by Mary Hoffman
‘I know,’ said Georgia automatically, her mind whirling. It would be great to get away from the atmosphere in this house and she liked the idea of spending more time with Alice. Best of all, she liked the idea that Alice had asked for her. They had only just started to be friends, after all. But would she be able to stravagate to Remora from Devon? Still, she didn’t know if she’d be able to stravagate with a broken talisman anyway.
‘When did you see Alice’s mum?’ she said, playing for time.
‘She rang me at work,’ said Maura. ‘Alice was anxious when you didn’t come into school today. She wanted to ask you herself, but was afraid you wouldn’t come back before the end of term.’
‘I think I would like that,’ said Georgia.
Maura sighed with relief. That would be one set of teenage hormones out of the house for a while, and perhaps she could persuade Ralph to talk to Russell while Georgia was away. And it would stop Georgia from seeing this peculiar man Russell had talked about, until Maura had a chance to check him out.
Falco limped down the great staircase of the summer palace. He had been waiting all morning for a visit from Luciano and, he hoped, Georgia. But no one had come. The palace was deserted and quiet and Falco’s courage was beginning to fail. It was all very well to talk boldly of his new life in Georgia’s world when he was with the young Stravaganti, but what if his plan didn’t work? The talisman might not take him. Suppose he got horribly stranded between one world and the other? The half-life that he led here was better than no life at all and at least he was used to it.
And, if it did work, Falco knew how much his family would miss him, particularly Gaetano and their father. But ever since he had heard about the Duke’s plan to send him into the Church without any vocation he had known that his father viewed him differently from his other sons. ‘I won’t be a disappointment to him,’ he vowed. ‘I’d rather not be here at all.’
Falco looked down the staircase at how many steps he had yet to descend, then back up behind him to see how far he had travelled. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a blue cloak whisking behind a pillar. He had seen it a few times before; there was someone else staying in the house besides himself and the servants.
But then the bell at the great door began jingling and a footman ushered in Luciano. Falco was pleased to see him, even though he entered alone.
The young Stravagante took the stairs two at a time and was in front of Falco before the boy knew it.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,’ he said. ‘But I have been in the town all morning, on another errand. We need to talk somewhere privately.’
On Thursday Georgia lifted the winged horse gently off her window-sill and inspected it. It seemed fine. Carefully she swathed it in bubble-wrap and put it in her pocket. Today she would take it to school and tonight she would see if it would take her to Remora.
Alice was waiting for her in their classroom and her face lit up when she saw that Georgia was looking all right. In fact Georgia was feeling a lot better; she hadn’t expected to sleep at all for worrying, but she had had a really good night and was feeling stronger than she had for a long time.
‘You’re coming to Devon?’ whispered Alice during registration. ‘My mum spoke to yours last night.’
Georgia nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. It’ll be great. Can I ride your horse?’
‘’Course,’ said Alice. ‘We can take turns.’
‘Alice,’ whispered Georgia. ‘Can you ride bareback?’
There was just time for Alice to nod before Ms Yates told them off for chatting.
Luciano looked at the long ballroom in amazement. Musical instruments sat at the far end shrouded under cloths and a hundred mirrors reflected the two figures of himself and Falco standing in the middle of the room. It could not be a comforting image for the younger boy.
‘Is there nowhere a bit ... smaller?’ asked Luciano.
‘It’s all right,’ said Falco. ‘No one ever comes in here except when the family is entertaining.’ He limped the length of the ballroom.
‘It’s quite snug here in the window,’ he called back.
Luciano felt a surge of pity for the lonely boy, who had made this vast and dreary building his kingdom. They sat behind the ghostly shapes of harp and harpsichord and talked softly about Georgia and how Falco was to make his escape.
‘I think,’ said Luciano, ‘that you’ll have to do a trial run.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Falco.
