Masquerade

by Kylie Fornasier

  ‘Seems fair. I wouldn’t mind seeing her again,’ said Bastian. ‘What proof of her love shall you require?’ asked Bastian. ‘A love letter?’

  ‘Oh no, love letters are not worth the paper they are written on. I know you have a chest full of them.’ Marco thought for a moment. ‘Get her to lay with you. She seems to be the sort of woman who would only give herself to a man she loves.’

  Bastian smiled. This bet was just getting better and better. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I can tell just by looking at her. She will not let you have her until she is certain she loves you.’

  ‘But how will you know that I’ve slept with her?’

  Marco thought for a moment. ‘You must take her chemise as proof.’

  ‘How will her chemise prove anything? I also have a chest of chemises.’

  Marco groaned. ‘All women have their initials embroidered on their chemise, if you’ve ever bothered to look. It will prove you have been with her and only her.’

  Bastian took a sip of his wine. The bet was still too easy. But then, it was Marco’s style to set a bet that Bastian seemed sure to win. Then, when Marco won, the victory was all the more satisfying for him. And Marco was not known to play fair. Undoubtedly, he would find a way to convince Orelia of Bastian’s bad character. It was Marco’s cunning ways that made their bets all the more fun.

  ‘Unless you think you can’t win . . .’

  Bastian stood up. This was one bet he was going to win and he would enjoy every minute of it. ‘It’s a bet.’

  Stepping towards each other, Bastian and Marco shook hands. When they parted, Bastian raised his glass, his eyes wild with excitement. ‘To Carnival!’

  Angelique had decided at an early age that her beauty was her greatest asset, and like any asset it needed proper care and attention. This required long and elaborate beauty rituals, most of which were not at all pleasant.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Orelia, bringing the bowl of yellow liquid to her nose, before quickly putting it back down on the table.

  Anna stood behind Angelique and dipped a rod into the bowl. The sponge affixed to the end of it greedily soaked up the liquid. Angelique adjusted the broad-brimmed top-less hat upon her head, making sure that all her hair was pulled through the top and flowed over the brim, well away from her body. She leaned back in her wooden chair for extra reassurance. As Anna applied the wet liquid to her hair with the rod, Angelique realized she had not answered Orelia’s question. ‘Mmm . . . Anna, what’s in the solution?’ she asked, the tiniest smile on her lips.

  ‘Honey, oil, egg yolk, vine ash, barley straw, liquorice rind, boxwood sawdust, crushed sunflower seeds and urine,’ answered Anna.

  Orelia’s face twisted. ‘Urine?’

  Angelique looked out over the Grand Canal. From their rooftop terrace, the gondolas that filled the large waterway appeared no bigger than toy boats. A cool breeze moved around her. She always felt like she was at the top of the world when she came up to the rooftop terrace, which in turn made her feel a bit wise. ‘Beauty, like everything, comes at a cost.’

  ‘She also lays raw veal soaked in milk on her face for hours at a time,’ said Veronica, who was sitting a bit further away in an arm chair she’d had the servants carry up to the rooftop from the sitting room.

  ‘It’s worth every minute of it,’ said Angelique, touching a hand to her own cheek, feeling the soft smoothness of her skin. ‘Now, go back to reading your book, Veronica.’

  ‘So that makes your hair soft?’ asked Orelia, pointing to the bowl.

  ‘No, it’s to make it resemble fine gold. Most women have hairdressers use complicated dyes on their hair, but I prefer the old-fashioned method.’

  ‘I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that you dismissed your hairdresser a few weeks ago?’ said Veronica.

  Angelique stared icily at Veronica. ‘It has nothing to do with that. Pierre betrayed my trust and I’ve made sure he’ll never work in this city again. I won’t hire a new hairdresser until I am certain they are trustworthy and exceptionally skilled. In the meantime, Anna is satisfactory.’ She smiled at her lady’s maid.

  ‘Perhaps if you did not share your every secret, thought and desire with your hairdresser . . .’ said Veronica.

