Masquerade

by Kylie Fornasier

  ‘I promise,’ she said, her voice wavering.

  ‘Good.’ Her uncle stood up and met her eyes briefly. ‘You look so much like her but, I suppose we cannot do anything about that. Just make sure you stay out of trouble and don’t attract unnecessary attention.’

  Orelia managed a smile. She knew she should thank him but she couldn’t find the words.

  ‘I’ll get Maria to show you to your room. Get some rest. When you wake up, you can meet my daughters.’

  For all of Angelique’s life, the far bedroom on the northern side of their house had been forbidden. Once a month, Maria unlocked the door to clean the room, and then locked it back up again. Aunt Portia had had her eyes on this bedroom when she had come to live with them but instead Signor Contarini had one of the offices converted to a bedroom for her. Angelique’s father would never answer why, it just was. And yet now, all these years later, this forbidden room was being occupied.

  Angelique stood outside the door and glanced around the central hall on the fourth floor to check that no one was about to witness her misdoing. At sixteen, she was the younger of Signor Contarini’s two daughters. Her real name was Angelica but at the age of ten, she had decided that Angelique sounded far more sophisticated and reflected her love of all things French. Now there was not a person in Venice who did not know her as Angelique.

  She turned the glass handle and carefully inched open the door without a sound. Her short life thus far had provided few opportunities for spying and so it was with great delight that she poked her head inside the bedroom.

  For Angelique, this room had always held such mystery and now, lit with dappled golden light filtering in from between the drapes, it did not disappoint. Angelique noticed with a hint of envy that it was larger than any other bedroom in the palace and had the most windows. The walls were decorated with gold stucco and green brocatelle flecked with gold. Above the entrance to the bed alcove, sculptured cupids hovered carrying garlands of flowers. The marquetry floor, with its intricate design of flowers and vines, gleamed like glass. Even the dust motes that danced through the air had a magical quality.

  Angelique closed the door behind her and tiptoed across the antechamber towards the alcove, a small extension to the larger room just big enough for the bed in which the girl lay sleeping. Angelique’s father had been very insistent that they let her rest. Angelique knew she would be in severe trouble if she was caught in here, but that was half the fun.

  Over dinner last night, her father had told them about their unexpected visitor. She had arrived earlier that day while Angelique and Veronica had been out at the tailor, viewing the newest selection of French fabrics. When they had returned, Orelia had been already asleep, even though it was barely past midday, and she had not awoken since. Angelique could not quite understand how she could spend so much time asleep. During the five months of Carnival, Angelique barely slept at all.

  Angelique’s sister, Veronica, had found the news of Orelia’s arrival surprising, and questioned why their father had never mentioned having a goddaughter and why she had never visited until now, or at least written to them. Angelique, on the other hand, had found the news too thrilling to worry about silly matters like those. Orelia had come just at the right time. It was the first Sunday of October, the first day of Carnival. They were going to have so much fun together in the season of masked balls, midnight banquets, gambling till daybreak, and nights at the theatre where the audience’s spyglasses were trained on each other, not the stage.

  If only Orelia would wake up, so they could begin the Carnival in the right and proper way – with a visit to Signor Zafoni’s mask shop. By the look of the plain olive-colored dress draped over a chair, she would also need to visit the tailor, but that could not be done right away. In the meantime, Angelique could lend Orelia some of her gowns.

  But masks, they were not something she shared. It was terribly bad luck. This was not the general opinion in Venice; masks often exchanged hands at balls, making things even more confusing. But in Angelique’s experience bad luck only came from sharing masks, like the time she missed out on a kiss from the visiting prince of some Eastern country, which her former best friend, Rosa had happily accepted on her behalf.

  There was another, more important reason Angelique had for wanting to visit Signor Zafoni. For weeks he had been working on a special mask, just for her. He promised to have it ready for the first night of celebrations.

