through to the foyer was crowded with people from the highest ranks in society. Already, she could feel them pressing around her, suffocating her.
Marco got up first, followed by her mother while Claudia made a show of rearranging the bottom of her gown. When her mother’s back was to her, Claudia took off her black silk gloves and placed them on the seat next to her.
Filippo was standing on the water steps when Claudia rose out of the felze. His elbow was extended to help her out of the gondola onto the land, just as other gondoliers were doing for their passengers on either side of them. His eyes would not meet hers. Instead, he stared down at the dark water between the gondola and the steps.
Desperately, Claudia tried to whisper an apology, but she was standing in front of the opera house before the words left her mouth. When she turned around, Filippo had already leapt into the gondola and was busying himself with the oar.
‘Hurry up, Claudia,’ said her mother, as she walked ahead through the entryway.
‘I think I saw Salvador up ahead,’ whispered Marco in her ear, before breaking away and disappearing into the crowd.
Her brother’s teasing had no effect on her. All Claudia could think was that she had to go back and explain the misunderstanding to Filippo. She hurried to catch up with her mother. When she was only a step behind, she gasped loudly.
Her mother turned around. ‘What is it now?’
‘I left my gloves in the gondola.’
Her mother exhaled sharply. ‘You better go collect them. Your bare hands make you look like a kitchen maid.’
Without responding to her mother’s remark, Claudia turned around. It took all her self-control to walk calmly. The last thing she needed was to become the topic of gossip by causing a scene running from the building.
When Claudia emerged at the water’s edge, her eyes frantically searched the black vessels for Filippo. Finally, she saw him steering the gondola away from La Fenice. She opened her mouth to call out his name, but no sound came out. Her chest ached. Around her, people moved about without a care. She watched the gondola get further and further away. Just before it completely disappeared into the darkness, Filippo looked over his shoulder and their eyes met. Claudia put all her love into her gaze. Filippo turned around and did not look back.
Claudia sank into a settee at the far end of the sitting room. She squeezed her eyes shut to fight back tears, but behind her closed eyes she saw Filippo’s face as he looked back at her with such disappointment. Their relationship seemed to be one misunderstanding after another. Claudia didn’t know how long she could continue living this way.
‘Are you all right?’ asked a girl with stunning red hair, seated on another settee close by. Beside the girl there was an older woman whose gown of ivory matched the walls and furniture of the sitting room. She was asleep, her head tipped forward. Claudia recognized her as one of the women from the kind of level in the society her mother strove to gain entry into.
Claudia wiped the tears from her face with the back of her bare hand and nodded. ‘You haven’t seen a tall woman with black hair and dressed in a silver gown recently?’
‘No, I don’t think so, but I have had a lot of wine and my head is spinning so don’t trust me.’ The girl swayed from side to side, almost falling off the settee. ‘Did you want me to help you find her?’
Claudia laughed dryly. ‘No, no, definitely not. I’m hiding from her,’ she said, looking around the sitting room that was occupied with women deep in whispered exchanges of gossip. ‘I’m Claudia D’Este. I’ve seen you somewhere . . . Are you the girl who danced with Bastian at my mother’s ball?’
The girl nodded apologetically.
‘I must thank you for that. My mother was furious.’
‘I know,’ said the girl, rather loudly.
‘What is your name?’
‘It’s Orelia. Orelia….Rossetti.’
Claudia laughed. How much wine had this girl drunk? ‘That’s a beautiful name. You’re new here, is that right?’
‘I am.’
‘Which box are you in tonight?’
Orelia leaned in close and whispered, ‘The Doge’s box.’
‘You’re the guest of Bastian Donato that people are whispering about?’
‘Well, one of them. But I don’t understand how anyone can bare to be around him. He’s so… infuriating and sure of himself!’
‘Bastian might be immature, but he is a good man,’ said Claudia ‘He is a dear friend of my brother and he has always been kind to me. My mother is certainly fond of him.’ Claudia’s eyes flicked to the sitting room doors, half expecting her mother to come bursting through. ‘I’d love to stay and talk, but I’d better get going. It was nice to meet you, Orelia.’
‘And you,’ said Orelia. ‘You are nothing like your mother.’
Claudia smiled for the first time that evening.
That evening Angelique was far more observant than normal. It was often said, that she would fail to notice if the Grand Canal ran dry, but tonight was different. She noticed even the smallest of details, like the way Bastian held his wine glass in his right hand, unless he was enjoying a glazed cherry from the bowl a servant had delivered, in which case he switched hands. He had not once set the glass down.
All these observations were to serve one purpose. Angelique felt around the pocket concealed within the layers of her white silk gown covered with red rosettes and sighed with relief when her fingers found the small vial. With a shudder, she recalled how she had risked her life to acquire the love potion. She did not want to think what might have happened to her in that passageway if Signora Quirini had not come along. She could not fail now.
From her observations, she decided that the best time to slip the love potion into Bastian’s drink was when his glass needed refilling. Standing at the balcony beside Bastian, she pretended to watch the opera when in fact she was really watching the wine in Bastian’s glass go down, sip by sip. The problem was, it was happening far too slowly.
