by Fiona Paul
Still, there was the note…and that terrible building full of bodies…And if the maid had run away with a performer, perhaps it had been Maximus, the conjurer who also claimed to have been fond of Mariabella.
Cass sucked in a deep breath and focused on her reflection. The sun had pinkened her cheeks a bit, but thankfully she didn’t see any new freckles. “I believe I can safely return to the portego,” she said, “and receive my lecture from Aunt Agnese while looking proper.”
Cass made her way back down the corridor to where her aunt still sat in the portego, sipping tea from a delicate silver cup. Joseph Dubois and his men had left. Cass took the seat Dubois had vacated. “Aunt Agnese,” she said, “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to the ball without your permission. And I didn’t mean to worry anyone this morning.”
To Cass’s shock, the old woman reached out and patted her gently on the leg. “I know. I fear I may have overreacted.” Agnese’s brown eyes gleamed as she smiled a grin so big, it was borderline scary. “You did look frightful, though. Heaven knows what Luca would have thought. Or Matteo,” she added.
Cass was so startled by the leniency of her aunt’s response, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She had been expecting a verbal flogging, at least.
Agnese reached out to pinch the loose fabric under her niece’s arms. “This dress has always been one of my favorites, but it hangs on you like a flour sack. Why don’t you take Siena and go see Signor Sesti? He can measure you for a new dress since you insist on being so slender. Take Narissa with you too,” she added as an afterthought. “I have a couple of errands for her as well.”
Cass stared at her aunt, trying to determine what kind of game she was playing. Was she trying to make Cass feel guilty for running amok and embarrassing her in front of Dubois? Or was she really going to reward Cass’s transgressions with a dress-fitting at the most glamorous shop in all of Venice?
“Go on,” Agnese said, slipping a sealed envelope into Cass’s hands. “That’s got instructions for the tailor. I requested some fabric from the weaver a few weeks ago. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what he has done.”
Cass didn’t doubt it. Signor Sesti had designed and altered dresses for Madalena that were every bit as elegant as the ones her father routinely brought back from abroad. Cass called for both maidservants and almost dragged them out the door before Agnese had time to change her mind.
At the last second, Cass grabbed the letter from Luca. It had been sitting on the side table for so long that a fine layer of dust covered the red wax seal. She felt a pang of guilt. Her fiancé probably took time out from his diligent studying to write her letters, while Cass spent her evenings running wild with another man. How quickly would he disavow her if he found out she had let Falco kiss her? Cass almost wished she were the kind of girl who could break hearts and dishonor her family just to get what she wanted.
But no, persuading Luca to leave her might solve one problem—but it would cause too many more to count.
Just sitting inside the tailor’s shop made Cass feel better. She had always found Madalena’s obsession with beautiful things a little silly, but surrounded by silky fabric samples and wooden forms sporting half-finished formal gowns, Cass realized she and her friend weren’t so different. She reached out and stroked the train of a rich green velvet dress that hung on the form nearest to where she sat. The fabric was so dark, it almost looked black. The front of the gown plunged low, its neckline emblazoned with a row of sparkling emeralds. The tailor still needed to finish the cuffs and the shimmery silver sleeves, but even as a work in progress this dress would have outshone almost all of the outfits she had seen at Dubois’s ball.
Signor Sesti stood behind a wooden counter, accepting a payment from a young woman with her hair twisted up into a high cone shape. As Cass and Siena waited for the dressmaker to finish with his previous customer, Cass pulled out the letter from Luca. Fiddling with the edge of the folded parchment, she went to break the red wax seal and paused. The wax felt lumpy. Cass examined the blob of red more closely. It looked as if someone had sliced through the wax beneath Luca’s lily insignia and then later resealed it. Luca must have reopened the letter to add something. As if anything he had to say was that crucial anyway. Reluctantly, she scanned the first few lines of the letter.
