Cross My Heart (19 page)

At last I know who’s behind Beatrice’s death—and I’ve lost her.

A
s I walk home, I stumble across a tiny piazza that I’ve never seen before. It’s empty. The shutters of the buildings that loom on each side are closed, and an unexpected silence helps me to calm my beating heart. I sit in the middle, on a bench of stone, and try to stop the world from swimming in front of me. Small streets lead away in many directions. Shadows fall. Footsteps echo. I watch the raindrops cling to my mother’s sodden dress.

I’m sick at heart. The Segreta tried to make me feel grateful and obliged for their banishing Vincenzo. Raffaello is dead because of the powers that are controlling me—the same powers, I’m sure, that killed my sister. I’m glad that I haven’t followed Allegreza’s orders and recruited someone for the Society now. I refuse to lure some poor trusting soul the same way I’ve been ensnared.

I’m sick too of being dressed up and primped and powdered, to attract some rich man who’ll solve my father’s financial woes. And to add to all of this, Giacomo’s
betrayal … How could he keep such a secret from me? Even when I held the proof in my hands, still he showed no shame.

His words seemed like magic things to me. I could nearly taste them, like sips of wine. But they were lies, masquerading in the honeyed lilt of the boy I thought I might be falling for.

Oh, Beatrice
, I think.
Did he treat you like this too?

Annalena once said that we have more power than we know, inside our own hearts. I wonder if she’s right. I need such power now.

It’s nearly dark when I get home. Giacomo and the half-finished canvas have gone. I’ll be happy never to set eyes on him again. I dash up into my room, leaving a damp snail’s trail across the marble floor, and peel off my sodden clothes. I rub my hair dry and dab myself with perfume to disguise the musky smell of Venetian rain that seems to seep from every pore.

Faustina is at the door. “Thanks be to God,” she says. “Laura, you promised you wouldn’t disappear like this! I was sure we would have to search the streets for you. The painter almost convinced me to start, but …” She wrings her hands. “Oh, Laura, where did you go? And your dress!”

“I just needed to be on my own, that’s all.”

She takes my hands. “Darling, you’re freezing.” She takes a woolen shawl and puts it round my shoulders. “Carina sent a message,” she adds. “She asked if she might call here tomorrow afternoon. I told her of course.”

I plead a cold to avoid dinner with my father. There’s much I have to tell him, about Beatrice and Allegreza, but I need to steel myself for the conversation first. I only hope
I can make him understand what the women of the Segreta are capable of. Each time I think of my confession, I hear Allegreza’s low tones.
Breathe one word of the Segreta to anyone—and your life will be forfeit
. Each time I close my eyes, I see the masks crowding around.

Sleep comes more easily than I expect, and I doze well into the morning. My head is clear. I’ll talk with my father now. He won’t be able to ignore what I tell him about Beatrice’s final hours. And if I stay within these walls, no one, not even the Segreta, can touch me.

Faustina hears me stirring and comes to help me dress.

“I wish I could sleep as you do,” she says, tugging my green gown over my shoulders. “But alas, I barely manage a fitful slumber.”

I remember her snores while Giacomo was painting, and would smile if it weren’t for the memory of what followed.

I ask her my father’s whereabouts and she says he’s in his library.

“Come with me,” I say. “We need to talk to him.”

“What do you mean, child?” she asks, trailing in my wake.

I don’t answer; she could barely bring herself to describe Beatrice’s death to me, and I don’t want her to run away. If she’s present when I lay out the story before my father, I can appeal for her corroboration. I try to formulate my words.
Father, Beatrice was murdered
. Or,
Father, I must tell you a dreadful thing. Sit down
.

I knock and my father calls me inside. He’s already sitting in the ancient leather chair where my mother used to read me stories. Faustina wrings her hands beside me, as
though she’s sensed that some extra duty will shortly befall her.

“Father—” I begin.

