Masquerade (27 page)

‘It’s time I finished the story about Belle and her sister,’ said Anna, kneeling beside her bed. She pulled a woollen blanket over her legs. The room was dark because Anna did not want to light a candle and alert Maria to the fact that she was awake so early. She had spent the past few hours at her window searching the stars for another answer to her problem until morning had came and, with it, the day of her meeting with Signor Canterello. By then it was clear to Anna that the only answer was Emilia.

Her sister opened her eyes lazily. ‘I already know how the story ends.’

Anna hid her surprise. ‘How does it end?’

‘Belle does not accept the witch’s offer. She is too kind to hurt the princess, no matter what her reasons may be.’

Anna felt like wax had hardened in her throat. What had she done? The room suddenly seemed incredibly dark, a darkness that came from inside her. Closing her eyes, Anna promised that when her sister was better, she would right the wrong she had done to Orelia. She would not stop until every last mark of the dark deed was erased. Emilia could never know the horrible act she had committed. If Emilia didn’t believe there was some good in her, there was no hope.

‘You’re right. Belle does not accept the witch’s offer,’ said Anna, eventually. As the words left her lips, she heard how false they sounded. ‘The next morning, she ventures into the forest and there she finds her sister . . . They go back to the castle and together they dance for the king. He is so mesmerised by the two beautiful dancers, mirrors of each other, that he welcomes them back into the castle as royal dancers . . . So by working together, Belle and her sister saved each other.’

Emilia managed a weak smile.

Anna reached up and took her sister’s hand. ‘We need to work together now to save each other. Do you remember how I promised to help you get better? I visited a Jewish doctor who claims to know of a medicine that will cure you. The only problem is that the medicine is very expensive. I didn’t tell you sooner because I did not have enough money to pay for it, but now I’ve found a way. Only, I need to leave the palazzo at midday. Maria won’t let me leave again so I need you to take my place downstairs, pretend that you are me, just for a few hours. Please, I need your help, so I can help you.’

Emilia’s face was blank. She gave no sign she had even heard Anna’s speech.

‘We need to get you better or else you will soon be discovered. Maria came very close the other day. It’s only a matter of time and when that time comes, we’ll both be out on the calle. This is the only way.’

With her head still resting on her pillow, Emilia gave the slightest nod. Then she began to sit up, rising inch by inch.

Anna stared at her sister with a disbelieving smile. Her eyes began to fill with tears.

‘Control yourself, please,’ said Emilia with annoyance.

Anna laughed so hard her chest hurt.

‘My meeting is not until midday, but my duties start at the sound of the Marangona bell. I will have to send you downstairs then, as it might be too difficult to swap places later. You will report to Maria. There are some things you should know about her. She is as cold as a nun’s bed. She does not like questions. She does not tolerate slowness.’

Half an hour later, Anna had finished preparing and dressing Emilia. She stood back and looked at her sister. Colour had already begun to return to Emilia’s cheeks. For the first time in a long time, it was like looking into a mirror.

All around the city the Marangona bell rang.

Anna had dressed in her best dress, a lilac affair adorned with ribbons and bows that she had been given by Angelique when she had deemed it too frilly.

She sang softly as she walked down the calle, warming up her voice. She wondered if Signor Canterello would ask her to sing a particular song or one of her choosing. What if he chose a song she didn’t know? Most of the songs she knew were her own creation borrowed from the title of an opera or songs from a distant childhood sung by someone she had little recollection of.

Anna crossed the Ponte di Rialto into San Polo. She walked quickly, hurrying past shoppers. She had left Ca’ Contarini at eleven o’clock, but she had lost track of how long she had been walking for. She decided to stop and ask for directions, instead of walking around in circles for hours as happened to even the most street-wise Venetian. ‘
Scusi
Signor,’ she said to a man pushing a cart of freshly printed books. ‘Can you please direct me to Calle del L’Agnello?’

The man gave her a strange look. ‘Are you sure that’s where you want to go, Signorina?’

Beginning to feel uncertain, Anna nodded. She listened to the man’s instructions, thanked him and hurried off. She made her way through a part of San Polo she had not visited before. Her trips to this neighbourhood had never extended beyond Campo Rialto Novo and the Erbaria to purchase food for the palazzo’s kitchen when last-minute items were required. She knew of the area beyond markets, of course, which was made famous for the common prostitutes who worked there. Surely, the theatre owner’s casa was in a more reputable part of San Polo.

As Anna continued on, following the bookseller’s instructions precisely, her certainty began to diminish. In fact, by the time she reached the infamous Ponte della Tette, she was ready to turn back. But there at the bottom of the ponte was Calle del L’Agnello. Anna decided that she’d come this far, she might as well see it through.

She walked slowly down the narrow calle. Her heart hammered in her chest, as she looked at the names on the doors she passed. This couldn’t be the place. She must have heard the Signora incorrectly. And then, right before the end of the calle, she saw a sign on a door that read: Canterello.

