Into the Darkness

Lucia looked at herself in the gilded mirror of her bedroom. There would be a whole new wardrobe for her, she was told, so she could step out to parties, receptions, and to restaurants. Extravagant jewels, my child. Oh, but you will be a child no longer, not when you are a lady, not when you are the wife of a Marquis.

She looked at the mirror. Staring back at her was her reflection, with her pretty plump red cheeks, her slim white neck, her hazelnut curls. “Che Bella,” the servants whispered when they looked at her. Her sparkling eyes danced merrily when she giggled over secrets with her childhood friend Francesca, and had entranced many a young Italian man to turn his head in her direction. And now she was told, she would become the most celebrated lady in town, famous painters would compete to paint those dark eyes, those tumbling tresses, those cherry red lips. Though she had to play the game carefully. One wrong move and she would come tumbling back down to the bottom of the pile again, and she couldn’t bear it if her mother had to witness that. After all now they were beginning to build up their position in Italian society, through knowing the right acquaintances and Lucia knew her mother would hate to be cast down into the lower section of society. Like they were before.

So she sat in front of the mirror as her mother and Aunt Maria fussed around her. She had been bathed in warm water and then clothed in a dress with a full skirt and petticoats, slashed sleeves and a tight- fitting bodice. She had never worn anything like this before, made of silk and velvet. It felt strange, she felt strange. They had dressed her, like two girls decorating a doll, her mother constantly talking about the years she had waited in anticipation of this day. Round Lucia’s neck, her mother clasped a macabre choker of rubies, the most expensive thing they owned, which her mother had been saving for a long time. Resembling a slit throat, they gleamed sinisterly in the candlelight, a family heirloom that had belonged to her paternal grandfather. On her feet were placed white silk slippers, “So you can walk like a lady,” Aunt Maria told her. Her mother combed her soft curls, her crowning glory, and twisted and pinned it up in a knot.

She sat throughout all this with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Part of her felt unwilling to go down to the ballroom and be paraded around as if a commodity, all dressed up like a pretty, smiling doll. And for what? Just so the famous Marquis, with all his riches and splendour, could see her. He had newly arrived from France and her mother had gossiped with her friends about the money that he had, his fine houses, the number of servants he employed. He was in search of a wife, apparently and so all the mothers in the town were overcome with excitement and prepared their daughters who were unmarried and of the right age to be his wife. Her mother had ignored the fact that he was a foreigner, the prospect of her daughter making the family wealthy was more important to her.

However Lucia couldn’t deny her youthful excitement at the prospect of being presented to society as a signora, of wearing a lovely dress and being admired. She was not yet 17 and still naive. The future was a blank canvas to her. She could be an exalted society belle. And she knew she wanted that.
The house they were in belonged to Captain Delamitri, a family friend of Lucia’s now deceased father. He had invited them to stay there and attend the ball he was having that evening. Her mother was pleased that her padre had possessed friends in such high places or else they would never have been able to attend such an event.

Lucia knew she could not tell her mother of the disturbing visions she had been experiencing ever since they had arrived there. The first time, she had been idly brushing her hair, when the mysterious figure of what looked to her like a young man appeared in the mirror. The brush dropped from her small white hand in terror as the man smiled. The unsettling grin was all she could make out of him. However, she felt he didn’t mean her harm. But what was he and where had he come from?

He had appeared other times after that, like a spectre. Each time, smiling, sometimes even laughing as if they were friends. And then he faded and it was like he’d never been there. So she tried to push what she had seen to the back of her mind and hoped she wasn’t going mad.

“It’s time,” said her mother lightly and Lucia rose from her seat and turned to meet the intent faces of her mother and Aunt Maria. “You look beautiful, darling, this is going to be your night.” Her mother took her arm and escorted her out of the room with Aunt Maria following closely behind.

They descended the broad illustrious staircase into the hallway. She was aware of the hordes of people below, the groups of girls dressed in ballgowns of such extraordinary array of colours, the men in fine, high, shining leather boots. Chatter and laughter filled the room, with the virile, muscular native language infused with the French that was now fashionable.

“Merci, Madame.”

They wound their way through the crowds and as they did so, heads turned to look at her and she blushed. Girls’ eyes lingered on the jewels around her neck, first to investigate that it was not really blood that adorned her throat, and then with envy as the rubies served to heighten her beauty.

