Masquerade

by Kylie Fornasier

  Anna picked up another pin off the dressing table and paused. ‘That is a very beautiful flower.’

  Orelia picked up the glass flower Anna was looking at intently and gently ran her finger over a glass petal.

  ‘It looks so familiar,’ said Anna, letting go of Orelia’s hair. ‘I think I have seen it before. Where did you get it?’

  Orelia’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘From my mother.’

  ‘My mistake. I must have seen a different one.’ Anna turned back to Orelia’s hair.

  ‘You’ve seen a flower like this before?’

  Anna nodded at Orelia in the mirror. ‘Yes, in this room actually, a long time ago.’

  Orelia turned around to face Anna but before she could ask any more questions, Maria charged into the room.

  ‘Anna, the cook needs your assistance in the kitchen now.’

  Giving Orelia an apologetic look, Anna hurried out of the room. Orelia began to stand up, but Maria came behind her and forced her shoulders down. ‘I will finish your hair. You cannot go out like this.’ Maria picked up the pins and began gathering piles of Orelia’s hair and jabbing pins into it as if she was stabbing a pie. Orelia did not flinch or complain. Instead, she observed the older woman in the mirror. Her dark hair was peppered with grey, and her skin was heavily lined. Orelia wondered how long Maria had been working for her uncle. A lot longer than Anna, that’s for sure. Had Maria known Orelia’s mother?

  Since arriving in Venice, Orelia had been so caught up in the madness of Venetian life that she had barely had a moment to think about her mother’s past or her uncle’s warning. Or maybe she didn’t want to think about it.

  Orelia’s mother had told her that she had bought the flower off a travelling craftsperson who had visited their village. What if she had been lying? Anna said she had seen a flower just like it in this room. What if the flower had actually come from Venice? From her mother’s past life?

  Orelia placed the flower back down on the dressing table. ‘I’ve had this ornament since I was ten,’ said Orelia. ‘Have you even seen one like it before?’

  ‘No, never.’

  A few minutes passed in silence. Orelia didn’t know what else to say to this woman who clearly did not like her, if the way she pulled Orelia’s hair this way and that was anything to go by. Orelia had to use all her self-control not to cry out in pain.

  ‘This hair is impossible!’ Maria exclaimed, as she set the pins down on the dressing table heavily. ‘That will have to do.’ She turned on her heel and stormed towards the door.

  ‘Maria, wait,’ called Orelia.

  Slowly, Maria turned around and folded her arms.

  ‘If I have done or said something to upset you, I am very sorry,’ said Orelia.

  Maria scoffed. ‘You may look and sound sweet but I know you are as wicked as your mother was.’ She closed the door firmly.

  Orelia stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to process what Maria had just said. She traced her fingers over the face she no longer recognized. She was not the same girl who had arrived in Venice. The mother she knew, was not the same woman who had left Venice. That was all she needed to know. She picked up the glass flower and put it inside one of the dresser’s drawers. Then she brought the glass of wine to her lips and swallowed almost the entire contents in one mouthful. When she set the empty glass back down again, she smiled at herself in the mirror. She was ready for the night, ready for Venice.

  The time from Maria leaving her room to when Orelia found herself standing on the street outside the palace was a complete blur. Orelia could barely recall drinking the alcohol that was clearly on her breath.

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have given you the wine before we left,’ said Angelique in a concerned voice.

  Orelia spun around, enjoying the light-headed feeling. ‘I’m glad you did. I feel so relaxed. But why are we walking when your father owns several gondolas?’

  ‘It is much quicker to walk to La Fenice,’ said Veronica, walking ahead of them. Further behind Orelia and Angelique was Aunt Portia, their chaperone for the evening. She too, had drunk wine before leaving, though considerably more than Orelia.

  ‘What Veronica really means is that she doesn’t like to get caught in the line of gondolas waiting to unload passengers. Veronica is one of the few people who go to the opera to actually watch the performance,’ said Angelique.

