Masquerade

by Kylie Fornasier

  Angelique and Anna arrived at her side a minute later, both out of breath and red-cheeked. ‘What were you thinking?’ cried Angelique. ‘I almost lost you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,’ said Orelia. ‘I haven’t seen a songbird since arriving in Venice and I couldn’t stop myself.’

  ‘There are more than enough pigeons in St Mark’s Square, if you want to see birds.’

  ‘Are you buying or not?’ barked the man standing among the cages.

  ‘No, we’re leaving,’ replied Angelique, pulling Orelia away with her.

  ‘That’s so cruel,’ whispered Orelia, looking back over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s just the way it is,’ said Angelique. ‘Come on, there’s nothing you can do.’

  By chance, Orelia’s detour had taken them in the direction of the tailor and only a short distance further, Angelique stopped in front of a shop and pulled her through the door. A bell chimed as they entered. The shop was unnaturally lit, which Orelia attributed to the rolls of colorful fabrics, reflecting sunlight around the room. It felt safe. There were no other customers in the shop, or anyone else for that matter.

  ‘Hello?’ called Angelique.

  There was the sound of movement and then an old woman stepped out from behind a cluster of fabric rolls. Her eyes were fixed on Orelia. ‘Isabella?’ she said in a voice made husky by age.

  Orelia took a step back, but Angelique grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. ‘That’s Signor Memo’s mother. She’s as old as Venice,’ whispered Angelique. ‘She gets mixed up with names and faces. Watch, she’ll call me by my mother’s name.’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Angelique, clasping the woman’s hands. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you.’

  ‘Ah, Bianca, our best customer,’ said the woman.

  Angelique turned back to Orelia and titled her head, as if to say see. ‘I’ve brought my friend, Orelia. She needs a new gown. Is Signor Memo available?’

  ‘Yes, wait here.’ The old woman shuffled to the back of the shop.

  Angelique leaned in close to Orelia. ‘I’ll leave you here with Anna. You’ll be fine. Signor Memo is the best tailor in Venice and his mother is harmless.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Orelia.

  ‘Um . . . to see a pharmacist about my sore throat. Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’

  Angelique kissed Orelia on the cheek and hurried out of the shop. The smell of jasmine lingered behind, as it always did when she left a room.

  A minute or so later, Signor Memo appeared, followed by a girl of twelve or thirteen. The man was tall, lean and about the same age as her uncle. Naturally, he was well dressed.

  ‘So, you’re the girl all of Venice is talking about,’ he said to Orelia.

  ‘You must have me mistaken for someone else.’ said Orelia, feeling her cheeks redden.

  Signor Memo rubbed his chin. ‘No, it’s certainly you. It would be an honor to make you a gown. Have a look around and pick out a fabric you like. Then my daughter will take your measurements and details.’

  Orelia waited for him and the girl to return to the back of the shop, before she turned to Anna. ‘Can you help me? I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Anna. ‘Let’s look at the silks.’

  Anna led her to a table covered in luminous rolls of silk. ‘How about this plum color? It will bring out the color of your hair.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Orelia. ‘Angelique was right about your expertise in these matters. Maybe you could help me with something else. I would like to get Maria a gift to help her soften to me. I don’t have much money. I was thinking a scarf. I saw some in a store we passed by. You know her well. What color would she like?’

  Anna visibly stiffened. ‘She is a very private person and she is not warm towards anyone. It would be best to keep your distance.’

  ‘But I’m sure –’

  ‘We should have your measurements taken,’ interrupted Anna. ‘Excuse me while I go find some help.’

  Before Orelia could protest, Anna hurried off, disappearing amongst the rows of fabric. Orelia wandered through the shop alone. There were damasks and taffetas, velvets and lace, brocades and silks, each material more luxurious than the last, but Orelia hardly paid any attention to them. She kept thinking about Anna’s flighty reaction. Did she say something wrong?

