The Witch in the Lake (12 page)

Merilee felt her face grow hot. ‘And why not?'

Isabella walked over to the shelves on the wall. She picked out a small pile of petals wrapped in paper. Laying them carefully over the glass she said, ‘I'm an orphan, Merilee. I have no family, no title or name except the one I've chosen, and no dowry to give to any man. What a lowly creature I am,
cara
—all I have in the world is my heart!' and she flung the last petals at Merilee, laughing at herself. But as Merilee bent to catch the flowers she saw Isabella's eyes.

‘So you've lived here always, since you were a baby?'

‘Always. At least, as far back as I can remember. The women found me in the cathedral of Fiesole and raised me here. I'm very grateful, of course.' Isabella sighed.

Merilee understood. She knew what it was like to be grateful, and trapped.

A light breeze stole in from the window behind them. It was cool and refreshing, and Merilee lifted her hair off her neck to feel it.

‘
Che bello!
' Isabella breathed, turning her face to the window. ‘It's so warm in here, I could just melt.' She began to fiddle with her hair, and when she took her hands away, long blonde curls fell to the floor, together with the padded ring of the headdress that had been holding them there.

Merilee gazed at the hair on the floor. There was so much of it. Then she looked back at Isabella.

She seemed like a different person. Her hair was cropped close to her head, jagged, short, like fur. With her big eyes and slim neck she could have been a young doe, caught in the forest. Merilee thought with a stab that she looked so young—vulnerable, like someone's lost little brother.

Isabella saw Merilee staring, and a blush spread over her bare neck. But she ran her fingers through her fur and said defiantly, ‘Of course, Alessandro hasn't seen me like this.'

She took a step forward and took hold of Merilee's hand. ‘You can touch it if you want.'

Merilee passed her fingers through the springy hair. ‘It feels like fresh cut grass!'

Isabella grinned. Then she said softly, ‘Do you think he'll still love me?'

‘But why did you do it?' Merilee burst out.

‘Me? Do you think
I
would? My hair was my greatest asset! Alessandro used to say the alchemists would be after me, trying to spin it into gold. Down to my bottom, it was,' she finished proudly.

But Merilee had stopped listening. Something her aunt had said, something on the way to Fiesole . . . ‘
You're
the one,' she whispered.

‘The one and only! Meet Isabella the Disgraced. The female Samson.'

‘But how—'

‘It was like this,' Isabella said darkly. ‘One afternoon, around sunset, I met Alessandro in the woods by the olive grove.' She glanced quickly at Merilee. ‘We often did—we aren't allowed to even see each other, so where else can we go?'

‘I know all about that,' Merilee agreed. ‘Go on.'

‘Well, we were sitting, talking. Actually, Alessandro was telling me how he couldn't live without me, when we heard someone coming towards us. We scampered away, crouching through the undergrowth. When I snuck back home, so relieved at not getting caught, I didn't notice all the twigs and burrs in my hair.'

‘Oh, no!' Merilee clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘Oh, yes,' said Isabella grimly. ‘First thing at supper, Beatrice eyes me as if I were a criminal robbing her purse. Then she leads me out of the room by my ear.'

‘
Santo dio
, Beatrice the Burrweed!'

‘She knew I'd been somewhere I shouldn't, and one of her spies had seen Alessandro leaving the forest. “That hair of yours is full of burrs,” she spat at me. “We can't get them out, so we're going to cut it off. Maybe that'll teach you to behave like a lady!” I think she was afraid I'd infect the other women, the
new
girls—love's so contagious, you know, and
distracting!
She always said I was a bad seed. “Heaven only knows where that one sprang from!” she says, shaking her head.'

Merilee grabbed hold of Isabella's hand. A flame of anger was building in her belly. ‘
Dio
, how I hate her—I'm so sorry, Isabella.'

‘It's not your fault, Merilee. You can't choose your relatives! I could tell as soon as I laid eyes on you that you couldn't stand her. You were sort of shrinking away, leaning as far from her as you could without moving your feet. You looked like an essential oil, my sweet, separating as fast as you could from the fat!'

