by Fiona Paul
Cass raced up the stairs and into the portego. Her aunt had fallen into a chair. She was hunched over, trembling slightly. Her cap had fallen to the floor, exposing the coarse gray braid that reached just past her shoulders. “Aunt Agnese,” Cass said, kneeling down to retrieve the cap. “Are you all right?”
The commotion brought Narissa and the cook running from the kitchen. They were both wearing cloaks. Cook had a lantern, as if he had been preparing to go outside. Slipper trailed along behind Cook as if he thought the portly man might leak scraps of meat from his pockets. Cass stared at them. What on earth was the whole house doing awake?
“Cassandra,” Agnese rasped, one hand clutched over her heart. She seemed on the verge of tears. “Where have you been?” Sliding her nightcap back onto her head, she shooed away a hovering Narissa.
Cass was frightened by Agnese’s outburst. Agnese was always very stern, but in a sarcastic sort of way. It was not like her to raise her voice. It was even less like her to cry.
“I went for a walk. I—I was just out by the gardens.” Cass tried to look as contrite as possible.
“You know you’re not supposed to be running about after dark, especially not now, when the whole city is buzzing about a killer on the loose.” Agnese shivered. “If it weren’t for your cat waking the whole villa with his incessant meowing, none of us might ever have realized you were missing.”
Cass didn’t answer. She gave Slipper a look of reprimand. The little traitor! No more chicken broth for him.
Agnese’s eyelids fluttered. “Honestly, Cassandra, I know you get this—this recklessness—from your parents, but I don’t know how much longer I can handle it.”
Cass wished she could melt into the floor. She almost preferred her aunt’s cutting sarcasm to this quiet, disappointed tone. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said. “I promise.”
Agnese shook her head and the loose folds of skin under her chin wobbled back and forth. “Your promises have proven to be as reliable as Bortolo’s aim with the teapot. As of this moment, Narissa is in charge of you. She will go everywhere that you go, which will be nowhere without my express permission. You are turning far too wild.”
“But Aunt—”
Agnese held up a hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
“But Siena—” Cass protested.
“Has gotten a bit too close to you, I’m afraid,” Agnese said. “Siena can work for me for the time being.”
Cass looked past her aunt, at the mosaic of The Last Supper. Jesus’s dark eyes stared back disapprovingly at her. She turned away, toward Narissa and the cook. Was no one going to speak up on her behalf? Agnese couldn’t make her a prisoner in the villa, not now, when Falco had agreed to explain everything to her.
“But…but I promised Madalena I would meet with her the day after tomorrow,” she said. “I am helping her with her wedding preparations.” What was one more lie if it meant getting to see Falco?
But her aunt was too smart to be fooled. “Madalena is always welcome here, at the villa. That is all. I’m tired. I’m going back to bed. I suggest you all do the same.” Agnese swiveled her head toward the kitchen. “Siena,” she barked.
Siena scampered into the portego. Without even glancing at Cass, she knelt down and let Agnese grab hold of her arm. Once the old woman was on her feet, Siena walked her toward her room, a half step at a time. Cass thought she heard her aunt muttering something about what Matteo would think under her breath.
“I believe it’s time for bed, Cassandra,” Narissa said coldly, in a tone that left no room for negotiation.
Cass allowed Narissa to pilot her, dumbly, toward the back of the villa. The corridor seemed to have shrunk in size. She remembered the conjurer, the doves trapped in the small stone box. Cass felt like the walls of the villa were closing in on her, keeping her prisoner from everything that she loved.
“The water that flows through
the canals is both beautiful
and deadly. Its tranquil surface
belies the toxins beneath—
unpleasant to touch, deadly to imbibe.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty
The following day, Cass still felt as if the villa were suffocating her. Not only was she trapped inside, but she was bored out of her mind—so bored that she sat on the stool and plucked random strings on her aunt’s harp for a while until Bortolo reminded her that he was blind and not deaf.
