“Good! I can have a second opinion. Come over here and tell me which of these paintings you like best.”
Bianca went eagerly to help him select. He took her by the hand as she reached his side as if to be sure of keeping her close. The one he had been scrutinizing was by Longhi and showed a lady sipping hot chocolate, a lap dog on the sofa beside her. “That’s charming,” she said.
“There’s another Longhi next to it.”
They moved to view it and she liked that painting as well. In fact as they went to each in turn there was not one she did not care for. “I like them all and so can’t cast a vote on your behalf.”
“But if you were choosing for yourself which one would it be?” he persisted.
She did not hesitate. “That one!” It showed a young masked couple clearly in love and painted in sunshine amidst a crowd of Carnival revelers cavorting in the Piazzetta.
“Why?” Filippo asked with interest.
“Because I can see they’re”—she quickly amended what she had been about to say since her own feelings for him were too near the surface—“so friendly.”
Filippo laughed under his breath. “They’re passionate lovers, my dear. The young woman has fair hair like yours. It’s a Tiepolo and it shall be delivered to the Pietà for you.”
“Oh, no!” She was embarrassed. “I couldn’t possibly accept it.”
“It is in appreciation of the library work you have done. Sister Giaccomina is to receive a book that I know will please her. Let there be no more argument.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“If you are pleased with it, that is all the thanks I want.” He turned to the dealer. “See that the Tiepolo is delivered today and I’ll take this Longhi and the Marieschi.”
The art dealer bowed his appreciation of the order. Filippo put his arm familiarly about Bianca’s waist and led her into the neighboring salon, closing the door behind them.
“I came to tell you that the cataloguing is finished,” she said, drawing away from him.
“Is it? Well done. I shall miss your pretty face, but there will be more cataloguing later on if you and Sister Giaccomina are agreeable.”
“Oh, we shall be!” Her eagerness was quite transparent. “Which books would those be?”
“They’re stored presently at one of my villas where they have never been read or listed.”
“Sister Giaccomina and I will be honored to carry out the work.”
“How obliging of you.” He moved close to her and saw her alarm at his nearness blend with the love she could not hide. The next instant he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth down on hers, kissing her as no virgin should be kissed the first time. He felt her spine stiffen with initial shock and then she became supple and yielding, her whole body quivering. When he lifted his head again she remained motionless with her eyes downcast and he ran a gentle hand over her hair and down her face. Still without looking at him, she spoke in a soft, strangled voice.
“I’ll not come here again. Someone else must help Sister Giaccomina. I can’t accept the painting under any circumstances.”
He copied her solemn tones. “I think that is as well. I had never expected a young woman to set out to tempt me in my own home.”
Her startled eyes flew open. “I didn’t!” She was flustered and at a loss for words. “I mean, how could you think such a thing?”
“Why did you come on your own to me?” He was looking suitably bewildered.
“My only intention was to deliver a message!” she cried. “You’ve come to see me when I’ve been at my flute practice.”
“But then Sister Giaccomina was within earshot in the library. In this part of the palace the whole situation is different. Or perhaps you knew I had an art dealer with me?”
“No,” she admitted tremulously.
“So you expected to find me alone?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore!” She pressed the side of her clenched hand to her lips in distress, as if to silence any more foolish talk. “I wish I could die! I never wanted you to think such a thing of me. Don’t tell Elena! She would believe her kindness to me betrayed.”
He was finding the whole incident thoroughly entertaining, although in no way should she suspect it. “I suggest we pretend the kiss never happened. I’m willing to forget this whole little contretemps if you are.”
She looked at him gratefully. “Could we do that?”
“Of course! We’re friends, are we not?” He stretched out his hands at arm’s length. With relief in her face she put hers into his.
“Then you truly believe I had no intention of causing any indirect hurt to your wife?” she asked to reassure herself.
“I do.” He let her hands fall. “I’ll go with you to the library. You and Sister Giaccomina shall have a glass of wine with me before leaving. Perhaps if we are fortunate Elena will have returned from calling on an acquaintance and can join us.”
His fond reference to Elena reassured Bianca. With the resilience of youth she soon forgot the embarrassment she had suffered. Whenever she gazed at the Tiepolo painting on the wall of her room at the Pietà she remembered only Filippo’s kiss. It was, she had decided, the one romantic encounter of her life. For that alone it would be privately treasured.
Chapter Fourteen
ELENA CONTINUED HER DILIGENT SEARCH. SHE FUMED AT THE interruption to her task when she had to accompany Filippo to his villa from late June until the end of August. Afterward, much of her time was taken up with social arrangements such as the supervision of preparations for extravagant events at the Palazzo Celano, including one of the grandest masked balls ever seen in Venice. It was as if Filippo could not celebrate enough the defeat of the Torrisis no matter how many years slid by.
The Pietà orchestra was engaged by Filippo to play at most of these brilliant occasions. He made sure that when his many guests withdrew from the ballroom for supper, the Pietà instrumentalists had a chance to dance themselves under the nuns’ supervision. Their partners were willing volunteers among the young male guests and the music was supplied by another band of musicians hired for that single purpose. Elena, busy seeing to her guests in the supper room, did not know that Filippo never failed to break away and dance at least once with Bianca.