Merilee burst out laughing. But the anger was still making swirls of red in her head, so that she was laughing and groaning at the same time.

‘The woman's a menace,' she muttered.

‘A hag from hell,' whispered Isabella. She was dancing around the room, still holding Merilee's hands. ‘A goblin-faced pus ball, a toe-nail dipped in hemlock—'

‘You sound just like Leo!' cried Merilee breathlessly as they swung around the room.

‘He's a “demon in human shape”, isn't he? A rascally reptile, a viper in the bosom of the family—'

Merilee stopped dancing. ‘Who said that? Beatrice?'

Isabella nodded. ‘She really detests your Leo, you know. I'd watch out, if I were you, or you might lose your hair, too.'

‘But how did you hear about Leo?'

‘Oh, I've got big ears—see?' She waggled them at Merilee. ‘You can see them now I'm naked. I listen to the gossip, that's all. Well, what else is there to do? This is like my family here, for want of a real one.'

‘But do you know why she hates him so much?'

Isabella stopped dancing. ‘Wasn't there something with your sister . . . his father . . .'

Merilee waved her hand impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, but I've never believed that's all it was. Everyone knew, including Beatrice, that Leo's father tried to do everything he could. He's a
good
man.'

Isabella shrugged. ‘I've heard other things, strange things. There was some old argument, a crime committed, way back before you were even born. A crime of passion, perhaps . . . something that left the family cursed. But it's all ancient history, Merilee. Nothing you can do about it now.'

Merilee's heart was thumping. ‘You mean someone in Leo's family—Manton, perhaps—did something bad?'

Isabella looked at her. For the first time her gaze was uncertain, shadowed, as if she were hiding something. ‘I don't remember names very well,
cara
. But “Manton” isn't familiar. It was an unusual name, something to do with light. But see how long ago? Everything's forgotten. Leave it alone. History can't be remade.'

‘But—'

Both girls heard footsteps tacking over the stone floor outside. Isabella put her finger to her lips. The steps grew louder and sharper as they neared the door. But Merilee felt a sense of urgency building in her chest. Isabella knew something. This might be her last chance to hear it.

‘Now,' said Isabella in a loud voice, ‘what we've got to think about is the future, my girl. And if you're going to be a proper apprentice to that aunt of yours, I'd better get on with imparting my wisdom.'

‘Apprentice?' Cold dread settled like ice in Merilee's stomach.

Isabella raised her eyebrows. ‘Isn't she grooming you for that? Did you know that Brigida is leaving next year?'

Seeing Merilee's face, Isabella frowned and put a hand on her shoulder. Her voice softened. ‘Well, it's better that you know it now, sweet one.' Isabella drew a deep breath. ‘Beatrice is hoping for the position of Head Wise Woman. She's determined to get it. I know for a fact that she wants to drag herself out of that backwater of a village you come from—sorry, her words, not mine. She wants people bowing and scraping to her. Only she needs a young woman to be her apprentice—all Heads have that requirement. You know, they have to pass their wisdom on to someone in training. Well, Laura, of course, was her first choice, being the eldest and all. Beatrice was teaching her—until Laura fell sick. Between you and me, Merilee, sometimes I think that's
why
she got sick.'

Merilee heard a shuffle of feet along the corridor. A crowd of footsteps and a low buzz of talk streamed in through the door. Lessons must be over. There was no time. Merilee felt breathless, as if she were swinging high on a rope, and down below was the black scary sea of her future. She wanted to climb up onto safe solid ground, where she would know what was happening to her.

‘So,' she tugged at Isabella's arm as the girl swept around tidying the shelves, ‘how can I learn everything in two weeks? Because that's when I'm going home. Beatrice promised. She said it to my mother.'

Isabella stopped tidying and looked into Merilee's face. Her navy blue gaze was direct and true. ‘To become an apprentice,' Isabella said crisply, ‘a girl has to study here for one year. Beatrice has no intention of your leaving so soon, I'm afraid.'

There was a clatter outside the door as if someone had dropped a tray. Isabella took Merilee's hand and began to walk towards the door. ‘But we'll be able to see each other, Merilee,' she said in a lighter voice. ‘Often! We'll have picnics in the forest, midnight feasts in our rooms. Cheer up, you've still got me!'

