Masquerade (29 page)

She had one thought before she gave herself over to him entirely. She would never need a love potion again.

Claudia’s suitcase had been packed in her mind since she was fourteen. Long before she’d even met Filippo, she had dreamt of leaving. Now with her escape so close, she had the awful feeling that something would go wrong.

During a late rendezvous with Filippo last night, Claudia had learnt that he had tracked down the French banker and convinced the man to give him a job as a stablehand. With the help of Francesca, Claudia had managed to find a discrete boatman and had arranged their passage to the mainland. They would be leaving from il Molo at one hour to midnight. Claudia dearly hoped Orelia would take her advice and join them.

Earlier that day, Claudia had gone to say goodbye to her father. She had not intended to reveal that she was leaving, but when he had asked whether she was making good on her promise, Claudia could not help tell him the truth about her and Filippo. Her father had smiled and given his blessing. This had made her cry more, not less. As she had paused in the doorway on her way out, her father had promised that her secret was safe with him, not that she ever questioned that.

All that was left to do now was to unearth her packed suitcase from the bottom of her chest of drawers, wait for the hours to pass and hope that nothing would go wrong. It was nearing eight o’clock when Claudia looked around her room to check if she forgotten anything important. She was surprised to find that she felt not even the slightest sadness to leave the room she had grown up in, with all its luxuries and pretty things and the smell of vanilla that had been as constant as the stars outside her window.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said a voice behind her.

Claudia turned around. She hadn’t heard the door open, but there was her mother, standing only a few metres behind her.

This was exactly what Claudia had wanted to avoid. She searched for a believable response, but found she had no more lies left in her. Besides, her mother could not stop her now, why pretend any longer? ‘I’m leaving,’ she announced, squaring her shoulders.

‘You’re not going anywhere.’

‘No. What are you going to do, mother? The only way you can stop me from leaving is to lock me in this room
forever
.’

‘This is about the gondolier, isn’t it?’ said her mother tiredly.

Claudia was momentarily surprised. ‘Filippo and I are in love.’

‘I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I see no other option than to tell you the truth about him.’

Claudia felt herself walking into a trap, as was often the case with her mother, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘What truth?’

‘He does not love you. He never has. He has . . . other women.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘See for yourself. Look from your balcony. He meets with Francesca this same time every night.’

The certainty in her mother’s voice filled Claudia with dread. She looked over her shoulder at the door onto the balcony. It couldn’t possibly be true.

‘Go on,’ said her mother.

Claudia obeyed, hoping, praying that her mother was wrong. When she emerged onto the balcony, the cold wind whipped against her face and pulled strands of hair from her chignon. She reached the balustrade and looked down at the water entrance below. Standing on the landing dock was Filippo, but he wasn’t alone. Claudia could see the back of a girl with black hair, who could only be Francesca. The two were facing each other talking, as two friends do.

Claudia let out a sigh of relief, feeling foolish for letting her mother get inside her head and most of all, for doubting Filippo. She turned away, not needing to see more, when from the corner of her eye, she saw Francesca step forward. Claudia turned back towards the scene, watching as Francesca wrapped her hands around Filippo’s head and kissed him, long and passionately.

Before Claudia could watch any more, a hand gripped her arm and pulled her away from the balcony. ‘I wish you did not have to see that.’

Tears filled Claudia’s eyes, as if they could erase what she had seen. Her mother led her over to the bed and pushed her down with a firm hand. All strength left Claudia’s body and she curled into a ball. Her body shook as she cried.

Her mother patted her head twice. ‘There, there.’

‘It can’t be,’ whispered Claudia. ‘He said he loved me. He said we would leave Venice together.’

‘He told you what you wanted to hear. He was never going to leave with you. The best thing you can do now is marry Bastian Donato. Forget the gondolier.’

Sitting up, Claudia looked through the window at the balcony. ‘I can’t forget,’ she said in a far-off voice.

