“Who, then?”
“He may have humiliated me, but mortification pales in comparison to ruin. He destroyed Caterina Brexiano.”
“I don’t know her.”
“She was the most famous spiritual medium in Venice before she became entangled with Signor Barozzi.”
“What happened between them?” I asked.
“I don’t like to fuel gossip,” she said, “but I’ve no doubt the woman herself would be more than happy to enlighten you.”
“Where can I find her?”
“She lost everything, even her home, after what he did to her, and now resides in a house of ill repute.”
“A house of ill repute?” I asked, leaning foward. “I don’t suppose you know the address?”
* * *
Confident though I was in my investigative abilities, I realized there are some situations into which a lady shouldn’t thrust herself alone. As my darling husband was still in Padua, I could think of only two people to whom I could turn: Emma and Donata. The idea of Emma in a brothel was unthinkable, and, at any rate, I much preferred Donata’s company. She was smart, quick witted, and game for a laugh. Furthermore, she knew the city and had proven an able assistant in matters pertaining to detection.
I called for her first thing the following morning, after having decided I’d prefer not to visit the establishment in the thick of the evening rush.
“Is it wise to go by gondola?” Donata asked. “Mightn’t we be seen going in?”
“The back entrance could prove more discreet,” I said. We didn’t walk, not wanting to waste any time, but had the gondolier drop us and wait at the nearest public dock. Hindsight suggests we made something of a spectacle of ourselves by having decided to pull veils over our faces to make sure we could not be recognized, but such are the follies of youth. In a short while, we’d reached our destination.
“Do we knock?” Donata asked.
As I was unprepared to burst into the building unannounced, I saw no other alternative. The door opened almost immediately. I started to explain what we needed, but the young woman standing before us required nothing of the sort. She smiled and invited us inside, showing not the slightest curiosity as to the purpose of our visit.
She didn’t look like a prostitute. At least not what I imagined prostitutes to look like. She couldn’t have been much over eighteen, her skin dewy with youth, her hair lustrous and thick. Her well-made gown was of the latest fashion, and she made several insightful comments on current political situations as she led us down a narrow corridor and up a marble staircase.
I realized I’d been holding my breath almost since entering the building.
At the top of the stairs was a gorgeous room, richly furnished and decorated. I had assumed it would be red. It was a deep emerald green. I had assumed any art adorning the walls would be openly erotic. Instead, I found myself looking at a magnificently executed series of paintings depicting Persephone’s time in Hades. Perfect irony.
The young woman handed us over to someone older, an elegant, slim woman with kind eyes and a face that must have once been a picture of beauty.
“Lady Emily, what a delight to have you visit us.”
“You know my name?” I was stunned. Donata stood beside me like a stone.
“I make it my business to know everyone of importance in Venice. How may I assist you?”
“I’ve come looking for Caterina Brexiano.” Discomfort pricked along my skin. I hoped she didn’t assume I wanted her for some illicit purpose.
“I’m not surprised, given her history. I understand you help your husband in his investigations. But this one is yours, is it not?” With the slightest movement of her hand, she summoned another young woman, bent towards her, and whispered something in her ear. “She will fetch Caterina for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know that I’d describe the investigation as mine. Mr. Hargreaves and I work as partners.”
“Of course.” She smiled.
“What can you tell me about Caterina’s past?” I asked. “Her connection to the matter in which I’m involved isn’t obvious.”
“That’s because the wealthy rarely give much consideration to the less fortunate unless they have a specific use for them. Caterina, as I’m sure you are aware, is a gifted medium. Whether or not one believes it is possible to summon and communicate with the dead is irrelevant. Caterina could put on a show like no other and, more often than not, told her clients things about their deceased loved ones that she shouldn’t have been able to know. Only the most cynical dismissed her as a fraud.”
“Do you believe she speaks to the dead?” I asked.
“Does it matter? I believe she is good at what she does, and I believe she is sincere. She certainly didn’t deserve the fate that man thrust upon her.”
“What happened?” Donata asked.
“I shall leave it to her to explain,” the woman said.
Un Libro d’Amore
ix
Three days had passed and Besina had not been allowed out of the small room into which her parents had locked her. She did not sleep the first night, succumbing to exhaustion only after the sun went down the following day. Servants brought her food and drink at regular intervals, but no one in the family had come to her. No one had asked any questions. Her shoulders were bruised where her father had grabbed her, forcing her back into the house without uttering a word. She assumed he had returned to the calle behind the garden in search of Nicolò after he’d dealt with her, but she had no evidence to confirm whether he’d gone and if he’d found anyone there.
She was terrified of what he might have done to Nicolò.
A key clicked and then turned in the lock. Besina expected to see a skittish servant averting her eyes, silently leaving food for her charge. Instead, her father’s long shadow filled the room as he stood in the doorway, pausing before completing his entrance.
“What could you have been thinking?” he asked, coming toward her. She crouched on the floor in the corner of the room and covered her face with her hands. “And what do you think I am going to do to you that you cower away from me?”