  ‘Well, it works very well, in my opinion,’ said Orelia, jumping in. ‘Your mix, I mean.’

  ‘Do you wish to try?’ said Angelique. ‘Anna can do you next.’

  Orelia shook her head, her hair catching the sunlight like flames. ‘Maybe another time.’ She looked around. ‘I love these plants you have up here. It’s like a garden in the sky.’

  Angelique glanced at the potted plants distractedly and nodded. ‘Have you enjoyed your first week in Venice? Don’t count the dinner party at the Grissoni’s last night. I should’ve known it would be a bore.’

  ‘It’s been interesting.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Angelique, ‘because there’s many more weeks like that to come.’

  Orelia cocked her head to the side. ‘How long does the Carnival last?’

  ‘Five months! It ends on Shrove Tuesday, but then there are two more weeks of Carnival forty days after Easter.’

  ‘How will I survive?’ asked Orelia dramatically.

  The two of them laughed and even Veronica raised a smile while keeping her eyes on her book. A moment later, Maria emerged onto the rooftop. ‘A note for Miss Orelia,’ she said, holding out an envelope.

  Angelique stopped laughing and Veronica looked up.

  ‘Me?’ said Orelia, taking it from Maria as if she were laced with poison.

  ‘Open it,’ said Angelique, looking at the envelope with intense curiosity. There was nothing written on the front, no name, no address. Whoever had sent it to her must have delivered it personally or had it delivered by messenger with precise instructions. But who would be sending something to Orelia?

  ‘I think I’ll read it later,’ said Orelia, trying to push the envelope into the pocket of her olive green dress that she still insisted on wearing whenever she could.

  Angelique swiftly grabbed the envelope, and swung herself out of Orelia’s reach to inspect the contents. There was a note and a key inside. Angelique unfolded the note and read aloud, ‘Join me for the opera tonight at the La Fenice in the Doge’s box.’ Angelique’s voice broke as she read out the initials. ‘B.D.’

  Orelia took her note from Angelique’s shaking hand. ‘There’s no name on the invitation.’

  ‘The messenger said the note was for the girl with red hair,’ said Maria.

  ‘You are the only one of that description.’ Angelique turned away and squeezed her eyes shut until pinpricks of light filled her vision. She would not cry. Not in front of Veronica and Orelia. Not with her hair soaked in urine.

  ‘Well, I’m not going,’ said Orelia, her voice sounding far away.

  ‘I think we should all go,’ said Veronica. ‘The Doge’s box is the best box at La Fenice. There’s no better view of the stage, I’ve been told. I’d give anything to spend an evening in there. As Orelia said, there is no name on the invitation. Let’s all surprise Bastian.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ said Orelia.

  ‘Yes, are you sure that’s a good idea, Miss Veronica?’ echoed Maria.

  Angelique turned around, displaying a dazzling smile. ‘It’s a perfect idea!’

  Angelique wrapped a long black cloak around herself then covered her face with a white veil edged with lace that she had made herself. She assessed her reflection in the mirror and nodded approvingly. She was dressed perfectly for an occasion that required the utmost secrecy. She was going to visit a witch.

  No one saw her leave the palace, which in itself was a slight disappointment to Angelique. Finally, she had a secret and there was no one to observe it. Her father was attending a senate meeting at the Dog
e’s Palace, while the servants were busy doing whatever it was servants did when they were not attending to her needs. Aunt Portia was napping, while Veronica and Orelia were in the library. The two connected on an intellectual level that made Angelique feel isolated.

  Maybe that was why finally having a secret of her own felt so comforting; it was something they all had in common. Veronica had her secret; the place she disappeared to that made her return flushed and cheerful. Orelia had secrets, too. Angelique could see it in her eyes.

  Angelique hurried through the streets, even though she was in absolutely no rush. No one paid much attention to her but she kept the veil pulled over her face so no one would recognize her and report back to her father that she had been roaming the streets unchaperoned. She supposed a mask would’ve been a better form of disguise than a veil, but Angelique preferred to reserve mask-wearing for when the sun went down, something not observed by most Venetians. She felt a small thrill with each person she passed. She had never had so much fun alone.