Her mother slapped Claudia across the face. ‘Open your eyes. No daughter of mine will mourn a gondolier. You will marry Bastian.’ She took her exit, leaving Claudia sitting on the bed, one side of her face hot and red.

For the next few hours, Claudia lay there. Outside her window, the last night of Carnevale was in full spirit, but inside her bedroom there was just Claudia and her despair. She had seen what she had seen, and still her mind turned over and over trying to find an explanation, trying to prove her eyes wrong.

But it was hopeless. There was no explanation. The more she thought about it, the more she realised how many signs she had ignored. Filippo and Francesca spending so much time together. Francesca often returning from downstairs quite flushed. And then there was the time that Filippo had accidentally called Claudia by her maid’s name.

God, how had she been so blind?

All Claudia wanted to do was sleep forever, but the pain would not let her drift off. She stared straight ahead at a shaft of moonlight that shone through her window and landed on her dressing table. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, not taking her eyes off the silvery beam.

She stood up and walked across her bedroom. Her footsteps were light. She opened the drawer and reached her hand to the back, feeling around until her fingers found a small glass vial. It was cold beneath her fingers. She held the vial up in the moonlight. The dark liquid shimmered.

It could have been a love potion or perfume or an elixir for sleep, but Claudia knew that it was none of these things. It was belladonna. Normally, it was used in minute amounts to brighten the eyes and enlarge the pupils, but when ingested, it was poisonous. Deadly.

Tossing her head back, Claudia laughed out loud with the irony of the situation. Her mother had given her the belladonna at the beginning of Carnevale, but Claudia had never used it on her eyes, having heard of the pain it caused. She had put it at the back of the drawer and forgotten about it. Until now.

Claudia caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked at her dark arched eyebrows upon which Filippo had laid kisses many times. She looked at the sharp line of her jawbone that Filippo had once stroked. She looked at her moist lips that would never smile again.

With trembling fingers, Claudia removed the glass stopper.

Bastian couldn’t keep up with his own affairs.

Standing on the second-storey loggia overlooking the Piazzetta, he took a swig of wine straight from the decanter. He had done away with the glass hours ago.

First, he had bet he could make Orelia fall in love with him to win a large sum of money.

He took another swig.

Then, he had become engaged to Angelique to spare himself from being sent to Padua.

And now, he was being blackmailed into marrying Claudia D’Este to protect Orelia, whom he had fallen in love with.

Below him, carefree celebrations filled the Piazza and Piazzetta. Under normal circumstances, he would be down there with Marco farewelling the last night of Carnevale. No doubt there would be some bet involving the rhinoceros. And the night certainly would have ended in a casini, lying in bed with a beautiful woman, or two beautiful women, if last year was anything to go by. It seemed like a decade ago, rather than just a year.

Nostalgia turned to anger as Bastian thought of what had brought him to this point, or rather who. Marco D’Este.

Bastian hadn’t seen him in days. Marco had left his calling card several times, but Bastian refused to see him. He couldn’t believe that his friend had betrayed him, and yet it was the only explanation. Maybe their friendship was nothing more than a well-devised plan set in motion years ago to elevate Marco’s family in society. Maybe Marco and his mother had always planned to ensnare Bastian, waiting for the moment when he cared enough about something or someone.

And Bastian cared about Orelia more than he cared about himself. The shocking revelation about her real identity had not changed that at all; if anything he felt an even stronger connection to her, a need to protect her from all harm. And for that reason he had decided that he could never tell Orelia about his deal with Signora D’Este because he didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

At first, he had felt hurt that she hadn’t trusted him with her secret. Then perhaps they might have avoided this miserable situation. But when he was thinking clearly he realised that there was nothing anyone could do. The fact that his father was the mighty Doge meant not protection but persecution; it would immortalise his father’s reign.

