Masquerade
Page 22
‘Where have you been these past few months?’ asked the young man at her side. ‘You just disappeared. We were very worried.’
Anna turned her gaze upon him. It suddenly made sense now. This must be Franco Basilio, the son of the nobles Emilia had worked for. They owned a palace off the Cannergio Canal. Emilia had never mentioned how handsome Franco was or how good he looked in deep purple velvet.
Franco was looking at her, waiting for her reply.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I went to visit my father and discovered that he was very ill. I could not leave him. I should have found a way to let your family know. My deepest apologies.’
Franco’s eye shone with concern. ‘Is your father better now?’
‘He is getting better slowly,’ she answered, avoiding eye contact.
‘Then you should come back. Mimi misses you dreadfully. She says no one fixes her hair as well as you. She has even brought in several hairdressers and sent them away in tears.’ Franco spent the remainder of the trip telling Anna about the goings-on in his household. Although, Anna did not know the people he was talking about, she found herself enjoying the conversation. It was so nice being in Franco’s company that Anna sighed aloud when the ferry arrived at Murano.
‘Would you like to join me for coffee?’ asked Franco.
The word yes was on her lips when from the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of red hair and remembered why she was really there.
Franco’s question still hung in the air. He looked at her with such honesty and goodness. Anna pictured herself following Franco down the gangplank, instead of Orelia.
‘Emilia?’
At the sound of her sister’s name, Anna knew that it was too late to follow the righteous path. ‘I would like to, but I am meeting someone.’
Franco took her hand and turned it over. Then he placed a coin in the center of her open palm. ‘For the return trip,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Anna, with a smile. She walked down the jetty just in time to see Orelia take off with purpose down the street running alongside the water’s edge. Anna hurried after her.
It had been many years since she had been to Murano, but it seemed to Anna that not much had changed. This quiet side of the island was where many glassmaking workshops were located. They walked for a few minutes until Orelia stopped at the foot of a bridge to give way to a man who was crossing. Anna ducked into a nearby alley, pressed her back against a wall and exhaled deeply. She could see Orelia’s shadow on the pavement and then heard her speak.
‘Excuse me, sir, I am trying to find the workshop that may have made this item about twenty years ago.’
‘I’m sorry, miss. I cannot help you.’
This was the response from everyone Orelia stopped to ask. One of those people happened to be from Florence, but she was the most helpful of all, suggesting Orelia enquire at a glassmaking workshop itself. She pointed Orelia in the direction of one she’d just come from.
Anna followed Orelia to the workshop, but of course, she was unable to follow her inside. Instead she found a window, which was open to release the heat generated by the massive furnaces inside the workshop. She peered through the window just as a man, around the age of Signor Contarini, took the glass flower from Orelia to examine it. ‘I haven’t seen a flower of this design for a very long time,’ he said. ‘See the way all the petals melt into each other. In fact, there was only one workshop that made flowers like this, but it was shut down by the government long ago.’
‘Why?’
There were a few seconds of silence before the man answered, ‘Something terrible happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘I cannot say.’
‘Can you at least tell me if it had anything to do with Isabella Contarini?’
A gust of wind swept by rattling the window.
‘How dare you? Anyone who speaks that name is an enemy of Venice,’ said the man harshly.
‘I’m no enemy. I just need answers. What did Isa . . . what did she do?’ Orelia sounded as if she was on the verge of tears.
‘I can’t help you. I will not bring bad luck upon myself,’ he said, handing back the flower. ‘You would be wise not to go around asking about her. You will only get yourself in trouble. Now leave.’
‘I beg of you,’ said Orelia. ‘Please help me. I can pay you. I don’t have much money, but I can offer you this emerald ring.’
‘I will not speak of it for all the emeralds in the world.’
‘Surely you must know someone who will. Please.’
The man sighed and lowered his voice so much that Anna struggled to hear. ‘Signora Tiepolo. She is very old. She is the only one who might be foolish enough to speak about it.’
‘Where can I find her?’
‘There’s a cemetery on the other side of the island. She visits her son’s grave every day. You might find her there.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, sir.’
‘Keep your ring. Just do not tell anyone you came to see me.’ As the man turned his eyes warily to the window, Anna ducked down, hoping she’d not been seen. A few moments later, Orelia emerged from the workshop, but Anna did not immediately follow. She had lost track of how many bells had rung to mark the hours since they’d arrived, but she knew time was slipping away. Murano was not a large island. It would not take long to reach the cemetery. But how long would it take Orelia to find Signora Tiepolo, if at all?
Anna reflected on what she’d learnt thus far. Nothing really. She did not know who Isabella Contarini was or why she was so feared. Nor did Anna know why Orelia was so interested in her. Clearly there was some connection between her master and this Isabella, given that they shared the same family name. But how was Signor Contarini’s goddaughter connected to this woman? Anna needed to go home with answers, or else this whole escapade was for nothing.