She burst into tears.
He picked her up, pulled her hands away from her face, and put her on a chair. “Where were you going?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said.
“How foolish do you think I am?” he asked. “Who was helping you?”
Was it possible he hadn’t found Nicolò?
“No one,” she said.
“Am I to believe you didn’t know where you were going and you had no one to assist you?”
He didn’t know. He hadn’t caught Nicolò. Nicolò was safe! She could not let her father see the relief coursing through her. “I was so scared, Papà. I can’t marry that man.”
“You’d rather run away and find your own way in the world, taking only the clothes on your back?”
He must not have noticed her bundle of treasured possessions. “I would,” Besina said. “I thought I could seek asylum in a convent. I thought I could hire a gondola.”
There was a strength in her voice her father hadn’t expected. “An unacceptable choice for you,” he said. “You will marry Rosso as is your duty to the family, and you will do so before any whisper of this lapse in judgment can spread. It doesn’t appear that anyone outside the family realizes what happened. You will wed tomorrow.”
She could not breathe. Tomorrow? Was there any chance of escape? Sobs consumed her.
Her father slapped her soundly across the face.
“No more of that,” he said. “Your mother will help you dress in the morning in time to leave for the church.”
Besina fell to her knees the instant he locked the door behind him. She prayed. All day and all night. She prayed for redemption.
It did not come.
The next morning, she stopped crying, never to start again. She bathed and was dressed and went to Santa Maria Formosa and was given to Uberto Rosso i
n holy matrimony.
Besina feared her soul was dead.
10
When I consider the myriad experiences my work has afforded me over the years, I always count that day in Venice as one of the most unexpected. Drinking tea in a bordello is something I cannot, in conscience, recommend to the general public, but I must admit I found it most fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, I nearly lost focus on my investigation. Nearly.
Caterina Brexiano was no beauty. Her coarse hair hung wild down her back, and her skin couldn’t have looked worse for wear if she spent two weeks in the Egyptian desert without a parasol. Yet there was something about her, something magical and effervescent that made her external appearance irrelevant. Donata and I went with her to a smallish chamber up two floors from where we’d entered the palazzo. The walls were covered in pale green silk, and the fresco on the ceiling appeared to be a nuptial allegory. More irony. An enormous chandelier of Murano glass a cioca—with clusters of multicolored glass flowers—was suspended in the center of the room. It looked too big for the space.
I took the chair closest to the room’s modest (sizewise, not in terms of its marble splendor) fireplace, choosing it because it faced a highly polished wood door. I wanted to know, without having to turn to look, if anyone else should enter the chamber. Donata sat next to me, and Caterina called for tea, which arrived quickly, along with some almond biscuits.
“We’ve come to ask you—” I started but was interrupted at once.
“About Signor Barozzi, of course,” she said. “We will, naturally, discuss him. That is a foregone conclusion. Yet there are so many other things for us to ponder, do you not think?”
I paused. “I’m certain there are, but at the moment—”
Caterina rose from her seat, crossed to me, and took my hand. “You and your husband suffered a great disappointment and were told you might never have a child. I am deeply sorry for that.”
More than a year ago, in Constantinople, I had lost the child I carried. My mind reeled, wondering how she could know this. It wasn’t impossible—the circumstances of the murder investigation during which it happened had precluded absolute privacy. Yet how had she heard about it? Certainly she couldn’t know that the physician on hand had told me he wasn’t sure if I would ever again be able to conceive.
“Thank you,” I said, returning my teacup to the table beside my chair.
“And you.” She turned to Donata. “You will not be sad forever. Your questions about love will be answered.”
“My questions?” Donata looked as nonplussed as I felt. “I can assure you I am neither sad nor do I have any—”
Caterina returned to her chair and raised a surprisingly delicate hand. “There is no need for denials, Donata. I know all.”
“This is fascinating, truly,” I said, “but we really must—”
“Lady Emily, are you aware that your first husband is quite desperate to communicate with you?” Her words were slow and measured. “Something about your second marriage and a concern he has that you worry he wouldn’t approve. You lost him how many years ago?”
This sent chills—unpleasant ones—down my neck and my spine and my front and my back and everywhere else. “It’s been more than five years,” I said, hardly hearing the sound of my voice. My first husband had been murdered in Africa by a man he believed to be his friend. I had fallen in love with Colin while trying to determine who was responsible for having made me a young widow only a few months after I’d been a bride.
“He’s concerned?” I asked, as if such a thing were even possible. “Does he approve?”
Caterina closed her eyes and rocked ever so slightly back and forth. A contented smile appeared on her face and she nodded. “Yes. Yes, he does.”
I was about to question her further when I realized I was in danger not only of believing her but also of becoming hopelessly distracted. “Thank you,” I said. “As for the conte—”
“No, not yet,” she said, turning away from me. “Donata, you are right to be concerned about your father. He does not have much longer to live.”
“My father?” Donata asked. “I never said I was worried. He’s in perfect health.”
