“Oh!” she said. “Excuse me, I forgot.” Of course. The chemise was sheer. She wrapped her arms around her chest.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, still looking away. “Forgive me for noticing.”
“Give me a minute.” She hurried into the bathroom, grabbed the yellow dress and put it on over her chemise and bloomers. Lacing it up the front, she went back in the room. She held her hand out to him and he took it as he rose. He examined the sheets with wonder as he pulled them away from his body. As they walked through the bathroom door, the small room was immediately and subtly illuminated by an integrated lighting system with no visible fixtures.
Lauro whipped his head around. “Where is the sun coming from?”
“I’ll explain later,” she said. “Now look.” She pointed out the toilet. “You sit there, or stand in front of it, whichever is your need. When you are finished, you clean yourself with this…temporary cloth. Then you drop it into the…comoda. We call it a toilet. Then push this lever, and water will spray up to clean you. After that, the water will disappear and the waste and paper will be washed away. Don’t be alarmed, it will be a little sudden. After we use the toilet, we are in the habit of washing our hands. This is how you make the water come.” She waved her hand under the faucet and warm water issued forth, followed by a spray of soap, and then more water. “You dry your hands like this.” She waved them in front of a small vent built into the wall, and a blast of warm air burst forth.
“What is this?” he cried. “You conjure the water and the wind by magic?”
“No, Lauro. There is no magic. These are inventions made by man, just like the inventions you created.”
“Man has progressed so much. You truly are like gods.”
You haven’t seen anything yet. “There is so much to show you, and it will all astonish you. Just keep reminding yourself it all comes from science. Everything we have is from brilliant scientists, just like you, who made wondrous discoveries and invented all these things.”
“Yes. Very well.
“I will leave you for now, but I will be just there in the bedroom, waiting for you. Take your time.” She gave him an encouraging smile and closed the door.
After a few minutes, she heard a yelp. She ran to the door. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. It was just…startling.”
Several minutes later, he emerged, settling his clothes into place.
“Okay,” she said, “I am going to get some food, and I’ll be right back. You stay here. Look around, but just, relax. This is going to be difficult for awhile.”
As she returned from the kitchen with a tray of rolls, cheese, fruit, and coffee, a scream issued from inside the room. She pushed the door open with her foot and ran in. Lauro was standing at the window, hands over his eyes, shaking. She set the tray on a table and went to embrace him. Through the window, the view of Siena spread before her. She shouldn’t have left him alone for his first look at the altered city. Even from the ground floor, the sprawl of the modern city was visible on the nearby hills. Planes flew across the sky; cars crawled like bugs along hillside roads. There was a hushed cacophony of sound: civilization. She closed the shutters and the room automatically lightened. He clutched her, sobbing onto her shoulder.
“Lauro, Lauro,” she whispered. “Shhh, it’s all right. You are seeing the Siena of the future, that’s all. These moving machines you see, they are a type of horseless carriage, and the air machines are what I described to you.”
“It’s all so ugly!”
“Not when you get used to it. And you will.”
“Take me back, Cassandra! Take me back! This is a terrible nightmare!”
“You cannot go back just now, remember? The Guerrini clan wants to kill you.”
He slowed his breathing and his sobs subsided.
“It’s true you can’t stay in this future time, but you can’t go back yet either. We have to make a plan.”
Just then James burst through the door and Lauro pulled away from Cassandra abruptly.
“Mom! Are you okay?”
“Who is this?” said Lauro whipping a small knife from his belt.
“It’s my son.”
Lauro’s mouth fell open. “Your son? You look of the age to be his wife.”
James’s face turned red. “Trust me, I’m her son,” he said by way of translator.
Lauro put the knife back in its holder and went to the young man. “His lips move but the words that come out don’t match.”
“He speaks using a device that translates his English into your Italian. Another modern wonder.”