  Angelique could hardly wait for the sun to go down. The first night of Carnival was her favorite night of the year. The masks went on and with them everyone came out to play. She was going to make this Carnival season hers. Beginning tonight at the costume ball that everyone was talking about. Bastian Donato would be there, son of the Doge, the highest elected leader of Venice. Angelique had the perfect costume – a secret costume – and soon she would have the perfect mask. Bastian would not be able to resist her.

  A delirious feeling came over Angelique at this thought. It wasn’t until she heard the bed sheets rustle that she recalled where she was. Angelique covered her mouth and crept into the alcove in which sat the bed, a confection of peach and cream brocade and scrolling woodwork.

  It was difficult to get a good look at the girl with her face pressed into the pillow and her hair fanned out around her, but Angelique assessed from her slender neck and long auburn locks that she would indeed turn heads. Though, not as many heads as Angelique turned. She was proud of her golden hair, heart-shaped face and ‘eyes the color of the Grand Canal on a sunlit day’, as one suitor would have her believe. She was often described as one of the young beauties of the Republic.

  Angelique froze as Orelia stirred, finally settling back to sleep with a soft moan. A sudden rush of sympathy washed over her. She had learnt from her father that Orelia had only recently lost both her parents to smallpox. Angelique’s fingers touched the heart-shaped pendant hanging from a chain around her neck. Her own mother had died when she was only two. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing both parents.

  With that sad thought, Angelique decided to let Orelia sleep as long as she needed. If she weren’t awake after lunch, Angelique would take her sister Veronica to Signor Zafoni’s before they had to begin getting ready for the ball.

  Angelique stepped quietly back across the antechamber, opened the door and looked out into the hall. It was clear. She closed the door gently and slipped away.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Signor Contarini asked Orelia as she finally arrived at the table, the sudden sight of her reflected in the mirrored walls of the dining room.

  Angelique smiled mischievously. She had seen with her own eyes that Orelia had slept blissfully.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ answered Orelia, taking a seat at the table next to Angelique. She was wearing the same green dress that Angelique had seen in her bedroom that morning. Her hair hung loose in waves around her shoulders. She was even more beautiful than Angelique had imagined.

  ‘How long was I asleep for?’ asked Orelia.

  She had the softest voice Angelique had ever heard and she had to pay close attention just to hear what Orelia was saying.

  ‘Almost an entire day,’ answered Angelique, emphasizing each word.

  ‘You must think I’m incredibly rude.’

  Angelique waved a hand dismissively. ‘I stayed in bed for three whole days after the end of Carnival last year!’

  A servant came behind Orelia and laid a steaming bowl on the table in front of her. Orelia looked down at the midday meal and up again. ‘Thank you. Is this pea risotto?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ answered the servant.

  Orelia’s green eyes lit up. ‘Risi e bisi is my favorite dish.’

  ‘Where did you find peas at this time of year?’ Veronica asked their father.

  ‘I know a senator who has pea plants regularly shipped from across the world where it is spring,’ he answered.
‘They are watered in route to ensure they stay fresh.’

  Angelique could sense her father was going to continue to ramble about peas, so she coughed delicately and gave him a look.

  ‘Ah, yes, introductions,’ he said, rearranging the cutlery in front of him. Angelique looked at her father quizzically. Why was he behaving so nervously? Surely Orelia’s arrival was something to be thrilled about. Why did he not seem thrilled?

  ‘To put wisdom before youth, this is my dear Aunt Portia,’ he said, laying his hand on the older woman’s heavily jeweled wrist.

  ‘I’d prefer to be young than wise,’ she said, finishing off her wine in one mouthful. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Orelia.’

  Angelique hid a smile as she watched a servant hurry to refill the glass before her great aunt could unfurl her fingers from the glass’s stem and reprimand the servant for slothfulness.

