The Duchessa swept over the Bridge of Sorrow, her dress swishing on the flagstones. As soon as the guard had unlocked the cell, she dismissed him. As the man hesitated, she waved him away impatiently. ‘I hardly think a girl is much of a threat. I presume you searched her for weapons? But if she attempts to suffocate me with her straw mattress, I promise to call out for help.’
The man lit a torch in the corner of the cell, then turned and walked back over the bridge.
The girl was asleep. She looked exhausted, her hair tousled and full of straw-stalks. The Duchessa closed the cell door quietly behind her. But even that sound woke the girl, who sprang up and stared at her visitor. Then she sank down again, disappointed.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you were my mother.’
The Duchessa winced but said with her usual asperity, ‘Is that any way to speak to your sovereign? No wonder you are in here for an act of treason.’
Arianna leapt up again. ‘Your Grace,’ she stammered. ‘I’m sorry. You surprised me. I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t what happened next. Arianna had hated the Duchessa for so long that she had stopped thinking of her as a real person. Now this great lady, who held Arianna’s life in her hands, stepped forward and looked her full in the face, her violet eyes glittering behind her mask. Then she took Arianna in her arms and hugged her.
Chapter 15
The Language of Lace
Rinaldo di Chimici was fuming. Only half his plan had worked and it was the weaker half. The girl was safely in prison and he was pretty sure the evidence he had bought would see her convicted and sentenced to death. But would Senator Rodolfo care enough about the girl if the boy were not caught? And it was as if the boy had simply vanished into thin air. He wasn’t at the Senator’s house and no one had seen him leave.
Di Chimici had two other spies employed full-time to watch outside the Palazzo and pounce on the boy as soon as he returned, Enrico having been promoted to more important duties. But the Ambassador was now worried that Rodolfo knew where the boy was and had tipped him off so that he was lying low. And if the boy was what he suspected him to be, he had places to hide that were not open to di Chimici spies.
The trial was not far off; it was not the Bellezzan way to delay on something so momentous. Council would meet in a few days and the outcome would be swift. With the girl dispatched, the Ambassador doubted if the boy would ever return.
‘We must find the boy!’ fretted di Chimici to Enrico. ‘Or I shall have no bargaining power with the Duchessa! And she must sign that treaty!’
*
He might have been happier if he could have seen Rodolfo pacing the night away on his roof garden. The Senator had been racking his brains about how to get a message to Lucien, to prevent him from returning unwarily to Bellezza and walking straight into a trap. It was true that Lucien usually stravagated direct to the laboratory, but Rodolfo didn’t know what the effect would be of a week having passed in Lucien’s own world, with his being out of his accustomed place. If he stravagated in the middle of his night, he might go straight to Arianna’s.
Ever since the day Rodolfo had had him transported to his laboratory from the Scuola Mandoliera, Lucien had not missed a morning’s lessons until his parents took him away from England. As far as Rodolfo could understand it, Lucien’s nights in his world were the daytimes in Bellezza, just as they had been for William Dethridge. If Lucien stravagated in either direction more than once in the hours of daylight or of night in either universe, he would arrive back in the other world only moments after he had left it. But if he left it till the next night to stravagate, a day had passed in Bellezza.
But the break of a week in Lucien’s regular departures from his world brought an unprecedented absence in Talia and Rodolfo did not know how long it would last. He and Lucien and William Dethridge had spent hours discussing the time differences between Lucien’s England and their Talia.
Dethridge told them that the date of his first, unplanned, stravagation, on the day he was trying to make gold, was 1552, twenty-five years ago according to Bellezzan history. But it was four hundred and twenty-five years behind Lucien’s time. If the gateway between worlds behaved consistently, one year in Talia equalled nearly seventeen in Lucien’s world. But that was the trouble: the gateway didn’t behave consistently. During the period of Lucien’s visits, the dates had matched one to one in the two worlds, but at other times the difference between one and the other had obviously been accelerated and it was impossible to tell when that would happen again.
