But it was the costumes and masks that really made Orelia feel as if she had entered a theatre and not a ballroom. There were Moors and turbaned dervishes, plague doctors and feathered Indians, and everything in-between.
No one was dancing, yet. Instead, people gathered around the edges of the ballroom. The sound of cellos and violins mixed with laughter and gossip.
Angelique gasped.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Orelia.
Angelique didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on something or someone on the other side of the ballroom. ‘He’s not wearing the mask,’ she muttered.
Before Orelia could question her, Angelique stepped out of the doorway and hurried along the wall. Orelia tried to keep up, but she was not used to walking in heeled slippers on polished surfaces.
The material of her gown somewhat cushioned her fall, but there was nothing to cushion the embarrassment. Those nearby stepped away from Orelia, leaving an open space around her, allowing the entire ballroom to witness her humiliation. Every eye turned her way. A hush fell over the crowd, leaving only the sound of the band playing. Varying expressions of shock and amusement were fixed on those faces not entirely hidden by a mask.
Orelia could hear Angelique’s voice, but it was not Angelique or Veronica who dropped to her side. It was an angel, or so the image swimming before her eyes appeared to be. When the multiple images settled into one, she saw that it was not an angel, but a strangely dressed man. He wore tight-fitting black breeches and a red dress-coat, but that was where the normalcy ended. Orelia did not know where to begin in assessing the rest of him. Perhaps with the pair of large gold wings, forcing the crowd to step back? Or maybe his bare chest painted in gold beneath his open dress-coat? Or the headdress that framed his face like a mane?
No, he was not an angel, Orelia realized. He was a winged lion.
With a wicked smile, he took Orelia’s right hand and lifted her to her feet, sweeping her straight across the ballroom, as a path cleared for them.
‘You certainly know how to make an entrance,’ he said, as he led her to the center of the shiny floor.
Suddenly, it all made sense to Orelia. This was Bastian Donato. She pulled away, but her hand was firmly grasped in his.
‘I’m not familiar with this dance,’ she protested.
‘It’s a simple minuet. Just follow me.’ He waited for the music to begin again, and then he bowed and danced forward, rising and falling on the balls of his feet. Orelia had no choice, but to hold his hand and follow, trying desperately to remember the steps and timing Angelique had taught her.
She tried not to take notice of the women staring icily over the tops of fans that hid their whispering lips or the men who stared in a way that made her uncomfortable. It seemed as if the entire ballroom had stopped to watch. But of all the scrutinizing faces, the last face she wanted to find was Angelique’s.
Orelia felt Bastian let go of her hand and she watched him dance away from her to the side. Remembering some of Angelique’s instruction from earlier, she danced in the other direction, noticing her legs fall into the rhythm of bends and rises, while her arms remained out, awkward and stiff.
When they were a few meters apart, Bastian danced forward. It took Orelia a few moments to adjust, but just when she thought she had caught up, Bastian shook his head and with his chin indicated that she should be travelling backwards. Orelia closed her eyes and wanted to disappear, though somehow her body kept moving.
Bastian turned to face her and began dancing sideways again. Orelia recognized this part of the dance as the z-figure she had practiced over and over that afternoon. She danced sideways in the opposite direction to Bastian, as though they were forming the letter z.
They crossed diagonally in the middle of the ballroom, passing by each other to the right. As their shoulders brushed, Bastian whispered, ‘See, you can dance. I’m sure there are lots of other things I could teach you.’
Orelia let out an unimpressed huff, although she didn’t mean it to be quite so loud. Bastian did not seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on her, as if he could see through the multiple layers of her clothing. The next time they crossed, Bastian took her right hand in his and began to turn in a slow circle.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked.
In that moment, Orelia understood the power of a mask. She didn’t have to answer as Orelia Rossetti or Orelia Contarini; she could be anybody. What would Veronica say?
‘I think I’ve seen you by the dock. You must be a fisherman,’ she answered eventually.
Bastian shook his head, the golden tendrils of his mane shaking, too. ‘The things I fish for do not have fins or scales.’
‘A priest?’
‘I think you know exactly who I am,’ he whispered. ‘So the question is: What is your name?’
To Orelia’s relief, they finished the circle. She attempted to separate from Bastian, but she found she was caught, or more precisely the draping lace of her sleeve was caught on a button of Bastian’s jacket.
Bastian looked to where her eyes were fixed and laughed. ‘Keep dancing,’ he said, while his fingers worked to untangle his button. ‘This happens quite often.’
Orelia studied his face while he attempted to untangle them. In the flurry of activity, she had not really looked closely at him. But now, with only a few inches between them and a disobedient button keeping them together, she could see that he was infuriatingly handsome. He had an aquiline nose, straight white teeth and dancing blue eyes. She did not trust herself to let her eyes wander to his bare chest painted gold beneath his open dress-coat.
‘Don’t make me beg for your name’ he whispered, looking up at her.
Orelia couldn’t tell if the button was tangled badly or if he was purposely taking his time untangling it. ‘Orelia,’ she answered, flatly.
