in Rome?”
“I dare say as long as I’m needed. Oh, I’ll go home for the holidays but until then, I’m free as a bird.”
“And what are your plans for Rome?”
“My plans are negligible. I wanted to see my niece. I’ve seen her. But of course she will not confide in her aunt. She hasn’t much use for me. She is like you.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“How this proposal by the prince came about. I know the Viticontis, they would not rush to include an obscure American into their famille without a strong incentive. What have you offered them?”
“I have not offered them anything. Pansy does have a dowry, however. I’ve settled that on her. Osmond has been with the Marchesa frequently. We have entertained the prince and his aunt and have been invited to them. Osmond thought the prince a good choice for Pansy, he seemed to be interested in her, we are both of the mind that she should be married soon.”
“Soon! My dear, it is past soon. That is why I’m here. I am in society, I meet many people, know of many eligible young men. I worried so that Pansy was sheltered by her father and you…well, I don’t understand you, Isabel. I don’t pretend to know what moves you, your reasoning. I am simple. You are not. I need things spelled out. What are you doing to find a husband for my niece? I have no gift for conjecture.”
“Countess, I believe it has all been taken care of.”
“Really? Now you are being mysterious again. Has she changed her mind on the prince? Have I heard falsities? Has she really accepted him?”
“The prince is out of the running. Pansy has made her preferences clear to me and I am not at liberty to say more but just to assure you, Pansy has made her choice.”
“Her choice? Oh, Isabel, you can’t keep me in the dark. Who is this choice?”
“I do not wish to name him until her father has heard. He is ill, we have not spoken yet of Pansy. She needs to tell him first. He’s upset about her refusal of the prince. I think he had quite come into the idea of being related through marriage to the nobility. He has suffered a disappointment.”
“Let him suffer a little. Can’t you give me a hint? Some such morsel of information that will tell me you have forgiven me a little?”
“I will tell you that he is American.”
“Ah, wonderful. That is, if he’s rich. A rich American is preferable to a poor noble I always say.”
“Yes, you always say many things that are nonsensical and charming. I’m so happy you have come to us.”
“Really? I think I’m going to cry a little. I've missed you so.”