‘Let’s just say, I’m a different person today,’ she answered, with a forced laugh.
The waiter arrived with a hot chocolate. ‘I hadn’t ordered yet, had I?’ said Angelique, looking from Bastian to the waiter. Bastian nodded at the waiter, indicating for him to put the drink down. ‘I went ahead and ordered for you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angelique, feeling suddenly parched. She brought the cup to her lips and took a mouthful. Instead of the pleasant sensation she anticipated, the hot liquid scorched her tongue. She swallowed quickly, and waved her hand in front of her open mouth.
Bastian looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right?’
Unable to offer a response, Angelique nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said at last.
‘Why are you wearing that mask?’ asked Bastian. ‘Take it off so I can see your face.’
‘I can’t,’ blurted Angelique. ‘I mean, I’m not supposed to be here with you. If anyone sees me . . .’
‘Would you like to go somewhere more private where you can take it off?’
Angelique blushed. Those were the exact words she had been wanting to hear Bastian say. But then it hit her like the bitter smell of coffee that filled the air of the caffé that he was speaking to Orelia, not her. Angelique could not understand why Bastian had never paid her much attention. Even on her worst days, she was more beautiful than half the women whose necks he had kissed.
Beneath the table, Angelique’s hand reached into the layers of her skirt. For a moment, panic surged through her body before her fingers found the small vial in her pocket that would change everything. She withdrew the potion. Her fingers removed the glass stopper from the vial and let it rest in her lap.
‘Shall we be going? I have the key to a small apartment not far away,’ said Bastian, interrupting her thoughts.
‘No!’ said Angelique, almost dropping her teacup. ‘I’m expected back soon.’
‘So, what is this about? Did you ask me here just to tease me?’ asked Bastian, regarding Angelique with narrow eyes. She could tell he was getting restless. She had to act now and create a distraction. She looked around for something, anything. Creating a distraction had sounded easy when Orelia had suggested it.
She looked down into her hot chocolate and realized that the answer was staring at her. She picked up the cup, took a quick sip and placed it back down near the edge of the table. ‘No, it’s not that at all. It was selfish of me to call you here, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ Angelique pressed her hand to her heart.
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,’ said Bastian, reaching his arm across the table with the palm of his hand facing up.
Angelique couldn’t help but smile at how easy he was making it for her. She reached to him and with her elbow knocked her teacup off the edge of the table. ‘Oh my,’ she cried, just as it smashed to the ground.
Bastian’s eyes went straight to the spot where the rich brown puddle was spreading.
Quickly, Angelique leaned across the table and tipped the contents of the vial into his cup. She watched the amber-colored liquid disappear seamlessly into the hot chocolate. It was so hypnotizing that Angelique almost didn’t notice the waiter who had arrived and was cleaning up the mess. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to him.
‘Do you want another one? Or the rest of mine?’ offered Bastian.
‘That’s so kind of you, but no, I’m fine,’ said Angelique, finding a new sense of calm.
‘You should finish it before it goes cold.’ Setting her eyes upon his, Angelique did not look away until Bastian obediently lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of hot chocolate. Not the entire contents, noted Angelique, but probably enough.
There seemed to be no immediate change in him. He certainly didn’t leap across the table to ravage her. Angelique reminded herself of what the witch had told her on the second visit. It could take a few hours or even days for the potion to take effect.
‘I have to leave now, but can I see you tonight?’ asked Angelique.
Bastian stood up, his chair making a grating sound as it scraped across the ground. ‘I’ll be at the gambling house tonight,’ he said, swallowing the rest of his hot chocolate in one mouthful. ‘Come with your hair out. It looked amazing the last time I saw you.’
Angelique’s heart sank.
The dining table at the D’Este residence was often said by guests to be the longest of its kind in all of Venice. When Claudia and Marco were children, they had often pretended that the table was a ship and they were rival pirates. In fact, all these years later not much had changed. The dining table was still the stage for fierce battles.
Signora D’Este picked up her glass of wine, glaring over the rim of it at Claudia. ‘How many opportunities have I provided for you to win Bastian’s interest? And still he has not once called upon you? What did I do to deserve such an ungrateful daughter?’
Claudia drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she spoke calmly. ‘Have you ever considered that the reason Bastian hasn’t called upon me is that he is calling upon someone else?’
‘Bastian pursues every woman, which is the same as pursuing no woman.’
‘That’s the thing. Bastian hasn’t been going from bed to bed lately and his name has not been mentioned in the Gazetta Veneta alongside a woman’s recently for any of his usual antics. The only explanation can be that he is in love.’
‘With whom?’ demanded her mother.
Claudia hesitated and dropped her fork. It hit the edge of her plate with a loud clink. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. It was not often she lied to her mother, unless that included sneaking off to see Filippo. Claudia waited for her mother to see through her answer.
‘I know who she is,’ said Marco.
Claudia looked across the table at him. There was something in his voice that suggested he had been waiting for this moment.
‘Her name is Orelia Rossetti,’ continued Marco.