The wall of the ground floor was bricked, while the floors above were covered in red plaster. Window frames that rose to peeks dotted the facade. It was a nice casa in comparison to its neighbours. Suddenly, it’s location made sense to Anna. Signor Canterello must be one of those men who enjoyed the company of cheap women, so much so, that they worked next door. It revolted Anna, but it didn’t make him any less valuable to her.

Anna lifted the elaborate doorknocker and waited. When the door opened, she found herself facing a woman encased in red silk with gold embroidery. A ruby necklace sat high around her neck. Her breasts were covered, only just.

The woman smiled at Anna. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Signor Canterello.’

‘I am Signorina Canterello. There is no Signor Canterello. Are you after employment?’

Anna felt all the air rush out of her. ‘Are you the owner of Teatro di San Cassiano?’

Signorina Canterello laughed and lifted one of Anna’s arms. ‘You’re very thin, but you have a pretty face. Are you a virgin?’

Wrenching her arm back, Anna turned and ran. Tears streamed down her face. Signora D’Este had deceived her. Worse still, Anna had been taken for the fool she was. She should have known the moment she crossed the Ponte della Tette that this was not the neighbourhood a theatre owner would occupy. Her foolishness went far beyond that; she should never have trusted Signora D’Este. She should never have betrayed Orelia.

This was her punishment.

Anna kept running. She could hardly see where she was going through the curtain of tears. Suddenly, she slipped on the wet stones. She fell forward into a muddy puddle, and cried out in pain and frustration. She considered never getting up, but then she remembered Emilia back at palazzo. Her sister was probably tired and afraid, if not thrown out on the calle as the imposter she was.

Using every ounce of effort, Anna picked herself up but soon realised that she could not put weight on her left ankle. She looked down at her dress. It was muddy and torn. Completely ruined.

It was a long, slow walk home, limping the entire way. By the time she found herself outside the palazzo’s land entrance, the sun was dropping out of the sky. She climbed the grand staircase to the piano nobile, one painful step at a time. No one saw her come up the stairs or cross the portego. It was that time of day when the Signorinas would be getting ready for their night out and the servants were busy preparing dinner.

She wondered where Emilia was. She could not hear Maria shouting, which was a relief. But then, maybe her worst fears had come true.

Her heart beat rapidly as she crept towards the stairs. Before she could look for Emilia, she had to get up to her room and change out of her torn, muddy dress. If by some miracle, Emilia had pulled the charade off, it would all be ruined if Anna were to be seen like this.

As Anna made her way through the portego to the servants’ staircase, she heard a laugh come from Angelique’s bedroom. Although unheard for a very long time, it sounded like Emilia’s laugh. Anna stopped outside the room and pressed her body up against the wall. Voices floated through the door, which was slightly ajar.

‘I love it!’ cried Angelique. ‘When did you become so good at arranging hair? Can you please fetch Orelia? She has to see it!’

Anna heard footsteps coming her way and then Emilia stepped out of the Angelique’s bedroom. The two sisters stood face to face in the portego. Emilia took Anna’s hand and smiled, her eyes bright.

In that one enchanted smile, Anna knew that her sister could recover from whatever it was she had suffered from. The Jewish doctor had been right; Emilia’s condition could cure itself. Perhaps pretending to be someone else for a short time had been just what she needed.

Maybe this didn’t have to be the last time her sister took her place. Perhaps this wasn’t the end of Anna’s dreams for a different life, but rather the beginning.

Light burst into Veronica’s bedroom like fireworks. She cursed and rolled away from the window, pulling the blanket over her head. During the last few days, she had come to learn the advantages of not getting out of bed.

‘Time to rise,’ sung Angelique as she swept aside the long curtains, letting the offending light into the room.

‘Go away,’ muttered Veronica.

‘It’s time to get up. I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Cheerfulness oozed out of Angelique. It made Veronica feel sick.

‘I thought you wanted me dead? Luca has no interest in marrying me, so you can’t marry Bastian.’

Angelique waved her hand, as if she were dismissing the idea of increasing the height of heels. ‘I gave the ring back. I won’t be marrying Bastian.’

Veronica sat up abruptly. ‘Why?’

‘It didn’t feel right. Something was missing,’ said Angelique, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

‘You mean that love was missing from the love potion?’

Angelique’s mouth fell open. ‘You knew?’

Veronica nodded.

‘Why didn’t you stop me? I thought you disapproved of love potions.’

‘I do. I didn’t stop you because I didn’t think it would work . . . I’m making quite a habit of being wrong about things.’

‘I hate to admit it, but you were right. I never should have used it. Look what I had to do to my poor hair to release Bastian from the spell.’ Angelique reached behind her neck and pulled out a handful of hair only a few inches long.

‘The witch said to burn a
few
strands of hair and send it to him, but I didn’t want to take any chances.’

