She walked down the stairs in a state of shock and poured herself a bowl of cereal, afraid that if she didn’t eat something she would faint. But it was hard to get the food down. She phoned the doctor but was told she couldn’t have an appointment till noon.
She showered quickly, her mind racing. What was she to do if Russell refused to give back the horse? Or, worse, if he threw it away or broke it? At the thought of Russell grinding the little winged figure under one of his size eleven Dockers, Georgia turned the water up till it nearly scalded her and vigorously shampooed her scalp.
It was one thing to decide to give Talia a miss for a few days. But the thought of never being able to go back, never to see Remora again, or Cesare or Paolo and his chaotic family – or Luciano – was an entirely different proposition. And what about Falco?
Georgia had spent a lot of time thinking about Falco recently. What he wanted her and Luciano to do for him was certainly dangerous and possibly wrong. But she had come to believe that it might have been what she was intended to do in Talia, why the talisman had found its way to her in the first place. She didn’t really think she was intended to be a proper Stravagante, in the way that Luciano was. And she didn’t feel specially gifted or even drawn to learn whatever mysterious arts and skills the Stravaganti had.
No, she felt she had one specific task to accomplish in Talia and that was the rescuing of Falco. Why, she was still uncertain, only that it was the thing she was supposed to do. But without the talisman she could accomplish nothing. It was agonising. How long would it take Paolo to realise that she hadn’t returned to Talia because she couldn’t stravagate? And would he bring her another talisman? Georgia had no idea if this was allowed or even possible.
She decided that she would go mad if she stayed in the house any longer.
‘His Highness Prince Gaetano of Giglia!’ announced the Duchessa’s footman.
Gaetano was shown into a large reception room, whose long windows overlooked a canal. At the far end was a wooden dais supporting an elaborate mahogany throne. To the side of it on a much less ornate chair sat a man dressed in black velvet with a lot of silver in his black hair. This was obviously the Regent, Rodolfo, father and adviser to the young Duchessa and a powerful Stravagante.
Gaetano found his heart pounding so much at the sight of one of his father’s greatest enemies that he couldn’t focus properly on the slight figure on the throne.
‘Principe,’ came a sweet musical voice, ‘Bellezza welcomes you. I trust you are comfortably lodged in the Ambassador’s palazzo? May I present to you my father, Senator Rodolfo Rossi, the Regent of the city?’
Rodolfo paid the young di Chimici the honour of getting up from his seat and taking a few steps towards him before bowing.
Gaetano returned the courtesy, then went forward to kneel before the Duchessa and kiss the hand she held out to him. She raised him to his feet and he found himself looking through a silver mask into amused violet eyes. Gaetano had been brought up in palaces and castles and had never met anyone without a title, except the servants, until his voice had broken. So he was no stranger to formality and courtly ways and not easily intimidated. But when he at last concentrated on the object of his journey, he found himself blushing and stammering like a stonemason in a lady’s boudoir.
She was beautiful; that much he could tell in spite of the mask. Slender and tall, with an abundance of glossy chestnut-brown hair coiled in an elaborate style, revealing the perfect shape of her head, poised on her neck like a flower on its stem. Several small curls had escaped from the coiffure and strayed down on to her neck and brow, making the whole effect more natural, in spite of the formality of her dress. And those eyes! So big and lustrous and of an unusual colour that matched the dark amethysts in her hair and at her throat.
He thought fleetingly of Luciano. Lucky dog! he thought, if she returns his affections. Then Gaetano remembered what he was there for. He pulled himself together and the rest of the audience passed in pleasantries and pastries, which the servant brought in and set on a low round brass table along with a blond sparkling wine that Gaetano had never tasted before. The same servant brought a chair for the visiting prince and soon the three of them were conversing easily about Remora and the Race of the Stars.
‘I met a friend of yours in the city, Your Grace,’ he said to the Duchessa, ‘and of yours, I believe,’ turning to Rodolfo. ‘A young man named Luciano.’
He was rewarded by seeing a deeper rose tinge the Duchessa’s fresh complexion, just under her mask.
‘Indeed,’ said the Regent. ‘He is my apprentice and a distant family connection. Is he well? And his foster-father, my good friend Dottore Crinamorte, did you see him too?’
‘Yes, they are both well,’ replied Gaetano. ‘I met them in the Twelfth of the Ram, at the Horsemaster’s house, along with Luciano’s friend, Giorgio.’
