‘Lots. Where we will go? How will we get there? What we will do when we get there?’ said Filippo, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know a man who might be able to offer me a job. He’s a visiting French banker. He joked about needing a new stable hand and how I would be perfect for the job. I may be able to convince him to employ me.’
‘Really? That’s perfect. I’ve always wanted to live in France.’
‘The problem is: I don’t know where he is staying. I don’t even know his name. It may take me a few days to track him down.’
‘Then I’ll arrange a secret passage to the mainland for the last night of Carnival. The festivities will provide a good cover for us to leave unnoticed.’
Filippo cupped her face in his hands. ‘I love you, Claudia.’
As the end of Carnival draws in sight, it is a time for reflection.
Have you broken a heart or had your heart broken?
Have you wasted a perfectly good gown or dress-coat?
Have you seen something you shouldn’t have?
If not, there is still time.
- Gazzetta Veneta. Friday 12 February. 1751
It had been over two weeks and Orelia had still not found a way to prove Bastian’s deception to Angelique. The poor girl had even had a portrait painted for him. And at this moment, she was meeting him for coffee at Caffé Florian’s. When Angelique had left over an hour ago, Orelia had almost blurted out the truth, but Angelique had been too hurried anyway to stop and listen.
With nothing else to do, Orelia wandered throughout the large palace. It was quiet and empty. Although, it was a beautiful day outside, having finally stopped raining, Orelia did not feel like being amongst the crowds. She worried that someone would see through her masquerade and recognize who she really was. The truth had not set her free; it had trapped her. If only her mother had been honest with her, Orelia would never have sought refuge in a city where the truth of her identity would put her in danger.
She did not have to fear an awkward encounter with her uncle in the hall or on the staircase since he had been working long hours with the senate lately and was not home most of the time. And when he was home, he still avoided her. She had thought that when the truth was out in the open, it would bring them closer, but instead it had pushed them further apart.
It was too much. Her mother’s past. Her fearful hiding. Bastian’s deception. All the secrets. Catching sight of herself in the row of long windows, Orelia stopped pacing. She took a step closer to the leftmost window. Her long red hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders, just like her mother’s had, just like Bastian loved. She didn’t want to be Orelia Contarini or Orelia Rossetti. Even a mask couldn’t change that, but she could.
Orelia paused in front of Angelique’s bedroom. Angelique had interviewed another hairdresser yesterday. He had stormed off after he and Angelique had gotten into an argument and in his hurry had forgotten to take his bag with him. He had not yet returned to collect it. Orelia knew all this because Angelique had shown her through his bag, describing all the sorts of complicated dyes he carried with him. One of them, Angelique claimed, could turn the lightest hair the color of the darkest wood using ingredients such as barks of the walnut tree, the willow, and the pomegranate.
Orelia looked around the hall to make sure she was still alone and then eased open the bedroom door. The hairdresser’s bag was still sitting next to Angelique’s dresser where it had been yesterday. Orelia crept over and opened it up. She found the bottle she was looking for immediately, hid it in the fold of her dress and hurried back to her room.
Orelia wasn’t thinking about what she would look like with dark hair, all she was thinking about was how no one would recognize her. The person she was would be gone forever.
She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to use it though common sense told her to apply it to her hair, leave it for some time and rinse it out, as Anna had done when dying Angelique’s hair. Watching herself in the mirror, Orelia took the stopper out of the bottle and was about to pour the liquid over her hair when there was a knock on her bedroom door.
‘Come in,’ she said, hiding the bottle behind her back as she turned to face the door.
It was Anna. ‘Miss Orelia, Claudia D’Este is here wanting to see you. Would you like to receive her?’
‘Of course,’ said Orelia. Other than Angelique and Veronica, Claudia was the one person Orelia had befriended in Venice, but so far their friendship had not included visits. Perhaps she was in trouble.
‘I’ll place her in the downstairs sitting room.’
