by Fiona Paul
Isabetta was older, closer to Donna Domacetti’s age. She wore a high-collared indigo dress with matching starched cuffs and just a hint of scarlet lip stain. Her dark hair was pinned back into a thick coil of braids and mostly obscured by a deep blue veil.
Hortensa gave Cass a curt nod and then turned back to Donna Domacetti. “Have you met him, then? Don Ernesto of Rome? Rumor has it he can be quite a handful.”
“As well as a mouthful, no doubt.” The fat woman threw her head back and cackled. “Bit of an odd one, though. He likes his women cold.”
“I could be cold,” Hortensa said. She looked around the group, as if daring anyone to challenge this assertion.
“So your husband tells us.” Donna Domacetti cackled again. “But I don’t mean cold as in cruel, Hortensa. I mean physically cold. Apparently he makes his favorite courtesan bathe in ice water before he lies with her.”
“How unusual,” the dark-haired woman murmured. Cass had already forgotten her name. Isabella? No, Isabetta. “Does he not have to worry about the cold affecting his…size?” Isabetta asked.
Cass almost choked on her tea. Her face turned bright red. This wasn’t what she imagined socializing with Donna Domacetti’s circle would be like. What if Agnese had come with her? Surely they wouldn’t have spoken so crassly in front of her aunt.
Donna Domacetti chuckled. “Careful, ladies. An innocent sits among us.”
Cass forced her lips into a small, closed-mouth smile. She wondered what these women would think of her if they knew of her trysts with Falco. Cass thought of the moment they had shared only last night. What might have happened if the world were only her and Falco, if he could have laid her back on one of her aunt’s marble benches and kissed her until sunrise?
“It’s hard to imagine the niece of Agnese Querini being too innocent,” Isabetta said. She sipped her tea and then set the pale pink cup back on its saucer, a smear of blood-red lip stain marring the golden rim.
Cass raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired woman. “What does that mean?”
Donna Domacetti rubbed her chins with the back of her hand. “Nothing, my dear. Simply that your aunt is very wise in the ways of the world.”
Cass decided she might as well put the hour she would suffer here to good use. “My aunt wondered if there had been any new developments in catching that maid’s killer,” she said.
“I heard the body was discovered by a priest on his way to service,” Hortensa said, crossing herself.
Donna Domacetti waved a hand in front of her face. “Likely strangled by some drunken sailor in the throes of passion.”
“I heard she was carved up.” Hortensa said this with a dreamy look, like the idea of a mutilated servant was very pleasing.
“Old news, either way,” Donna Domacetti said. “Today I heard my lady’s maid gossiping about a second servant gone missing from Joseph Dubois’s estate. Since when did the comings and goings of servants become a matter of national importance?” she asked, with a sniff.
Cass’s heart jumped into her throat. Another servant missing from Joseph Dubois’s estate? After the first two deaths linked back to him? It had to be more than just a coincidence. “Do they think she was taken, just like the first?” Cass fiddled with the handle of her teacup.
“Who knows, dear? Dubois is apparently so distraught, he’s been unable to speak to the rettori yet. Seems this girl was one of his favorites—blonde, big eyes, one of those maids who struts around in her servants’ garb like she’s a courtesan.” She snorted. “No wonder he’s distraught. The French and their women. At least he likes them warm.” Donna Domacetti drained her cup of tea and then let out a satisfied belch. “If you ask me, she probably ran off with some performer. Palazzo Dubois is always crawling with them—poets, jugglers, conjurers. I don’t know how the signora puts up with the constant noise and drama. Maybe she’s also being entertained after hours.” The other women snickered.
So. Another favorite of Signor Dubois gone missing. It seemed increasingly likely that Dubois was to blame for the murders, or was at least connected to them in some way. Perhaps after Agnese allowed Cass to leave the villa again, she and Siena could make a visit to Feliciana. If anything shady was going on at Palazzo Dubois, Siena’s gorgeous older sister would likely know of it.