  Fun and secrets aside, this was a matter of the heart. She would finally have Bastian alone to herself tonight, or practically to herself. She was not going to let this opportunity go to waste.

  Angelique knew Veronica would disapprove of using a love potion. Veronica disapproved of love, and Bastian. Regardless of what her sister thought, Angelique knew that she and Bastian were meant to be together and the love potion would simply open his eyes to this fact. Signor Zafoni’s mask should have saved her the trouble, but Bastian had failed to wear it to the D’Este’s ball. For the sake of her complexion, Angelique had endured the devastation with the elegance of a swan.

  In the district of Cannaregio, she crossed the Campo Santi Apostoli and continued on through a network of streets that became so narrow they barely accommodated the width of her pannier. The stench of the canals was strong and Angelique was glad of the slight protection afforded by her veil.

  She was trying to find Calle Varisco, Venice’s narrowest street, in which lived a witch who sold her services, if the conversation Angelique had overheard in a coffee shop could be trusted.

  But unfortunately Angelique found herself terribly lost. In the middle of a deserted square, Angelique turned in a circle, looking from house to house. A chill passed through her. Where was she anyway? Which way had she come from? She did not have Veronica’s sense of direction. She sometimes got lost in her own home.

  She started walking towards a derelict church to ask for directions, when from the corner of her eye she spotted movement in a covered passageway. She grabbed handfuls of her skirt and hurried in that direction. ‘Please, can you help me?’ she called. ‘I’m lost.’

  Angelique stepped into the passageway and stopped. She couldn’t see anyone. Her eyes squinted in the darkness. She turned around, certain she hadn’t been seeing things. Out of the shadows, a man grabbed her from behind and forced her up against the wall. Angelique struggled and cried for help, but her attacker’s dirty hand was pressed against her mouth, muffling her screams. He pressed his lips close to her ear. ‘Hi, darling.’

  Every part of Angelique ordered herself to keep fighting, to get away. But the terror was so overwhelming she just wanted it to end. She wanted to die.

  ‘Let her go,’ said a strong, authoritative voice.

  The man holding Angelique released her and stepped back, cursing.

  Angelique gasped for air, her body shaking.

  ‘Leave,’ said the same voice. As soon as the man had fled, a small, thin woman stepped into the light. She had flowing hair, black as a raven, and deep lines on her face that looked like they’d been painted on with an artist’s brush.

  She was the perfect fit for a witch.

  Before Angelique could offer her thanks, the woman slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Stupid girl. What are you doing here alone?’

  ‘I think I am looking for you,’ answered Angelique. She couldn’t believe that after the ordeal she had just been through she could keep her voice so steady or even still be thinking about the witch and the love potion. But she was Angelique, after all.

  ‘And who do you think I am?’

  ‘A –’

  The woman held up a hand to stop her. ‘Do not say it.’

  She gripped Angelique’s arm and pulled her through the passageway. ‘My name is Signora Quirini. Every gondolier in the city knows where to find me. It is no secret.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Angelique, finding herself more disappointed than surprised.

  The woman moved closer until her face was only inches from Angelique’s. ‘Let me be clear: I am not a witch. Do not ever refer to me as one. Witches cast spells and curses. Witches are put on trial. I am not a witch. I am an apothecary. I work with the gifts God has laid on this earth. I attend church and pay my taxes. Do you understand?’

  Angelique quickly nodded her head and said nothing.

  ‘Good,’ said the woman. ‘Come with me and I will give you what you came for. I’ll have a gondola take you wherever you like afterwards.’

  Angelique followed Signora Quirini to the land entrance of her house. Calle Varisco was just on the other side of the passageway. Angelique shivered again when she thought how lucky she had been.

  Ushered inside, Angelique found herself in a small room lit by a single candle. Shelves lined the walls and were crammed with jars and bowls filled with liquids, powders and dried plants. A particularly spikey species of aloe sat on the table in the middle of the room. Angelique smiled. This was exactly what she had imagined.