Narissa had followed her around all morning like a stout, balding shadow. When the maid excused herself to fetch a basket of mending, Cass contemplated making a run for it. She imagined flying out the front door and down the steps. Running across the lawn until she hit the sandy shoreline and then swimming her way to the Rialto.
And then what?
That was the problem with running away. You had to have somewhere to go.
A sharp rapping at the front door startled her. She glanced around for Bortolo, but the butler had conveniently disappeared. Probably snuck downstairs for a nap in his office. Cass jumped up from the divan, eager for any distraction.
Narissa descended from the servants’ quarters with more speed than anyone her age and size ought to be able to muster. She waved Cass back to her seat. “Young ladies do not answer doors.”
Young ladies, Cass thought bitterly, do not do anything but sit and rot.
Cass watched as Narissa conversed briefly with a boy wearing wrinkled muslin breeches and a sleeveless leather doublet that was fraying at the seams. Cass sighed. Just a messenger. She settled back into the tasseled cushions of the divan with another sigh as the boy handed Narissa two pieces of parchment and turned away.
Narissa held one of the letters out in her direction. “Signorina,” she said. “This came for you.”
Another exciting missive from Luca. Cass took the letter reluctantly. Had she ever finished reading Luca’s last letter? She didn’t think so. She had started it at the tailor’s shop and then shoved it back in her cloak pocket, where it most likely still sat. Fiddling with the edge of the folded parchment, Cass ran one finger between the layers to break the lily-imprinted red wax seal. Reluctantly, she scanned the first few lines.
My Dearest Cassandra,
I hope the weather has been mild so that you’ve been able to wander around the garden. I remember how you used to like that. Don’t forget to be mindful when going into the city. Many people, men especially, aren’t who they seem to be.
Cass frowned. No one was who they seemed to be. Madalena had stolen a piece of jewelry from a friend. Falco—who knew what he was getting up to in the middle of the night? Even Agnese might be a stranger for all Cass knew. She had always wondered how her aunt managed to stay single after her husband died so many years ago. If Agnese could do it, why couldn’t Cass?
“And the other letter?” Cass watched as Narissa set the other letter on the side table. It was rolled vellum, tied with a red ribbon in addition to being stamped with wax, the kind of announcement one might send for a party.
“It’s for your aunt.”
“I’ll take it to her.” Anything to escape from Narissa’s hawklike gaze for a few minutes. Besides, if Agnese was in a good mood, maybe Cass could cajole from her some small measure of freedom. How long could she possibly keep Cass locked in the villa? Until the murderer was caught? What if he was never caught? Sooner or later, the old woman would have to relent and at least allow Cass to wander the grounds of the estate.
“Good idea,” Narissa said. “The cook should be just about finished with your dinner trays.” And then, seeing Cass’s look of surprise, “Didn’t your aunt tell you she was expecting your company in her chambers?”
No, she absolutely had not.
Dinner started out worse than being a prisoner in the Doge’s dungeons. Only the smallest sliver of daylight peeked through Agnese’s heavy curtains. The musty room reeked of overpowering perfume and herbal ointments, a combination that practically screamed “old lady.�
�� And Agnese’s mood definitely matched the dour surroundings.
Agnese’s plate of sea bass and butter sauce was balanced on her lap. She struggled to manipulate the silverware with swollen fingers. It was painful for Cass to watch. Her aunt would get a bite of sea bass up to her thin lips only to have it tumble from the fork back onto the plate, or worse, onto the velvet bedspread that covered her legs and waist.
After the third piece of fish hit the covers, Cass pulled her chair in close. “Let me help you,” she said. Cass speared a chunk of sea bass on her own fork and held it up to her aunt’s mouth.
Agnese accepted the fish reluctantly, but then waved away Cass’s next attempt with a dramatic flourish of her hand. “I don’t need to be fed,” she said. “I may be weak and old, but I have always been remarkably coordinated.”
Cass resisted making a comment. She was simply grateful her aunt wasn’t speaking to her in the soft, disappointed tone she had used last night.
