It had not been a very hard decision to make, which was how she came to be in the small dark space, her eye pressed against the peephole looking into the library.
Questions floated through the air like the golden dust motes illuminated by the tiny hole of light. Why did Bastian want to see her father? Was it business or something more? Had the love potion worked? Could he possibly be here to declare his love for her?
Angelique was so caught up in her fantasy that she did not notice Bastian come into the library until she heard her father begin speaking.
She quickly pressed her eye to the peephole. Her father who had been sitting behind his desk stood to greet Bastian, who looked unusually formal in a braided periwig, closed scarlet dress-coat and black silk breeches. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ asked her father.
‘Please,’ answered Bastian. He fidgeted with the gold buttons while her father poured their drinks from a decanter resting near the edge of the desk. When both men had a drink in hand, they took a seat. ‘To what do I owe this visit?’ asked her father.
Angelique held her breath while Bastian took a full mouthful of wine. ‘I would like to marry your daughter,’ he said.
A hand flew to Angelique’s mouth, barely concealing her squeal. The love potion had worked. It should not have come as a surprise, but it did.
‘Which daughter are you referring to?’ asked her father, suspiciously.
Angelique was not beyond rolling her eyes even when there was no one to see the gesture.
‘Angelique.’
Her father’s grip on his wine glass visibly tightened and he took in a measured breath.
‘I am in love with her,’ said Bastian, filling the heavy silence. He quickly took another mouthful of wine. The poor man was so nervous Angelique wanted to throw her arms around him. Instead, she pressed her hands to her face, feeling the skin of her cheeks go taut as a smile blossomed on her face. She could hardly have felt happier if Bastian had said those words to her in person.
‘I believe it is her wish to marry me,’ said Bastian.
Her father nodded. ‘I have certainly heard her speak of you . . . fondly. But there is a problem. My eldest daughter, Veronica, must marry before my younger daughter.’
‘No!’ whispered Angelique, her body heaving. She’d never heard her father say this before.
‘In no way do I wish to insult your family,’ continued her father. ‘Therefore, you may become engaged to Angelique, but there will be no contracts drawn up, no dowry negotiations made, no wedding until Veronica is married. I hope you can understand.’
Bastian nodded and smiled. ‘I understand entirely. I am happy to become engaged and wait.’
Angelique pounded her fist lightly against the inside of the wall. This could not be happening. Bastian was in love with her, he wanted to marry her, but there was one thing standing in their way: Veronica.
Her father looked to the place along the wall where Angelique was hidden. She quickly drew back and heard him mutter, ‘Would you like me to seek Angelique for you to tell her the news yourself?’
‘No!’ said Bastian, reaching out a hand in protest. ‘I mean, I’d like to wait . . . to find the right moment.’
‘Very well.’
Bastian was halfway to the door when he turned around. ‘If my father speaks with you, please let him know the conditions of this . . . arrangement. He may want to hear it from you.’
Her father nodded and Bastian left the room, closing the door with a soft thud.
Angelique quickly gathered up the bottom of her gown thinking that, if she hurried, she might beat Bastian’s long strides to the courtyard, where she could pull him into a dark corner and express her feelings for him in every way possible.
She was about to move away from the peephole when she heard the door open again and someone else come in. ‘Ah, Aunt Portia, come and listen to an old man’s troubles.’
Angelique paused.
‘If you’re an old man, what does that make me?’
Her father laughed. ‘My very dear old aunt.’
‘What did that boy want?’
‘He wants to marry Angelique.’
‘It is a very profitable match. Her future would be secured. What answer did you give him?’
‘I told him that he could marry her, but not until Veronica is married. I could not say no without insulting the Doge. This family cannot afford that. I just do not like him and I am hoping by making him wait, he will change his mind. Am I a fool?’
Aunt Portia shook her head. ‘Not at all. You are very wise to make him wait. Perhaps, in the meantime, he can convince you of his good character and you will change your mind.’
It took a few minutes after her father and Aunt Portia had left the library for Angelique’s fists to stop shaking and unclench. She stayed hidden in the wall, deciding her next move.
Her first instinct was to run into the library, drop to the floor and let loose an almighty tantrum until her father gave in and withdrew his ridiculous condition. Although that was not something a girl who might one day be the Dogeressa could do. She had to act in a more civilized manner now. There was little point in trying to change her father’s mind. She would have to work on Veronica.
Angelique let out a happy laugh. She would soon be engaged to Bastian Donato, the man every girl in Venice wanted, and at this moment that was enough.
Orelia had needed to escape the palace, so she had gone to the one place she could be guaranteed peace and quiet. It also happened to be the one place she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Leaning against the trunk of the cypress tree, Orelia stared out through the branches and empty birdcages. By some miracle she had found the garden again, instructing the gondolier to take her to the Giudecca and then walking the streets until she found the door into the garden.
When she had first heard Angelique’s news a few hours ago, she had felt so dizzy she was forced to lie down. Angelique had taken her reaction for overwhelming joy. In fact, Angelique was so delirious that if Orelia had taken out a knife and stabbed herself in the heart she would not have raised an eyebrow.