  ‘Let me guess? Young, in good health, and foolish, the only thing you could possibly be in want of is love.’

  ‘I need your strongest love potion.’

  ‘Can you pay?’

  Angelique pulled a coin purse out of her pocket.

  Signora Quirini nodded approvingly. ‘It will take a moment to prepare,’ she said, reaching a hand to Angelique’s head and plucking a single strand of golden hair.

  Angelique flinched, but didn’t dare express her pain aloud. She was almost as afraid of this woman as she was of the man who had attacked her. For several minutes, Angelique watched Signora Quirini’s back as she poured and pounded various things. ‘What is the potion made of?’

  ‘Now, that is a secret,’ answered Signora Quirini without turning around.

  ‘How does it work?’

  ‘It is simple. Have the man you wish to fall in love with you drink it,’ said Signora Quirni, passing a vial to Angelique. The old woman did not let go of the vial for a number of seconds, as if she were reconsidering entrusting it to this naive girl. ‘If anyone asks, this is medicine for your throat. Remember, if the Inquisitors come for me, they also come for you.’ Her silver eyes bored into Angelique.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Angelique. ‘I can keep a secret.’

  Orelia sat on the edge of her bed and looked longingly at the balcony, imagining herself climbing over the balustrade, dropping into a waiting gondola below and stealing away into the night. She was alone at this moment. Angelique and Veronica were getting ready in their rooms. The last place Orelia wanted to go to was the opera. How could it end well with Bastian, Angelique and herself all in the one box? Not to mention Veronica who was so perceptive and observant. Orelia had already tried to get out of it by saying she was feeling unwell but Angelique had responded by giving her a “miracle” tea to make her feel better, followed by a glass of wine that remained untouched on her dresser.

  There was a knock on her bedroom door and a moment later Anna poked her head into the room. ‘Are you ready to get dressed for the opera, miss?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Orelia, standing up. She was wearing just a white chemise, her initials embroidered in emerald thread near the hem. Anna had labelled her undergarments, not long after Orelia had arrived, so they would not get mixed up when being washed. Orelia was still not comfortable about being dres
sed by someone else, or about being seen in just her chemise, but the clothes she was expected to wear did not allow the luxury of dressing oneself. The lacing up of the stays required at least one other person, or if you wanted it as tight as Angelique did, two.

  ‘Please not so tight,’ said Orelia. ‘I can barely breathe!’

  Anna loosened the laces. ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ she whispered. She kept her eyes down as she collected more underclothes and began fitting them on Orelia.

  A pang of guilt shot through Orelia. Had she offended Anna? The poor girl was only trying to be helpful and she was being so ill-tempered. She attempted a smile. ‘I’m so lucky to have your help. I can never remember which goes on first; the petticoat or the pannier.’

  ‘You’ll become familiar with it all soon,’ said Anna, as she helped Orelia into a gown of soft purple brocade with double-flounced pagoda sleeves of the finest lace. Orelia liked the gown for two reasons, the first being that the color reminded her of the wildflowers that grew in Montepulciano, and the second reason being that there were no ribbons anywhere on the gown. Ribbons were one thing she was sure she would never take to.

  ‘Is this Angelique’s gown?’

  ‘Yes, I took it in a bit. Angelique has arranged for you to meet with a tailor next week, so you will have your own gowns soon. Would you like to sit while I arrange your hair?’

  Orelia nodded and sat down in a chair in front of a dressing table. For a few minutes the room was quiet, the only sound coming from the brush sliding through her hair.

  ‘You’re lucky you have some curls,’ said Anna, taking a piece of hair and pinning it at the nape of Orelia’s neck. ‘I don’t need to use a curling iron.’

  Orelia laughed. ‘Curling hair, altering gowns, cleaning, is there anything you don’t do? How long have you been working here?’

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘Do you like it here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Anna, although to Orelia’s ears it sounded more like a sigh.