“Remember that,” her aunt continued, going after a green bean slick with butter. “Don’t fall into the trap of letting others do everything for you. It’s noble to accept help when you need it, lazy to accept it when you don’t.” Agnese blotted her mouth with a thin linen napkin embroidered with roses and doves.
What about accepting a husband you’re not ready for? What is that? “Aunt Agnese,” Cass said suddenly. “Why are you in such a hurry for me to marry Signor da Peraga?”
“For all the reasons you imagine, dear.” Agnese rested her fork on her plate. “As you know, I was forced to sell your parents’ estate to repay their creditors.”
Cass nodded solemnly. Apparently, her father had made a few risky investments that had put the family deep in debt. Cass had lost almost every remaining piece of her parents because of this—their artwork, their furniture, even their clothing. It was almost like her mother and father had never existed at all.
“My husband’s nephew Matteo will be coming of age soon,” Agnese continued. “Because he is the legal heir to the estate, this property will become his. He hasn’t decided if he wants to move here or sell the villa. Either way, he’ll eventually start his own family, and although I’ll probably be allowed to stay on, given my advanced age, there may not always be a place for you.”
“But why Luca?” Cass persisted.
Agnese reached out and patted Cass on the hand. “Your parents loved the da Peragas,” she said. “It was always their wish that you two would marry one day. Luca is a good man. Proper. Kind. I will never worry about you, knowing that you are entrusted to him. No matter what anyone has said of me”—here she brandished her fork again—“I have always held to my promises, and I intend to do so until I die.”
“But what about what you said?” Cass persisted. “What about not letting people do things for me? What if I want to be entrusted to myself?”
Agnese speared another bean. “I’m sorry, dear, but that’s simply not how it’s done. I did not invent the rules for us women, and they are not mine to alter. Besides, complete freedom…it’s an ideal. An impossibility. Haven’t you read enough of my books to have learned a thing or two about the world?”
An impossibility. The words hit her like stones thrown from a rooftop. Maybe Cass did want the impossible. Love. Freedom. Maybe she was striving for things that no one could have.
Agnese set her plate to the side and split the red wax seal of the vellum Cass had given her. She skimmed the letter and a smile broke out over her wrinkled face. “How would you like to go to Donna Domacetti’s for tea? She has invited you to call on her this afternoon. It may be only a small taste of freedom, but you’ll likely receive an overlarge helping of cake.”
Normally Cass would have dreaded sitting about Palazzo Domacetti, listening to that fat old crone cackle and gossip. Cass was still upset that the woman had done such a thorough job of informing all of Venice of her engagement to Luca. But today just the thought of getting some fresh air made it seem worth it. Besides, the Domacettis lived right on the Grand Canal. Maybe Cass would run into Falco or one of his friends. She wanted desperately to let him know she wouldn’t be able to meet him at the Pillars of Justice.
“I’d love to,” she said, a little too eagerly.
Agnese’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I suppose you would. Well, you might as well begin making friends with Donna Domacetti’s circle. They will be your companions very soon.”
Cass tried to keep a straight face. The thought of marrying Luca was bad enough. Was she expected to transform into a boring, petty gossip as well?
At least Donna Domacetti knew everything about everyone. She’d probably go on at length about the murders if Cass prompted her.
Cass excitedly informed Giuseppe and Narissa of her outing, and the old gardener made record time preparing the gondola for travel. Even Giuseppe looked different to her now. Cass was fascinated by his gnarled hands, at the way his bones curled like claws around the long flexible oar. As Cass watched him steer their boat around a larger flat-bottomed vessel, she thought of the traffic jam in the Grand Canal, and the threatening note she had received. She had been so preoccupied, she had not thought of the note in days. But now, once again, she wondered who could have sent it. Was it merely a warning, or a true threat?