When Anna was gone, Orelia put the stopper back in the bottle and placed it beneath her pillow for later.
Claudia was already seated on the settee, staring into the contents of a teacup when Orelia entered the sitting room. There was another girl standing behind her, which Orelia guessed was Claudia’s lady’s maid. She and Claudia looked almost like sisters, except for the difference in their dress. ‘Good afternoon,’ said Orelia, trying to keep her voice light.
‘Hello,’ replied Claudia.
‘Is something wrong?’ said Orelia, sitting down on the settee. ‘You look tired.’
‘I’ve come to warn you,’ answered Claudia. ‘I have overheard my mother talking with my brother. She knows your secret.’
‘My secret?’
‘About your mother.’
Orelia looked frantically from Claudia to her lady’s maid. ‘Don’t worry. We can trust Francesca. She won’t tell a soul. We won’t tell a soul,’ said Claudia. ‘I’m not sure I quite understand it myself anyway. But my mother knows and she won’t keep it a secret. I thought you should know too.’
Orelia dropped her head into her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d kept the promises she’d made her uncle, played her part so well and still someone had found out the truth about her. No, someone had sought the truth. Orelia remembered Signora D’Este’s threats. It was because of Bastian’s attentions, all in the interest of his bet, that Orelia had become a target. She didn’t know how Signora D’Este had discovered her secret, when she’d only learnt the truth recently herself, but that was irrelevant.
Lifting her head, Orelia asked, ‘What do you think I should do?’
‘You must leave Venice. I have arranged a private passage to the mainland. The boat will be leaving the quay on the last night of Carnival at one hour to midnight. I’ll be aboard it. You could come too.’
Surprisingly, Orelia felt calm hearing this. She not only needed to leave, she wanted to leave. She wanted to be far away from Bastian and her mother’s past, even if that meant the uncertainty of starting a life somewhere else. ‘Thank you for your offer,’ she said. ‘Why are you leaving?’
Claudia’s face lit up. ‘I’m leaving with Filippo, my family’s gondolier. We are in love and the only way we can be together is by leaving Venice. He is hoping to get a job as a stableman for a French banker. Horses are not that much different to gondolas.’
‘Does your mother know?’
‘No. If she did, she would lock me up in a convent. Please don’t tell anyone.’
Orelia squeezed Claudia’s hand. ‘Of course not.’
‘I should be on my way,’ said Claudia, standing up, followed by her lady’s maid. ‘I wish I could stay longer, but my mother doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks we’re at the Merceria.’ She pulled Orelia into an embrace. ‘Please be careful.’
Bastian was known around Venice for having impeccable timing, among other things. He could escape from the bed of a nun and be out her window seconds before the abbess burst in, and he could disappear from a dull conversation like a magician.
If anyone had cared to ask Bastian how he achieved such feats, he would have told them most of it came down to luck. Bastian often wondered when his luck would run out. With the arrival of two envelopes on the third last day of Carnival, he could
conclude that moment would not be any time soon.
The first envelope contained a note, a pink diamond ring and a pile of ashes. The note read: I cannot marry you. I am very sorry. I hope you find true love. Angelique.
Bastian had re-read those three sentences several times before the meaning became clear. He had been wondering how he would break off his engagement to Angelique when the time came and now she had gone ahead and done it for him. Sure, he was happy, but at the same time he wondered why she had done it. What made someone use a love potion and then do something like this? Did she see beneath the surface, where Bastian dared not even look himself?
He didn’t want to think about it too much, so instead he focused on another piece of luck that had come his way. The King of Austria had arrived for a visit without warning, sending the Doge’s Palace into chaos. His father was concerned with nothing else than ensuring the king’s stay ran smoothly and with the utmost fanfare. For Bastian that meant his father did not need to know about his broken engagement until after the king left.
Then the second envelope had arrived. Inside was a single note.
I need to see you. I will be at the ball at the D’Este residence tonight. Meet me on the balcony at midnight. Your Orelia.