“Health is not the only factor in determining long life,” Caterina said, “and if you weren’t worried you wouldn’t be pacing at night instead of sleeping.”
My friend winced. “How could you know that?”
Caterina shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
Common sense returned to me. Everything Caterina had told me she could have learned from newspaper reports. Well. Almost everything. One tabloid in particular had made vague suggestions about my condition that she could have picked up on. Even if she hadn’t, Colin and I had been married long enough that most people assumed we had children. The fact that we didn’t could easily lead someone to believe there had been disappointments. As for Donata, it would be reasonable to assume a woman of her age would have romantic hopes. Anyone could see she looked drawn and tired—suggesting she hadn’t been sleeping was laughably obvious. Her father was elderly and alone. Of course she worried about him.
“Lady Emily is skeptical,” Caterina said with a wry smile. “I am used to that. We will speak of Signor Barozzi if you wish, and then we will return to other subjects.”
“How long did you know him?” I asked.
“I spent exactly two evenings with him,” she said. My face must have registered surprise. “Not like that. He hired me to contact his dead wife.”
“Were you successful?” I asked.
“I was,” she said, “but he was not happy with the result.”
“What was the result?”
“She wanted him to let her go, to set her free. His continual mourning had trapped her spirit in that wreck of a house.”
Donata laughed. “Is that so?”
“You find such a plight amusing?” Caterina asked.
“I wouldn’t if for a second I believed it to be possible,” Donata said. “As it is, I’m far too rational to be so deceived.”
“What did Conte Barozzi think?” I asked, wanting to remain focused on the topic at hand.
“He was affronted and demanded his money back,” Caterina said. “I refused, of course. I’d done what he’d requested. It was not my fault if he didn’t like what his wife had to say. But I did agree to come back a second night. That time, she sent him a warning.”
Caterina was extremely good at what she did. A consummate performer. She leaned forward, clasped her hands, and lowered her voice. The light in the room seemed to dim.
“His path was full of danger and hurt,” she said. “His wife begged him to change course.”
“What path?” I asked.
Caterina sat back up straight and flung her hands in the hair. “How am I to know? I only report what I’m told, and I’m not always given details.”
How convenient.
“The conte did not react well to this?” I asked.
“Far from it,” Caterina said. “He shouted and bawled at me and then unceremoniously expelled me from the house. The next day, he was denouncing me all over the city. My career was ruined. No one would hire me, and I could find no other work.”
“I’m sure there are some people in Venice who would still hire you,” Donata said.
“Not ones who can pay what I require,” she said. “That is how I came to be here. It was the only asylum offered me.”
“I don’t understand why he reacted so severely,” I said. “Or, to be quite candid, why he took so seriously what you said. I mean no offense, Signora Brexiano, but if he didn’t like what he heard, why didn’t he simply ignore it?”
“Because he knew it to be true,” Caterina said. “That much was apparent.”
“Can you remember specifically what he said regarding his path?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “It was striking. He insisted—to his wife, you understand, through me—that this was the only way forward if he were to save the family, and that s
ome wrongs are too serious to let go uncorrected.”
“Was there anything else?” I asked.
“No. When his wife didn’t agree with him, his temper got the better of him. That’s when he snapped.”
“And did—”
She interrupted me again. “That is all I have to say on the subject. But I do wish to return to you, Lady Emily.”
I was conflicted. Like Donata, I was too rational to really believe Caterina could communicate with the dead. At the same time, it was so tantalizing to think that maybe, just maybe, she could. Only imagine the possibilities! To ask Cleopatra for the location of her lost tomb. To discuss military strategy with Alexander the Great. Most of all, to make sure your actions hadn’t hurt someone you didn’t realize you loved until it was too late.
I shook myself back to the present. No, I didn’t believe Caterina had special powers. Nonetheless, it never hurts to try every avenue. I slipped Besina’s ring off my finger and handed it to the medium.
“What can you tell me about this?”
Caterina’s entire body shook violently as soon as she touched it. “No,” she said. “This is an extremely bad thing. Get rid of it at once. It brings with it nothing but misery and death. It was not meant to be found again. Destroy it.”
With that, she flung the ring onto the floor.
“I’m sorry, Lady Emily,” she said, all the sparkle gone from her voice. “I can offer you no more today. This sort of communication takes a toll on the messenger. I’m afraid I must retire to my bed.”
I watched her leave the room. “Do you think she’d object to me eating the rest of the biscuits?”
* * *
I had not intended to be glib by finishing the biscuits. They were delicious, and it seemed a shame to let them go to waste. Besides, I needed to do something to maintain normalcy in the face of such disturbing revelations. Donata, however, had no such compunctions. She had abandoned her claims of rationality by the time we exited the bordello.
“You must get rid of the ring,” she said. “I don’t believe in any of that talking-to-the-dead nonsense, but her reaction to the ring? That wasn’t staged. There are objects that bring evil, and we’ve nothing to suggest this isn’t one of them.”
Death in the Floating City Page 10