Rodolfo betrayed no emotion at this news and talk turned to the coming journey to the city to see the Race of the Stars. No mention was made on this first occasion of the underlying purpose of the young Prince’s visit. Gaetano went back to Rinaldo’s old lodgings, his mind in a whirl. If he had to marry this Duchessa, it would be no unpleasant experience, he thought. But would she have him? It was clear where her preference lay. But she might have no more choice in the matter than he did.
Mr Goldsmith’s smile at seeing Georgia soon turned to a concerned frown.
‘How delightful! But why aren’t you at school? Are you ill? You don’t look very well,’ he said.
All it took was one sympathetic look; Georgia burst into tears. Mr Goldsmith was horrified; he gave her his clean white handkerchief and made her sit down in his little office at the back of the shop. He even put up his ‘closed’ notice in the door, although business was bad and he couldn’t afford to miss any customers.
He brought Georgia some tea, regretting that he hadn’t got any biscuits this time. She felt better as she sipped the hot drink; she didn’t go in for tears much, only when Russell had been unusually horrible.
‘Now you must tell me what’s the matter,’ said Mr Goldsmith, who wasn’t used to seeing people cry.
‘It’s Russell,’ sniffed Georgia. ‘My stepbrother. I think he’s stolen the horse.’
Her expression was so tragic that Mr Goldsmith knew he mustn’t make light of her loss. Though it was only a museum replica and, theoretically, not impossible to replace.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. What makes you think he’s taken it?’
Georgia explained and the old man soon realised that she was telling him a lot more about her family than he had known before. This stepbrother was obviously a nasty piece of work. And there was clearly more.
‘I need the horse,’ Georgia was saying. ‘I can’t explain to you why – you wouldn’t believe me anyway – but I have to have it in order to do something I’ve promised to do. And I mean that one – it can’t be any other winged horse.’
Mr Goldsmith could sense her hysteria mounting; he had no idea why the winged horse had become so important to her, but he recognised obsession when he saw it.
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure that Russell gives it back, won’t we? I don’t think there’s much point in your asking him nicely, given that it’s something he’s done to – what do you call it? – wind you up. Isn’t that what you say? Good expression. I know what it does to my clocks if you over-wind them. Still, how about going straight to your parents and telling them what you think has happened? Surely he’ll find it harder to lie to them?’
Georgia agreed that he was probably right, but talking about clocks reminded her of her doctor’s appointment. Mr Goldsmith’s clocks all showed different times, but her watch told her it was quarter to twelve and she must run.
Doctor Dethridge arranged his cards in the pattern he had made at his last reading. He had pondered long over the meaning of it and now decided to show it to Rodolfo. He used his hand-mirror to reflect the cards and peered into it himself at
intervals until he found his old pupil looking back out at him.
‘Gretynges, Maister Rudolphe!’ the old Elizabethan said. ‘Whatte thinke ye of this arraye?’
‘I think it most remarkable, old friend,’ said Rodolfo, looking intently at the cards, ‘for the reason that I got the very same reading at the new moon.’
‘The Goddesse does notte appeare at newe moon withoute goode cause,’ mused Dethridge.
‘Perhaps she is interesting herself in our affairs?’ suggested Rodolfo.
‘Thenne we moste hope hir meddlinge is for oure goode,’ said Dethridge.
*
Luciano was not surprised that Georgia didn’t turn up in Remora the next day; after all, he had advised her to take a break. But Falco was clearly disappointed when the Bellezzan Stravagante arrived at the Papal palace on his own.
‘There are things we can discuss without Georgia being here,’ Luciano said gently.
But Falco only nodded and Luciano thought he saw him brush away a tear. Here was a development. Was Falco’s wish to be translated to the modern world being influenced by a desire to be near Georgia? It was too delicate an area to probe straightaway. Luciano decided to go ahead with the practical details and worry about this new problem later.
‘There are arrangements to be made at both ends,’ he said in a businesslike way. ‘Georgia can sort things out about your new life and bring you a talisman. But you need to plan how you are going to leave here. You understand that if you stravagate to my old world and stay there overnight, your body will appear asleep here during the day?’
‘Yes,’ said Falco, ‘you said. And if I stay away, it will look as if I have the Morte Vivenda. Until one day I shall actually die here. How long do you think that will take?’
Luciano shook his head. It amazed him how calmly this thirteen-year-old could talk about his fate.