Hearing a noise, Bastian turned around expecting to see his father, but the loggia was deserted. Shadows hung on the wall behind him. Even his father was probably enjoying himself tonight. Bastian hadn’t told him about marrying Claudia D’Este yet; he decided to wait until after Carnevale. When that dreaded moment came, he would explain his change in affections not in terms of love, but in terms of politics. Bastian would promise to commit himself wholeheartedly to his university and political life if his father agreed to the marriage and the rest of Signora D’Este’s terms.

It was the same argument he had been going to use if he’d lost the bet with Marco. Indeed, he
had
lost, and now he would have to marry Claudia as well.

Again, the thought of his deal with Signora D’Este sent him into a rage. He threw the tear-shaped decanter at the wall, enjoying the sound of the glass breaking, the sight of it raining down. It wasn’t enough. His anger still threatened to drown him. He had to cut to the core of his anger. It was time he saw Marco. What other way was there to spend the last night of Carnevale?

Bastian hijacked a gondola at the water entrance of the Palazzo Ducale, telling the gondolier who was asleep on the floor of it to go and enjoy himself. With the determination of two men, Bastian rowed himself towards Ca’ D’Este. There was only a slight chance that Marco would be at home, but if he weren’t Bastian would wait until he got home, even if that meant waiting until the sun rose.

He moored the gondola in a canal close to Ca’ D’Este and walked the rest of the way. As he approached Marco’s palazzo, he saw a figure coming towards him.

‘Fancy seeing you,’ called Marco, with a wave.

Bastian did not wave back. He strode right up to Marco and shoved him in the chest with both arms.

Marco stumbled backwards. ‘What was that for?’ he cried.

Before Marco could regain his footing, Bastian punched him hard in the face, sending him to the ground. ‘You know exactly what!’

Marco picked himself up but did not try to fight back. Blood ran from his nose and he used his sleeve to wipe it away. ‘Mi dispiace. I didn’t mean for this to –’

Bastian stepped forward, grabbed handfuls of Marco’s waistcoat and pulled him close. ‘You planned from the start to ruin my life.’

‘No, that’s not true. I just wanted you to lose the bet. I needed to win. I didn’t realise how far my mother would take it.’

Pulling the ruby ring off his finger, Bastian threw it at Marco’s feet. ‘You win.’

Marco stepped away from the red rock like it was a burning ember. ‘I’m sure we can fix this. Maybe you don’t have to marry Claudia. I’ll talk to my mother again. I know Claudia doesn’t want this.’

Bastian laughed dryly. ‘That won’t change a thing.’

‘Then talk to your father, maybe he will –’

‘You don’t know my father. This mess is your fault!’

‘Please forgive me, Bastian. If I could change things, I would. But it was not all my doing. My mother knew Orelia’s secret before I went to her. She was going to use it to eliminate Orelia as a threat. It’s your fault she was seen as a threat in the first place. You should have kept your affections a secret.’

‘Orelia would never have been a threat if it weren’t for your bet.’

‘Do you seriously regret making the bet? Do you wish you hadn’t known her? Hadn’t fallen in love?’

Bastian stood there speechless, feeling the weight of Marco’s questions. Marco’s nose had stopped bleeding but Bastian no longer felt compelled to smash it again.

Then a scream pierced the night. Bastian turned towards the sound, towards Ca ’D’Este. Marco ran past him to the door and fumbled through his pocket for the key. Finally managing to fling open the door, he disappeared into the andron. Bastian followed close behind him up the stairs to the second piano nobile and across the portego.

The screaming had stopped, but somehow Marco knew where it had originated. He stopped outside an open door at the end of the hall. ‘No, no, no!’ he cried, disappearing into the room.

Bastian approached the doorway slowly. When he looked into the room, he felt his heart stop.

On the floor lay Claudia. Her head hung limply to the side, her black hair fanning out around her. Next to her outstretched arm lay an empty vial, the clear glass gleaming in the moonlight.

Marco was on his knees beside Claudia’s body.

A servant hovered in the corner sobbing.

Bastian stood frozen in the doorway. He looked down at his hands. Shadows fell on the valleys of his palm like bloodstains.