Orelia had been made to promise to tell no one, since Angelique had only learnt about Bastian’s intentions through spying on him and her father. It was just what Orelia needed: another secret.
In her confusion, Orelia had come to the garden hoping the fresh air would help her make sense of everything, but now she was realizing that there was no sense to be made. And the garden was only reminding her of the fateful night when she had begun to fall in love with Bastian. The only way she could account for Bastian’s sudden change in affections was the love potion Angelique had given him, and that too made no sense at all. How could a small bottle of liquid manufacture one of the deepest emotions?
Orelia believed she had known what real love felt like, but maybe that was just as manufactured as a potion. Maybe Bastian had been playing with her all along? There was definitely far too much playfulness in his nature, yet when he had kissed her at the Gambling house it had felt so real.
With a sigh, Orelia pushed herself away from the tree and wandered aimlessly through the garden. A thorn struck her arm as she passed by a bush. She did not feel a jab and if it were not for the smear of blood on her arm, she would not have known she had been struck at all. The sight of her blood, so red, made her realize something. This was for the best. She no longer had to avoid Bastian; she could forget about him now. Then there was the matter of Signora D’Este’s threats. That was now Angelique’s problem. Still, why did she feel so horrible?
The sun was blazing red in the sky. It would be dark soon. Orelia needed to get back to the palace before her absence was noticed. Taking a final walk around the garden, Orelia left through the gate in the wall. She locked the door and paused on the other side. If she continued to come to the garden, she would not b
e able to forget her feelings for Bastian. She looked down at the ornate key in the palm of her hand. She took a few steps away from the wall and threw the key back into the garden. Her breath caught as it disappeared from sight. There was no sound to say where the key landed; it was as if the garden had swallowed it up.
Orelia found Antonio waiting for her at the same place he had let her off. He returned her home quickly, but not quick enough. Maria was waiting at the water entrance in the doorway, like a lion waiting to pounce. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?’ she demanded.
Water lapped at the heels of Orelia’s slippers as she stood on the water steps, her entrance blocked by Maria. ‘I just needed some fresh air.’
Maria turned her scorn to Antonio, waving her arms at him. ‘You should know better than to ferry any of the ladies unchaperoned!’
Poor Antonio looked down at his feet.
‘Signor Contarini needs you to collect him from the Doge’s Palace. Go.’
When Antonio had steered the gondola away, Maria turned back to Orelia. ‘Your disobedience . . .’
‘I never needed a chaperone in Montepulciano,’ interrupted Orelia, her remark surprising even herself.
Maria’s face reddened even more. ‘Well you are not in Montepulciano anymore!’
Now that Orelia had spoken back once, she didn’t see any reason to stop. ‘But Angelique and Veronica sneak out on occasion.’
‘They should not be doing anything of the kind. Even still, you don’t know the city like they do. And look, you’re not even wearing a mask or a veil. Anyone could see you wandering around alone. You’ll bring disgrace to Signor Contarini, is that what you want?’
Guilt washed over Orelia. ‘Of course not. I won’t do it again.’
‘Go upstairs.’
Orelia went straight to her room, not at all in the mood to speak to anyone else. All she wanted was to sleep – to fall into her bed just as she was. But when she entered her room, Anna was there waiting. Afraid of hurting the fragile girl’s feelings by sending her away, Orelia dutifully sat down in front of the mirror. Anna quietly removed the pins from her hair. Tendrils of hair began to fall loose around her shoulders.
‘I was cleaning your bedroom this morning and I found something in a box under the bed, a bundle of letters. Are they yours?’ whispered Anna, looking nervously towards the door.
‘No,’ answered Orelia, turning around to face Anna, suddenly very alert.
‘I thought as much. The paper is very aged.’
‘Could I see them?’
Anna put down the pins and took a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon out of her pocket. Orelia reached for it eagerly and she opened the first letter her fingers came to rest upon.
Isabella,
It seems like a lifetime has passed since I first saw you that first night of Carnival. I remember when you smiled at me and held your fan in front of your face. I almost misinterpreted your signal, being not so fluent in the language of fans. I accepted your invitation to follow you. And I will follow you till my dying day.
You have possessed my mind and spirit. Every piece of glass I shape reminds me of your curves. Every time I stand in front of the furnace, I feel the heat of your lips on my neck.
When can you come to see me next? It pains me that I cannot come to you. Murano, always been my home, is now my prison. I fear that one day you will get tired of our difficult love. If that dark day ever comes, I hope I’ll die quickly, because there is no life without your love.
I will be waiting for you at our spot tomorrow after the Marangona bell rings, hoping you will find a way to meet with me.
Until our lips touch again, may the glass flower I made for you stay close to your heart.
All my love.
J
Orelia’s head spun with questions. Who was this man her mother had been in love before she left Venice? Maybe he was still alive. He could tell Orelia all she wanted to know about her mother, after all he had made the glass flower, her glass flower. But where would she find this man?