This was more than luck; this was destiny. Bastian had thought that he had ruined all chances with Orelia, but there was now a glimmer of hope. He no longer cared about the bet; the only thing he cared about was Orelia. He loved her, as extraordinary and unforeseen as the feeling was. He couldn’t imagine touching or loving another woman ever again. He wanted her and only her. He wanted to tell her this but she had been refusing to receive him when he visited her house and she hadn’t replied to any of his letters, until now. Her note said she needed to see him. She had even signed with a promise.
He planned to tell Orelia the truth about everything that night, the bet, the engagement, his love. It meant risking losing her forever, but he could not build their relationship on lies. He hoped she loved him enough to forgive his mistakes.
He imagined their future together. Venetian law would not allow them to marry, so they would have to leave Venice together. They’d find a way to get by. Even the thought of getting a job was not so disturbing when coupled with the thought of a life without Orelia.
The rest of the day passed impossibly slowly. Bastian considering calling upon Marco to distract himself, but then he decided against it. He hadn’t seen Marco since the night at the tavern and even before that, things had been tense between them.
When night finally came Bastian dressed for the ball. He chose a red dress-coat that Orelia would recognize and a plain black columbina mask. He arrived at the D’Este palace at ten o’clock, entering with a party of three who looked like they had come from another ball.
When Bastian stepped into the crowded ballroom, he grabbed a wine glass from the hand of a man engaged in a hushed conversation. Bastian tipped his head back and swallowed a mouthful of bitter wine. It did little to calm his nerves.
He walked through the hauntingly familiar space, hoping to lay eyes on Orelia, but she was nowhere to be seen. When he had received her note, he couldn’t quite understand why she had chosen such a public place to meet, but as he watched a couple dancing the minuet, he realized the significance of this ballroom. This was where it all began and hopefully not where it would all end.
Bastian headed straight to the balcony to wait for Orelia. When he emerged into the night, he saw that he wasn’t alone; a couple were entangled precariously close to the balustrade. The man’s lips were brushed up against the woman’s ear. Bastian was pretty sure he knew exactly the sort of things the man was whispering. Normally, he wouldn’t be one to spoil another man’s fun, but tonight he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin the last chance he had with Orelia. Bastian stopped at the balustrade close by the couple, looked out over the Grand Canal and began whistling. The couple separated.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the man in a tone that suggested the only thing he would help Bastian do would be to find a bridge to jump off. Behind the man’s back, the woman in a gold columbina mask winked at Bastian. Not long ago, Bastian would have accepted this invitation, pursuing the woman all night. Now he didn’t even return the woman’s gesture with a smile.
‘Don’t mind me.’
The man grabbed the woman’s hand and pulled her back inside the ballroom. Bastian rested his elbows on the balustrade and looked up at the sky. He was rehearsing his speech in his head when the back of his bare neck prickled. He turned around and saw a cloaked woman, her face hidden by the hood. The smell of rosewood hung in the air. Bastian’s heart quickened. All the things he wanted to say to Orelia rushed to his lips.
The woman raised her head and pulled back the hood. Bastian’s face fell. It was Marco’s mother, Signora D’Este. Her mouth spread into a smile. ‘Expecting someone else, are you?’ she asked.
‘Not for a while. I can come back. Have a good evening, Signora D’Este.’ Bastian began to walk off.
‘Stupid boy,’ she snapped. ‘Orelia’s not coming. I sent you that note.’
Bastian stopped and turned around. ‘Why?’
‘To give you a chance to protect her.’
‘What are you talking about?’ The sounds coming from inside the ballroom filled the space between them.
‘Orelia is not who she says she is.’ Signora D’Este moved in close to Bastian and added in a whisper, ‘She is the daughter of Isabella Contarini.’
‘Who is Isabella Contarini?’