When her careful search of Filippo’s desk, shelves, and innumerable files brought forth nothing of interest, Elena turned to a number of chests of drawers and several places of concealment that she knew about. Finally she went back to the tall cupboard in Filippo’s bedchamber, although the prospect of going through it again did not offer her much hope.
The task was difficult because she had to watch out that Filippo’s valet did not suddenly come into the room and catch her at the cupboard. He was a sly fellow and would soon let his master know. More than once when she had searched previously she had narrowly missed being discovered. But it had to be done.
It was safest to carry out her task when Filippo dined late with only male guests. On these occasions she was not expected to make an appearance and they sat long hours at the table drinking and talking. The valet would lay out Filippo’s nightshirt, fold back the sheet, and not reappear until the guests began reeling drunkenly to the water portico and their waiting gondolas.
Elena had searched all but the upper quarter of the cupboard, when an evening came on which Filippo was to hold one of these dinners. With her task in mind, she had returned from the theater early after declining to accompany her friends to a casino. A reassuring burst of raucous laughter at some bawdy joke came from the dining room as Elena went up the stairs. She could count on having the next two or three hours uninterrupted.
Her maid helped her undress and when Elena was alone again she slipped out of bed and took from a closet a velvet robe with deep pockets. She had to be sure that she could conceal quickly anything she might find. The sconces in Filippo’s bedchamber were burning when she went through the communicating door. First
she locked his door into the corridor. She was about to embark on the final stage of a desperate endeavor and no precaution could be overlooked. The bedchamber chairs were ornate and heavy but she pulled one to the front of the cupboard, stepped up onto it, and opened the upper doors to begin her painstaking task.
Her hope was that she would find another secret drawer like the one with the painting and the ring, and she concentrated on pushing and sliding and pressing her fingertips over every inch of wood, carved and plain. Nothing gave or moved or creaked. She let her aching arms drop to her side as she faced defeat on a wave of bitter disappointment. She had been so hopeful! But she had failed.
Wearily she was about to step down from the chair when she reconsidered the secret drawer she had discovered previously. It had been quite wide but shallow. Suppose it was a foil to hide another? Swiftly she slid up the piece of carving that concealed it. Pulling the drawer out carefully she saw that behind it there was only plain wood. Yet no sooner had she pressed it than what had appeared to be the back of the cupboard fell down like a lid to reveal a cavity. In it was a file of papers! Convinced that she had found what she was looking for at last, she drew them out. A hasty scan of the first few pages showed that she was right. Carefully she returned the file and replaced the drawer. Now that she knew where the evidence was, she could take the file just before she went out the next day. She would like to fly with it to Marietta this very night and seek a safe place to hide, but that was impossible. Servants were still moving about the palace and she dared not risk the ill chance that Filippo, drunk though he would be when he came to bed, might be in the habit of checking occasionally that the papers were safe—or, for all she knew, gloat over them now and again.
She was sliding the carved piece that concealed the drawer back into place when she heard Filippo’s footsteps approaching. Panic-stricken, she sprang down from the chair but caught a foot in the folds of her robe and fell headfirst, the chair tipping with her to crash on the floor. Filippo had begun rattling the handle of his locked door and shouting.
She tried to jump to her feet but she had twisted her ankle painfully, which made her gasp as she stood up. Somehow she managed to push the doors of the cupboard shut, but before she could lift the chair upright again the communicating door from her room flew wide and Filippo stood glaring at her.
“What the devil is going on here?” He observed the nearness of the chair to the cupboard and the terror in her face.
“I was trying to catch a moth!” she cried frantically, reverting in total fear to a childlike lie. “You know how you detest them getting into your clothes.”
He did not take his glinting gaze from her. His purpose in coming upstairs had been to mask and cloak himself to go with his companions to a house of orgy in which they all indulged from time to time, but this new development put that out of the question. “Set up that chair and return it to the wall,” he ordered.
She obeyed as best she could, quaking so much that she could scarcely handle it. He tugged the bell-pull for his valet and then unlocked the door. When he turned back to her she was seated on the chair, her eyes huge with fear in her white face. He said nothing, but all his longheld suspicions had been confirmed. She was a poor actress and he had seen from the start that never once had she rejoiced in his triumph over the House of Torrisi. Anger and the gravity of the situation had sobered him up, which was as well, for he needed to think straight. More than once he had had the feeling that wherever he kept ledgers and private letters someone had slightly changed their positions. The apparent disorder that he maintained in these areas meant that he alone knew exactly where everything was and not even his clerk dared to move as much as an uncut quill. Once he had even glimpsed Elena rummaging through a drawer where nothing but old bills and receipts were kept.
The valet had arrived. “Signore?”
“Tell the gentlemen downstairs that my wife is unwell and I’m unable to leave her. After that you may go to bed. I shall not require further assistance tonight.”