‘Are you all right, miss?’ said a voice.
Looking up, Orelia saw Anna still standing in front of her dressing table, watching her intently. Orelia nodded.
‘Shall I help you undress?’
Orelia nodded again, barely hearing Anna. Layers of clothing were being stripped from her body but she felt more constricted than ever. She read over the letter again, searching for a clue. Her eyes stopped on the word, Murano. Maybe that was where she would find answers.
‘Where is Murano?’ she asked Anna who was busy unlacing her stays.
‘It’s about one mile from the north-most point of Venice. It’s not far by ferry,’
Orelia felt a sense of clarity from this information, as if a fog had started to lift ‘Does the ferry leave from the quay?’
‘No. It leaves from the Fondementa Nuove, on the other side of the city,’ answered Anna.
‘And do you know what times it leaves tomorrow?’
‘The first one leaves at the first Marangona bell.’
Orelia nodded, and with that, she had forgotten all about Bastian.
Orelia awoke early the next morning. In the clear light of day, the flaws in her plan soon became obvious. All she had was the name of an island. Once there, where would she begin her search? What if her uncle found out about her trip? Did she really want to know the truth about her mother?
In the sunlight filtering through her window, Orelia re-read the letter that Anna had found. There was more in the letter than she had originally thought. Her mother’s lover had been a glassblower, which would narrow the search somewhat. By the time she finished the letter, she knew that despite the little information she had, she must go to Murano, and with Angelique spending the morning interviewing hairdressers, there was no better opportunity. Orelia knew she would get into trouble again for leaving the house unchaperoned if she was caught, but this was something she had to do and she had to do it alone.
As much as Orelia would have liked to have dressed herself, getting into stays was not a one-person job. Anna was nowhere to be found so she asked Maria for help.
‘It’s very early. Are you going somewhere?’ asked Maria, pulling the laces of the stay suffocatingly tight.
‘No,’ choked Orelia. ‘I plan to spend the morning up on the terrace enjoying the sun.’
Maria nodded. Orelia knew that Maria would be unlikely to climb the several flights of stairs to check on her later. ‘Though, I would not mind a trip to Murano one day soon,’ Orelia added. ‘I’ve heard the glassblowers are unlike any others.’
‘They are Venice’s treasures and highly guarded ones at that. They are not allowed to leave the island for fear they will reveal their glassmaking secrets. Any that leave are hunted down and punished with death.’
‘That’s terrible!’ cried Orelia.
Maria’s stony expression did not alter. ‘Some things are for one’s best. When the glassblowers forget that, unfortunate things happen. It would do you well to remember that, too.’
Anna had been waiting at the Fondementa Nuove since before the sun rose. She kept her eyes on the people lingering near the congregation of ferries, gondolas and fishing boats at the water’s edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of Orelia. Children in masks chased black-headed seagulls, momentarily distracting Anna with their innocence. She tried to convince herself that she was doing what was right for Emilia and for herself. And yet, still she felt a darkness creeping inside her.
As more and more people arrived at the Fondementa Nuove, Anna feared she would not notice Orelia when she appeared, if she appeared. At one point, Anna had almost followed the wrong person until she noticed her mistake from the color of the woman’s hair, which had appeared red from afar, but was actually brown.
This wasn’t the only thing that co
uld go wrong. Orelia might decide not to take the first ferry, as Anna was relying on. Maria had been very reluctant to let Anna have the morning off. She had told Maria that she needed to visit her sick father, a convenient fiction she had used before as an excuse to get out. With every plea, Anna’s father had become sicker and sicker until Maria had finally given in on the condition she returned by midday. If Anna was even a minute late returning, Maria would find some way to punish her.
Thankfully, a short while later, Orelia passed by wearing a black columbina mask. Anna pulled down the bottom of the veil, even though it already reached her elbows and was at no risk of revealing her face, and moved closer to where Orelia stood. The crowd by the waterside made it quite easy for Anna to remain close to Orelia without being seen. She was so focused on keeping Orelia in her sight that she didn’t realize that the ferry destined for Murano was boarding until the Marangona bell sounded, declaring it the start of the workday.
As the other passengers boarded the oversized gondola, Anna hesitated. She had been so concerned with getting leave from the palace that she had completely forgotten one small but important detail. She had not brought money for the fare.
‘Are you coming aboard or not?’ barked one of the two gondoliers.
Anna looked around for Orelia and saw that she was already aboard, with her back to Anna. Quickly, Anna pulled back her veil, as if the sight of her big eyes might compel the man to extend her charity.
‘Emilia?’ said a different voice.
Anna looked beyond the gondolier and saw a well-dressed young man looking at her from the end of the gangplank.
‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Are you off to Murano?’ he called to her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be having a conversation like this.
Anna nodded uncertainly.
‘Let her aboard,’ he said, tossing a coin to the man. Anna pulled her veil back over her face and hurried up the gangplank. The young man held out his hand to help her into the ferry and she gladly took it. When aboard, Anna moved towards the back of the ferry, as far away from Orelia as possible.
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