  ‘And this is my eldest daughter, the lovely Veronica,’ he said, indicating to her the dark-haired girl who sat on the other side of Orelia. Of the two sisters, she was the one who looked more like their father with her dark brown hair, storm-colored eyes and square jaw. Angelique resembled their mother, or at least, what she assumed her mother had looked like from the paintings that hung around their palace.

  Veronica raised her eyes in Orelia’s direction and offered a brief smile. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Angelique rose slightly out of her chair. ‘I’m Angelique,’ she said, before her father could introduce her. ‘I’m so delighted that you have come to live with us. We’re going to be like sisters!’

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you all,’ said Orelia.

  ‘You have to join us tonight for the costume ball at the D’Este residence.’

  Her father held up a hand. ‘We are attending the D’Este’s ball? I thought we had agreed to spend the night at the Benzon residence.’

  ‘I changed my mind when I heard that Signora D’Este was having fireworks and a fortune teller,’ said Angelique, her voice filled with the wonder of it all.

  ‘We shouldn’t associate with them. They are a family of no importance since their name is not in the Golden Book.’ said Aunt Portia, lifting the bowl of risotto to her face and wrinkling her slender nose.

  ‘They are trying very hard to change that. Too hard if you ask me,’ said Veronica.

  ‘What is the Golden Book?’ asked Orelia, looking from one person to another.

  ‘It’s a very old book that lists the families that belong to the noble class,’ answered Veronica, ‘such as ours. The D’Este name is not in the Golden Book.’

  ‘They just had their ballroom renovated. Trust me, father. This is the ball everyone will be at,’ pressed Angelique.

  ‘I suppose you know these things better than any of us,’ replied her father.

  Angelique beamed from the praise. ‘We’ll have to take Orelia to get a mask.’

  ‘That is not a good idea,’ said her father. ‘Orelia should stay here tonight and rest more before you immerse her in Carnival.’

  Angelique pouted.

  ‘I’m feeling quite rested actually.’ said Orelia, with a touch of hesitation.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Angelique. She turned to the servant who was hovering in the corner. ‘Anna, could you please tell Antonio that we will be going to the Merceria after lunch and ask him to have the gondola ready?’

  ‘Of course, miss.’

  ‘Would you please chaperone them?’ said her father, turning to Aunt Portia.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, sending Angelique an almost imperceptible wink.

  The excitement of shopping made Angelique ravenous. She finished her risotto, every last grain and every last green orb, before the others had eaten more than a few spoonsful. Orelia ate the slowest of all, seeming to savor every bite.

  Angelique pushed her chair out impatiently while her father rattled on explaining to Aunt Portia – who looked not the least bit interested – the working of the mechanism used to transport river boats through the shallow parts of the Brenta Canal. She smoothed out the front of her gown. It was pale pink, like the inside of a seashell, and small pearls adorned the bodice. She smiled at her minor violation of the sumptuary laws, which were designed to curb luxury with regulations such as how many pearls were permitted on the yardage of material. Like most women, especially the wives and daughters of the law-makers, Angelique got away with her crime, but it still made her feel quite rebellious.

  Finally, the servants cleared away the plates. ‘We should leave now,’ said Angelique. Aunt Portia stood briskly. ‘Yes, let’s go.’

  ‘Stay out of trouble,’ said Signor Contarini as the rest of them stood. Angelique could have sworn that her father looked directly at Orelia when he said this. In fact, it was the first time she’d noticed him actually looking at her. Angelique couldn’t imagine that this new girl would know what trouble looked like.

  They took the stairs down to the courtyard, and then walked through the passageway, past the kitchen and storage rooms to the water entrance. A gondola was waiting there, bobbing up and down beside the water steps.

  ‘Hello, Antonio,’ Angelique said to the man standing on the platform at the back of the gondola, adjusting the oar. He was wearing livery in her family colors of the deepest purple and silver. She gave him a dazzling smile. She liked to practice her flirting on the gondoliers.