‘Even if I go away for a week and don’t visit Bellezza,’ Lucien had reasoned, ‘I should still be back here in a week at the most.’
But none of them really knew whether this would happen. When Dethridge had told the Duchessa that Lucien would be away a while, he really thought they might not see him for a week. Now, on their way back to the laboratory, Rodolfo was worrying that time in Lucien’s world might have speeded up again and that he could be back within hours. He was calculating whether he or Dethridge could get a message to Lucien by stravagating to his time.
‘I am willinge to goe,’ said Dethridge, ‘yf it wolde holpe the boye.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rodolfo. ‘It is good of you. But I think it would not help. You would find the twenty-first century very confusing and difficult. I certainly found the twentieth century so. And I am sure the time you would arrive in would be after Lucien’s next stravagation so you would be too late to warn him.’
‘Thenne we moste fynde anothir waye,’ said Dethridge simply.
Unaware of how many thoughts were focused on him in Bellezza, Lucien continued to explore Venice. His parents were overwhelmed by his knowledge of the city, even though he would occasionally lead them by a Bellezzan route to something that did not exist in Venice or was in a completely different place. Still, he became more and more skilful at covering up these discrepancies and most of the time showed an impressive familiarity with the city and its customs. ‘Your reading’s certainly paid off,’ said Dad.
Today they were going on a boat trip to the islands and Lucien had to keep the names right. Merlino was Murano, Burlesca was Burano and Torrone was Torcello. The boat took them to Murano first and the endless glass shops with their touts outside pouncing on tourists to drag them in for demonstrations of glass-blowing in their ‘factories’.
‘Ingresso libero,’ Dad read on the doors. ‘But doesn’t that mean “entrance free”? Why wouldn’t it be? They’re shops for goodness sake!’
None of them liked the brightly coloured and hideously expensive glass very much, though Lucien did buy a plain glass ram, without wings. He longed to tell his parents what real lagoon glass could be like. The museum was nothing like the one on Merlino. There was no Glass Master, no fateful mask. Even though his parents were interested in the old and broken bowls and jugs, Lucien soon got bored and went to sit in the cool, cloistered garden, where semi-wild cats played in the long grass.
The best bit of Murano was having lunch in a restaurant by the canal, sitting on a little terrace overlooking the water. On the other side of the canal was an ancient church which, according to Mum’s guidebook, housed the bones of a dragon killed by the spit of a saint.
Burano was more like its Talian equivalent, except that there was no single white house, though Lucien searched hard for it.
‘Oh, just look at that lace!’ cried Mum, and Lucien saw with a jolt that there was a white-haired old woman making lace outside her front door. It was a blue house and the work was not as fine as Paola’s, but it was beautiful nonetheless and Lucien was thrilled that his mother had seen it. He insisted on buying her a tablecloth, even though it took virtually all the money he had brought with him to Venice.
‘No, Lucien, you can’t possibly,’ she protested, but nothing would have stopped him.
‘Remember my dream,’ he said, ‘about the lace – when you couldn’t wake me up? I really want you to have it.’
Arianna was astonished. The Duchessa regained her composure with some difficulty and began a story so improbable that Arianna found it difficult to take in.
‘You believe yourself to be the child of Valeria and Gianfranco Gasparini, do you not?’ the Duchessa asked.
‘Believe? No, I know I am,’ said Arianna.
‘Yes, I know your story,’ said the Duchessa. ‘The Figlia dell’Isola, the only child born on Torrone for years. Only you weren’t.’
‘Weren’t what?’
‘Born on Torrone. You were born here, in Bellezza, in this very palace, and smuggled to the island when you were only a few hours old.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Arianna. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because I was present at your birth,’ said the Duchessa, with a touch of her old humour. ‘In fact I was very closely involved in it. Can’t you guess how?’
Arianna tried to imagine the Duchessa as a midwife but couldn’t.