  As she passed a table of Oriental fabrics, Orelia had the unsettling feeling she was being followed. At first, she thought it must be Signor Memo’s daughter, but each time she turned to look behind her there was no one there. When she turned back around for the third time, the old woman was standing in front of her.

  Orelia gasped. ‘I’m sorry, you startled me,’ she said after she had recovered from her surprise.

  The old woman did not reply. Her blue-eyed gaze was intense and penetrating.

  ‘Can you recommend something in a plum color?’ asked Orelia, feigning levity.

  The woman shook her head. ‘Green is your color.’ She reached her hand out and touched Orelia’s cheek. ‘Green is the color of peace and generosity. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re a good girl. They gave you no choice.’

  ‘Mother,’ interrupted Signor Memo. ‘That’s enough.’ He took Orelia’s hand and steered her away from the old woman. ‘Please forgive my mother, miss. She is old and her mind is not right. The madness of Carnival doesn’t help. It makes her forget what year it is. I’m sending her to stay with my brother in Verona tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll feel much better there. Now did you pick a fabric?’

  Orelia looked over her shoulder but the old woman was gone. ‘The green silk.’

  Veronica paced up and down the central hall on the fourth floor. The black silk of her gown swished through the air each time she spun around at the end of the large hall. She had been doing this for ten minutes. In another ten minutes, Angelique would emerge from her bedroom, having finally decided upon the position of her beauty spot and Veronica would have no choice but to join her in the dining room on the floor below where the guests were already gathering.

  She had to think quickly. Yet thinking was all that she had done that day. The more she thought about her latest suitor, the more he troubled her. Unlike all his predecessors, Luca Boccassio had no secret. And her father seemed especially eager to push them together.

  She had seen Luca on a few occasions since Signora D’Este’s ball on that very first night of Carnival, but she’d learnt nothing from him that could pass as a secret. She’d even followed him, spoken to his friends, neighbors and people at his local tavern, and she still had come up with nothing.

  In fact, all she had found out was how much people adored him. Luca was a halo short of being an angel, it appeared. He had no secret. And if he had no secret... She did not want to think how that sentence would end.

  Veronica slammed her hand down on the small table beside her, nearly upsetting a vase of white carnations. This was not the calm, controlled person her success depended on. She had to maintain her composure and control her hostility. The best way – and sometimes the only way – to discover her suitor’s secret was by feigning pleasantness to get close to them, to get to know them, to learn where he spent his time, whose company he kept, how much wine he could handle.

  Veronica looked at the staircase that led down to the third floor. She could hear guests arriving. She pressed her eyelids shut and when she opened them again, it was with new purpose. Luca had to have a secret, everyone had one. She simply hadn’t discovered it yet.

  At the sound of a door opening, Veronica turned to see Angelique appear from her bedroom. She looked beautiful in a yellow gown, her golden hair adorned with artificial birds.

  ‘How sweet of you to wait for me,’ said Angelique, gliding into the hall.

  ‘Where is Orelia?’ asked Veronica.

  ‘S
he’ll be along in a minute.’ Angelique linked arms with Veronica and motioned to the staircase. ‘Shall we?’

  Veronica rolled her eyes. ‘If we must.’

  ‘I know you hate the idea of marriage, but you have to admit, Luca is very handsome,’ said Angelique, squeezing her sister’s arm.

  ‘So is a vase,’ replied Veronica dryly, ‘but I do not wish to marry it.’

  When they stepped into the dining room, it was already filled with people talking and laughing. Some were masked, some not. Angelique disappeared into the crowd, but Veronica stayed where she was, her eyes scanning the faces. There were the usual guests: nobles, neighbors, business owners, people who would make you regret not inviting them. She could not see Luca among them. Perhaps, he was not coming. Was it possible that he had already changed his mind about wanting to marry her? Why else would he not be here?

  While Veronica was celebrating her incredible fortune, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and found herself looking into a pair of deep brown eyes.

  ‘My apologies for being late,’ said Luca, pulling at the sleeve of his navy blue dress-coat.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right,’ said Veronica. ‘I’m pleased that you could come.’