Neither Falco nor Paolo could have known where to find Cass unless they were following her. But someone like Joseph Dubois could afford to pay an entire battalion of men to stalk her if he so desired. Cass thought back to all the times she had felt like she was being watched: on the path to San Domenico village, in the stalled gondola, at Fondamenta delle Tette, in the batèla with Falco. Maybe it hadn’t all been her imagination. Dubois was connected to both of the dead women. But if he had killed them, why would he be offering a reward for information about his maid?
Cass chewed on her lower lip. She was missing something, some crucial piece of the puzzle. For one, the motivation. And she didn’t understand how she fit in—unless the murderer saw her in the graveyard. It was the only explanation. Cass had no connection to Signor Dubois or to either of the dead girls.
Giuseppe hollered to a man on the shore, and Cass realized they were approaching Donna Domacetti’s palazzo. Cass had not forgotten about looking for a way to leave a message for Falco.
“Will you be accompanying me all the way to the palazzo?” She smiled sweetly at Narissa.
Narissa nodded. “Yes, Signorina. After you’re safely received, I plan to continue on to the market.”
Safely received. As if Cass might get snatched stepping from the gondola onto the Domacettis’ private dock. Maybe she could sneak away for a few minutes after she had tea. The Domacettis lived within walking distance of Piazza San Marco, where she had seen Paolo the other day.
Giuseppe moored the boat in front of the Domacettis’ palazzo and helped Cass from the boat.
Don Domacetti was a high-ranking senator, and everything about his home reeked of excessive wealth. The palazzo was twice the size of those on either side and appeared to be freshly painted, its bright white walls a stark contrast to his neighbors’ dingy, water-stained exteriors. The arched main door was overlaid with gold leaf and embellished with tiny golden vines and blossoms. Cass knocked twice on an ornate door knocker made of marble and shaped like an angel taking flight. A servant in the brilliant red and black livery of the Domacettis’ estate opened the door and ushered Cass into the palazzo.
The servant escorted Cass up the stairs into a vast portego lined with dark wood and accented with red and yellow paint. Cass fought the urge to wince. The whole room, even the ceiling, was adorned with elaborate sculptures of angels and winged horses. There must have been forty little flying creatures in there, each painted more garishly than the next. The walls were deep mahogany, with white marble moldings carved in swirling patterns. A giant square mirror hung at the center of each wall, reflecting the swirls and wings from across the room, magnifying the entire effect.
It was hideous.
The floor of the cavernou
s portego was made of tiny glass tiles arranged as a replica of Bottacelli’s Birth of Venus. Cass walked a circuitous route across the room to avoid stepping on the Venus’s uncovered left breast.
A trio of women sat clustered in chairs around one end of a long marble table. At the head of the table, Donna Domacetti sat on a plush red divan, the farthingale of her crimson skirts easily filling the seat made for two. Her ample breasts and belly seemed in danger of splitting her ivory bodice. The fabric was pulled so taut, it looked sheer in places. Cass counted at least three chins nestled beneath the woman’s dark red lips.
“The future Signora da Peraga, come join us,” the obese woman said, gesturing regally with one hand.
The other women watched Cass as she arranged herself in one of the open chairs. One woman was young and fair, the other older and dark. Both stared at her with narrow, competitive eyes. A servant brought Cass a steaming cup of tea and left a shining silver pitcher in the center of the table.
“Allow me to introduce Donna Hortensa Zanotta and Signora Isabetta da Guda.” Donna Domacetti gestured to each woman in turn.
Cass had never met either of the women before, but had seen Hortensa occasionally at the Frari when she attended Mass with Madalena. Her husband, Don Zanotta, was an unattractive but powerful man, reputed to be one of the feared Council of Ten, an elite group of Venetian senators that controlled most of the government. Hortensa wore a low-cut emerald dress and a necklace of jagged black stones. She had high cheekbones and wide-set hazel eyes. She would have been beautiful were it not for the cluster of deep smallpox scars on her right cheek. She’d tried unsuccessfully to disguise them with putty and pressed powder. Cass felt a rush of sympathy for the girl. It was rumored that Don Zanotta could be violent when he got angry. Unblemished, Hortensa might have found a younger, kinder husband.