A cough by the window catches me. A woman stands there, her silver-streaked hair reflecting the morning light.

Allegreza.

“Ah, here she is,” chuckles my father. “Just the person we wanted to talk to.”

I bow my head a little and make a cautious curtsy in Allegreza’s direction. What’s she doing here? Has she heard already about my pursuit of Bella Donna through the rain-soaked square?

“How nice to see you, Signora,” I say politely, though I wonder if she hears the wariness in my voice.

“Likewise.” Allegreza smiles. “There is a recital this afternoon, in honor of Nicolo and Paulina’s impending marriage. I was just asking your father if you’d like to accompany me to it. I have seen that you and Paulina are close friends.”

My father darts me one of his expectant glances. I think quickly.

“You’re very kind to think of me, but I’m afraid I’m expecting a visitor this afternoon—Carina. I haven’t seen her since her husband’s death. I don’t want to be out when she calls.”

My father sits up in his chair. “Nonsense, Laura. This recital starts in an hour. You’ll be back in plenty of time.” He turns to Allegreza. “Won’t she?”

“It’s up to her whether she wants to come or not. I wouldn’t like to
compel
anyone,” Allegreza replies. The line of her jaw tightens.

“Well.” My father speaks with a heavy, deliberate tone. “I know that my daughter shares my view that attending such a wonderful event would be a privilege. Isn’t that right, Laura?”

I see Faustina shoot me a troubled glance; she senses my reluctance. But the combined force is too much.
Calma
, I tell myself.
Bide your time. Don’t give yourself away
. “Yes, of course, Father. How silly of me. I would be pleased to join you, Signora di Rocco.”

I thought the sun was going to come out, but when we leave my father’s house great swathes of cloud lurk in the sky. Allegreza holds out her arm and reluctantly I slip my hand inside it.

“Where is the recital taking place?” I ask.

“Wait and see.”

We walk together in silence, snaking through the city along corridors of stone. I wish I had requested that Faustina or Bianca join us, but I expect Allegreza would’ve had a clever answer to that too. At each corner, my skin prickles with fear as I imagine Bella Donna leaping towards me. I try to think rationally. Surely Allegreza would not have come to collect me in person from my father if she intended that I never return?

We turn down a grubby alley and reach a cracked and stained wooden doorway. Allegreza takes out a key and turns it in the lock.

“There isn’t a recital for Paulina and Nicolo, is there?” I say.

“Not quite.” She smiles.

“Then where are you taking me?” I start to back away.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” she says, catching my arm. “I’m sorry for the deceit. It was to keep your father from suspecting anything.”

She opens the door and ushers me in, then closes it behind us and locks it again. At our feet, steep stone steps lead down. Allegreza has to stoop to avoid the low ceiling. Moss and strange little white stalactites hang from above, as if we are in a cave, and the smell of damp hangs in the air. I pause at the base of the stairs.

“Come, come. You’re one of us, Laura. There’s no need to be afraid.”

A few candles cast a dim glow ahead, and the space opens out into a large cellar lined with old racks and bottles. Six or seven of the Segreta wait in their expressionless masks. I haven’t brought mine, and for a moment I feel so exposed I might as well be naked. I recognize Grazia in her black cat mask.
I know
your
secret
, I think, fighting back the temptation to denounce her then and there; to tell her that I saw her in the cathedral yesterday. But the door is locked behind me. Reveal her secret now and it would blossom and die unseen. In all likelihood, I would die with it. I swallow thickly.

“What will happen when my father finds out there has been no recital?” I whisper to Allegreza.

“He won’t find out.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because nobody will tell him.” She says it as if it’s a steadfast fact. She puts on her owl mask and her eyes fix on mine, as if daring me to challenge her.

One of the dark figures brushes my shoulder. It’s the woman in the fox mask.

“Hello, Laura,” she says, and hands me a mask decorated with peacock’s feathers. As soon as I put it on, I feel strangely safer.

