After more than a dozen courses had been served, consumed and cleared away, it appeared that the meal was over. Presumably they were now ready to start the betrothal ceremony. The maid brushed the crumbs from the tablecloth with a silver brush and pan. At a nod from Sylvia, the priest rose and went to the shrine in the corner of the room.
Item by item he removed the candles, the statue of the Madonna, the box containing the communion bread and wine, and the cross, leaving only the pedestal standing in front of the shrine. He arranged these items in front of his seat at the head of the table and remained standing in front of his chair.
Then he turned to Francesca and spoke some words to her. She replied in a strange, almost sulky tone. He asked her a further question and she said, “No!” At that Sylvia made a sharp comment which referred to Alfredo. Francesca almost shouted back at her. It seemed already that there were problems with the ceremony. In a few minutes everyone seemed to be on their feet and talking except Mama and Ben.
Francesca turned and appealed to him. “Signor Cartwright, it is the custom for the girl on such an occasion to have an advisor who should counsel her on what her replies mean for her future. Normally that advisor is the girl’s father. But since Papa is no longer with us, the others wish me to choose Alfredo. However I wish to choose you. Are you willing to be my advisor?”
“Signor Cartwright is not even a catholic,” Sylvia cut in. “He would not wish to intrude into a family matter.”
“Well, I would have chosen Toni to be my advisor, but he cannot be here.” She turned back to Ben. “You are his best friend. He has always spoken very well of you. Are you not willing to advise me what you think he might have said to me?”
Ben was aghast. “But I don’t know what sort of advice Toni would have given to you, Francesca. I never had a young sister. I wouldn’t even understand the questions which you will be asked.”
“I will translate for you. My English is very good.”
“This is foolish.” Sylvia addressed Ben direct. “You cannot possibly know what is best for Francesca and for the families. Only Alfredo will know what is the proper advice to give to her.”
Ben was inclined to agree with her. “Francesca - I can’t tell you what you should do without knowing what your long-term intentions are. Wouldn’t it be better to take your advice from Alfredo?”
“Alfredo doesn’t know how to give advice.” For some strange reason she seemed to resent her older brother’s involvement. “Alfredo does not even know what he wants for himself.”
“Please do not talk like that,” Sylvia burst in. “It is you, Francesca, who does not know your own mind. At one time you are in favour of the betrothal and at another you turn against it.”
Francesca ignored her. “Will you help me, Ben, or will you not? I don’t know what Toni will say when I tell him that you refused to come to the aid of his younger sister.”
“I will not allow Signor Cartwright to become involved,” said Sylvia. “How can you humiliate us in this way, Francesca? You must behave properly if the betrothal is to proceed.”
“I want nobody’s help but Signor Cartwright’s. What is wrong about choosing my own advisor? Most girls in my position do it nowadays.”
“If your father was alive he would make these decisions for you. He would never allow you to hand over the family’s honour to some stranger.”
“If my father were alive I would be able to rely on him giving me advice which I could trust.” Francesca’s voice was very low and Ben judged that she was near to tears, but she wasn’t going to give in.
Sylvia burst into a torrent of noisy Italian. As though this had released the floodgates, all the others, who had previously remained in shocked silence, joined in. Only Alfredo said nothing - whether from embarrassment or disinterest, Ben could not tell. Meanwhile Francesca sat there, obdurately biting her lower lip and staring down at her hands that were placed flat on the table in front of her. She refused to even respond to their shouting. At last Ben could stand it no more. He rose to his feet and held up his right hand.
“Quiet please,” he shouted. “Please listen to me.”
Gradually the noise died away.
He turned to Sylvia. “Surely there must be a way of resolving this. Will you permit me to take Francesca into another room and talk to her for a few minutes to try to convince her?”
“That is impossible.” Sylvia’s eyes flashed fire at him. “In Italy we do not allow a young maiden to be alone in a room with a man without an escort.”
Ben indicated the middle-aged woman across the table from him. “You could ask this lady to escort us in order to see that no incorrect behaviour occurred.”
Sylvia tossed her head. “She does not know any English. She would not know what you are saying.”
“If that matters, you could come yourself.”
“No,” said Francesca sharply.
Sylvia ignored her. “I am afraid it is out of the question. There is no time for that now.”
Francesca stood up. Her chest was rising and falling with emotion. “Then the ceremony may proceed without me.” She turned and rushed from the room.
Once again consternation broke out and everyone except Mama seemed to be on their feet, talking loudly. Ben gained the impression, from the glances cast in his direction, that they were somehow holding him to blame for Francesca’s behaviour. He had to admit that she seemed to be a very willful girl. It was obvious that this sudden objection of hers was spoiling some long-standing arrangement between the two families. Perhaps the reason for it, as Sylvia had suggested earlier, was that she was overcome by the recent tragedy of her father’s death.
Sylvia turned to him. “Signor Cartwright,” she said coldly, “I must ask you to leave us. You will understand that we have some very important matters to discuss.”
“Of course.” Ben rose with relief.
“I will show you to your room.”
She preserved a frigid silence as she preceded him up the cool marble staircase to the second floor, through the door into the North wing, and along the dark corridor to his room. Ben felt like a naughty little boy being sent to bed. His thoughts returned to the consternation around the table below.
Everybody had been very upset that the betrothal plans had been thwarted – everyone except Francesca – and, of course, himself.