  Luca looked down at the ground sheepishly, which accentuated the crooked shape of his nose. ‘I almost didn’t.’

  ‘Oh, why ever not?’ said Veronica.

  ‘It’s probably wise if I keep that to myself.’

  Veronica suppressed a smile. This was going to be easier than she imagined. ‘You can trust me.’

  Again, Luca fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. Veronica noticed there was a dark patch covering his lower arm, dark like blood. She exhaled in anticipation. Was he about to confess to murder? That was something she had not yet painted.

  ‘I almost went for a swim in the Grand Canal.’

  Veronica raised an eyebrow. Had someone tried to murder Luca?

  ‘How so?’ she whispered in a voice that she hoped would encourage him to reveal more.

  Luca lifted his eyes to meet hers. ‘I had given my gondoliers the night off, intending to have a quiet evening myself. My parents are attending to business on the mainland, you see. Then I remembered your father’s invitation and decided that rather than ask one of the gondoliers to work, I would row myself here. It didn’t look that far, just across the canal . . . Let’s just say, I would not advise anyone but a gondolier to try it.’

  Veronica laughed.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to laugh, too, when my clothing dries. You should see the state of my periwig,’ said Luca, his cheeks reddening.

  ‘Perhaps you should hang it on the balcony to dry in the sun,’ said Veronica, titling her chin towards the row of windows at the end of the hall.

  Luca grinned. ‘Where do you think it is now?’

  ‘You’re always one step ahead of me,’ said Veronica, pretending to flatter.

  ‘I would need to be a cheetah to be one step ahead of you, Miss Veronica.’

  ‘You’re a skilled gondolier, a Roman soldier, and a moon gazer; I suppose you can’t be everything, Signor Boccassio.’

  Luca burst out laughing. He had a very loud laugh but that was not surprising given his stature. ‘Your father was right about you,’ he said.

  Veronica’s face stiffened. So it was true. Luca had been speaking to her father about her. All the warmth in the room seemed to disappear at once.

  ‘Everyone’s taking their places for dinner,’ she said abruptly. She gave Luca a cold stare, then marched over to the long table and sat down in one of the few remaining seats. Luca followed, taking the seat opposite her.

  A few places down, at the head of the table, sat her father. He gave her an encouraging nod. Veronica busied herself with straightening her cutlery. It was the sound of a familiar voice that made her raise her eyes. She looked in the direction that it had come from and saw Alessandro, a few seats away, in an unadorned crimson dress-coat. He caught her eye and winked. Veronica looked down into her lap and smiled. He was late, as always. Until now, she had not been sure if he was on the guest list, not wanting to raise suspicion by asking. Artists were often invited to banquets and balls, even though they were of the citizen class, and it was these chance meetings where the wine poured generously and the possibility of sneaking off for a moment with Alessandro hung in the air that made a boring night much more exciting.

  With her mood considerably lifted, Veronica turned her attention to the banquet laid out on the table. Steam rose above bowls of white Bassano asparagus, artichokes and stewed eggplant. There was a selection of seafood dishes, such as cuttlefish cooked with their own ink, fried sardines with onions, raisins, pine nuts and vinegar and baked bass on sliced onion. Cheese carved into the shape of birds, gilded oysters, dishes colored with saffron and a profusion of oh-so-expensive pepper.

  A moment later, her father stood up and tapped his fork on the side of his glass. Hush fell over the room. Everyone turned to look at him.

  ‘I would like to welcome you all and thank you for joining us this evening. The reason I have invited you here is to introduce you all to my goddaughter, Orelia Rossetti.’ He extended his arm in Orelia’s direction, causing her eyes to dart around. ‘She has come to live with us from Rome through tragic circumstances. I ask that you embrace her as a daughter of Venice . . . Now, please enjoy the feast!’