“Welcome, sisters, to this special meeting,” announces Allegreza.

I wonder if I’m the first item on the agenda. Will there be retribution for my attack on Bella Donna? Will they want to know why I haven’t secured a new member?

But then I realize that they consider me part of the crowd—no more a focus of attention than anyone else.

“I would like you all to meet someone. Maria!” Allegreza beckons with her long fingers. “Please bring our new guest forward.”

One of the masked women opens a door to an antechamber. She leads out a girl dressed in golden satin, a black band tied about her eyes. My throat is dry.

It’s Paulina.

Maria takes off the blindfold. Paulina trembles, staring around the room. “What do you want from me?”

Paulina, fiancée to the Doge’s son—a perfect recruit for the Segreta. Did they tire of waiting for me to deliver her? I wish I could tear off my mask and run to her and take her away from here. But if I stay hidden I may be better able to protect her.

Allegreza explains the rules of the Society in solemn detail, just as she did to me. Paulina nods. She tells everyone she has a secret, and there’s that unsettling swollen silence that I’ve heard before.

Paulina stands firm, looking around. “What I have to tell you is that there’s another secret society. A society that Count Raffaello established.”

Some of the women bless themselves at the sound of the dead man’s name.

Paulina’s voice grows more confident as she continues. “Raffaello was the founder of a gambling society. He’s been gaining members throughout Venice and beyond, stirring people up to get involved. He sat at tables during which great fortunes were won and lost. Every day the stakes grow higher and higher.”

Horrified, I remember my father’s argument with Raffaello that day while Carina and I sat in the courtyard. I think of my mother’s missing jewels, the blank spaces where pictures used to hang.

“He was playing a very dangerous game,” she continues. “Most people who knew what he was up to are surprised it took this long for him to meet his end.”

I knew it. Raffaello was murdered.

Paulina is ushered back into the antechamber. We huddle together to deliberate on the value of her secret while she waits.

“How much value is this to us really?” one woman says. “The dogs on the streets know that Raffaello’s death was not an accident. Everyone knows that someone killed him, poisoned him probably.”

Can she really not see the truth before her eyes—that the killers stand among us now? For the first time, I wonder if there are secrets even within the Society. Depths of shadow. Or is this all an act for my benefit? Perhaps I’m the
only
one here being kept in the dark, and behind these masks the women are laughing.

“True,” Allegreza replies, “but the real point is the information about the gambling club. That’s something that is
valuable for us to know. She may be able to tell us more. Who the other members are, perhaps.”

My father among them
, I think. Despite everything, I can’t bear to think of him brought to public shame.

“I propose we vote to accept her into the Society,” Allegreza concludes. “All those in favor, say yes.”

A flurry of yeses bounces around the walls.

“All those against, say no.”

There’s silence. No one would heed my lone dissenting voice, so I say nothing—La Muta.

“Our decision is made,” announces Allegreza.

We move apart. Silk and feather swish past wood and stone, and Paulina is summoned.

She stands tall and expectant in the middle of the room, and the ritual of welcome is conducted. Allegreza takes her hand and scores the palm with the tip of her knife. We watch as a line of blood appears. Paulina is serene, still, smiling. Does she have any idea what she’s getting herself into?

Grazia gives her a glorious dark purple mask shaped like a blowsy flower, the eyeholes edged with turquoise stones. “And now, Paulina, is there anything we can do for you?”

Paulina’s smile becomes a little coy. “There is a girl …,” she begins. She speaks of the young woman we met that day by the street performers, the one who sniggered behind her fan. A daughter of the man Paulina’s uncle worked for, I remember. Paulina says hesitantly that she wants this girl—Perlita is her name—to suffer an embarrassment, in public. It’s a petty, malicious desire, and though the masks prevent me from seeing the reactions on the other women’s
faces, I’m not surprised when Allegreza shakes her head. “Such a thing is not becoming,” she says. “We behave according to a code of honor.”