Masquerade (17 page)

‘If anyone asks where I am . . .’

‘I’ll say you are sick in bed and do not want to be disturbed,’ Orelia finished. With a satisfied nod, Angelique watched Orelia cross the room and stand by the window, gazing through the sparkling glass that Angelique insisted Anna clean daily. There was nothing that made Angelique feel brighter than looking down upon the world through impossibly clear glass.

Orelia turned away from the window and walked over to the fireplace.

‘Sit down,’ said Angelique, pulling a white silk hood over her head to hide any trace of her blonde hair. ‘You’re making me nervous with your pacing. Everything will be fine.’

Orelia flopped onto the chaise lounge.

On top of the hood, Angelique placed a white tricorne hat with a plume of feathers. Then she picked up a gold columbina mask that had a ruffle of gold lace affixed to the bottom to hide her nose and mouth. ‘I look so unattractive,’ she said, stamping her feet. ‘How is Bastian supposed to fall in love with me while I look like this?’

‘Isn’t that what the love potion is for?’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Angelique, turning her head to the side. ‘At least, I’m well disguised. He will not have the faintest idea that I’m not you.’

‘Still, I think you should change the colour of your gown. The blue brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘You don’t know a lot about men, do you? He won’t be looking at my eyes,’ said Angelique, pushing her chest out in a comical manner, making Orelia laugh.

‘Are you sure he’ll come? He may not be as interested in seeing me as you think. And we only sent him the note this morning. I don’t want you to be waiting for nothing.’

They had sent Orelia’s note to Bastian after breakfast. The messenger had not returned with a confirmation, but this did not worry Angelique. If she were a man, she would not reply either. Love was as much a game as chess.

Orelia had been reluctant to write the note in her own hand. In fact, it had taken Angelique many days to get Orelia to agree to it. Angelique could not see what the problem was. In a city of masks, deception was normal, if not expected. But she supposed that Orelia had not been here long enough to know that.

‘He’ll come,’ said Angelique. ‘Now, wish me luck.’

‘You’re leaving already? It’s only eleven o’clock.’

‘I want to make sure I arrive before Bastian. That way, I can buy him a coffee and slip the love potion into it before he even arrives.’

‘What if he prefers hot chocolate or it goes cold before he arrives and he will not drink it?’

‘I didn’t think about that. What a tragedy that would be,’ said Angelique with a pout. ‘How do you suggest I get him to drink the potion?’

Orelia shrugged and looked away. ‘Maybe you could create a distraction and slip it into his drink then?’

‘That’s a perfect idea. You’re much better at this than I thought,’ said Angelique with a smile hidden by her mask.

Angelique navigated her way down the loggia of the Bibiotecca Marciana to avoid walking across the Piazzetta because of the recent aqua alta. The water had risen, flooding some areas, and most of the paving stones in the Piazzetta had been left covered in a sheet of mud, which had no place on the bottom of her gown.

She looked back at il Molo where Angelo had promised to wait with the gondola. He had also promised not to tell her father about her unchaperoned trip to the coffee shop, an offence that could get him fired. Angelique knew she didn’t deserve his kindness and made a mental note to reward him later.

When Angelique turned the corner, Caffé Florian came into view, and as she approached she spotted Bastian seated at a table in the shadow of the campanile, just as Orelia’s note had requested. He was so handsome, Angelique thought she would swoon right there among the perfume sellers and water criers.

By the time she reached his table, her heart was racing, even though she had not walked very far at all. Bastian already had a cup of hot chocolate sitting in front of him. Lucky Angelique hadn’t arrived earlier and ordered him coffee with a dash of love potion as she had originally planned. A wisp of steam curled over the top of Bastian’s cup, which he was studying intently.

‘I didn’t know if you’d come,’ she said to alert him to her presence.

Bastian looked up at her and smiled. ‘Orelia?’

Angelique nodded and sat down.

‘I was surprised to receive your invitation; I thought you never wanted to see me again.’

‘Oh . . . I had a change of heart,’ she said, looking around for a waiter. ‘I think I’ll order a hot chocolate. I can never drink enough of it.’

‘I am pleased with your change of heart, please don’t mistake me, but I am confused. You had made your feelings very clear on Sunday night. What has changed?’

Angelique raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. Sunday night? On Sunday night, the family had shared a quiet dinner with an architect and his wife, and then spent the rest of the evening playing cards before retiring. Angelique noticed Bastian looking at her, waiting for a response.

‘Let’s just say, I’m a different person today,’ she answered, with a forced laugh.

The waiter arrived with a hot chocolate. ‘I hadn’t ordered yet, had I?’ said Angelique, looking from Bastian to the waiter.

Bastian nodded at the waiter, indicating for him to put the drink down. ‘I went ahead and ordered for you.’