The image of her former lady’s maid flashed in her head. Blonde. Big eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Signor Dubois employed dozens of girls. The chance that Feliciana was the girl who had gone missing was slim. Still, Cass felt her blood racing beneath her skin. She remembered the swollen corpse emerging from the waters of the Grand Canal, the ring of bruises around her neck. That couldn’t happen to Feliciana. Or to any other woman. It went against God and nature, against everything.
“You look a bit pale, dear. Let me freshen up your tea.” Donna Domacetti reached across Cass for the pitcher of tea the servant had left in the middle of the table. Cass stared at the large ring on her middle finger. It was a bright red oval stone set in silver, with a flower engraved in its middle.
Six petals inscribed in a circle, just like the ring Falco had found in Liviana’s tomb.
Just like the symbol on the outside of de Gradi’s workshop.
Cass nearly knocked over her teacup. “Your ring,” she burst out, clumsily catching the cup before more than a drop had spilled. “It’s…lovely.”
“Oh, this? Thank you, dear. I received it as a gift from a local abbot in exchange for some charitable donations I made. I do patronize a good many churches. It’s important to keep in touch with the masses, don’t you agree?”
Cass faked a smile and looked down at her lap, trying to control the trembling of her hands. She watched Donna Domacetti out of the corner of her eye. She had almost forgotten about the ring Falco had found in Livi’s tomb, but she would swear it looked just like the one Donna Domacetti was now wearing. Could she be involved in the murders somehow? The donna was crass, but seemed harmless. Much too self-absorbed to be caught up in any plot that didn’t involve eating, gossiping, or ogling attractive men.
Then again, if Cass had learned one thing in the past week, it was that no one was who they seemed to be.
“So rank is Death
that some men can
smell his approach.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
twenty-one
Later that night, Siena burst into Cass’s room. She was ghost-pale and shaking. “She’s gone,” Siena said, dissolving into tears. The marketplace had been buzzing with the news. Feliciana had vanished from the estate of Joseph Dubois.
Cass couldn’t keep herself from envisioning Siena’s sister, swollen and slashed up, her body rising to the surface of the Grand Canal. She forced the image out of her head. She couldn’t think like that.
“Are you certain?” Feliciana always did have a wild streak. Maybe she’d met a sailor or a shopkeeper while running an errand. “Might she have just spent the evening with a…gentleman?” Cass asked gently.
“She’s been missing for two days,” Siena said, her blue eyes wet with tears. “And my sister is no whore.”
Cass pulled Siena to a seated position on the bed next to her. The girl was trembling so badly that if she didn’t sit, she might collapse at any minute. Cass couldn’t imagine how she would feel if she had a sister who had gone missing. But then, her lady’s maid was the closest thing she had to a sister. Awkwardly, she wrapped an arm around Siena’s shoulders, trying to comfort her.
“Of course she isn’t,” Cass said, though privately she wasn’t entirely convinced. “But do you know if anyone has been courting her? A merchant, perhaps? Someone from the city?”
Siena shook her head violently. “Nothing like that. She’s been very devoted to her work lately.” The lady’s maid swiped at her eyes with a white handkerchief. “Very devoted to Signor Dubois.”
“Were she and her master—” Cass paused, not exactly sure how to ask the question. “Having relations?” she finished lamely.
&nb
sp; Siena flushed bright red. “My sister—well, she never said as much, but I know she finds him attractive. And he used to buy her things sometimes. Little pieces of jewelry. Trinkets from wandering salesmen. I told her to make sure to keep them hidden from the signora, but you know how my sister likes to show off.” Siena buried her face in her tiny hands and began to weep. “She’s going to end up like Sophia, isn’t she?”
“No. Siena, no.” Cass enfolded her lady’s maid into a hug. Siena smelled faintly of rosewater. “Think of how smart Feliciana is. If she were in danger, she would know it, and she’d go hide somewhere, right? Or maybe she’s not missing at all. Maybe she did meet someone. Maybe they ran away together.”
