The Contessa's Vendetta by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer Page B

distinguishable features perfectly. Together with my white hair, I looked like a woman in her mid fifties with an eye impediment. 
    The next thing to do was to change the brisk, but clear diction of my voice and eliminate the expressive hand gestures those from the Veneto area are prone to. I trained myself to speak in a different voice, hardening my accent and speaking with forethought and detachment. I injected sarcasm and curtness while taking care to keep my hands and head still.
    This all took much time and effort. As luck had it, a middle-aged English woman had taken a room at the same inn as myself. Her reserved indifference never wavered. Like a human block of ice, she carried herself with a permanent air of gloom. With practice, I learned to imitate her almost to perfection. I kept my mouth shut in the exact manner of her pig-headedness, walked with the same erect stiffness, and looked at the world around me with similar haughty condescension. When I overheard a waiter refer to me as ‘the white viper’ I knew I had succeeded. 
    Another idea came to mind to help me prepare for my journey home. I wrote a courteous letter to the owner of Vicenza ’s newspaper, which we had always received at Villa Mancini. Enclosing fifty scudi , a very generous amount, I requested that he insert the following words in his next issue:
     
    Contessa Giulia Corona, who has been absent from Vicenza for many years, will soon return. Possessed of fabulous wealth, she intends to make her home here once more. There is little doubt that society’s leaders will welcome the distinguished dama into their brilliant social circles with much enthusiasm. 
     
    The owner printed it word for word and sent me a copy of the newspaper with a note of thanks.
    My plan was now complete. All that remained was to return to Vicenza and set it in motion.
     
    * * *
     
    On the second last day of my stay in Pescara, Santina and I sat in two padded chairs beside an open window in the inn’s dining hall. I had sent Paolo to purchase several trunks for our return journey. She embroidered a handkerchief while I read a book. I had grown used to Santina’s reserved, but agreeable manner. A comfortable bond existed between us. Eager to please, she seemed happy with her new life as my maidservant, just as I was with her silent efficiency. More importantly, she watched the changes I underwent, quietly accepting them with nary a challenge. 
    Church bells tolled the call to Vespers. Although the gorgeous colors of the sunset lingered in the sky, a cool breeze blew in from the Adriatic sea. 
    My new persona of a somewhat callous and churlish woman who had experienced life and hated it, had already become second nature to me. Hourly practice had made it so. In fact, I doubted I could easily return to the carefree mannerisms that had once belonged to Carlotta Mancini.
    As I read quietly, a loud clamour caused by the shouts of a crowd floated in through the window and startled me. I leaned out and looked up and down the street, but could see nothing. As I pondered what the noise could mean, an excited waiter entered the room. “Cesare Negri! They caught him, poverino ! They have him at last!”
    Though powerfully drawn by this news, I refused to allow my interest or excitement to show. I held taut to the new personality traits I had worked so hard to ingrain. “Then they have caught a great scoundrel indeed. I congratulate the authorities. Where is Negri now?”
    “ You need only walk around the corner, and you will see him bound and fettered in the piazza, may the saints have mercy on him! The crowds have flocked there like vultures. I am going there myself. I would not miss it for a thousand lire!” He ran off excited.
    I tossed my book onto the chair. “Come, Santina. Let us see this infamous rogue for ourselves.”
    Her eyes widened, the name now familiar to her from our time on the brig, but she gathered our belongings and followed me out the door.
    We