Merilee didn't hear the kind words or notice the friendly hand in hers. She only felt the ice spreading through her body up into her heart. Trapped, that's what she was, as helpless as a rabbit in a snare.

Leo unlocked the big, iron-studded door of his home, and trudged inside. His arms ached from carrying heavy packages all the way from the market. He dropped his shopping onto the wooden table and flung himself down in a chair. For just a moment he closed his eyes, concentrating on the light, free feeling in his arms. Then he let them fall by his side, the ache easing.

Leo went to early market every morning now. His father seemed to sleep best then, and Leo could get on with making the meals for the day. He looked over at the pile of food on the table. Eggs, cheese, rice—Fabbio had even run after him with half a peacock, because his father was ill. Leo's eyes burned for a moment. He'd never tasted peacock in his whole life. Marco said it was such a delicacy, only dukes or bishops—maybe the Pope himself!—had it for dinner.

Leo sprang up and began sorting the food to store in the pantry. It wasn't good to sit still for too long because then he could hear his thoughts, and he didn't like them. After he'd put away the food he'd go in and see his father. In just a minute.

During this last week, Leo looked forward to outings—even the market—more than anything. While he was out, he imagined that just for an hour or two, some kind of miracle might occur and when he returned his father would be sitting at the wooden table, happily exclaiming over a new notebook of Leonardo, or devouring a bunch of grapes. ‘I feel so much better!' Leo could hear him say.

On the way home Leo would daydream, hope and dread jostling in his chest. When he neared the alley that led into his street, he had to count his steps or say Latin verbs to stop the feelings rising into his throat.

Leo pulled the curtain back and knelt down on his father's bed. Still asleep. He put his hand on Marco's forehead. It was hot and damp, but not as bad as yesterday. Marco had burned to the touch, and cried, talking gibberish. Leo had tried to soothe him, but Marco didn't seem to even see him. Leo just sat there on the bed. Those nights were dreadful, and Leo's own eyes were on fire with lack of sleep.

The nights were the worst. When Marco was feverish and Leo couldn't sleep, the moaning came. It trickled in from the dark outside, rising like poison from the depths of the lake.
Whooo, pheye
, it sang through the window.
Whooo, pheye
, it groaned through the walls.

Leo couldn't escape the voice. Even when he bolted the doors and windows, it whispered to him. Sometimes, when he was sure it said his name he'd spring upright in bed, straining his ears, listening, listening. Sometimes it sounded as if it were right outside the door.

Now he wondered if the voice hadn't already got in, inside his own head.

No one else seemed to notice it. No one talked of it—at the market, in the piazza. Wasn't it growing louder, more demanding? But it was only Leo, in all the world, who could hear it.

Merilee had heard it once, too. He remembered her face, the thudding of their hearts.
Dio
, how he missed her.

Last night the moon had been almost round. There was only a slight dent on one side, as if someone had cut a strip away. Tomorrow it would be full.

Leo looked at his father's sleeping face. The long proud nose, the fine cheekbones. Marco's face was so thin that the bones jutting under the skin were sharp. In five days, Marco had only sipped some soup and water mixed with wine. Leo could see the stripes of his ribs as he breathed.

In five days, Leo thought miserably, he had done no wizardry. He didn't have the heart. He couldn't concentrate on a silly old stick, or an apple or even a bird. What was the use? He felt his power weak and watery inside him. It was as if his vision had blunted, dissolved in fear. If he couldn't help his father with his power—and he was too afraid to try—then what use was it at all?

Must burn some more rosemary and thyme, thought Leo, getting up from the bed. Stupid just sitting here doing nothing. Signor Eco had said to fill the room with it continuously, to purify the air. Then it would be time to make the soup.

As Leo poured rice into boiling water, he wondered for the hundredth time if Merilee had received his letter. Would she have read it eagerly, taken notice of his warning about Beatrice? Would she be worried about his father? In his gloomiest moments, Leo imagined her scanning the words hurriedly, then stuffing his note into the folds of her dress, hurrying off to the next banquet.