  ‘Don’t listen to her; she doesn’t know what she is talking about. Have you ever been to the opera, Orelia?’ asked Veronica as they crossed a bridge spanning a narrow canal.

  ‘No, never,’ answered Orelia, taking care not to end up over the bridge which was not easy when everything felt like it was moving.

  ‘You will love it,’ said Veronica.

  ‘I am not one for opera,’ said Angelique. ‘My ears are too delicate.’

  ‘Your ears are filled with wool,’ said Veronica. ‘Probably the only thing I don’t like about the opera is the ridiculous habit of female singers masquerading as men. Why can’t women be accepted as performers in their own right? Why must they have to dress as men to be allowed to perform?’

  ‘It’s just the way it is,’ said Aunt Portia, tiredly.

  Veronica stopped walking and put her gloved hands on her hips. ‘But it’s not fair! Take our maid, Anna as an example. Have you heard her sing? Her voice is enchanting. But she has no chance of making anything of her talent.’

  ‘I think the fact that she is a servant is a bigger obstacle than her gender.’

  While Veronica continued to make her point, Orelia got distracted by the four strangely-dressed women coming towards them. They hooted when they got closer, a loud repetitive noise filled with mockery and gaiety. It took Orelia a moment to realize that the four women were actually young men in costume. They wore ghastly dresses, some too short, some too long, all too tight. Their faces were entirely covered with vulgar masks featuring high eyebrows and red cheeks. Even stranger, they each carried a sling holding an egg. Angelique must have noticed this addition to their costume too, for suddenly, she shrieked and took cover behind Veronica.

  With one cold stare from Veronica, the pranksters continued quietly on their way. When they were out of sight, Angelique slowly peeled herself away from her sister.

  ‘The eggs are filled with rosewater. They may not ruin a gown, but who wants to be wet all night?’

  Finally, they came to a grand white building in Campo San Fantin. Veronica led the way up the stairs and stopped between the imposing columns in front of the entrance doors to allow their aunt to catch up.

  ‘Next time you suggest we walk instead of taking a gondola,’ said Aunt Portia, breathlessly, ‘you can have your father as chaperone.’

  They stepped into a brightly lit foyer decorated in various hues of pink and accommodating more people than Orelia thought possible. With the rising volume of chatter and laughter, Orelia was glad she had not stolen away into the night on a waiting gondola.

  ‘Let’s find the Doge’s box,’ said Veronica, weaving between the crowd of masked men and women.

  They went up a flight of stairs to a landing, far less crowded than the foyer. A chandelier hung so low that Orelia thought it would be quite possible to lean out over the balustrade and blow out some of the hundred or so candles. She fought the urge to do so and instead swayed on the spot to the sound of an orchestra playing somewhere.

  ‘I’ll be in the sitting room if anyone needs me,’ said Aunt Portia, fanning herself with an ivory cutout fan that matched her ivory-colored gown embroidered with gilt thread. ‘Don’t do anything scandalous, or if you do, don’t be seen,’ she added in a low voice.

  Orelia hid a smile behind her fan, which turned into a giggle and once she started she could not stop. Aunt Portia was always making her laugh.

  ‘This way,’ said Veronica sternly. Angelique took Orelia’s hand and l
ed her up another staircase. They emerged into a curved hallway with white doors stretching endlessly on one side and with oval gold-framed mirrors covering the walls on the other side. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, Orelia paused. She blended in seamlessly with the people who passed behind her in the reflection, as though she had never lived a life different from this.

  She felt a tug. ‘You look beautiful,’ said Angelique. ‘Come on.’

  Veronica had already found the Doge’s box and was waiting outside the door. ‘Do you have the key?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Angelique, producing the key from her pocket with a hint of irritation.

  Orelia was last to step inside. The box was larger and more spacious than she had expected. There was a powder-blue settee with gilt legs along one wall and several matching armchairs positioned near the balcony. On a side table sat two empty glasses, next to them a decanter filed with wine. Bastian was nowhere in sight.