By the time Anna stood, Orelia was already gone. Cursing, she hurried off down the street until she found someone to ask for directions. She found the cemetery quite easily.
The wrought iron gate creaked as she pushed it open and stepped into the graveyard. A chill ran through Anna. She did not like these sorts of places. The air was cold and she felt a presence even though she was alone. Or was she?
There was a lone woman standing on the other side of the graveyard with her back to Anna. Could it be Signora Tiepolo?
Anna approached soundlessly, her footsteps muffled by the soft dirt. As she passed the church, she saw that it was indeed an elderly woman. She appeared to be staring down at a gravestone in deep reflection. Then a moment later, she began to turn in Anna’s direction. Frantically, Anna ducked behind a crypt just a few paces away from the woman. Her heart beat wildly. She was quite sure she’d not been seen, but she held her breath anyway. A minute passed and she relaxed. But as more minutes passed, she became anxious once again. Where was Orelia? What if the woman left before she arrived? And what time was it?
Then in the quiet of the graveyard, Anna heard movement. She did not risk peering out at this close distance, so instead pressed her body against the crypt and listened. At first, she thought the old woman might be leaving, but then she heard a familiar voice. ‘Are you Signora Tiepolo?’ asked Orelia.
‘Yes I am.’ said the woman, her voice crackled with the sound of great age.
‘I was told you might be able to tell me about someone.’
‘Who?’
‘Isabella Contarini.’
‘Isabella Contarini . . . I haven’t heard that name spoken aloud in a very long time.’ ‘Why?’
‘Because of The Curse.’
‘What curse?’
‘What curse? It amazes me how the past becomes forgotten, but I suppose that’s what happens when people want to forget. Before I answer your questions, you must tell me something.’
‘Anything.’
‘Your beautiful red hair, is it like your mother’s or your father’s?’
There was a pause before Orelia answered, ‘My mother’s.’
‘Yes, it is indeed. I can tell you about The Curse but are you certain you want to know?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Very well then. It was just over eighteen years ago on the Festa Della Sensa, forty days after Easter. I was there when it happened. The Doge had returned from throwing a gold ring into the sea and was disembarking his ship when a woman in a black cloak stepped out from the crowd. She wore no mask or veil. She wanted everyone to know who she was, and they did. She was Isabella Contarini, daughter of one of the most respected families in Venice. She began screaming hysterically at the Doge. The whole square went quiet and watched on as she pulled a live pigeon out from beneath her cloak and slit its throat with a silver knife. As the blood splattered all over the Doge, Isabella Contarini cursed the entire Republic.’
Anna hung on every word, disbelieving and astounded. She recalled hearing whispers of a story like this when she was a child but she had thought it was just a made-up story.
‘Before she could be arrested, she vanished into the crowd. They searched for her night and day, hoping that with her death they could remove the curse, but she was never found.’
The old woman stopped speaking and the cemetery was filled with silence.
Orelia’s soft voice broke the quiet like a twig snapping. ‘Why did she do it?’
‘She accused the government of murdering the man she loved. He was a glassblower. After the incident, the government shut down the workshop where he worked. No one has said her name out loud after that day. It is considered bad luck to this day. You are her daughter, are you not?’
Anna gasped softly.
She waited for Orelia to deny it, but she didn’t say anything.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the old woman, ‘your secret is safe with me.’
Having missed the midday ferry, Anna arrived back at the palace an hour after her curfew. Imagining all sorts of punishments Maria would impose, Anna hurried upstairs as quickly as her legs could carry her, weighed down as she was with Orelia’s secret. She could not quite believe what she had heard and yet she knew it must be true. What she didn’t yet know was what she would do with the information. If her secret was found out, Orelia could be in great danger. Then again, Signora D’Este might not reveal the secret; she might only hold it over Orelia. That was, after all, how a secret would be used by a woman like her.
Anna managed to reach the fifth floor without being seen. Perhaps she could quickly change and make it downstairs before Maria noticed her lateness. The moment she opened the door to her room, she knew that something was amiss. Emilia was standing up. ‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ she said, collapsing onto the bed.
‘What happened?’
‘Maria came in here. She yelled at me and told me to go downstairs immediately. I didn’t know what to do.’ Emilia began to sob. ‘I told her I’d be there in a minute. I was hoping you’d come back in time. I couldn’t go downstairs, I couldn’t.’
Anna pulled her sister into a hug. ‘I’m back now.’ Though her sister needed more than a quick embrace, Anna needed to get downstairs before Maria returned and discovered the two of them.
As she hurried off to find Maria and beg for forgiveness, Anna realized that this near disaster had proved she could not hide Emilia forever. She would have to give Signora D’Este what she wanted.
Everyone, it seems, is in love. They walk around the city huffing and sighing like furnaces and writing poems about their lover’s fingernails. I demand the government put a stop to all this nonsense at once. Until then, I hope they all get syphilis.