  Antonio blushed, and then turned his gaze to the three other women standing on the water steps. ‘Would you be more comfortable in two gondolas? I can fetch Zuan. He is only unloading the kitchen supplies.’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary. The ladies are going to the Merceria, but I am only going over to the Benzon residence.’

  ‘You’re not coming with us?’ said Angelique, feigning surprise.

  Aunt Portia shook her head. ‘The Contessa has a delicious piece of gossip waiting for me and I’m sure you don’t want your old aunt following you around. I won’t tell your father, if you won’t.’

  Angelique smiled her agreement. Her aunt, whom Angelique was not allowed to call ‘great aunt’, had come to live with them a few months earlier after her husband had died. The alternative would have been to live the rest of her life in a convent which would not have suited Aunt Portia at all. Since her arrival, she had taken over the chaperoning duties from Maria, which had been a huge relief for Angelique.

  Feeling as light as spun sugar, Angelique took hold of Antonio’s arm as he assisted her into the gondola. She winked at him before he released her arm to help Orelia.

  The carved black door of the felze was open. Angelique went in first, entering backwards since there was little room to turn around inside the small cabin, especially since the bench seats were laden with silk cushions as Angelique insisted. Orelia awkwardly followed her example, with a little help from Veronica, who took her hand. Aunt Portia squeezed in last.

  ‘When are you going to stop torturing that poor man?’ whispered Veronica when the gondola began to move.

  ‘I don’t torture him,’ hissed Angelique.

  ‘You do. He’s in love with you. If father finds out, he will dismiss poor Antonio. He is supporting his sick mother you know; he can’t afford to lose his job because of your immature behavior.’

  ‘I am not immature!’

  The gondola came to a stop at the water steps of a small palace.

  ‘Stop fighting you two,’ said Aunt Portia in a tired voice. ‘Angelique you are immature, but make it a virtue, not a flaw. And Veronica, do you think it wise to advise your sister when you know you torture all men?’ She gathered up the bottom of her gown and climbed out of the felze. Before stepping off the gondola, she turned around and poked her head back into the small cabin. ‘Come by and collect me when you’re finished shopping. Keep your veils on so word doesn’t get back to your father about you being unaccompanied.’

  Sile
nce settled upon the felze as the gondola left the Benzon residence behind. Angelique rested her head against the cushioned leather wall, listened to the lapping water and Antonio singing out greetings to other gondoliers.

  ‘Why is everyone staring at me?’ said Orelia.

  Angelique looked out the window. It was true; eyes peered at them from every gondola they passed. Already Orelia was turning heads. ‘Don’t worry. It’s just the city’s gossips wondering who you are.’

  ‘But there are so many people in this city. Does everyone know everyone?’

  Angelique laughed. ‘Everyone knows everyone worth knowing. Believe me; everyone will know who you are soon enough.’ She winked at Orelia.

  ‘I’d prefer not to attract attention,’ said Orelia, pulling across the black blind.

  ‘Sensible girl,’ said Veronica with a curt nod. Veronica sat opposite Angelique and Orelia. She had a perpetual look of boredom on her face.

  ‘It’s impossible not to attract attention. In this city, everyone is always watching. The Lion’s Mouth receives hundreds of reports a week,’ said Angelique.

  ‘The Lion’s Mouth?’ questioned Orelia.

  ‘It’s like a post box for accusations against any Venetian,’ answered Veronica. ‘You can report anything from financial extravagance to licentiousness or the identity of a spy. You are meant to sign your accusation and include the signature of two witnesses, but that’s not always the case.’ Veronica paused. ‘Don’t look so concerned. You have nothing to worry about . . . unless you’re hiding something.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Orelia with a nervous laugh. ‘Where do you find these Lion’s Mouths?’

  ‘They are all around the city,’ replied Angelique, before her sister could take over the conversation. ‘They actually don’t look like a lion at all; they are usually a grotesque face carved in stone. We’ll pass one later.’