He walked slowly around him, shaking his head, examining him closely. James looked at his mother, who shrugged. The Italian touched James’s shirt and the fabric of his trousers.
“It’s cotton,” Cassandra said. “Just cotton.”
“It’s so fine!” he marveled. “It must be very expensive!”
“No,” James laughed. “Not at all.”
“Will I wear clothes like this?”
James again glanced toward Cassandra and she nodded.
“I guess,” James said. “I’m sure we can find some for you.”
“I want to see the rest of my house!” Lauro said, turning to Cassandra.
“Yes,” she replied. “But let’s eat first, and I want you to meet my other friends. They’re staying here too. Also, you must remember this is no longer your house. It seems to belong to the Schiatti family now.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why, but the lady who owns it, your housekeeper’s descendent, it seems, might know. For now, let us eat a little breakfast while you meet the others.” She sat and indicated the other chair. “James, will you get Elton and Suhan? And see if Signorina Schiatti can come as well.”
James left and Lauro approached the chair. “How will this spindly thing support me?”
“The miracle of modern engineering,” she replied with a smile.
He pressed down on the back of the chair with his hand, and then carefully sat. “Incredibile.” He took a bite of the roll. “Ugh. It tastes like air.”
The whole grain roll must have seemed unsubstantial in comparison to the heavy, dark bread that was eaten at Lauro’s table.
He tasted the cheese. “And this has no flavor.” He took a bite of melon. “This tastes like water.”
The foods of the past definitely had more vivid flavors. It was always a disappointment to come back and eat modern food again. “All I can say is, you’ll get used to it.”
Professor Carver entered, followed by Suhan and James. Lauro rose and took a step back. “A Moor! The Moor I saw last night.”
“I forgot to tell him you were black,” she said to her boss. “Lauro, now, in this time, we do not distinguish people by the color of their skin. A man or woman with African heritage, or any other, are exactly the same as Europeans in rank and status. Exactly. We do not have slaves or a lower class. Oh, God,” she said to Elton, “this is going to take a long time to explain.”
“I have met Moorish princes,” Lauro said. “I am at ease with people of dark hue.”
He was truly ahead of his time.
“And who is this beauty?” he said, approaching Suhan. “Another dark-skinned wonder.”
“I am Suhan Bostan.”
“An Arab?”
“A Turk.”
“You are dressed very immodestly, my dear,” Lauro said, whispering as he leaned toward her.
Suhan looked down at her short-sleeved blouse, flowing, knee-length skirt, and sandals.
“No, Lauro,” said Cassandra, something like jealousy tickling at the back of her emotions. “It’s how women dress now. I’m still retaining my costume from your era. I will be wearing clothing like Suhan’s later.”
He shook his head again. “It’s too much to adjust to.”
“Sit back down, and while you eat, you can ask questions. We will do our best to explain.”
“I’m not hungr
y, Contessa. Perhaps later.”
The door opened and Rosa walked in. Lauro stood again. He walked to her. “Is it…Alessandra?”
“Who?” Rosa said, looking around at the others.
“My housekeeper’s granddaughter. You look like a slightly more mature version of her.”
“I am Rosa Schiatti,” she said, holding her hand out for him to shake. He took it and kissed it, bowing low.
“Oh, goodness.”
“I do not mean to be rude,” he said, straightening, “but how is it, exactly, that my housekeeper’s family came to own the home that belonged to the Martinelli family for generations, and was to stay in the Sampieri family for generations more?”
“I do have an explanation for you, if you’ll come with me.”
“Wait. I don’t know if he’s ready to look around the house,” Cassandra said, leaping up.
“I want to see what has become of my home, Contessa.”
“Contessa?” said Rosa with a lift of her eyebrow.
“It’s a long story,” Cassandra said. “What do you think, Professor?”
“I think an inventor such as Maestro Sampieri is capable of understanding anything. I am the inventor of time - travel, Maestro. You and I are cut from the same cloth.”