Veronica laughed. ‘That will teach you to meddle with love.’

‘What about your love affairs? What are you going to do about Luca? I know you love him.’

‘I will do nothing. I will simply continue my present course,’ she replied, pulling the bed sheet up to her chin.

‘The Veronica I know would not hide.’

Veronica picked up a pillow and threw it at Angelique. ‘When did you become the wise sister?’

Angelique caught the pillow. ‘Do you want to know another pearl of wisdom? I know just what you need.’ She waved her arm in the direction of the windows where a triangular easel was set up with a fresh sheet of canvas. Paints and brushes sat on a low table beside it.

‘Where did all this come from?’ cried Veronica, jumping out of bed. She ran to the easel and began picking up brushes and equipment excitedly.

‘I found it all downstairs in storage,’ answered Angelique. ‘I remembered how much you used to love painting. You used to paint such wonderful landscapes and then you just stopped. I thought you might enjoy it again. If you’re going to hide in your room, at least you can do something productive.’

Veronica laughed and pulled her sister into a hug, twirling around. ‘Grazie, grazie.’

‘You were willing to marry someone just to make me happy,’ said Angelique with glistening eyes. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

A whole day of painting and this was the result! Veronica slammed the paintbrush down. She could paint someone else’s secret so easily, but to paint her own feelings was something entirely different – and impossible.

Every time she lifted the paintbrush to the canvas, her idea changed. She had begun by painting the sitting room of their palazzo, then changed her mind and had tried to make it more like the sitting room of Luca’s palazzo and now it looked like the illegitimate child of the two. It was a pretty painting, but nothing more. It needed something, but what?

Luca didn’t love her, he had made that quite clear, but she was certain she could change that. After all, she had done everything she could to make him
not
love her. She could do the opposite.

With new determination, she picked up a paintbrush and dipped it into the white paint. She fashioned a chessboard on the table in the centre of the painting. Although it was too small to make out individual pieces, it was clear that a game had been begun but was not yet finished. It didn’t scream
I love you
, but instead said:
It’s not over
.

Veronica leaned back and assessed the painting. A smile began to play at the corner of her lips. Now it was more than just a pretty painting.

Before she could deliver it to Ca’ Boccassio, the paint needed time to dry, as much as it could dry in a few hours. Veronica walked over to her bed and lay down. The moment her head rested on the pillow, she closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep.

She didn’t open her eyes again until it was dark and the sound of music awoke her.

Remembering her painting, she got up and inspected it closely. It was dry enough, she concluded. This time she did not put on a cloak or mask, but she did go through her usual process of wrapping the painting. With a fine tip paintbrush, she wrote a message across the brown paper.

Another painting to hang on your wall. May it also help you sleep at night.

Veronica exited the palazzo and not far along was met with Carnevale in full force. The atmosphere was mesmerising. There were musicians, dancers, acrobats and fire jugglers. And she was not even at the Piazza where the real celebrations were.

None of it bothered her. Not the noise. Not the young boys pushing past. Not the lovers in plain sight. She walked all the way to Ca’ Boccassio enjoying the spirit of Carnevale.

When she arrived outside Luca’s palazzo, Veronica raised her hand to the door, but before she could take a hold of the bell chord, the door opened to reveal Luca. He was moving so quickly he almost walked straight into Veronica.

‘Mi dispiace,’ he said, stepping back. He was wearing an unadorned coffee-coloured dress-coat. A white columbina mask rested on his forehead. He smiled at her and raised an eyebrow.

Veronica’s smile vanished. This was not how things had played out in her mind. She was supposed to give the painting to a servant and quickly escape before she could embarrass herself. She tried to hide the incriminating object behind her back, but she was too slow.

‘Is that for me?’ asked Luca, looking at the painting.

‘No,’ snapped Veronica. ‘It’s, it’s . . .’

Luca reached for the painting, but before he took hold of it, he looked to her for permission.

Veronica sighed and nodded. ‘Take it.’

He read the message she had written and he laughed.

‘It’s just an old painting I had sitting around,’ said Veronica, not meeting his eyes.

Luca pulled away the brown paper.

‘You don’t need to unwrap it now!’ cried Veronica with a look of complete devastation.

If Luca heard, he did not acknowledge it. He kept pulling away the paper. He looked at the painting for a long while without saying anything.

‘It’s just a pretty picture,’ muttered Veronica.

Luca looked at her intensely. ‘You’re a very talented artist.’

Veronica felt her throat tighten. She’d poured her heart into that painting and that was all he had to say? She stepped forward, planning to wrestle the painting from his cold fingers if she had to.

‘I’m heading over to the Piazza, would you care to join me?’ asked Luca. ‘I’ve heard there’s a live black rhinoceros there and I would like to see it for myself.’

‘I heard it is a white rhinoceros.’

Luca gently placed the painting inside the andron and stepped forward so that he was close enough to kiss her. ‘You’re probably right.’