My Predecessor

Curiosity had overpowered me. After years of wondering, of trying to piece the parts together, I decided to sneak into James’ private quarters – my husband, that is – while he was fast asleep. It was certainly naïve to hope that seeing the painting for myself could bless me with sudden enlightenment so that everything would make sense, but I believed in it.

I found it hard to believe that the cause of her death could be an accident, even though that was the mechanical response James would give to anyone who would bring it up: “It was an accident.” No more, no less would he say. Once, when I inquired him about further detail on the accident, he ignored me. I was persistent, though, and kept asking him to get at least some sort of response. I got it. However, it was not of a verbal, but of a physical nature.

He was not usually violent. In fact, only once before had he struck me. It was during the last summer. Fra Pandolf, that good-hearted man and glorious painter, had been visiting. He told anecdotes of experiences from past years, and surely possesses the gift of story-telling. I laughed to my heart’s content; his visit was one of those too few really enjoyable moments in my monotonous life. However, the joy of this moment was quickly overshadowed by the beating James gave me upon Pandolf’s leave. I had never seen him this furious before.

Now there I was, in front of the curtain separating myself from my predecessor, the last duchess. I slowly dragged it away, gradually uncovering the mysterious painting which I had so desired to know more about. It seemed that every part of her body that was unveiled was prettier than the previous. Then I saw her face. Oh, her teeth, that smile of hers! So naturally beautiful, so perfect that merely looking at it would keep you enchanted. Not having known her, it was still easy to see that fra Pandolf had certainly done her justice. Oh, how wonderful, how magical she must have been when she lived.

Suddenly, it struck me. The smile on the painting was one that she had happily shared with fra Pandolf, just as I had shared mine. Just as I was given violence as response to the pleasure I took in fra Pandolf’s visit, so must she have been for that beautiful smile the painting showed. In that moment, when he realised that she were fond of fra Pandolf like I, James’ fury must have been just as powerful and engulfing as her smile.

I knew then that it was the time for flight…