Coversation with a Lady

In which Sir Kendrick speaks with Lady Marcella regarding current events.

The House of Marco series generated as part of developing character backstories for the white side of the Human Combat Chess game at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. I play Sir Kendrick Vaughn, the White Queen.

“Well, Signore Kendrick, you are up quite early. You have not, I trust, slept badly?” Lady Marcella’s voice was a throaty contralto, with only a slight accent. She had learned well from her tutors, Sir Kendrick noted. A hint of amusement colored her tone.

“Not at all, my dear Signora, not at all! The beds of this house are a dream of Morpheus captured in goose-down - the occasion of nightmares on the part of the poor, shivering, denuded geese, I have no doubt, but I slept as easily as if I were cradled in my own dear mother’s arms.”

Lady Marcella smiled. “And do you yet sleep in such a bed, my lord? I would have thought your mother’s arms would be tired by now, such a big man as you’ve become.”

“Alas, no, Signora. Those encircling arms were taken from me many years ago, although I doubt not their owner eagerly looks forward to our anticipated heavenly reunion.” Sir Kendrick winked slyly. “Although, they might be waiting a goodly while longer than my earthly span, as wicked as I am - ‘tis by no means certain that the good St. Peter will be so welcoming to me as my doting mother. Nay, he might even take after my father’s somewhat more limited graces, and a back of the hand is all I can look for from that quarter.”

Lady Marcella laughed. The surrounding stone walls of the hallway, unused for many years to providing echoes for such a joyous sound, gave back the sound only grudgingly. “Not so, Signore Kendrick - Heaven would be cheating itself of a rare jewel were it to shut its doors to you. Look how early it is, and you are already dressed as for a ball. You will sit in the heavenly court, and advise supplicants to the Most High on the appropriate doublets to be worn in Paradise each season. I shall go to the Church of St. Mark - the della Biancos in days past have contributed much to the enlargement of the building and therefore to the glory of the saint.” She smiled. “I believe that means he owes me a favor.”

Sir Kendrick swept off his hat with a florid gesture and bowed deeply. “You do me too, too much honor, Signora,” he cried. His quick eye caught something - What’s this? Mud on your hem, lady? Someone’s been up and about earlier than I, it seems... “But I’m afraid that is enough, Signora. My doctor is a pompous bore of the old school, and has strictly warned me against too much flattery before the hour of noon. He swears it lends strength to unhealthy humors in the body, and leads to gout, gripe, and swelling - though of my head or his purse, I am by no means certain. Walk with me but for a few moments, and we will speak of healthier things.”

“With pleasure, Signore,” replied the lady, and with mightily suppressed yawn, the maidservant fell in behind them. They moved from the hallway to the portico, and Sir Kendrick set a stately pace. This side of the villa was thankfully still in shadow, the sun not yet risen high enough to peek directly at where they walked. Water slapped in a sluggish manner against the nearby quay, quietly enough that it failed to disturb the bearded old men drowsing in the shrinking shade.

“Before moving to lighter subjects, my lady, I fear I must wade once more through the gloom, and offer you my sincerest condolences upon the recent passing of your father. He was often in England, you know, and we became quite close.”

Lady Marcella bowed her head. “Thank you, Signore. He is...sorely missed.”

Sir Kendrick darted a sideways glance at her. “But I apologize - distressing you is the furthest thing from my mind. Let us speak of more cheerful things. I am informed that congratulations are in order - you are betrothed, are you not?”

A sigh was his only answer, and a snort from the maid behind. Kendrick threw a pointed glance over her shoulder, and the snort turned into a cough as the maid pretended to be enraptured by the sight of a family of ducks paddling sedately across the canal.

He addressed Marcella again. “My dear, I seem to have stumbled again into the murky waters of misery. Let us speak no more of it. Betrothal? I have never heard of such a thing, indeed.”

This earned him a wan smile, as she raised her head again.

“How does your brother, Lord Marco, these days? He - oh, sink me, if I haven’t distressed you again.” Kendrick stopped, drew himself up and laid his walking stick over his heart. “Signora, ten thousand apologies. For the crime of wiping from your face a lovelier smile than the one sported by the Milosian Venus herself, the sentence is the ultimate one - there is no other recourse. It is far too early to be knocking up the hangman, however - that would be discourteous indeed - so I shall simply have to throw myself off the nearest cliff.” He turned and moved determinedly off, but his determination faded after a few steps and then he hesitantly looked back over his shoulder. “Signora - a moment more of your time. Being but a humble visitor to Venice, I’m very much afraid I require the guidance of a native, such as yourself - pray, Lady, in what direction does the nearest cliff lie?”

Marcella felt a smile come to her lips again, and attempted to assume a demurely serious expression instead. “I am much afraid, Signore, located as we are on the coast, that the nearest cliff that would suit your purpose is at least several hours hard riding from here. I would hate to think that you would put your horse to such trouble on a day so hot as this, and I could not live with the death of such an animal on my conscience. - Pray you, sir, think of your horse on this hot day, and live.”

“Since you ask it, Signora, it shall be so,” declared Kendrick, moving back toward her and taking her arm in his. “But the sentence is simply delayed, not forgotten. You had better keep me as a guest for some time - a burden, I know - but on the overland journey back to England, the first decent outcropping I find will be the end of me.”

“In that case, Signore Kendrick, you should take advantage of the good ship of your own Royal Navy that is sitting in our harbor at present. A smooth sail this time of year for England, so I am told.”

Sir Kendrick put on a shocked face. “My dear Signora, do you mean to tell me that you have been aquainting yourself with the dockyards and the waterfront? That is hardly a seemly place for a lady such as yourself -”

“Why, my lord, this is Venice. You need only step out into the street to find how close we all are to the waterfront.”

“Yes indeed - as if those caterwauling gondoliers ever let us forget.”

“Shame, Signore Kendrick, you mustn’t speak that way about our gondoliers. They are the essence of Venice, our heart, our singing soul upon the waters. Surely you would be annoyed if I were to visit London, and speak disrespectfully of those Meat-eaters in front of the Palace.”

“Beef-eaters, Signora, and you are quite correct. Happily, you may soon be able to exercise your restraint in actuality. I mean to invite Lord Marco - and of course, the lovelier parts of his household - to my estates in England.”