‘Like a heat for the Stellata, a kind of a practice,’ explained Luciano. ‘We need to get Georgia to bring you a talisman and you can try going back with her at the end of one of her visits here. Then it will be morning in her world and you can see if you like it. I don’t think you should make such a big decision without knowing what it’s like. It’s going to be so different from all this.’ He gestured at the empty ballroom.
‘Different from this is what I want,’ said Falco. ‘I’ll do it. When do you think she’ll come back?’
But Luciano realised he had no idea. And for the first time, he was worried about her.
Chapter 15
A Ghost in the Palace
Gaetano was too confused to enjoy his stay in Bellezza. But there was no doubt that the city was beautiful. Much as he loved his native Giglia, he had to admit that Bellezza was spectacular. The Regent had asked his older brothers, Egidio and Fiorentino, to show Gaetano around and the two men spent their days sculling the young di Chimici along the canals and telling him all their stories from their days as mandoliers.
They were surprisingly good company, full of laughter and anecdotes and not at all like their intimidating younger brother. But on the first day, when Egidio was sculling, Fiorentino told him to pull in at one of the traghetto jetties. ‘There’s a woman there, waving us over,’ he said. ‘She must think we’re a ferry.’
Gaetano shaded his eyes with his hand. Even at this distance and with the sun behind her, he could tell it was his cousin Francesca. The two middle-aged mandoliers were not averse to taking on board a beautiful young woman, particularly when Gaetano explained that she was related to him.
‘What are you all doing?’ asked Francesca, when she had been introduced and was settled among the mandola-cushions. ‘You look like a tourist, Gaetano.’
‘Not really,’ said Fiorentino, ‘he’d have a younger mandolier to scull him if he were. My brother and I are long retired from that trade, but we still know enough to show an honoured guest our city.’
‘You surely can’t have been retired for long,’ said Francesca. ‘I’ve heard that mandoliers have to stop at twenty-five.’
The brothers were delighted with the compliment, which they took as a huge joke.
‘I’d like to see more of the city myself,’ said Francesca. ‘My cousin the ambassador brought me here last year for my marriage and I have seen very little of Bellezza except the main sights like the Basilica and the market on the wooden bridge. For most of the time, I have been shut up in my husband’s palazzo with just my maid for company.’
‘And not your husband?’ asked Egidio, who knew something of the background to this marriage.
‘No,’ said Francesca. ‘Councillor Albani has gone south to oversee his vineyards near Cittanuova.’
She didn’t add that she had insisted to Rinaldo di Chimici that he must get her marriage to old Albani dissolved and that she would not stay a minute in Bellezza unless her husband were removed from her sight. It was true that Albani had vineyards in the south; they were doing very badly because of a blight on the vines and that was why he had accepted the di Chimici bride who came with a large dowry. It was proving more difficult than Francesca had hoped to get out of this marriage that had been forced on her, because Albani was canny enough to want to keep the dowry.
It was a delicate matter for the di Chimici family. Francesca had assumed that she would be able to return to Bellona as soon as the farce of the Ducal election was over, but a message had come from no l
ess a person than Duke Niccolò that she must stay in the city until the dissolution of the marriage had been engineered, to save face for the family and support the illusion that she had her own reasons for coming to Bellezza.
‘It would be a pleasure to show you our city with the Principe,’ said Egidio.
It did not cross Gaetano’s mind to wonder how Francesca knew he would be on the canal at that time and why she had been allowed out of the palazzo unaccompanied. He was just pleased to be with her. And so for the next few weeks, he spent his days with Francesca and the Rossi brothers, exploring the city by land and by water.
They visited the islands and he bought her lace and glass and a fine new dagger for himself. They ate delicious cakes on Burlesca and visited the glass museum on Merlino. Gaetano studied the glass mask and read the story of how a prince of Remora had been dancing with the Duchessa who wore its original, when she slipped and it splintered on her face. It was from that time that all unmarried women over sixteen in Bellezza had to wear a mask.