Signora D’Este rolled her eyes. ‘I thought by being the Doge’s son, you would know what that means, but clearly you’re as ignorant as you appear. Orelia is the daughter of a witch who publicly cursed all Venice eighteen years ago. She fled before she could be captured and hung. Orelia might have fooled everyone, but not me.’
Bastian pulled off his cloak, feeling as if he were choking. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.
‘That would be a grievous mistake and Orelia would pay for it.’
‘What makes you think everyone else will believe you? Do you have proof?’ asked Bastian, staring darkly at Signora D’Este.
‘Orelia is the proof,’ she said, walking alongside the edge of the balcony, a picture of serenity. ‘She lives with Signor Contarini, masquerading as his goddaughter. She’s the right age. She has the same red hair as her mother. I’m surprised that no one else has seen the resemblance. No one will doubt what I say. There are people alive who still think the curse is real and blame everything from bad luck in cards to floods on Isabella Contarini.’
Bastian’s muscles twitched. It wouldn’t be difficult to push the evil woman off the balcony into the canal below. ‘What do you want for your silence?’
‘I have two demands. I want my family’s name admitted into the Golden Book, and then I want you to marry my daughter, Claudia.’
‘My father would not approve of the marriage. He thinks I’m marrying Angelique Contarini.’
Signora D’Este’s face twisted but if this was news to her she didn’t otherwise show it. She pulled a white envelope out from beneath her cloak. ‘I’m sure you can find some way to convince him. Unless you prefer I take this to the Lion’s Mouth.’
‘If I accept your offer, will you leave Orelia alone? You’ll never reveal her secret.’
‘You have my word.’
Looking over the balustrade, Bastian imagined himself falling through the air, the force of breaking the surface of the water, then the nothingness. What he would give to feel nothing. Not love, not despair.
From a moment he considered trying to convince his father to protect Orelia but to do that he would have to reveal her secret to him and if he would not protect her… Bastian reached his hand out and snatched the envelope from Signora D’Este. He stared off into the distance, as if he were watching something beautiful d
isappear forever.
‘It’s time I finished the story about Belle and her sister,’ said Anna, kneeling beside her bed. She pulled a woolen blanket over her legs. The room was dark because Anna did not want to light a candle and alert Maria to the fact that she was awake so early. She had spent the past few hours at her window searching the stars for an answer to her problem until morning had came and, with it, the day of her meeting with Signor Canterello. By then it was clear to Anna that the only answer was Emilia.
Her sister opened her eyes lazily. ‘I already know how the story ends.’
Anna hid her surprise. ‘How does it end?’
‘Belle does not accept the witch’s offer. She is too kind to hurt the princess, no matter what her reasons may be.’
Anna felt like wax had hardened in her throat. What had she done? The room suddenly seemed incredibly dark. Closing her eyes, Anna promised that when her sister was better, she would right the wrong she had done to Orelia. She would not stop until every last mark of the dark deed was erased. Emilia could never know the horrible act she had committed. If Emilia didn’t believe there was some good in her, there was no hope.
‘You’re right. Belle does not accept the witch’s offer,’ said Anna, eventually. As the words left her lips, she heard how false they sounded. ‘The next morning, she ventures into the forest and there she finds her sister . . . They go back to the castle and together they dance for the king. He is so mesmerized by the two beautiful dancers, mirrors of each other, that he welcomes them back into the castle as royal dancers . . . So by working together, Belle and her sister saved each other.’
Emilia managed a weak smile.
Anna reached up and took her sister’s hand. ‘We need to work together now to save each other. Do you remember how I promised to help you get better? I visited a Jewish doctor who claims to know of a medicine that will cure you. The only problem is that the medicine is very expensive. I didn’t tell you sooner because I did not have enough money to pay for it, but now I’ve found a way. Only, I need to leave the palace at midday. Maria won’t let me leave again so I need you to take my place downstairs, pretend that you are me, just for a few hours. Please, I need your help, so I can help you.’
Masquerade Page 26