Siena cried into Cass’s sleeve. “That’s just what the town guard said about Sophia, before she washed up in the canal.” Her voice was muffled. “My sister wouldn’t run off without saying good-bye.”
Cass knew Siena was right. But she couldn’t bear to see her lady’s maid so upset, and it did no one any good to start assuming the worst. “What about Joseph Dubois? Did she ever say she thought he might be dangerous? Or jealous?”
For some reason this question made Siena cry even harder.
Plodding footsteps sounded outside the door. “What are you doing down here, Siena? It’s late. You belong in the servants’ quarters.” Narissa fixed her fierce gaze on Siena, who managed to stop crying but still had her head pressed to Cass’s arm. “What’s wrong with her?” she demanded.
Narissa must not have heard the latest gossip while at the market. Cass couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. “I—I spoke without thinking and upset her.”
Narissa clucked her tongue. “A habit you might rid yourself of before your marriage.”
Marriage. Mannaggia. Cass had been so upset by the thought of another disappearance that she had completely forgotten to try to leave a message for Falco. She was supposed to meet him tomorrow at noon. She had to figure out a way to sneak out of the villa before then. But how?
Narissa pulled Siena out of the room, and Cass stood up and began to pace. Her mind was racing. There was no longer any doubt in her mind. Dubois had to be the killer. Feliciana wasn’t the kind of girl to get spirited away by some juggler. Not when she had a desirable position at one of the Rialto’s most glamorous palazzos and a master who showered her with gifts.
Cass yanked her journal out of a drawer in her writing desk. She had been meaning to organize her thoughts on paper, to see if a pattern might emerge from the chaos.
“Is something troubling you?”
Cass jumped. Narissa had materialized once again at the door. There was no way Cass would be able to think when the woman was practically breathing down her neck.
What she needed was a distraction.
“I’m fine,” Cass said, and pushed past Narissa and into the hall. She headed down the corridor and turned left into the library. Narissa followed her—of course. Cass noticed Agnese’s needlework basket sitting on the floor near the marble fireplace. Her aunt had been fond of sewing before her fingers and joints started to swell. Cass didn’t really have the patience for needlecraft, but unfortunately she had to endure several hours of it a week. It was only proper, as Agnese was fond of saying. Narissa actually seemed to enjoy sewing.
“You might as well occupy yourself.” Cass gestured toward the basket. “I’m going to be writing for a while.”
Narissa settled happily into Agnese’s favorite chair by the fireplace, cradling the basket of cloth and thread on her lap. Cass sat at the table where she used to have her lessons, drumming her fingers on a likeness of Neptune that was carved into the tabletop. She tapped the point of her quill against the sea god’s trident. Feliciana missing. Donna Domacetti wearing a ring with the flower insignia. Falco and Angelo arguing. How was it all connected? And how did it fit in with the disappearance of Liviana’s body? The image of the flower within the circle kept tickling the edge of her consciousness. Cass felt like she had seen it somewhere besides the rings and Angelo’s workshop. Somewhere a long time ago…
A slamming noise from somewhere in the house made her jump. The tip of her quill pierced the skin of her finger, bringing a fat red drop of blood to the surface. She cursed under her breath and pressed her finger to her lips.
“It’s just the wind, Signorina,” Narissa said. “A loose shutter.”
“Could I trouble you for a glass of wine?” Cass asked. Maybe a drink would calm her nerves.
Narissa set her needlepoint on her chair and left the room. A few minutes later, she returned to the library with a goblet of red wine. Cass swished it around, inhaling the sharp fragrance. She took a long drink and then set the goblet down next to a blown-glass lamp.
Opening her journal, she wrote down a series of names: Liviana. Mariabella. Falco. Angelo. Maximus. Sophia. Dubois. Donna Domacetti. And now, Feliciana. And then, after a bit of hesitation, she added Cassandra.