“Time - travel.” He seemed to mull the words over.
“That is what we call the process of journeying back in time to visit civilizations that have gone before.”
“Do you mean I could use this process to visit ancient Rome or Greece?”
“Yeah,” responded James, “but I don’t think you’d want to.”
Lauro shot him a questioning glance.
“Let me do the explaining, James,” Professor Carver said. “Walk with me, Maestro, I will do my best to help you understand this strange and foreign world.”
Lauro went to him and took his arm.
“Follow me,” said Rosa.
Cassandra grabbed the rest of her roll and a hunk of cheese, and trailed behind. Lauro leaned heavily on Professor Carver’s arm as his head whipped around, taking in the furniture, the lights, and all the odd devices he was now privy to see. Rosa brought them into a room she called her study.
“This was my workshop,” Lauro cried. “Where are all my inventions?”
“I’m sorry, Signor Sampieri,” said Rosa. “I have no idea.”
“My work.” He covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook with grief. “What has become of all my years of work?” he cried into his hands. “Everything I’ve devoted my lifetime to.” He looked up, his face wet. “Were they just tossed out like swill for the pigs?”
Cassandra took his other arm. “We don’t know, Lauro, but maybe Rosa’s documents will help us figure all that out. However, you must be brave. It is possible your inventions were lost forever. I’m sorry.” She embraced him. They stood in each other’s arms, Lauro quietly weeping until James coughed discreetly. “Come.” She handed Lauro the same handkerchief he had given her the day they’d met the robbers on the road, and she’d put in her pocket when they’d gone out to see the festival.
“Oh, Cassandra,” he whispered, “our past is rushing to meet our future too fast! I cannot keep up!”
“I’m here for you,” she said. “We’re all here to help you.”
The artist looked toward Professor Carver, who gave him a reassuring smile. He continued to look around the room, drying his eyes with the handkerchief. “It seems smaller.”
Rosa drew his attention to a large, wooden desk with a wave of her hand. “This doesn’t answer the question of your inventions, signore,” she said. “But look at what I did find.” She had some framed documents lying there. “I thought I had seen these in my great-grandmother’s chest over there.” She pointed to the painted wooden chest that had once housed Teresa’s clothes.
“Teresa’s marriage chest. It was a gift from my family to her.”
“Be grateful,” said Cassandra, “that it has survived these six hundred and fifteen years. What a testament to its value.”
“Yes, of course you’re right. Go on, signora.”
“Signorina.”
“Davvero? Really?”
“Si.” A reddish hue crept over the woman’s face.
“Scusi. I do not mean to be rude. You are so beautiful, I expected someone would have claimed you by now.”
The man had certainly managed to recover his composure.
Rosa waved the compliment away and beckoned them. “Come and see.”
They approached the desk. Cassandra bent close to one of the framed documents. “I can’t read it. The handwriting is too difficult. But the date reads 1510.”
“Incredible that it survived all these years,” Professor Carver exclaimed.
“My great-grandmother was paranoid. She was convinced someone might come along and prove she wasn’t the rightful owner of the villa, even as late as 2100, the year she died.”
“Let me see,” said Lauro. “It is a bill of sale, from my uncle, to Ottavia Schiatti, my housekeeper. But this is impossible. How could she have the money to buy my house?”
Professor Carver’s eyes met Cassandra’s. She cleared her throat. “Lauro, when we fled so abruptly, Jacopo and I left a lot of money there. Easily enough to buy your house. I’m sure when we all disappeared and never returned, she felt it was hers to use, and why not? She probably sold the clothes we left there too; you know they were very valuable.”
“Yes,” he said, still looking at the document. “She bought the house and farm for five hundred Florins.” He sat down heavily in the desk chair. “The noble Martinelli estate, sold to servants.”
“I beg your pardon, signore.” Rosa stood with her hands on her hips.
“Scusi,” he said quietly.