  She joined Veronica at the wide balcony that looked out over the horseshoe-shaped theatre. Their box directly faced the stage at a perfect height. Veronica was right, of all the hundreds of boxes stacked upon each other, this one must afford the best view.

  The theatre was more impressive than anything she’d seen in Venice so far. Everything was gilded, from the fronts of the boxes to the roof, which was supported by golden figures of mermaids. Even the shadows had an ethereal quality. The boxes were filling quickly and there was not a single unclaimed wooden seat on the ground floor.

  Taking the spyglass that Veronica offered, Orelia looked towards the stage. A blue curtain hung from floor to ceiling, rippling like water

  ‘No, no,’ said Angelique, shifting the direction of Orelia’s spyglass. ‘You have to turn the spyglass on the audience. That is where the real drama unfolds. Look over there.’

  Orelia did as instructed and what she saw almost made her drop her spyglass. ‘Are they allowed to do that here?’

  ‘In private boxes, anything goes,’ answered Angelique. ‘And the opera hasn’t even begun yet.’

  The spyglass was pulled away from Orelia. At first, she thought Angelique must have caught sight of something particularly intriguing, but then she saw it was Veronica. ‘We are here to watch the opera,’ she said in a reprimanding voice, ‘and to make it clear to Bastian that Orelia has no interest in him.’ She looked sternly at Angelique. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘I believe that is for Orelia to decide, not you,’ replied a man’s voice.

  Orelia looked to the door and saw Bastian coming through. He was dressed in a burnt orange dress-coat with gold buttons worn open to reveal a heavily embroidered, white waistcoat. A white mask with a long curved nose rested on his forehead, revealing his chiseled features and striking eyes. His eyes moved from one lady to another. If he was shocked to see them all, he did not show it. ‘If I had known to expect more company, I would have had more glasses set out. When my servant returns, I’ll get him to fetch some more.’

  ‘That is so kind of you,’ said Angelique, advancing towards Bastian. ‘How can we thank you?’

  ‘I’m sure by the end of the evening it will be me thanking you,’ replied Bastian, his eyes fixed on Orelia. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. How dare he think she would just swoon over him? It was time for him to be put in his place.

  She cocked her head and smiled as she’d practiced. ‘It’s nice to see you’ve decided to come fully clothed, Signor Donato,’ she said, reaching out a hand to steady herself. ‘When does the opera begin?’

  ‘It begins when I say it begins.’ Bastian strode over to the balcony and waved in the direction of the stage. Orelia was about to laugh when the orchestra began to play. All she could do was scoff.

  ‘Would anyone like some wine?’ asked Bastian.

  ‘I have the most beautiful daughter in all the Republic.’

  Claudia looked up to see her mother sweep into her bedroom wearing a silver damask gown. Her dark hair was twisted into neatly arranged rows in the French tête de mouton style. It gave her mother a softer look that was as concealing as a mask. Claudia turned in her chair and looked at her own reflection in the mirror of the dresser. Her oval-shaped face with high cheekbones framed with black hair stared back at her. She looked so much like her mother that Claudia could not bear to look at herself sometimes.

  ‘I have a gift for you,’ said her mother, walking across the room and sitting down on the bed. She patted the spot beside her giving Claudia no choice but to stand up and join her.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Claudia without enthusiasm.

  Her mother opened her fist to reveal a small brass key. Claudia frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It is a key to the Doge’s opera box where Bastian Donato will be tonight, so you can surprise him later.’ said her mother with a triumphant smile.

  Claudia’s frown deepened. ‘How did you get it?’

  Her mother waved a hand. ‘The owner of La Fenice owed me a favor.’

  Claudia stood up and pressed her fingers against her temples. Her mother could build a city out of favors. ‘So Bastian doesn’t know?’

  ‘That’s why it will be a surprise.’

  Claudia was pacing now. ‘What makes you think he’ll be alone? When is Bastian ever without female company?’ She stopped and spun around to face her mother.

  ‘All the more reason for you to be there.’