‘The red-haired girl he danced with at my ball? The girl everyone seems to be talking about?’
Marco nodded, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying this more than he was enjoying their feast of roast goose with apple and chestnuts.
‘What do we know about her?’
‘Very little. She only arrived in Venice at the beginning of Carnival from Rome and she’s an orphan. She lives with her godfather, Signor Contarini.’
Claudia watched her mother closely. A distant look came over her unsmiling face, as if she were trying to make a connection, but couldn’t quite sink her long nails into it. A moment later, her gaze returned to normal. ‘If she’s not Venetian, her family name certainly isn’t in the Golden Book. He can’t marry her.’
Just like he can’t marry me, Claudia wanted to add, but she had said it all before. Her mother was certain she would get their name admitted into the Golden Book by one means or another.
‘Since when does Bastian do things the conventional way?’ said Marco. ‘I heard him talking about a clandestine marriage. He knows a willing priest. I may even be their witness.’
‘Over my dead body,’ said their mother, gripping the knife so firmly her knuckles turned white.
‘What do you propose to do about it?’ asked Marco.
Claudia pushed her plate away, her appetite completely gone. She looked between her mother and brother. She would have preferred pirates any day to her mother and brother scheming together.
‘What else do we know about Orelia?’ asked their mother, ignoring Claudia.
‘Not much. She’s a private person,’ answered Marco.
‘That means she’s hiding something,’ she said with a smile.
Claudia felt herself shudder. Her mother was most frightening when she smiled.
‘Do you know where Bastian will be tonight?’
<
br /> Marco leaned back in his chair, his normally flat stomach bulging. ‘The gambling house. The government owned one, of course,’ he answered.
‘Perfect,’ said their mother. ‘Then that’s where we shall be. I’m sure Orelia will be there too.’
Claudia waited until after dinner before confronting Marco. He had changed into a red waistcoat and wore a bauta mask. He tried to step around Claudia, but she blocked his path.
He lifted the mask and let it rest on his forehead. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know why are you helping mother plot against Bastian? I thought he was your friend,’ she whispered. Orange light from the candles in mirror-backed sconces played across Marco’s angular face. ‘He is my friend, but it’s in my interest that he does not succeed in winning Orelia’s heart.’
‘Why?’
‘You have no ambition. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘What you’re doing is wrong.’
Marco leaned in close so Claudia could feel his wine-soaked breath. ‘As wrong as having an affair with a gondolier? One word from me and it’s all over. Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.’
Claudia stood in the hall long after her brother had left, gripped by fear. How did Marco know? How long had he known? God, she had thought she had been so careful. If her mother ever found out about her relationship with Filippo, Claudia would never see him again.
Tears filled her eyes. That was too much to comprehend.
Drying her wet cheeks, Claudia tried to calm herself. Marco would not tell her mother, not while he could hold the secret against her. Her brother had nothing to gain by seeing her heart broken and their gondolier dismissed. And surely some part of him cared about her. They had been so close as children.
Still cold and shaken, Claudia forced herself to take a few steps. All she wished to do was run to Filippo’s arms, but she had already been too careless in her meetings with him. She would have to wait until she returned from the gambling house and everyone was asleep. But then, what would she say to him?
Without realizing it, Claudia had come to the staircase. She knew she should be getting ready, only to maintain the charade of her mother’s good daughter, but there was one person she had to see first.
She took the staircase down to the level that housed the offices and archive rooms, once her father’s proud domain. But when he had fallen ill a year earlier, her mother had a bedroom set up for him on this level ‘because the rooms are more easily heated’, or at least that was the reason she had given. Claudia knew there was much more to it.
She could hear that her father was awake before she entered his bedroom. She opened the door to the sound of his coughing. The drapes were drawn, keeping the last rays of sunlight out of the room. Even in the near darkness, Claudia saw her father smile when he laid eyes on her. She ran to his bed and threw her arms around him.
‘What’s wrong, my dear?’ he said, each word strained.
Claudia sat up and shook her head. ‘Nothing. How do you feel?’ She looked at her father’s hollow cheeks and pale skin.
‘Like a boy of eighteen.’
Claudia found this answer unsettling, rather than comforting. Her father joked when things were really bad. She felt her throat constrict and squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from coming. ‘I don’t want you to die.’
Her father laid a cold hand on hers. ‘Don’t worry. Your mother won’t let me die. Widows end up in convents with only their dowry to provide for them. No, your mother needs me alive, though at times I wish she didn’t.’
He began to cough violently. Claudia watched on helplessly. ‘Promise me something,’ he said when the coughing had passed.
‘Anything.’
‘If you ever find love, don’t let it go.’
Claudia nodded, unable to find words to reply.
‘And spit in your mother’s soup for me.’ Her father half laughed, half choked.
When Orelia stepped into the main room of the gambling house, she was met with an atmosphere of intense silence that seemed out of place in the city of bells, singing gondoliers and endless hustle. It felt more like a church, than a public gambling house, despite the dense crowd.