‘Grazie,’ said Angelique, feeling suddenly parched. She brought the cup to her lips and took a mouthful. Instead of the pleasant sensation she anticipated, the hot liquid scorched her tongue. She swallowed quickly, and waved her hand in front of her open mouth.

Bastian looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right?’

Unable to offer a response, Angelique nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said at last.

‘Why are you wearing that mask?’ asked Bastian. ‘Take it off so I can see your face.’

‘I can’t,’ blurted Angelique. ‘I mean, I’m not supposed to be here with you. If anyone sees me . . .’

‘Would you like to go somewhere more private where you can take it off? The mask, I mean.’

Angelique blushed. Those were the exact words she had been wanting to hear Bastian say. But then it hit her like the bitter smell of coffee that filled the air of the caffé that he was speaking to Orelia, not her. Angelique could not understand why Bastian had never paid her much attention. Even on her worst days, she was more beautiful than half the women whose necks he had kissed.

Beneath the table, Angelique’s hand reached into the layers of her skirt. For a moment, panic surged through her body before her fingers found the small vial in her pocket that would change everything. She withdrew the potion. Her fingers removed the glass stopper from the vial and let it rest in her lap.

‘Shall we be going? I have the key to a small casini not far away,’ said Bastian, interrupting her thoughts.

‘No!’ said Angelique, almost dropping her teacup. ‘I’m expected back soon.’

‘So, what is this about? Did you ask me here just to tease me?’ asked Bastian, regarding Angelique with narrow eyes.

He was ready to move on, whether or not it was with her; Angelique could feel it. She had to create a distraction. She looked around for something, anything. Creating a distraction had sounded easy when Orelia had suggested it.

She looked down into her hot chocolate and realised that the answer was staring at her. She picked up the cup, took a quick sip and placed it back down near the edge of the table. ‘No, it’s not that at all. It was selfish of me to call you here, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ Angelique pressed her hand to her heart, unsure if she was talking as Orelia or herself.

‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,’ said Bastian, reaching his arm across the table with the palm of his hand facing up.

Angelique couldn’t help but smile at how easy he was making it for her. She reached to him and with her elbow knocked her teacup off the edge of the table. ‘Oh my,’ she cried, just as it smashed to the ground.

Bastian’s eyes went straight to the spot where the rich brown puddle was spreading.

Quickly, Angelique leaned across the table and tipped the contents of the vial into his cup. She watched the amber-coloured liquid disappear seamlessly into the coffee. It was so hypnotising that Angelique almost didn’t notice the waiter who had arrived and was cleaning up the mess. ‘Mi dispiace,’ she said to him.

‘Do you want another one? Or the rest of mine?’ offered Bastian.

‘That’s so kind of you, but no, I’m fine,’ said Angelique, finding a new sense of calm. ‘You should finish it before it goes cold.’

Setting her eyes upon his, Angelique did not look away until Bastian obediently lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. Not the entire contents, noted Angelique, but probably enough.

There seemed to be no immediate change in him. He certainly didn’t leap across the table to ravage her. Angelique reminded herself of what the witch had told her on the second visit. It could take a few hours or even days for the potion to take effect.

‘I have to be leaving now, but can I see you tonight?’ asked Angelique.

Bastian stood up, his chair making a grating sound as it scraped across the ground. ‘I’ll be at the Ridotto tonight,’ he said, swallowing the rest of his coffee in one mouthful. ‘Come with your hair out. It looked amazing the last time I saw you.’

Angelique’s heart sank.

The dining table at Ca’ D’Este was often said by guests to be the longest of its kind in all of Serenissima. When Claudia and Marco were children, they had often pretended that the table was a ship and they were rival pirates. In fact, all these years later not much had changed. The dining table was still the stage for fierce battles.

Signora D’Este picked up her glass of wine, glaring over the rim of it at Claudia. ‘How many opportunities have I provided for you to win Bastian’s interest? And still he has not once called upon you? What did I do to deserve such an ungrateful daughter?’

Claudia drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she spoke calmly. ‘Have you ever considered that the reason Bastian hasn’t called upon me is that he is calling upon someone else?’

‘Bastian pursues every woman, which is the same as pursuing no woman.’

‘He has been seen with the same woman on at least three occasions,’ said Claudia. ‘That is not normal behaviour for Bastian. He must be serious about this one.’

‘Who is she?’ demanded her mother.

Claudia hesitated and dropped her fork. It hit the edge of her plate with a loud clink. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. It was not often she lied to her mother, unless that included sneaking off to see Filippo. Claudia waited for her mother to see through her answer.

‘I know who she is,’ said Marco.

Claudia looked across the table at him. There was something in his voice that suggested he had been waiting for this moment.

‘Her name is Orelia Rossetti,’ continued Marco.