Bastian repeated her name, playing with each syllable. Before he could say another word, Orelia felt the tension on her sleeve release and it fell away from Bastian’s dress-coat. Without hesitation, she moved away as quick as she could manage.
As they danced to opposite sides of the ballroom, Orelia could feel Bastian’s eyes on her, but she could not bring herself to look at him. She felt as if mere moments had passed before she was flung back into his waiting arms. He took both her hands, bringing their bodies close together and making it difficult for Orelia to avoid his eyes.
‘Where are you from?’ Bastian whispered, even though no one would possibly hear them from where they were, and with the overzealous band playing.
Orelia replied with the lie she’d spent the day telling.
‘I’ve never liked Rome,’ said Bastian. ‘The people there are so stiff.’
Orelia suddenly felt the heat of the hundreds candles burning in the multiple chandeliers. ‘Perhaps I should ask you a question, Signor Donato. What compels a man to enter a room full of respectable people bare-chested?’
‘It is part of my costume,’ Bastian replied with a shrug. ‘I am Saint Mark, the saint patron of Venice. His symbol is a winged lion.’
‘I’m sure you’re as much like a saint as an oyster is like a peacock.’
‘Isn’t that the point of a costume, to hide who we truly are?’
Orelia was considering this when she noticed the music had changed. The song was coming to a close. Bastian took her hand and led her off the dance floor, as another couple began the minuet. She had made it through the dance without further embarrassment. Now there was just the matter of Bastian, who was still tightly gripping her hand, guiding her through the crowd towards a doorway that led from the ballroom onto the balcony. Before Orelia could protest, a woman dressed as a courtesan blocked their path. ‘Where is my key?’ she demanded.
Bastian shook his head. ‘I’m not sure what you are talking about,’ he said to the women as he tried to step around her, still holding Orelia’s hand.
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‘The key that you had made from the imprint in the dough I gave you, so that you could visit my rooms whenever you pleased.’ The woman lifted up her red mask, revealing her entire face. She did not look happy. ‘I want the key. Where is it?’
‘I think you have me mistaken for someone else.’
‘Give me the key, Bastian.’
Bastian sighed. ‘You see, that might be difficult. I gave it to a friend. He is madly in love with you. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance recently.’
The woman put her hands on her hips. ‘Who is this friend?’
‘He asked that I don’t reveal his identity. He is shy.’
‘I bet he is hideous. I want you to get my key back right now or I will tell everyone about what happened, or rather did not happen, that night my lady’s maid joined us.’
Orelia looked between Bastian and this woman. She might be from a village but she understood enough to know what was going on between them.
‘Wait here,’ he told the woman, his voice filled with annoyance, ‘and I’ll go find your key.’
‘You think I’m a fool? I know you will just run off. No, I’m coming with you.’
Bastian let go of Orelia’s hand. ‘I’m very sorry. We will meet again,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘You know what they say about the first dance.’
Orelia’s heart beat quickly as she watched his winged back disappear into the crowd. She’d only ever experienced this sensation alongside panic but she suddenly felt she was not quite sure of anything anymore.
Veronica loved being the older sister. For one, she got to boss Angelique around and, moreover, their father kept a much closer eye on Angelique, his little girl. Secretly, Veronica liked taking care of her younger sister and, though she would never admit it out loud, enjoyed her company, but there were times when she just couldn’t stand her. There in the D’Este’s ballroom was one of those times.
‘Where has she gone?’ said Angelique, as they watched another couple dancing. ‘She’s off somewhere with Bastian, I know it.’
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ snapped Veronica. Throughout the entire dance, she had endured Angelique’s whining.
‘She knew how much the first dance meant to me.’
Veronica could tell that her sister was only moments away from stamping her feet like a child.
‘It’s not Orelia’s fault. Bastian dragged her out there,’ said Veronica, still trying to get her to see reason.
A sulky look came over Angelique’s face.
Veronica saw Orelia coming towards them. Her hat was slightly askew. She looked as exhausted as if she had been dancing all night, rather than just one dance. ‘Here she is now. Be nice,’ Veronica whispered.
‘I thought I would never find you,’ said Orelia when she reached them, her voice breathless and shaky. ‘This ballroom is so big and there are so many people in here.’
Angelique let out a sigh and looped her arm through Orelia’s.
‘You’re not angry with me for dancing with Bastian?’ said Orelia.
‘Of course not,’ said Angelique. ‘Besides, at least Claudia didn’t get the first dance with him. Where is Bastian now?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Orelia. ‘There was a women who wanted a key. She didn’t seem very happy with him and Bastian didn’t seem pleased to see her. He went to go find the key, I think.’
Angelique smiled. ‘Did you see where he went?’
‘No. Sorry.’
‘Enough about Bastian, please,’ said Veronica in exasperation.
‘Fine. I’m going to look for him.’
Before Veronica could tell her that was not a good idea, Angelique had disappeared. Veronica shook her head and let her eyes travel around the ballroom, searching for something interesting. She didn’t detest balls quite as much as she made out. She found them to be good opportunities to observe behavior. People tended to be less guarded with their secrets when they had a mask on. A few things she had witnessed at balls had found their way onto her canvas.