‘It’s the one good thing about my horrible marriage,’ whispered Francesca. ‘I don’t have to wear a mask here. I don’t know how the Duchessa can bear it. What’s the point of being young and beautiful and having lovely clothes and jewels if no one can see your face? I expect she’ll marry soon just to get out of it.’
This conversation made Gaetano very uncomfortable. He didn’t know whether to tell Francesca why he was in Bellezza or that almost every night, when he dined privately with the Duchessa, she sat smiling at her side of table with her beauty unmasked and he called her Arianna.
‘He must have been our great-uncle,’ said Francesca, reading the label by the mask.
That brought Gaetano back to earth. He and Francesca were di Chimici; it was one of their ancestors who had danced with that Duchessa. He had no idea if Arianna was her descendant, but he did know that there was a family tradition that a Duchessa of Bellezza had poisoned the young Prince of Remora. He wished now that he had paid more attention to the story. No wonder there was a feud between the di Chimici and the city of Bellezza.
The question was, could a marriage between himself and Arianna bring it to an end?
*
‘Nay, ladde, thou moste try to staye on!’ laughed William Dethridge, hugely entertained.
He and Cesare had a secret; they were teaching Luciano to ride. At least, they were trying to. He was not a natural horseman and came off his mount quite often. But they were practising in a field full of soft hay and he suffered no more than bruises and hurt pride. He didn’t want Georgia to know about this, so he had decided to have his private lessons early in the morning and late at night.
Luciano had come to this decision the morning he saw Cesare ride bareback in the preparatory races for the Stellata. He had envied the boy’s easy seat and his sense of oneness with Arcangelo, the beautiful chestnut. He was also still smarting from seeing Georgia and Cesare ride off from Santa Fina with Gaetano di Chimici, while he and Falco followed in the carriage. Even Falco, three years younger than him, had apparently been a fine horseman before the accident.
‘If I was still in the twenty-first century,’ Luciano had told his foster-father, ‘I’d be looking forward to getting my driving licence next year. You know, driving those horseless carriages I told you about? My dad had already given me a few lessons in the sports centre car park. Now all that has gone – I won’t even have a bike. So I might as well learn how to get around on Talian transport.’
Dethridge had been silent. He rarely heard Luciano talk of the past, which was so far in the future, full of machines that the Elizabethan could hardly imagine. He gave the boy one of his bear-hugs. ‘Thenne lerne it thou shalt,’ was all he said.
And so their lessons had begun, with Cesare brought in on the secret. They started with a saddle, although Luciano was keen to progress to bareback riding and emulate Cesare’s grace and skill.
‘Don’t try to run before you can walk,’ warned Cesare.
‘I’d settle for being able to trot!’ gasped Luciano, bouncing up and down on the back of the gentle brown mare, Dondola, that they had chosen for him.
‘Worrye notte,’ said Dethridge. ‘We’ll make a horseman of you yet.’
Georgia didn’t know what to do when she left school that afternoon. She didn’t want to go home since Russell was likely to be there, but since his vile accusations she was worried about calling in at the antique shop. She had been wondering how he knew about her visits to Mr Goldsmith. But in the end she reasoned that Russell couldn’t both be at home and lurking around outside the antique shop, so she went to see the old man after all.
He was in the middle of selling a pair of green vases to a tweedy woman when Georgia turned up so she waited, flicking through some old copies of Country Life on a round marble table in the corner. Mr Goldsmith was in a very good humour as he stashed ten-pound notes into his till. It was the first sale he had made for days.
‘You’re looking better, my dear,’ he said.
‘I’m fine,’ said Georgia. ‘The doctor said it was just tiredness.’
‘And did you find your horse?’ he asked.
‘Russell had it,’ said Georgia grimly. ‘They made him give it back, but he’d broken the wings off. Look.’
She took the mended horse out of her pocket and unwrapped it. Mr Goldsmith inspected the wings.
‘Someone made a good job of mending that,’ he said.