But she ignored them all, as coming towards her was Francesca and her mother. Francesca smiled upon seeing her oldest friend, and Lucia felt comforted for her smile was affectionate and serene. She kissed her on the cheek whilst the older women greeted each other.
They entered the ballroom.

Lucia felt disconcerted as she saw her opulent surroundings. But she did not have time to feel much before her mother whispered to her, “Look” and gestured to her left. Lucia looked and flinched, as a man casually pacing the side of the room was undoubtedly the Marquis. He was older than her, she noticed, with streaks of silver within his dark locks. He turned and smiled towards her and walked in her direction.

“What do I say”, she had asked her mother nervously before the ball, “if the Marquis speaks to me?”

“You must regard it as a great honour,” her mother had answered firmly. “And you must say things that flatter. Men love to be flattered, have I not told you that enough? You must smile-but not too much so he thinks you a simpering simpleton- and you must praise him and agree with what he says. Coquette with him slightly, but not so much that he thinks little of you, only enough for him think of you as vivacious. And never appear too intelligent. A man of his importance will not like a wife who is his intellectual equal. It will never do. You are to be his greatest trophy and his jewel so you must act in a manner that pleases him. If you don’t, there will be many other women who will. You understand?”

“Yes,” she answered, hoping that she would remember everything. “And is his Italian good?”

“Sì, he speaks it fluently.”

And now, here he was, talking to her. Her companions had moved away to leave him with her alone. She smiled sweetly at him and laughed at the things he said, as if he were a great wit. She told him how she had admired him, for his reputation had preceded him. She knew him to be a great man, she said, a noble man and he seemed genuinely pleased. Over his shoulder, she could see her mother and Aunt Maria watching him with a degree of delight showing in their faces that the great and rich Marquis had taken an interest in her. Now all he had to do was ask her to dance and she had nearly won him. Bravissimo!

But he didn’t ask her to dance. He bowed politely and left her, to talk to, she noticed, a group of young women, who were giggling coyly as he bowed to them. The hawk-like eyes of social climbing mothers too watched them. One of the girls, who Lucia recognised as the youngest daughter of an acquaintance of her mother’s, was wearing a gown of India gauze shot with silver which revealed more than it concealed. As he spoke to them, she shrugged her shoulders to lower her bodice.

Lucia stepped backwards, wishing to slip away into the crowd and disappear from sight, but her mother and Aunt Maria surrounded her, chattering merrily. Her mother, with a more than a hint of pride in her voice, hissed, “He will be yours. I saw the way he talked to you. He was enchanted by your beauty and sweet manners I am sure. Oh there will be il matrimonio before long!” And Aunt Maria smiled and said, “You will make us all very rich. He spoke to you.”

“But what about the other women?” Lucia gestured in the direction of the young ladies who were competing among themselves for the Marquis’ attention, jostling to display to him the fine silks that adorned them.

“Signora Brioschi’s daughters?” said her mother disdainfully, glancing in the general direction of the girls. “Not a threat to you my dear. They are fit for no more than mistresses, whilst you are fit to be his wife. He will make a request for your hand very soon, and then you will have new dresses and silks. And jewels. We will all have new jewels. Our family name will honoured.”

A young man who wished to dance with Lucia interrupted them in their conversation. Lucia glanced with anxiety towards her mother, and her mother gravely gave a nod of consent. It might help their cause if the Marquis could see how well admired her daughter was. Lucia smiled sweetly at him and then took his hand as he led her out to dance.

As she took her place, she glimpsed herself in the long ornate mirror to her right and could not resist turning to admire herself. But she got a shock. Instead of seeing herself, dressed in her finery, about to dance her first dance as a society lady, she saw the shadowy figure of the mysterious man she had seen previously in the mirror, smiling at her, beckoning at her...Her eyes widened with shock.

And then the music started. Since she was young, she had been taught to dance like a lady, in preparation for this moment. And she could not let what she had seen spoil it. So she pushed it with an effort out of her head, and concentrated on showing herself off to her best advantage. She was aware of her skirts twirling as she whirled around the hall in a blaze of colour. Presently she began to feel less conscious of herself and just enjoyed the music.

The dance stopped and her partner, bowed to her, kissed her hand and turned away. Her mother and Aunt Maria appeared at her side. “Now,” said her mother, “surely the Marquis can see how popular you are. Every eye was upon you during that dance. You must walk with us round the side of the room where he is and maybe he will wish to speak to you again.”