- Anonymous accusation to The Lion’s Mouth. Dated 24 December, 1750
Angelique added another dab of honey and sweet orange oil to her glossy pink lips and let the sides of her mouth blossom into a smile that resembled a perfect rose bud. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to judge whether this smile, or the hundred others she had practiced, was the right one for when Bastian proposed. She wanted to look surprised, yet not too surprised.
Slowly, she relaxed her face and sighed. It was so very demanding and exhausting. If only Bastian would hurry up, she would not have so much time to worry about the nuances of a smile. What was taking him so long? A week and one day had passed since she had overheard his conversation with her father and she had not received so much as an expression of his love in flowers. Her father had also not uttered a word about it.
The only person she had told the exciting news to had been Orelia, fearing it was bad luck to speak of an engagement before the proposal had actually been made. Telling Orelia had satisfied her urge to tell someone without incurring too much ill fortune. In order to keep her lips sealed, she had been forced to lock herself away in her bedroom.
But if Bastian made her wait any longer she would not be able to keep it secret. It was the day before Christmas Eve, meaning if Bastian did not propose today, it would be unlikely
that he would propose before Carnival resumed at the Feast of the Epiphany. That was nearly two weeks away!
On her bed sat a white silk gown so heavily beaded it glittered like a thousand ladies winking. It had been delivered by the tailor that morning and she intended to wear it to the first ball she attended with Bastian as her fiancé.
She considered sending Bastian a note asking him to spend the afternoon with her, but the notion seemed far too desperate, even for her.
She stood up and crossed the room, imagining that when she looked out the window she would see a barge decorated with flowers, upon which Bastian stood, ready to shout his love for her to the world. But before she could reach the window, there was a knock on her bedroom door.
Angelique ran to the door and flung it open. Anna looked a bit startled to see Angelique so exuberant. ‘Miss Angelique, a note has arrived for you,’ said Anna.
Angelique hastily unfolded the note and read its contents.
Please join me for a ride down the Grand Canal at three o’clock. I will be waiting at the water entrance of your palace. B.D.
Angelique squealed and spun around in a circle, the bottom of her red gown billowing around her.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Anna.
‘Never better,’ replied Angelique, leaning forward and kissing Anna on the cheek.
When Angelique hurried down to the water entrance at a few minutes before three o’clock, a gondola with gilt decoration on the felze sat bobbing alongside the water steps. The only gondolas in the city that were allowed any form of decoration were those in the Doge’s fleet, a law that was taken much more seriously than the sumptuary laws. The curtains of the felze were drawn closed, so Angelique could not see if Bastian was inside. She preferred to think that the gondola would deliver her to a secret location where he was waiting with a magnificent proposal.
The gondolier helped Angelique into the vessel and she backed herself into the felze. Just as she was about to sit, a hand caught hers. Angelique looked up and saw Bastian sitting across from her.
He looked especially handsome in a loose white shirt beneath a heavy wool cloak and with his blond hair falling over one eye. ‘I’m so glad you could join me.’
Angelique laid her hands in her lap. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’
They made general conversation for the next few minutes, discussing the weather, the latest banquets and balls, renovations of buildings they passed. All the while, Angelique was very conscious of where the gondola was going, to what special place it was taking them. The problem was that it seemed to be going nowhere in particular, a fear that was confirmed when the gondola reached the end of the Grand Canal and turned around.
Angelique looked around as the gondola, with its drawn blinds and lack of
color, began to increase its speed, and her smile began to fade. This wasn’t the romantic gesture she had dreamt of. Where was all the effort? There was no musician. The gondolier wasn’t even singing. Angelique continued to think of the ways in which the situation did not meet her expectations until Bastian produced a gold ring with a pink diamond in the center.
‘I know we do not know each other well, but the other morning I awoke and could not think of anyone else. I am deeply in love with you and I wish to take you as my wife.’
Even though this came as no surprise to her, Angelique couldn’t speak. She didn’t know which of her smiles she wore. The only thing she was conscious of was her hand reaching out so that Bastian could place the ring on her finger.
‘I have spoken with your father and he has given his consent, but he has also stipulated that we cannot be married until your older sister takes a husband.’
Now that the dazzling ring was on her finger, Angelique found her voice. She waved her ringed hand dismissively through the air. ‘Yes, I know but don’t worry about that. I will sort my sister out.’
‘Until then, I think we should keep our engagement a secret.’
‘Why?’ asked Angelique, her voice rising an octave.
Bastian ran a hand though his hair. ‘People will expect us to marry immediately and when we don’t those people will talk. They will ignore the real reason for our delayed wedding and they will invent far more exciting, far more scandalous reasons. Do you want to attract a scandal?’
‘No,’ said Angelique, ‘but can we be seen in public together? Surely, there is no need to keep our love a secret.’
‘Yes,’ he said, taking her hands in his. He slid the ring off her finger and threaded it onto a gold chain. Leaning close to Angelique, he secured the chain around her neck. The ring hung out of sight beneath her bodice.