My Dearest Cassandra,
Bonjour, ma chérie. I think of you often. I hope you are not growing lonely and bored being stuck in the villa with your aunt. My colleagues drag me out for a meal occasionally, but I spend the majority of my time studying. Are you also concentrating hard on your lessons? I can only imagine how beautiful you’ve become since I saw you last, and I should hope there aren’t too many men trying to court you in my absence. I know that you see the best in people, but remember, most men are not to be trusted.
Cass refolded the letter in disgust. If she had read it on the ride over, she might have tossed it straight into the lagoon. They were engaged, and yet Luca persisted in being threatened by imaginary suitors vying for her. As if she could just break her engagement and run off with some other man.
No matter how much she might want to.
Siena glanced up as the tailor finished his dealings with the young woman. “Wasn’t it kind of your aunt to order a new dress for you?”
“It was kind,” Cass mused. “And odd.” She hoped Agnese’s advanced age wasn’t causing her to become feebleminded. Her aunt hadn’t seemed forgetful or erratic, but this lack of punishment was definitely inconsistent with her usual behavior.
The woman at the counter bid Signor Sesti good-bye and turned toward the door. She wore a low-cut bodice with a belt cinched tightly around her waist. Cass watched her sashay out of the shop, admiring the way her body moved beneath the lush fabric. Cass wondered if she was a courtesan.
Siena handed the envelope from Agnese to Signor Sesti. Cass peeked over the tailor’s shoulder as he scanned the note written in her aunt’s big spidery handwriting. His face lit up when he read over the promised payment. Cass’s eyes widened. Maybe her aunt was getting weak minded. The figure was much too large for a single gown.
Signor Sesti hummed to himself as he disappeared into his supply room. He returned with an armful of bolts of vividly colored fabric. “Your aunt had these delivered from Signor Bochino’s shop. Once we have settled on the design and cut the fabric, I will send it across town to be embroidered.”
“But I don’t need anything this extravagant,” Cass protested. The brilliant satin had metallic threads sewn within it, making the whole material glimmer when the light caught it just right. Cass had no doubt she would ruin it the first time she wore it.
Signor Sesti continued as if he hadn’t heard her. He held a roll of chiffon up to the light. “And this, maybe with tiny pearls. Don’t you think it would make a lovely veil?”
Cass felt sick to her stomach. She leaned away from the bolts of fabric as if they might sprout fangs and bite her. Suddenly, it all made sense—the lack of punishment, the trip to the tailor, Agnese’s good mood. The old woman hadn’t sent her to be fitted for some new pieces to wear about town. Cass was there at Signor Sesti’s shop for one reason only: to be measured for her wedding dress.
“Madness weakens the mind and
disease weakens the body,
but nothing destroys the spirit
like the loss of true love.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
fifteen
Before Cass could utter a word, before she could begin to explain to Signor Sesti that there had been a horrible mistake and she was absolutely not ready to be fitted for her wedding dress, the tailor disappeared into the back room and the shop door squeaked open again.
Madalena entered, dressed in a pale lavender gown with silver sleeves and an indigo underskirt. The collar of her cloak was dyed dark purple to match. Mink fur, it looked like. Maybe fox. Mada adjusted her layered skirts and kicked off a pair of impossibly tall chopines as she glided across the f
ront of the shop.
Her lady’s maid, Eva, scooped up the shoes and set them just inside the door to the shop. “Signorina Madalena,” the girl said. “I’ll walk down to the market to get the items your father requested. I’ll return in thirty minutes?”
“That’s fine.” Madalena dismissed the girl with a wave of her fingers.
Cass had never been so relieved to see her friend. “Mada,” she exclaimed. “There’s been a mistake—surely you’re the one getting fitted for your wedding dress? An alteration, perhaps?”
Madalena’s heart-shaped mouth widened into a grin. “My dress has been finished for weeks.” She freed a tendril of her hair that had caught itself beneath the scooping neckline of her gown. “No, your aunt sent her dotty old handmaid to my palazzo with a message that I was to meet you here to share this special moment.” She giggled.
Cass worried she might throw up.