“Why wouldn’t one of your daughters have claimed it?” Cassandra asked.
He shook his head. “They both moved away with their husbands. This is how it is with daughters. They become the property of their husbands’ families. One moved to Rome, the other to Cinque Terre. I’m sure my uncle communicated my disappearance to them, and of course, they must have thought I died or simply fled forever. Anyway, they had no claim to the property, for I had not made a will. They’d received their dowries in the form of money long before. The house belonged to the Sampieri family, and my uncle was my closest relative, but he certainly didn’t need it. It was a shack compared to his palazzi.” He gazed off into space for a moment. “I wonder what became of my girls?”
“We can find out,” cried James. “That’s the beauty of our technology. We can just ask the computer and know in a second.”
“Tek-no-lo-gee? Com-piu-terr?”
“Slow down, James,” Suhan whispered to him. “One thing at a time.”
“But he says I can know what happened to my girls, how is this?”
“It’s similar to a history book,” Cassandra said. “Just like you can read what happened in ancient Rome and Greece, we can easily learn what became of the people from the past. But we will get to that, I promise. It’s too much right now for you to absorb.” She turned to Rosa. “Do you have other documents?”
“Well, these others are lists of items that were included in the sale—the furniture, books, animals…. As a matter of fact, there are some very old books over there on the shelf; perhaps some were yours, signore.”
Lauro went and looked. “Here is my collection of Dante, and the Decameron, but that’s all. The others I don’t recognize. Signorina, why are they displayed like this? We cannot enjoy their beauty when we can only see the edge.”
“I…I don’t know, it’s just how we store books.”
“And my inventions? Do you suppose they’re stored somewhere?”
“I’ve honestly never seen any inventions,” she replied cautiously.
“But I must find out what became of them.”
“I believe there’s a puzzle before us, Maestro,” said Professor Carver with a glimmer in his eye. “It will be a fascinating
one to solve, don’t you think? However, it may take some time.”
Lauro looked at him and nodded.
It was clear what the professor was doing—making Lauro relate to him as a scientist. It was helping to calm the Italian artist.
“If there is nothing else here to shed light on the past, signorina,” he said to Rosa, “may we continue to look at the house?”
The woman led them back into the main part of the house, through the large communal spaces. The room where Cassandra had entertained Lauro’s guests on the harpsichord was now a media room with music and holo-ports, a large virtual reality cube, and a gauzy screen for watching old formats such as film and television shows.
Professor Carver threw his team a glance over his shoulder as he hurried Lauro through. “There are some very interesting inventions in here you will like to see later, but not right now. There are some things you must learn about and understand before you can fully comprehend them.”
“Fascinating!” said Lauro as he gazed around.
“Rosa,” said Cassandra, tapping their hostess on the shoulder, “where is the portrait….”
They had just stepped into the dining room. Lauro gasped. “Teresa!”
There was the painting of Teresa Martinelli, hanging in a place of honor over the credenza.
They all watched as he approached it slowly. He gently ran his hand over the surface. A tear slipped down his face. “This work,” he whispered, “has survived all these years, though it is faded and worn. She is still here, for generations to see. My beautiful Teresa.”
“Your work is great, Maestro,” said Professor Carver.
“It’s so beautiful,” exclaimed Suhan. “Your use of light is extraordinary.”
“No one else was doing what I was doing,” Lauro stated.
“Well, maybe da Vinci….”
Lauro whirled around and glared at James.
“I mean, you are at least his equal, if not his superior….” the young man continued.
“So everyone knows of the great da Vinci six hundred years after he died, but what about Lauro Sampieri?” the artist fumed. “Is this the only example of my work that exists? This one piece hidden away in a farmhouse that is now nothing more than an inn? The guests that stay here gawk at my painting knowing nothing of who the beautiful woman once was, or of the artist who created it. Was I relegated to obscurity? Why? I want to know why.”
The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3) Page 16