Looking past the dancing couple, Veronica spied a very interesting man standing directly opposite her on the other side of the ballroom. His face was covered with a mask, but the roundness of his stomach and an arrogance to his stance gave away his identity. Bertuccio Aldoldo. He was looking in her direction while the man at his side chattered away using enthusiastic hand gestures.
Veronica had no doubt that Signor Aldoldo recognized her, since she had deliberately worn a headdress instead of a mask. The question was, had he seen the painting yet? There was only one way to know. Veronica flicked open her fan, which she herself had painted with hunting scenes in the style of ancient Egyptian papyrus paintings. With her left hand, she lifted it to her face.
‘Are you hot?’ asked Orelia.
‘No,’ answered Veronica. ‘I’m sending a message to a man across the room. You’ll soon learn the language of fans.’
‘What are you telling him?’ asked Orelia.
‘That I desire his acquaintance.’ Veronica moved the fan to cover her left ear. Now her fan was saying something entirely different: Do not betray our secret.
Veronica watched as Signor Aldoldo stumbled backwards into the wall. Then righting himself, he fled through the nearest door.
‘I don’t think he quite got your message,’ said Orelia.
Veronica shut her fan. ‘Oh, he understood perfectly.’ She looked around with a triumphant smile, hoping to spot Alessandro to celebrate her victory like only he knew how. Then Veronica remembered Angelique saying how this one was invitation only. Their host, Signora D’Este, was not a member of the noble class and yet she had a habit of only inviting the wealthiest nobles to her functions, parading as if she were one of them.
‘Good evening,’ said Signora D’Este, sweeping in front of them all of a sudden, as if Veronica’s thoughts had summoned her. The woman’s black hair hung straight and loose around her shoulders. She wore a red gown with dyed- red ostrich feathers fanning out around her neck. Veronica quickly realized the meaning of the costume.
The phoenix.
Indeed, Signora D’Este had risen from the ashes. A few years ago, her husband had gambled away their family’s entire fortune. The only thing they had not lost was their house. Signora D’Este had taken charge and had managed to recover through means that were as suspicious as they were varied. Rumors speculated that she was now trying to raise 100,000 ducats to buy her family’s name into the Golden Book, the list of families that belong to the noble class, such as the Contarini’s,
‘How are you enjoying my ball?’ Signora D’Este asked, her bright red lips spreading into a smile.
‘It’s wonderful,’ answered Veronica in a voice she reserved for pretentious conversations. ‘The perfect start to the Carnival.’
‘Very good,’ said Signora D’Este. She turned to look at Orelia as one would look at a piece of jewelry around a rival’s neck. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’
Orelia introduced herself softly.
‘Well, Orelia, you seem to have made quite an impression on Signor Donato. You both had the ballroom mesmerized.’ The icy tone of Signora D’Este’s voice suggested she was not among those who had been mesmerized.
‘I did not know what I was doing,’ said Orelia, a blush creeping down her slender neck.
Signora D’Este snorted. ‘Of course you didn’t. You see, Bastian was meant to dance the first dance with my daughter, Claudia. I’m sure you’ll remember that in the future. I would love for you to meet Claudia, but I’m afraid she has disappeared. Have you seen her? She is dressed as the sun.’
Veronica lifted a hand to her mouth to hide her smirk. She’d seen many ridiculous costumes that evening, but none so ridiculous as the sun. And how exactly does one dress as the sun?
‘No,’ answered Veronica, ‘but if we see her we’ll be su
re to let her know you’re looking for her.’
‘Please do. Enjoy the evening. And, Orelia, be careful who you’re seen dancing with. You don’t want to make enemies so quickly.’ Signora D’Este finished her threat with a smile filled with all the warmth of a lump of wax, then turned and walked away.
‘Charming woman,’ said Orelia, flatly.
Veronica laughed. Maybe Orelia wasn’t all nerves and apologies. ‘Let’s get some fresh air.’ Veronica led Orelia to a door that opened onto the balcony. Unlike the multiple small balconies of the Contarini’s house, this single balcony spanned the length of the palace. Veronica walked up to the white stone balustrade and leant against it. ‘It’s always strange to see the Grand Canal from this side of the Rialto Bridge.’
‘Have you always lived on the Grand Canal?’ asked Orelia, joining Veronica.
‘Yes, my family has owned the building for over three centuries. What about you? Do you miss Rome?’
Before Orelia could respond, the sound of an explosion filled the air, followed by a burst of gold in the sky.
Veronica felt Orelia jump. ‘Do you not have fireworks in Rome?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘No, I mean, yes,’ said Orelia, fiddling with the position of her mask.
Veronica wanted to know more about this girl who now shared their home. Why had they never heard from her until now? What was she so clearly hiding? But Orelia had been through enough that night already; Veronica would have to save her questions for another time.
The next few minutes were passed watching the sky light up in shades of gold, pink, green and blue. The sound of the cellos and violins floated through the open door. Glancing at Orelia’s face, lit up with innocent wonder. Veronica was certain they were the first fireworks the girl had ever seen.
‘Here you are!’ cried Angelique from behind them.
‘Did you find him?’ Veronica asked her sister.
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