The Contessa's Vendetta Read Online Free PDF

cold. I raised my aching eyes in the darkness and cried out. One meagre ray of moonlight, no thicker than a blade of straw, flickered down on me and revealed the lowest step of the stairway. I could not see the door of the vault, but I knew that it must be there at the top.
    Too exhausted to move, I lay still as a stone, gazing at the solitary moon-ray, and listening to the nightingale, whose melody rang out with clarity. The low-pitched bell of earlier now rang out the first hour of the day. Soon, it would be morning. I decided to rest until then. Completely exhausted, I rested my head against the cold stones as if they were silk pillows. Within a few moments, I put all my miseries out of my mind and drifted into sleep.

Chapter Four
     

     
    A biting sting on my neck woke me. Nauseated and dizzy, I raised my hand to my throat and closed my trembling fingers around a winged and slimy, flesh and blood horror fastened to my skin. Its abhorrent grip drove me to hysteria. Wild with revulsion, I screamed as I clasped its plump bulk and ripped it away, flinging it hard and far into the vault. I could hear it flapping about in the darkness until it settled somewhere.
    I continued to scream, terrified. Had I reached the edge of insanity? Fatigue finally silenced me. Gasping for air and in my weakened state, my entire body trembled. After a length of haunting silence, I tried to regain control over my fears.
    The moonbeam no longer shone into the vault. Instead, a stream of dull grey light took its place. I could now see the entire staircase and the closed iron grate at the top. With desperate haste, I crawled up the steps. Grasping the iron grate with both hands, I shook it hard. My efforts were in vain; the locked grate would not open.
    “Help me!” I screeched. My voice echoed over the desolate tombstones. Absolute stillness replied.
    I stared through the tightly weaved black rods. Beyond lay verdant grass and lush trees beneath a glorious sky already flushed with the peach and rose-tinted hues of a rising sun. I drank in the pure, revitalizing air.
    A long, wild grapevine dangled within reach, its leaves sodden with dew. I squeezed one hand through the grate and picked a few fresh, leafy fragments, ravenously stuffing them into my mouth. They tasted more delectable than anything I had ever eaten and relieved my parched throat.
    The sight of the sky and earth calmed me. The nightingale had ceased its melodic song. In its place, I heard the gentle twitter of awakening birds. My breathlessness soon eased.
    As my terror abated, I leaned against the stone archway and glanced back down the steep stairway. Something white lay on the seventh step from the top. Curious, I descended and saw that it was a partially spent thick wax candle, the type used by the Church for funeral masses, likely from my own. Now, if only I had a means to light it. Then I remembered Dario ’s tinderbox. I reached into the purse attached to my belt. It was there. I pulled it out along with a few silver coins, a thimble, a fan, my visiting card case, and the ring of keys belonging to various doors in my villa. They must have buried me in haste for they had taken none of my possessions. The silver tinderbox was especially valuable. Only fear of contagion would have kept someone from taking it.
    The knowledge that I could strike a flame and light the candle made me almost giddy with relief. The sun had not yet fully risen and it might be hours before anyone came to the graveyard and discovered me.
    An unusual idea came to mind, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it. I needed to see my coffin . Possessing the tinderbox had chased away my fears and gave me the courage to do it. I picked up the candle and after two strikes of the steel, I managed to light the char-cloth, which I then used to light the candle. At first, it flickered, but after a moment, the flame became steady and strong. The candle would not last long, perhaps an hour, two at