A few minutes ago, Orelia had just excused herself to check on Aunt Portia and Angelique knew the best time to strike was when she was not around. The fewer potential witnesses, the better. She was yet to learn Orelia’s views on love potions, among many other things. Probably Orelia wouldn’t be as disapproving as Veronica, but Angelique suspected she wouldn’t fully approve, either.
She watched Bastian bring the glass to his lips, those smooth beautiful lips. She had never been this close to him before and if she failed, she may never be this close to him again. Without a second thought, she grabbed the top of his glass, brought it to her own lips, tipped her head back and swallowed the entire contents. In her mind, she had pictured herself finishing the performance elegantly. Instead, she began to cough uncontrollably.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘I was just so thirsty.’
His face was only inches from hers and Angelique could see the agitation in his features. In fact, he had seemed agitated all evening. Angelique wondered if that was the effect of the opera. It had certainly made her jump once or twice.
‘Here,’ said Angelique, regaining her poise. ‘Let me refill your glass for you.’
Before Bastian could respond, Angelique took the glass over to the small table and with her back turned, picked up the decanter of wine. She tipped the decanter slowly, contemplating the ratio of wine to love potion. When the liquid reached halfway, she stopped. She didn’t want to over-fill the glass. It was important he drank the entire contents, she didn’t want him to fall half in love with her.
With her heart beating wildly, she took the small vial out of her pocket, removed the glass stopper and poured the contents into the glass. The two liquids blended together seamlessly, like magic.
Quickly, Angelique pushed the empty
vial back into her pocket and then lifted the glass. Her satisfied smile reflected back at her in the shiny surface. She took slow steps towards Bastian, careful not to spill a drop or trip over. ‘Here you are,’ she said, casually. It was difficult to sound casual when she knew that Bastian would soon be madly, wildly, feverishly in love with her.
Bastian took the glass from her but instead of offering his thanks, he cried, ‘Marco!’
Angelique’s brow furrowed. Bastian stepped past her and towards the back of the box. Angelique spun around and saw a man in a black dress-coat standing in the doorway. He had dark, penetrating eyes. ‘So, this is where you’re hiding all the beautiful women,’ he said, with a wink at Angelique.
She felt herself blush. Her shoulders relaxed and she even managed to smile at Marco, even though he had interrupted the most important moment in her life.
‘I thought you didn’t like the opera,’ said Bastian, elbowing his friend.
‘I don’t,’ said Marco, ‘which is why I need this.’ And for the second time that evening, the glass was taken from Bastian’s hand.
Bastian made no move to reclaim it, but Angelique did. She lunged at Marco, knocking the glass from his hand moments before it touched his lips. The glass fell to the ground soundlessly, the contents soaking into the thick Persian rug.
Marco and Bastian stared at Angelique with their mouths agape. Even Veronica turned away from the opera.
‘Are you raving mad?’ demanded Marco, shaking his left leg, even though no more than a few drops had landed upon his stockings.
‘There . . . there . . . there was a fly in your drink!’ said Angelique.
Marco narrowed his eyes. ‘A fly?’
‘Yes,’ replied Angelique, lifting her chin. ‘A fly.’
Marco opened his mouth to respond, but Bastian laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll pour you another glass.’
‘No, I think I’ll be leaving.’ Marco turned and strode through the door. Bastian followed after him. Angelique collapsed onto the settee, letting out a wail that rivaled the opera singers.
‘What was that really about?’ asked Veronica.
‘Never mind,’ muttered Angelique. Her eyes did not move off the dark patch on the rug. Later she might feel relieved that she had averted a disaster with her quick thinking, but for now she was filled with despair as she watched every last drop of the love potion disappear into the rug.
Veronica moved across the room and sat herself down on the edge of the settee. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ she asked, pressing her hand to Angelique’s forehead. ‘Perhaps we should go.’
Angelique smiled weakly. Veronica was always looking after her. It was the reason Angelique never really missed having a mother.
‘No, I’m fine. Go back and watch the opera,’ said Angelique. Then, without any trace of optimism, she added, ‘We have the box to ourselves now.’
Anna hated working in the kitchen. She wasn’t a kitchen maid; she was a lady’s maid. Her culinary mishaps were more deliberate than accidental but still she was called back when they needed extra hands in the kitchen. Not that Anna’s hands got to touch anything but vegetables. The moment Anna had walked into the kitchen, the cook had threatened that if Anna came anywhere near the stuffed duck, an annual gift from the Doge’s ducal reserves in the lagoon, she would have her hands cut off.
As it turned out, Signor Contarini was having guests for dinner while his daughters were at the opera. The kitchen staff had only been expecting a handful of guests, but at the last minute they had been informed of a number of additions to the guest list, hence the frenzy Anna walked into.
The monotony of dicing and chopping turned Anna’s thoughts back to Orelia. There was something very unsettling about that girl, not Orelia herself – she was sweet and gentle – but the way the air had changed in the palace since her arrival. When he was home, Signor Contarini rarely left his study and Maria was more disgruntled than ever.
The door to the kitchen burst open and Maria entered. Anna knew she was in trouble the moment Maria set eyes on her. What had she done now?