‘I gave birth to you myself,’ said the Duchessa, gently. ‘You are my daughter, Arianna, and I had you brought up by my older sister Valeria and her husband.’
Arianna’s head was whirling. Valeria and Gianfranco not her parents? That was like saying that Bellezza wasn’t a city. It just didn’t make sense. And the Duchessa her mother? Everything Arianna had known about herself until today seemed to be untrue. But among all the many emotions swirling through her, one fact burned in her brain: if she had been born on Bellezza, then she was guilty of no crime on the Giornata Vietata! She would not be burnt. She seized that thought and held on to it.
‘What are you thinking?’ asked the Duchessa.
‘Many things,’ said Arianna. ‘But if what you say is true, then I don’t need to stay in this cell a moment longer.’
The Duchessa sighed. ‘That is true, but I would prefer it if you remain here voluntarily until your trial in a few days’ time. I shall produce evidence enough to convince the Council that you are a true-born Bellezzan, but I should prefer to keep your parentage a secret a little longer. It puts us both in danger.’
Then Arianna grasped another thought from the whirl of ideas in her head. ‘If Gianfranco is not my real father, then who is?’
Torcello was just as Lucien remembered Torrone, apart from the mosaic in the tiny cathedral, which was gold instead of silver. The whitewashed houses beside the canal where Arianna lived, the stalls selling lace and glass, though they had no merlino-blades, the grassy area outside the cathedral, all made Lucien feel more at home than he had so far on this trip, even though he had been to Torrone only once.
He was tired on the walk back along the canal to catch the ferry back to the city, but happy. But as they passed what he thought of as Arianna’s house, he had another strange experience. It wasn’t as bad as the one in the Doge’s prison. There was not the same terror. But there was a strong sense of danger and this time it seemed to involve him.
As soon as he had escorted the Duchessa back to her Palazzo, Rodolfo dropped Dethridge off at the laboratory, where the two guards who had presented the warrant were still waiting at the foot of the stairs.
‘If Lucien returns,’ whispered Rodolfo, ‘get him through the secret passage and safe with the Duchessa and I’ll come to him there. Now I must go at once to Leonora.’
Arianna’s aunt was in a terrible state. That this should have happened while her niece was in her care was unthinkable. She had not yet been able to bring herself to tell Arianna’s parents what had happened to her and Rodolfo immediately offered to make the journey to Torrone.
‘You stay here in case any message comes from the Palazzo,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Leonora. I can promise you that no harm will come to Arianna. And I shall send my friend, Dottore Crinamorte, to sit with you as soon as I can spare him.’
The boat ride to Torrone went quickly, Rodolfo brooding the whole way about what the Duchessa had told him. He had not asked about the girl’s father but it hurt him deeply to realize that the child had been conceived while he and Silvia had been, as he thought, at their closest. It was while he was still spending much of his time in Padavia and was often away from Bellezza. But he had always thought that Silvia had been faithful to him.
Now he cursed the naïve young man he had been and questioned whether he had been deluding himself in the years since that time. Who could Arianna’s father be? Surely not Egidio or Fiorentino? That had all ended, Silvia had assured him, when he first presented himself at the Scuola. But perhaps he had been a fool to believe her? Perhaps Silvia did not love him at all? And yet… what about this year’s Marriage with the Sea? Silvia had given him good reason then to believe that her love was as strong as ever.
He thrust such thoughts aside and concentrated on the girl. Now that he thought about it, he could see that she was very like a young version of Silvia. The eyes were the same, and the smile.
He strode down the canalside towards the Gasparini house, thinking only of the girl and how Silvia could reveal enough of the truth to save her life, without putting her in new danger. And suddenly he halted in mid-stride. An image of Lucien appeared before him on the towpath. Rodolfo didn’t stop to wonder how it had happened. He just concentrated his mind on letting Lucien know that he must be careful, that his life was in danger. And then the vision dissolved and Rodolfo had to go and tell Arianna’s foster-parents what had happened to her.