Francesca, who had appeared as if out of nowhere, placed her hand on Lucia’s forearm. “With the greatest respect, I think she is tired and must sit down,” she said to Lucia’s mother and Aunt Maria.

Her mother frowned, she obviously did not approve of this idea but seeing the pleading look in Lucia’s eyes, said, “Very well, you must be fresh when you speak to him. Yes, go and sit down if it will do you some good.”

With relief, Lucia followed Francesca to some chairs laid out at the edges of the room. They sat next to a group of women who were gracefully fanning themselves with beautifully embellished fans. A cloud of sweet sickly perfume rose from them, something French it seemed. They chattered loudly and profusely. “He’s ardent, I suppose” one said with a disheartened sigh. The other women laughed at this.

The bright colours, the music, the rotating figures, the sheer extravagance of it all...She was dazed.

She looked, she could not help it, towards the mirror. There was the figure again and even though it was wrong, a distortion of reality, she did not feel horror at its appearance. However, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing, especially as no one else appeared to notice him. And then...

“I need to get some fresh air,” she told Francesca hurriedly, standing up.

“I’ll come with you,” said Francesca, gathering her skirts.

“No,” she said, stopping her. “I’ll be fine. I’ll return soon.”

She turned and made her way through the groups of people, the courting couples, the meddling mothers, the chattering young girls wishing to catch a husband who watched their rivals jealously. Her steps hastened as she reached the doorway and exited the ballroom.

In the hallway, the long mirrors extended across the sides of the room reflected nothing but her own face. She did not know where she was going but her feet carried her through the hallway, down one of the corridors to the left. At the end of this corridor was a heavy oak door. She did not hesitate. She pushed it open, without the need for much exertion, and stepped inside.

The room she had entered was small and decorated in the same fashionable way as the rest of the house. But she paid no attention to this. What drew her attention was the exquisite mirror that hung on the wall to the left of the door. She turned to face it.

Ah, there was her own face now, reflected in the mirror, pallid, apprehensive. And behind...the young man whose features she could just about make out, dark and enigmatic. She turned and looked behind her, but he wasn’t there.

She returned her gaze to the mirror and moved her face so close to it, that it almost touching, but she could not scrutinise what she saw there as she could only perceive what appeared to her to be a room, like an underground cell.

“Who are you?” she asked aloud, but the man said nothing in reply. She, tentatively, as if expecting to feel something, placed her right hand against the mirror. But all she felt was the cold solid surface of the mirror.

In the mirror, the man seemed surprised by her actions, and then he placed his own hand against the mirror so it was against her hand. And she was aware that she could feel the flesh of his own hand touching hers.

There was a split second where they stood in this position, watching each other. And then, his hand gripped her hand, as if in a handshake, and he pulled her through the mirror and into his world of shadows...

Back in the ballroom, Francesca had managed to control herself for barely a minute before finally yielding and following Lucia. She did not move with the dignity of her friend, as she tried to make her way across the room, for Francesca did not believe in being lady-like when there more important things to think about.

In the hallway, she saw the edge of a skirt, just the merest tip, disappear round a corner to her left. Francesca could tell that Lucia wasn’t going to get fresh air. She followed her down the corridor. At the end of the corridor, she saw Lucia slip round the oak door and into the room beyond. Francesca paused for a moment, in her journey to think, to ponder. It would be wrong to follow Lucia. What she was doing in there was her own business. But still...

Francesca stood for a moment in the corridor. She would creep quietly back to the ballroom and say nothing, she would be a lady...oh, but Francesca was a curious girl. She knew that she had to find out what was happening. She knew in her heart there was no question of her returning and pretending she knew nothing. So she continued walking.

At the end of the corridor, she stood in front of the oak door and studied its intricate design for a second- not very long though, only a heartbeat. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, finding it not too heavy, and entered, wondering what she would see within.

But there was nothing. The room was empty and a deadening quiet hung over it. Francesca stepped in the middle the room and the mirror to the left of her caught her attention. In the mirror were the blurred figures of a man and woman, the woman vaguely familiar and the figures were laughing ...and waving to her.

Francesca drew in an intake of breath and stepped closer to the mirror to examine it. The figures in the mirror seemed far away but she could tell that they were watching her. She saw the figure of the woman blow a kiss towards her and then both figures turn and walk away out of view.

Francesca knew this had something to do with the disappearance of Lucia. Her friend was the female figure. And the man…Francesca knew nothing of him. She shook her head in bewilderment and quietly exited the room.