Around the outside of the large room were long rectangular tables surrounded by men wearing powdery white wigs in the groppi fashion, a mass of curls that surrounded their heads like a storm cloud. Piles of money and rows of cards sat upon the tables. Multiple doorways led into salons, in which more gambling tables were in operation.
Following Aunt Portia, Veronica and Angelique, Orelia stepped forward, weaving her way between men and women engaged in whispered conversations. ‘I’m going to find a place at a table,’ said Veronica. The light of the chandeliers dancing upon the red terrazzo floor followed her across the room.
‘I’ll better go with her,’ said Aunt Portia, ‘and see to it that she don’t lose your father’s entire fortune.’
When they were out of earshot, Angelique turned to Orelia. ‘Can you see him anywhere?’
Orelia looked around at the unfamiliar faces and shook her head.
‘We must find him. He is expecting you and if he doesn’t see you, he will suspect something,’ whispered Angelique, tousling Orelia’s hair, which fell loose around her shoulders, as per Bastian’s request.
‘Unless the moment he sees me, he confesses his love,’ Angelique added with an optimistic shrug.
Orelia couldn’t understand why this statement made her wish she could crawl into bed and curl herself into a ball. This was the last place she wanted to be tonight, though she did not have any choice in the matter. Angelique could be very persistent.
‘We should split up to search for him. You check the rooms on this side and I’ll check the rooms on the other side.’
Orelia nodded and watched in the mirror as they parted. At Angelique’s suggestion, neither of them had worn masks, which made Orelia’s face feel strangely bare. Angelique’s plan was ridiculous. Orelia was supposed to tell Bastian that she had had another change of heart and that this time she really never wanted to see him again. At that moment, Angelique would rush to him and comfort Bastian, and from there the love potion should do the rest. Part of Orelia felt guilty for what they were doing to the man. Sure, he was arrogant and treated women like they were items he could toss away when he was finished with them, but he didn’t try to fool women into believing that he was anything more than he was, never promised anything more. And then there was the side of him Orelia had glimpsed in the garden, a vulnerable side that made her wonder if jumping into bed with women was just a distraction rather than a game. Either way, Orelia had enough of the games, Bastian’s, Angelique’s, all of them.
‘Miss Orelia, if I remember correctly,’ said a voice behind her.
Orelia stopped and turned around.
‘How delightful to see you again.’
It took Orelia a moment to realize that this woman was Signora D’Este. Her gown was made of a stiff black material. In her hand, she held a gold oval mask, the type that was held in place by gripping a short stick with the teeth.
‘Good evening,’ said Orelia, politely.
Signora D’Este stepped in closer so they could continue their conversation without disturbing the quiet of the place. ‘How is your evening going? Are you winning or loosing at the moment?’
‘Oh, I’m not gambling,’ said Orelia, avoiding the woman’s darkly lined eyes.
‘Do you know how to play faro?’
Orelia shook her head.
‘It’s something you must know. Come.’ Signora D’Este strode off in the direction of a card table, her wide skirt creating a path through the crowd.
Orelia did not want to follow the woman but it was better than having to look for Bastian. They came to a card table at the far end of the room, at which there was space to stand. In t
he middle of the table were cards laid out in two rows, Ace to King, all spades. They appeared to be stuck to the table. On top of the cards were various sized piles of coins.
‘Do you have money to bet with?’ whispered Signora D’Este.
Orelia shook her head. ‘I’m happy to just watch, really.’
‘How about this, then? I’ll give you a sequin. If you win, you keep the winnings. If you lose, you can come by my palace tomorrow with a coin and you stay for a chat and a cup of tea. Either way, you win.’
Orelia looked at Signora D’Este and was certain that was not true but she could not turn down the offer without being rude. Signora D’Este produced a coin and laid it on the table in front her. ‘The banker will draw two cards per round, first a losing card, then a winning card. Place your money on the card you think will be the winning card. There are other types of bets but the flat bet is the simplest.’
Orelia stood there for a few moments looking at the cards, not knowing where to place her bet. ‘Some people like to choose significant numbers,’ interrupted Signora D’Este, a hint of impatience tugging at the corners of her smile. Finally, Orelia placed her bet down on the three. She watched closely as the banker dealt two cards. The first was a queen; the second was a six.
‘Does that mean I’ve lost?’ asked Orelia.
‘You only lose if your bet is the same as the first card drawn. Since, your bet neither wins nor loses, it is unresolved. You can leave it where it is or move it to another card. I would suggest leaving it where it is.’
Picking up her coin, Orelia looked at the layout of cards. Signora D’Este’s fingers tapped on the table. Orelia tried to stop a smile from appearing on her face. Finally, she laid her bet down on the king.
The banker dealt the cards for that round; neither was a king.
Orelia picked up her coin and again took her time choosing where to place her bet. She could have happily continued this all night. She hadn’t thought about Bastian for some time and she quite liked watching the cracks appear in Signora D’Este’s facade. ‘It appears you’ve won,’ said the woman.
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