*
Enrico was rapidly becoming Rinaldo di Chimici’s right-hand man. And under his influence the Ambassador was becoming impatient to force Bellezza to join the Republic.
‘Forget about the boy,’ said Enrico. ‘Or at least have another plan up your sleeve. I don’t see what’s wrong with assassination, as long as you’ve got another Duchessa lined up – one who will sign the treaty.’
‘I do have a candidate as it happens,’ said di Chimici. She is a member of my family – a cousin. She is Francesca di Chimici, from Bellona.’
‘But she has to be a citizen of Bellezza to qualify to be Duchessa,’ objected Enrico.
‘That can be arranged,’ said the Ambassador. ‘She merely has to marry a Bellezzan citizen. My family can easily ensure that, with the size of her dowry.’
‘And I suppose your family’s money would buy the election result too?’ said Enrico.
Di Chimici didn’t like Enrico’s familiar tone. ‘I am sure the citizenry of Bellezza would find my cousin a worthy candidate,’ he said stiffly.
‘Then let’s not wait for the boy. I know the trial was my idea but I think we should just go ahead and bump the lady off.’
‘My last venture did not go well,’ said di Chimici coldly.
Enrico tapped the side of his nose. ‘That’s because you didn’t have me working with you. That nancy-boy you hired was a Bellezzan – you shouldn’t trust anyone from the city to do the job for you. They all get sentimental about the lady in the end.’
‘Are you offering your services?’
‘Well,’ said Enrico, ‘for a price, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said di Chimici. ‘But I still want the boy. He has something I need.’
‘Oh, you’ll have him,’ said Enrico confidently. ‘And Bellezza too. Just trust me.’
*
Giuliana enjoyed her fitting sessions on Burlesca. The old woman was kind and a good listener. She had got a younger woman to help her with the actual dressmaking and the three of them spent so many days on the trousseau that Giuliana moved in with the young dressmaker for a while, so that she should not have to undertake the double water-journey so often.
The sessions passed with Giuliana in a dream about her impending wedding. It was ‘Enrico this’ and ‘my fiancé that’ all day long and the other women
didn’t seem to mind how much she talked about him.
‘He has such an important job at the moment,’ she said. ‘But I can’t tell you what it is because it’s top secret. Only I can tell you that if he pulls it off, we’ll have enough silver to buy our own house! Imagine – I’d like one of these pretty coloured ones here on Burlesca but he says we might have to leave the lagoon after— after this job I can’t tell you about.’
‘It sounds rather dangerous, my dear.’ said Paola mildly. ‘I do hope it’s nothing illegal.’
Giuliana simpered. ‘Well, let’s just say we might be better off in Remora when it’s over. They might be very grateful to us there.’ Paola’s bright dark eyes belied her gentle manner as she spent the rest of that session probing her customer for more information. And by the end of the day she knew what she needed to know.
That evening, Paola took out her lacemaking cushion and worked over a candle until late at night, long after her husband Gentile had gone to bed.
*
Arianna was moved from her poky little cell the same night that the Duchessa visited her. The new one was bigger, with rugs on the stone flags, and was not so cold. Arianna had a soft mattress to sleep on instead of a bed of straw. But she could not close her eyes again for thinking about what she had been told. Her first thought was that the Duchessa had gone mad. But what she had said all made a weird kind of sense. Arianna’s brothers were much older than her and she had never felt truly at home on the island. And she had always been drawn to Bellezza; it was the place of her heart’s desire. Then another part of her mind would cling fiercely to all she had ever known and refuse to give up her familiar parents for a new and dangerous mother and an unknown father.
Early the next morning the door opened and the Duchessa was there again, this time with servants bringing furniture. When it had all been arranged to her satisfaction, she dismissed them and signalled to Arianna to sit beside her on the sofa. Arianna sat, pulling the last stalks of straw out of her hair. She was determined not to speak first.