  The guests toasted Orelia and then dinner truly began. Veronica waited while a servant filled her plate with food, knowing her tastes exactly. ‘Who is planning to see the drama The Good Daughter at the theater of San Moisé tomorrow evening?’ asked a gentleman sitting beside her father in a voice that could surely be heard all the way down the other end of the table where Angelique and Orelia were sitting. Veronica recognized the gentleman as one of the senators.

  ‘I’m hoping to make it,’ said Luca. ‘I’ve heard good things about the performance.’

  A few other people chimed in to say they would be there too. Next to Veronica, a woman who was taking up more than her share of space, laid a hand heavily on the table. ‘Tomorrow is the third of October, is it not?’

  ‘It is,’ answered someone.

  ‘Then you will not see me there,’ said the woman, shaking her head. ‘An astrologer told me bad fortune would befall me on the third. I do not plan to leave my bedroom tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodness. How lucky you are that you had your numbers read!’

  ‘You can never be too careful,’ agreed another person. ‘My husband was told by a fortune teller not to eat anything red. Then what did he do? He ate a cherry and started to choke on the seed. Lucky, our servant, a hefty woman, was able to pop it out before he stopped breathing!’

  There were various gasps around the table.

  ‘The Great Council deliberated on the words of a fortune teller only last week,’ said another gentleman from the council. ‘I cannot reveal the details. All I can say is that we are very fortunate that we did.’

  Various people threw in their own experiences where a fortune teller had impacted them, even Alessandro. ‘The woman who has a stall in the St Mark’s Square told me that I would meet a beautiful woman,’ he said. ‘and alas, I did. The most beautiful.’

  ‘Is Venice not full of beautiful women?’ said Luca, glancing around the table to illustrate his point before his eyes settled on Veronica.

  ‘Astrology, fortune telling, they are all so unspecific. Bad fortune could be spilling your coffee or loosing a button... or falling out of your gondola.’ Veronica shot Luca another look.

  ‘That’s where I went wrong,’ said Luca, lightly smacking his forehead. Due to his accident, he was one of the only gentleman at the table not wearing a periwig. His short dark brown hair caught the light of the chandeliers above. ‘I did not consult a fortune teller before I came here tonight. I could’ve saved myself having a cold swim.’ He held
up his arm, showing off his wet sleeve with a grave expression and a serious blush in his cheeks. Was there a hint of sarcasm in his voice?

  Veronica ignored him and continued. ‘Any number of these will happen on a daily basis but if you are expecting bad fortune or good fortune, you will go, ah, the fortune teller was right! If they can predict the future, why can’t they tell you exactly what will happen?’

  ‘Then you should be paying more,’ said the original woman.

  A few people laughed.

  ‘I agree with the young lady,’ said the owner of Café Florian’s. ‘I have been fooled by a fortune teller on more than one occasion, so now I look for signs myself. ‘No one should ever ignore a raven that comes to perch on your balcony or doorstop. I closed for business one day when I found a raven at my doorstop at the Maragdonna bell.’

  ‘Now that I think of it. I myself only gamble on black if I hear the sounds of crickets that evening, otherwise I always bet on red,’ said Alessandro.

  ‘How very perceptive of you, Signor Segredo,’ said Luca. ‘And you, Miss Veronica, do you entrust your decisions with the insect world?’

  Luca looked at her earnestly while he was waiting for her answer. He was playing with her, just like he had at Signora D’Este’s ball on the first night of Carnival. She could play games too.

  Veronica swallowed and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Well, actually, I do. I pick my lottery numbers based on how many spiders I pass on my way to the Piazettta. Insects are so much more in tune with our futures than the stars or fortune tellers.’

  Luca raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘And have you won yet?’

  Before Veronica could answer, Signora Goldoni jumped in. ‘My sister swears by a method of picking her lottery numbers. She writes the numbers from one to ninety on strips of paper and throws them in a large wooden barrel filled with water. When the strips float to the surface, she sits on the barrel bare-bottomed and the numbers that stick to her skin are the ones favored by fortune. She has won twice.’