How did they all fit together? Livi didn’t seem to have connections to any of the others. And none of the people on the list had connections to everyone. Mariabella and Sophia had been murdered and marked with an X. Feliciana was now missing. The men on the list were all suspicious in one way or another, especially Angelo de Gradi and his gruesome assortment of bodies and body parts. He might have met both Mariabella and Sophia through his dealings as Dubois’s physician. He might even have treated them. But if he had killed them, why had one ended up in Livi’s crypt and one in the middle of the Grand Canal? Why weren’t they both tucked neatly into bath basins? Why didn’t he want to keep them for his collection?
Falco had promised to tell her what he was doing with Angelo. Maybe that was the missing piece of information she needed. She struggled to remember the snatches of conversation she’d overheard between Falco and the physician at the small chapel by the statue of San Giuda. Angelo had said something about tonight, but Cass hadn’t heard enough of the man’s words to know if he was referring to the body in the canal or the chapel or something else.
The little church bothered her. She felt like she knew it from somewhere. Cass closed her eyes. She saw the fallen sculpture, the broken-down chapel, the tiny graveyard attached. She had never been there before; she was certain of it. She’d never even walked that area of Venice before. She opened her eyes and blinked hard; the library looked slightly hazy. The wine must have been stronger than she thought; she noticed that she had drained almost all of her glass. At least it wasn’t as bad as the muddy wine from Tommaso’s studio.
That was it! When the boys had interrupted Cass and Falco’s kiss in the studio, she’d overheard one of his friends say something about San Giuda. Something about a pickup. Something about the smell of death. Could it be just a coincidence? Or was something going on at the crumbling chapel?
Narissa had noticed that Cass’s glass needed refilling, and had returned to the library with a whole bottle of red wine. Cass was about to decline when she noticed the hungry way the older maid looked at it as she refilled her glass. An idea began to form in Cass’s mind.
“Would you like a glass?” Cass tried her best to sound innocent.
Narissa’s eyes went as bright as the fire for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. “I shouldn’t, Signorina. But thank you.”
Cass winked. “Go on. No one will ever know. I’m sure my aunt is asleep by now. What harm is there in having a sip or two?” Or three or four or five.
“Well, if you’re certain.” Narissa glanced quickly around the library as if she thought spies might be hiding behind the bookcases or in the fireplace. Then she poured herself a small glass of the wine and continued her needlework. Her fingers worked the thread quickly.
When the maid’s glass was empty, Cass refilled it without saying anything. Narissa didn’t even seem to notice, and finished her glass before Cass had had more than three sips of her own. Again Cass refilled it; again Narissa quaffed it down.
After one final glass, Narissa’s head began to nod against her chest. Cass f
elt a rush of triumph. She knew she was taking a huge chance sneaking out of the villa. If she got caught, there would likely be a padlock applied to her bedchamber door. Or worse, Agnese would send for Luca and arrange an immediate betrothal ceremony.
Cass ripped a page out of her journal and scrawled a quick note to Falco.
Dear Falco,
I cannot meet you by the Pillars of Justice. My aunt has been keeping me close to home. I can try to sneak out after everyone is asleep, if you want to meet me in the garden again. Please know that if I do not show up, it’s because I’m being watched, and not because I don’t want to see you.
She signed it simply with a C. There was so much more she could have written, so much more that wanted to pour out of her—love and fear and hope—but she figured these things were best said in person. Especially since Cass had no idea where the servants kept the wax and would have to leave the note unsealed. She would look for Falco in the taverna. If he or his friends weren’t there, she’d leave the message with the barkeep and simply hope for the best.
Then, she’d find a way back to the chapel with the fallen San Giuda.
Cass glanced over at Narissa again. The maid was snoring loudly, chin resting on her chest, half-completed needlework in her lap.
Cass stood up soundlessly and moved into the hall. Should she risk heading upstairs for her cloak? She decided to borrow Siena’s again. Fastening the woolen garment around her shoulders, Cass tucked her journal into one of the pockets. Grabbing a lantern and tinderbox from one of the long wooden counters, she unlocked the servants’ door and opened it slowly, trying her best not to make any noise. If Agnese caught her this time, she was as good as dead.
Cass slipped out of the villa, and into the night.