Signor Sesti returned from the back room with a measuring ribbon and the two main fabrics Agnese had selected. Mada reached out to touch the bronze satin, fingering the metallic strands woven within the dyed fibers.
“I love this one, don’t you?” Mada chirped.
Cass couldn’t answer. She couldn’t breathe; she had a desperate urge to undo her stays, as she had done with Falco on the bridge.
Feeling as though she were in a dream, she allowed the tailor to lead her over to a small fitting room in the corner of the shop, while Mada trailed behind them. Even when Siena helped remove her skirts and bodice, Cass still felt as though she were being squeezed from all sides.
The tailor motioned for Cass to step up onto a raised platform in front of the mirror. For the first time, she felt almost naked in her long chemise. It didn’t usually bother her, but her body felt different now; her skin burned with secrets. Falco. The studio. His mouth on hers. Signor Sesti began draping and pinning fabric around her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had set a date for your wedding?” Mada asked. Cass could tell she was struggling not to seem hurt.
“I haven’t set a date for my wedding,” Cass insisted. “You know it will take months for this dress to be made.” She immediately felt the sharp stick of a pin in her left hip.
“Signorina. You will need to stand still,” the tailor said, humming under his breath.
“I don’t even know when Luca’s returning to Venice,” Cass went on. The words comforted her immediately. Of course—just because she was being fitted for her dress didn’t mean she would be married any sooner. Did it?
Siena cleared her throat. She’d been so quiet since Madalena arrived that Cass had almost forgotten she was there. “I believe I saw Signor da Peraga at the market yesterday,” she said. “Did his letter not say he was returning to Venice?”
“You must be mistaken, Siena,” Cass said. “Luca would have come directly to the villa if he were back in town.”
Madalena ignored Siena and went to stand beside Cass. She watched the tailor as he worked, wrapping circles of the glimmering bronze fabric around Cass’s slender frame. “Agnese must have arranged a date for you, or she wouldn’t have scheduled a fitting.” Mada pursed her lips as the tailor wrapped a ribbon around Cass’s waist and marked it with a piece of chalk. “You really ought to think about putting on a little weight before you get married. I’m sure Luca would prefer you a bit more filled out.”
Cass frowned. She hadn’t been eating that much lately. Who could think of food? She had too much on her mind: the murder, the missing body. Kissing a stranger.
Mada pulled a jeweled hair clip from the back of her head, and her shiny brown braids tumbled around her face. “I have to say—I don’t see why you couldn’t wait until after my wedding to begin planning your own.” This time, the hurt in her voice was evident.
“Madalena, I swear. I am as surprised as you are about all of this. I don’t know what Aunt Agnese was thinking.” But she did know. Agnese might not have caught Cass on the Rialto, but she knew that her niece was misbehaving. What better way to force Cass back into line than threaten to move up the wedding?
Cass shook her head and the tailor muttered under his breath. “Sorry,” she said while he fashioned a high collar around her neck made of starched lace. Then to Mada: “If it were up to me, I would have waited a year or more to even think about any planning. I wish I could postpone the wedding indefinitely. I just don’t feel ready. Sometimes I wish…”
Cass hesitated. She decided that Signor Sesti, as a tailor for both nobles and wealthy courtesans, was no stranger to gossip. Chances were that nothing she could say would make the old man’s stoic face so much as twitch.
“What?” Mada prompted her.
“I wish I were a man,” Cass burst out. “Or a courtesan, even. At least then I’d have some control over my own life.”
“A courtesan?” Mada’s voice sharpened to a screech. “You must be joking. They’re no better than common whores. Today I passed the Rialto Bridge only to see some courtesan’s stays dangling from a mooring post. I can only imagine how they got there.”
Cass turned bright red. She had assumed her stays had ended up in the canal, not looped around a post for the whole world to see.
Mada took her embarrassment for surprise. “Yes, that’s right. There’s a little more to being a courtesan than control. Honestly, Cass, you should feel lucky that you won’t have to wait an eternity to start your married life like me.” She sighed dramatically.