The valet departed and Filippo locked the door after him. Normally Filippo did not trouble with keys since none would dare intrude without knocking. Elena saw this present precaution more as a way to prevent her escape than to avoid any intrusion. Filippo came across to stand in front of her. “Why were you at my cupboard?” he demanded belligerently.
“I wasn’t!” she lied wildly, not far from hysteria. “I told you the reason!”
“But not the truth!” He shook his fist in her face furiously.
She cowered instinctively, but still she found the will to defy him in another lie, her only chance of escaping his brutality. “I care nothing for what you keep in your cupboard or anywhere else!”
Instantly his arm shot out and he grabbed her by the hair. She cried out in pain as he jerked her to her feet. Then he rammed her face against his chest amid the frills of his cravat and held her there. Knowing she could see nothing, he deftly opened the secret drawer with his free hand and satisfied himself that she had not discovered the file of papers within. It was far too cunning a hiding place even for a sharp-witted thief, but out of her very simplicity she might have stumbled upon it.
Although Elena guessed what he was doing, she thought he was trying to smother her against his body at the same time. She could not breathe, so hard was the force with which he held her. Then he threw her back from him, but only for his hands to seize her around the neck, his fury such that a nerve throbbed visibly in his temple.
“You think I haven’t suspected your inquisitive ways?”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“Indeed you do! Your old loyalties die hard. Instead of cleaving to me, you’d like to find some written word of mine that might free the Flame of the Pietà’s husband for her, wouldn’t you?”
She was sure he was going to strangle her. “Yes!” she screamed out hysterically. “I would! You should be shut away in the Wells! Not the man who your bribery and corruption sent to prison!”
Even in the madness of his rage he knew this had to be the end of her at last, but although his hands shook to squeeze the life out of her he could not do it. There was another way, already meticulously worked out. But all along, at the back of his mind, he had hoped never to use it.
Releasing her, he stepped back to throw off his coat. Her fear had always excited him. Now, as she tried to rush past him, he picked her up and threw her onto the bed. Then, as he had done so often before, he jerked her thighs apart and raped her violently. When he had finished he seized her by the arm in a bruising grip and almost hurled her back into her own room.
“Stay there!” he roared, wagging a threatening finger at her.
She would not have had a choice in any case, for he left his own outer door locked, pocketed the key, and went out of her apartment by way of her anteroom, locking that door after him and leaving her a prisoner.
All she wanted to do was to crawl into bed and hide away, but she had to get those papers. There had not been a key in the communicating door since she had once tried to lock Filippo out, an act of defiance whose results she could not bear to recall. Now at least she could reap some good from that time. Terrified that he would return, she listened for several minutes at her anteroom door before summoning up enough courage for what she had to do. She went first to her escritoire and took out a sheaf of writing paper, which she judged to be about the amount in the secret compartment. Her next step was to go back into his room and drag a chair to the cupboard once again.
Her brain felt stultified by fear and her hands shook so much as she substituted her own papers for those in the file that they rustled as though in a wind. Her hope was that Filippo, if he should make another check on the secret compartment, would be as perfunctory as when he had crushed her face against his body. After she had closed everything up once more and replaced the chair, she went back to her bedchamber. There she took from a closet the gown she would wear when it was daylight again. She unpicked part of the dee
p hem and threaded in the papers one by one before she restitched it. Only when she had replaced the gown in the closet was she able to fall into bed at last. Still she did not sleep, too frightened by what she had done. It was another two hours before she heard Filippo’s footsteps returning.
SO FAR MARIETTA had kept her pregnancy secret from all except those she could trust. It had been easy enough with dominos and capes to disguise her figure when out of doors. In the shop she wore over her gown a sleeveless jerkin she had made, which was hung with long diamond-shaped silks that wafted concealingly about her. Daily she wore an eye-mask to pick up one of the brightest colors. With her assistants, including Lucretia, similarly attired, this was considered by customers to be a new attraction and became quite popular. A steady stream of orders came in for similar jerkins of silk for Carnival wear, adding another sideline for the workshop.
But the time was coming when nothing would disguise her condition. If it had not been that the truth might have repercussions for Domenico, putting him back in the Wells, and a possible dismissal for Captain Zeno, she would have wanted to let all of Venice know she was bearing her husband’s child.
“You have no choice,” Adrianna said to her, “but to go away from Venice for the birth. It’s too risky to remain.”
“I don’t like leaving Elizabetta, and it means your taking my place in the shop.”
“Elizabetta will be in my care and you must think of your baby’s safety as well as your own. If you should have a son, there are hot-heads among the Celanos who would want to get rid of him.”
Marietta shivered. “Don’t say that.”
“It has to be said. A male heir for Domenico means a vengeful Torrisi to the Celanos.”
Marietta bowed to the inevitable. She let it be known that she was taking a long overdue vacation and going to visit an old friend in the country. On the advice Domenico had given her during their night together, she also drew up a statement giving the date and year and the circumstances in which conception had taken place. The next time Captain Zeno called for the latest report on his child’s progress, Marietta asked him to read the statement and sign it.
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