‘The red-haired girl he danced with at
my
ball? The girl everyone seems to be talking about?’

Marco nodded, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying this more than he was enjoying their feast of roast goose with apple and chestnuts.

‘What do we know about her?’

‘Very little. She only arrived in Venice at the beginning of this season from Rome and she’s an orphan. She lives with her godfather, Signor Contarini.’

Claudia watched her mother closely. A distant look came over her unsmiling face, as if she were trying to make a connection, but couldn’t quite sink her long nails into it. A moment later, her gaze returned to normal. ‘If she’s not Venetian, her family name certainly isn’t in the Golden Book. He can’t marry her.’

Just like he can’t marry me, Claudia wanted to add, but she had said it all before. Her mother was certain she would get their name admitted into the Golden Book by one means or another.

‘Since when does Bastian do things the conventional way?’ said Marco. ‘I heard him talking about a clandestine marriage. He knows a willing priest. I may even be their witness.’

‘Over my dead body,’ said their mother, gripping the knife so firmly her knuckles turned white.

‘What do you propose to do about it?’ asked Marco.

Claudia pushed her plate away, her appetite completely gone. She looked between her mother and brother. She would have preferred pirates any day to her mother and brother scheming together.

‘What else do we know about Orelia?’ asked their mother, ignoring Claudia.

‘Not much. She’s a private person,’ answered Marco.

‘That means she’s hiding something,’ she said with a smile. Claudia felt herself shudder. Her mother was most frightening when she smiled.

‘Do you know where Bastian will be tonight?’

Marco leaned back in his chair, his normally flat stomach bulging. ‘The Ridotto,’ he answered.

‘Perfect,’ said their mother. ‘Then that’s where we shall be. Let’s hope Orelia is there too.’

Claudia waited until after dinner before stopping Marco in the portego. He had changed into a red waistcoat and wore a bauta mask. He tried to step around Claudia, but she blocked his path.

He lifted the mask and let it rest on his forehead. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want to know why are you helping mother plot against Bastian? I thought he was your friend,’ she whispered.

Orange light from the candles in mirror-backed sconces played across Marco’s angular face. ‘He is my friend, but it’s in my interest that he does not succeed in winning Orelia.’

‘Why?’

‘You have no ambition. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘What you’re doing is wrong.’

Marco leaned in close so Claudia could feel his wine-soaked breath. ‘As wrong as having an affair with a gondolier? One word from me and it’s all over. Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.’

Claudia stood in the portego long after her brother had left, gripped by fear. How did Marco know? How long had he known? God, she had thought she had been so careful. If her mother ever found out about her relationship with Filippo, Claudia would never see him again. Tears filled her eyes. That was too much to comprehend.

Drying her wet cheeks, Claudia tried to calm herself. Marco would not tell her mother, not while he could hold the secret against her. Her brother had nothing to gain by seeing her heart broken and their gondolier dismissed. And surely some part of him cared about her. They had been so close as children.

Still cold and shaken, Claudia forced herself to take a few steps. All she wished to do was run to Filippo’s arms, but she had already been too careless in her meetings with him. She would have to wait until she returned from the Ridotto and everyone was asleep. But then, what would she say to him?

Without realising it, Claudia had come to the staircase. She knew she should be getting ready for the Ridotto, only to maintain the charade of her mother’s good daughter, but there was one person she had to see first. She took the staircase to the mezzanine level that housed the offices and archive rooms, once her father’s proud domain. But when he had fallen ill a year earlier, her mother had a bedroom set up for him on this level ‘because the rooms are more easily heated’, or at least that was the reason she had given. Claudia knew there was much more to it.

She could hear that her father was awake before she entered his bedroom. She opened the door to the sound of his coughing. The drapes were drawn, keeping the last rays of sunlight out of the room. Even in the near darkness, Claudia saw her father smile when he laid eyes on her. She ran to his bed and threw her arms around him.

‘What’s wrong, mi cara?’ he said, each word strained.

Claudia sat up and shook her head. ‘Nothing. How do you feel?’ She looked at her father’s hollow cheeks and pale skin.

‘Like a boy of eighteen.’

Claudia found this answer unsettling, rather than comforting. Her father joked when things were really bad. She felt her throat constrict and squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from coming. ‘I don’t want you to die.’

Her father laid a cold hand on hers. ‘Don’t worry. Your mother won’t let me die. Widows end up in convents with only their dowry to provide for them. No, your mother needs me alive, though at times I wish she didn’t.’

He began to cough violently. Claudia watched on helplessly.

‘Promise me something,’ he said when the coughing had passed.

‘Anything.’

‘If you ever find love, don’t let it go.’

Claudia nodded, unable to find words to reply.

‘And spit in your mother’s soup for me.’ Her father half laughed, half choked.