Maria walked straight up to her. ‘Where is that flower you were telling Orelia about? The one you had seen like hers.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, where did you see it?’
‘In her bedroom in a niche behind the painting of the countryside.’
‘What were you doing in that room? You were told never to enter it.’
‘It was a mistake. I was new here. I got the rooms mixed up and the door was unlocked. The room was so dusty, every surface, so I cleaned. The painting came away from the wall itself, I swear!’
‘And you left the flower where you found it? Or do I need to go and search your room?’ Maria’s gaze could have made stone crumble.
Anna nodded. She found that it was best to use gestures when telling a lie. It somehow made her feel less despicable. She only ever lied when it was absolutely necessary and this was one of those times. The glass flower was not behind the painting. Anna had taken it. It was so beautiful and no one was going to miss it but she couldn’t admit this to Maria. Nor could she risk Maria searching her room and finding Emilia.
‘Very well,’ said Maria. ‘Do not tell Orelia any more about it, do you understand? And do not answer any questions she may come asking you or I will find the girls another lady’s maid.’
Anna nodded again.
The cook appeared at their side. ‘Excuse me, Signora, we have a problem. I do not think there is enough duck for all of the guests.’
‘You’re telling me this now?’ demanded Maria. ‘The guests are arriving soon.’
‘I can send Henritta next door to see if they have any they could spare.’
Maria pressed her hand to the side of her face as though she could not tolerate this incompetence any longer. ‘No, I will go myself.’
Anna waited for Maria to leave the kitchen before she turned back to the vegetables, but she couldn’t focus on peeling with the weight of her lie crushing her. Of course Maria would go looking behind the painting for the glass flower at the first chance she got, which meant Anna had to return it before then. And now, while Maria was off in search of the duck, was the best time to do that. Anna eyed the door, considering simply sneaking off and then making up an excuse later. She would get in trouble but not as much trouble as she would if Maria didn’t find the flower where Anna told her it would be. Only, Anna wasn’t particularly stealthy and if she got caught on her way out she would lose her chance. Anna looked down at the pile of vegetables she’d been given. Maybe if she finished quickly… No, Anna had a better idea. Checking to see that the cook wasn’t watching, she picked up the small peeling knife and drew the tip of the blade across the inside of the thumb. ‘Ow!’ she cried loudly.
‘What is it?’ asked the cook.
Anna held out her hand that was now smeared with blood. ‘I’ve cut myself.’
‘Get out of my kitchen. I can’t have blood in the food. Out! Out!’
Obligingly, Anna hurried out, wrapping her hand with her apron. She hurried up the stairs to the fifth floor. She opened the door just enough for her to slip into the shadowy room.
Emilia was asleep in the bed, facing the wall. Anna tiptoed past to avoid waking her. She had been avoiding spending much time with her sister, whether she was awake or asleep. The false promise still hung between them like a poisonous cloud that would engulf them both should they come too close together.
In her defense, Anna had been considering ways to produce enough money required to pay for a doctor’s services, but all the things she considered got her nowhere, like the dead-ended streets where light did not reach. She could not ask Signor Contarini for the money, even as kind as he was. That would involve revealing that she had been hiding her sister upstairs. His kindness would not stretch that far. There was the possibility of gett
ing the money from a Jewish moneylender, but she was yet to explore this option. Tomorrow, when she was supposed to be visiting the market, she would try to find a moment to slip away to the Ghetto, she silently promised.
Anna knelt before a wooden chest sitting beneath the window. It contained Anna’s clothing and a few personal belongings. She slid her hand, the one not wrapped in an apron, down the side of the chest, burrowing through the layers of material until her fingers found a small bundle. Laying it in her lap, she unwrapped the brown cloth to reveal her treasures.
She was right. The glass flower was an exact mirror image of the one Orelia carried, right down to the streaks of red and orange that ran through the petals like the flames that helped shape the glass. It wasn’t the only thing Anna had found in the niche. There was also a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon. Quickly untying them, Anna flicked through the letters of varying size and length. She stopped to trace her fingers over the swirls of ink. Even though she could not read a single word, she had always felt something when looking at the aged pieces of paper, as if they held someone’s soul. It was like a song; you didn’t need to understand the words for it to touch you. Were they secrets of the state? Confessions of a guilty conscience? Declarations of love?
Emilia whimpered in her sleep. The unexpected noise made Anna’s heart stop and when it regained beating, it was wild and rapid. She was wasting unnecessary time. She put the letters back in the chest. Maria knew nothing about them so why part with them. It was sad enough that she had to return the glass flower, the only beautiful thing she had owned.
Leaving her bloodied apron behind, Anna hurried downstairs to Orelia’s bedroom. The girls and their aunt had already left for the opera so this floor of the palace was quiet and deserted. For all those years, Anna had thought that this bedroom was kept locked because something sad had happened in there long ago. Signor Contarini’s wife had died when Angelique had been born. Maybe this had been her room? When Orelia had arrived, Anna had overheard Signor Contarini and Maria arguing about whether to place Orelia in this room. Neither of them had seemed too happy about it but they had agreed that there was no other option with all the other bedrooms occupied.
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