  ‘It is a pointless pursuit. I don’t want to marry Bastian and even if I did, it would never be possible. He can only marry someone from within the noble class and we are not.’

  Her mother sighed irritably. ‘Let me worry about that. You just concern yourself with Bastian.’ She stood up and put the key in Claudia’s hand. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me?’

  ‘Of course,’ muttered Claudia. She leaned forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Make sure you don’t waste this opportunity. And make sure you’re seen at the balcony of his box. I want everyone to know you were with Bastian. It’s time for your name to be mentioned in the Gazzetta Veneta alongside his.’

  Before Claudia could protest, her brother, Marco, appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. ‘Can we leave?’

  ‘Yes, we’re ready,’ replied her mother. When Marco had walked away, her mother turned towards her and pointed to the key in Claudia’s right hand. ‘Our little secret,’ she whispered.

  Their gondola was waiting at the water entrance. Claudia walked behind her mother and brother. She always made sure she was the last to board. Those few stolen moments with Filippo were often the only thing that got her through the evenings.

  Claudia walked up to the edge of the water steps and gave Filippo a conspiring smile. Sometimes they liked to put on an act of exchanging pleasantries about the weather for her mother, or whoever else Claudia was travelling with. Those performances were especially common if Claudia and Filippo had been together intimately that day, making the charade of being mere acquaintances even more amusing. But the sad reality was that Claudia had not found a chance to meet with Filippo in almost a week, and there was nothing amusing about that.

  She placed her hand in his and they exchanged a silent, yearning gaze. Before he let go of her hand, he placed a fleeting kiss upon her glove and Claudia knew she was forgiven for her absence.

  Inside the felze, her mother and brother were already exchanging gossip. Claudia hated being confined by the walls of the coffin-like space with these two. She had no interest in speculating who was going to be at La Fenice so she sat back and focused on the sound of the oar slicing through the water.

  She was feeling at ease until Marco kicked her with his foot. ‘I wonder if your lover will be there tonight. We should have invited him to share our box,’ he said.

  Claudia sent Marco her coldest stare. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. I have no lover,’ she said calmly
.

  Marco crossed his arms and leaned back against the pillows. The candle in a sconce on the wall of the felze illuminated his smug expression. ‘Come now, Claudia. It’s no secret that Salvador Oro is in love with you.’

  The blinds of the felze were open, but Claudia could not turn her head and see Filippo’s reaction to the conversation. She knew he could hear every word. They often had made fun together of pretentious things he heard his passengers say.

  ‘That is not at all true,’ said Claudia, her calm façade beginning to crumble.

  ‘Then explain the rose I saw Salvador give you in San Marco last week, the same rose that is still sitting on your dresser.’

  ‘That’s not – ’

  ‘Enough, both of you,’ snapped their mother. ‘Stay away from Salvador, Claudia. His family may have money, but they have a terrible reputation. It’s Bastian Donato you should be concerning yourself with.’

  ‘I have no interest in Salvador or Bastian!’

  ‘That’s not what it looked like when you thanked Salvador with a kiss, ’ said Marco.

  Claudia wanted to disappear. Surely, Filippo knew her better than to believe what he was hearing. True, Salvador did give her the rose but Claudia had only kept it because it was seemed a waste to toss it out. It meant nothing. There was no kiss. She had leaned close to him to tell him that his wig was askew. That was all.

  ‘Enough, Marco,’ said their mother. She looked out the window of the felze and added, ‘Finally, we’re here.’

  Her mother’s relief didn’t compare to the relief Claudia felt until she saw the queue of gondolas waiting to unload passengers. Claudia settled back into the awkwardness, silently begging Marco to keep his mouth closed. He did but only because his attention was now on the women he was watching rise out of their gondolas.

  Finally, their gondola pulled up alongside the water steps that spanned the length of the opera house’s facade. Light from the chandeliers inside spilled out onto the canal through the row of arched entryways. Even from the gondola, Claudia saw that the passage leading