“But what about love?” Cass blurted out, her mind returning to the kiss she had shared with Falco. A warmth bloomed inside her and spread throughout her limbs. How could a feeling so powerful be wrong?
Madalena again misinterpreted her. “I’m sure Luca loves you,” she said. “And if not, he’ll grow to, over time.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or are you worried about the love that happens on the wedding night?”
Cass reddened again. She hadn’t even let her mind go there, what it would be like to lie with Luca, skin to skin. They had only even kissed once, and that was because he had demanded it and Cass had been curious to know what it felt like. They’d been sitting on a bench in Agnese’s garden. It had happened about three years ago, just before Luca left to study abroad. Back then, Agnese had more energy and used to tend the plants herself. The whole place had been ablaze with marigolds and roses.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Luca had announced, pressing her firmly back against a wooden trellis. She didn’t even have time to close her eyes. She just watched as his pale skin came closer and closer. As he touched his cool lips to hers, all Cass could think about was the splinter digging into her shoulder blade; all she could see were the rose blossoms, blurring like red fire against the backdrop of the setting sun.
“You two will figure it out,” Mada continued breezily. “I can hardly wait for my night with Marco.” She winked at Cass. “I may not wait.”
Cass couldn’t help but laugh at that. She felt a rush of affection for her friend.
Signor Sesti stepped back. “What do you think?” he asked.
Cass looked up at her reflection in the mirror. The tailor had wrapped her in yards of brilliant bronze satin. He held up a smaller bolt of velvet brocade that was embossed with green flower patterns. “We’ll use this for the bodice and sleeves. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Cass admitted. The girl in the reflection looked like a stranger. The design really was gorgeous. The tailor had a fine eye for which colors complemented each other, and the green and bronze mixture worked well with her auburn hair.
A young boy appeared, dressed in plain leggings and a sleeveless leather doublet. He looked down at the ground as he mumbled something about problems with the latest shipment. The tailor excused himself and followed the boy through the door leading to the back of the shop.
“You really do look lovely,” Madalena said, walking a slow circle around Cass as she spoke. “This dress will be almost as gorgeous as the last collection that Father brought home.” She emphasized the almost
very slightly.
Cass suppressed a smile. Madalena had always been competitive. Maybe that was why she and Cass got along so well. Cass didn’t have much interest in competing, especially not about who had the shinier hair or the finer dresses. In those areas, Mada would always win. “I’m sure your wedding will be the event of the entire season,” she said. “At least it’s not being planned by a half-blind old lady whose favorite word is frivolous.”
“I don’t think you’re being fair.” Madalena pretended to chastise Cass. “I’m sure your aunt’s favorite words are proper and decorum. Frivolous is at best a distant third.”
The two girls giggled, and Mada launched into a story about her latest wedding preparations. “You wouldn’t believe the gifts that are pouring in from Father’s business associates: silver platters, a Brunelleschi painting, even an antique Roman bust of Nero that was discovered while digging a well. I don’t know where we’ll put everything.” Madalena tossed some of her sleek fishbone braids back over her shoulders. “And the wedding feast! Boiled head of veal stuffed with capers and truffles, roast porcupine seasoned with cinnamon and cloves, and a whole arrangement of pies and pastries for dessert. And did I tell you a friend of my father’s has imported wine and cheeses from France?” Madalena gushed. “My reception will be the talk of the city.”
“Your father’s friend,” Cass said, striving to sound casual. “Do you mean Joseph Dubois?” Despite the story that Dubois had given to her aunt, she thought it highly odd that a servant from his estate had disappeared just a few days after his favorite courtesan had turned up dead.
Mada made a face like she’d just smelled something rancid. “Joseph Dubois? No. His parties are better known for their ladies than for their food, if you know what I mean. I was actually in attendance at his masquerade ball last night. You know that man had the audacity to hang a painting of himself right next to his portrait of the Doge? I daresay his was a bit larger too,” she added. “Still, it was a good time. You should have come.”