‘My mum,’ said Georgia. But she couldn’t tell him that she wouldn’t know if the horse was really as good as new until she’d tried stravagating with it.
‘You were right about your stepbrother then?’ asked Mr Goldsmith. ‘What did your parents do about it?’
‘Nothing!’ said Georgia bitterly. ‘It’s me that’s in trouble, not him.’
‘What are you in trouble for?’ he asked.
Georgia hesitated. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I came in really to tell you that the horse is back and that I’m going away for a while. I think our parents want to keep Russell and me apart for a bit.’
‘I shall miss your visits,’ said Mr Goldsmith, ‘but that sounds like a good plan.’
‘Yes,’ said Georgia. ‘And I’m going to ride a real horse – my friend’s – in Devon.’
Rodolfo had one of his mirrors trained on the Great Canal. It followed a mandola sculled by his brother and carrying the young di Chimici and his cousin. He smiled as he saw the young people’s heads lean close together as Gaetano pointed out sights to Francesca.
‘It’s going well, isn’t it?’ said a voice behind him.
He turned to Arianna, the smile now for her. ‘I didn’t hear you. I must be getting old.’
Arianna, who had come through the secret passage, put her hand on Rodolfo’s shoulder. ‘Never,’ she said. ‘They look happy, don’t they?’
‘It’s a dangerous game you’re playing,’ said Rodolfo.
‘Me?’ said Arianna, wide-eyed. ‘What could be more natural than for the Principe to spend time with his only family-member in Bellezza?’
Rodolfo raised one eyebrow. ‘You know, you become more like your mother every day.’
And Arianna wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not.
Georgia lay clutching the mended horse and thinking of Remora, not daring to fall asleep. She was terrified that she would not be able to stravagate. But as she felt herself beginning to drift off, she made a solemn promise – ‘If I get back to Remora, I’ll do what Falco wants as soon as possible, before Russell can get at the talisman again.’
When Georgia opened her eyes, she saw the sunlight shining through gaps in the roof tiles on to the golden dust of the Ram’s hayloft. She heard the horses’ hooves scraping on the stone floor underneath her and the chomp of their mouths in their mangers. She was back!
She looked in wonderment at the little horse in her hand. It was so tiny and vulnerable and yet Russell’s attack hadn’t taken away any of its power.
Georgia brushed bits of straw off her coarse Reman clothes and flung herself down the ladder and into Paolo’s house, desperate to find out how much time had passed since her last visit and what had happened while she had been away.
But there seemed to be no one at home. Georgia felt disappointed and let down. She had never arrived to find the house empty before.
She sat at the scrubbed kitchen table feeling totally at a loss. Where were Luciano and Dethridge and the others? And then she heard a noise from the corner. The twins were asleep in a large wooden crib on rockers and one of them was making baby noises. Teresa at least must be somewhere near. Georgia leapt to her feet and ran out to the backyard. Teresa was placidly feeding the chickens, helped by the three little girls, who squealed in mock terror every time a hen pecked near their toes.
She looked up when Georgia came out into the yard and smiled. Again Georgia felt a tightening of her chest as she always did when she contemplated Cesare’s family. No matter that she wouldn’t have wanted five younger siblings; it was just something in the way they all accepted one another, took each other for granted. It produced an atmosphere that was always absent from Georgia’s home.
She wondered what Teresa thought of her. Did she know that Georgia was a girl? Or that she was a Stravagante? Georgia wasn’t even sure that Teresa knew her own husband was one of that brotherhood. She was always welcoming and hospitable to Georgia, treating her as another guest along with Luciano and Doctor Dethridge, even though she had not met Georgia until after the Stravaganti had arrived from Bellezza.
‘Good morning, Giorgio,’ she said now, deftly keeping the rooster away from the children and making sure that all the hens got a fair share. ‘Did you sleep late?’
‘Good morning,’ said Georgia. ‘I must have lost track of time. Tell me, what day is it today?’