‘I really don’t know. For me it was a matter of weeks, but as I told you, I was being kept alive artificially. It might be only days. The point is, there should be some sort of reason. We don’t want your father to suspect what will really have happened.’
‘I shall ask to go back to Santa Fina,’ said Falco. ‘I can say it’s because Gaetano has gone to Bellezza and I want to go back to the summer palace until the race. It will be easier to escape from up there; the servants aren’t as vigilant as my father.’
‘But there still has to be a reason,’ pressed Luciano.
‘I’ve thought about that, too,’ said Falco. ‘I think the easiest thing would be if I pretended to try to kill myself.’
*
Luciano was thoughtful on his way back to the Ram. But all thoughts of Falco were driven out of his head when he saw the carriage drawn up outside the stables. William Dethridge was leaning out of the window waving to him.
‘Haste ye, yonge Lucian. Word has come from Saint Fyne. The marvele has flown awaye!’
*
Gaetano went back to the Duchessa’s palazzo for a grand dinner that night. He was guest of honour, seated at her right, while Rodolfo was on her other side. But the young di Chimici was astonished to find that his other neighbour was his cousin Francesca.
‘Greetings, cousin,’ she said, smiling at his obvious surprise. ‘Didn’t you know I am a Bellezzan citizen now?’
Gaetano was completely nonplussed. He had heard the rumours about Francesca but hadn’t expected to meet her in the city. She was more lovely even than he remembered her, with her glossy black hair and sparkling dark eyes. He took her proffered hand and kissed it, summoning all his courtesy to ask after her health. She was dressed in red taffeta, which rustled as she spoke. Gaetano felt as if he had drunk deep of the red Bellezzan wine, even though his glass was still untouched.
‘I see you are enjoying your family reunion,’ said a musical, mocking voice behind him and Gaetano realised, to his horror, that he had turned his back on the Duchessa.
‘Forgive me, your Grace,’ he said, turning swiftly back to his host and blushing to the roots of his hair. ‘I was indeed surprised to see my cousin here – so much so that my manners have deserted me. I trust I find you well?’
‘Never better,’ said the Duchessa and she smiled at him with genuine amusement.
At that moment Gaetano had the astonishing thought that this beautiful young girl knew all about him and his boyhood romance with Francesca and that she was deliberately throwing them together. But why would she do that? To test his resolve? To remind him that marriage was supposed to be about love? He looked past her to see Rodolfo regarding him with the same expression. These two were a dangerous pair, he decided.
For the rest of the banquet, Gaetano devoted himself to the Duchessa, although always aware of the rustling beside him and the sound of Francesca’s laugh as she flirted with her other neighbour. Behind his courtly words, his mind raced. Was Francesca married? And if so, where was her husband? Gaetano was pretty sure that it wasn’t the man on her other side, who appeared to be quite young. He found it very hard to concentrate on what he was here for.
Tomorrow he was to have a private audience with the Duchessa, at which he must formally make his proposal to her. They both knew the purpose of his visit and he wondered what the outcome would be. Was he expected to declare undying love? He could just imagine the quizzical look she would give him. The Duke had given him no guidance on how to woo her.
When the Duchessa rose from her seat, the rest of the company stood too. She led them into another room, where musicians were already playing and clusters of little chairs were arranged around low tables. She asked Gaetano to excuse her while she had some words with the admiral of the Bellezzan fleet and he was alone. Francesca was sitting at a little table across the room and he found himself drawn to sit beside her. There could surely be no objection to his sitting with his cousin? Especially when there was no one else there he knew.
‘So what are you saying?’ said Ralph. ‘Russell has stolen some toy of yours? That’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?’
Georgia ground her teeth. ‘It’s not a toy,’ she explained again, trying to keep cool. ‘It’s an ornament which I saved up to buy from an antique shop.’
‘It doesn’t really matter what it is,’ said Maura, using her let’s-be-scrupulously-fair voice. ‘Ralph, I’m sure you agree that Russell should respect other people’s belongings.’
The four of them were sitting round the kitchen table that Wednesday evening. Georgia had requested a family meeting and Maura had immediately realised that something was seriously wrong. Family meetings were rare events, held only when an important decision had to be made or conveyed.
‘Who says I took her stupid horse?’ said Russell truculently. ‘Why would I? She probably just put it somewhere and forgot it.’
Ralph immediately switched sides.
‘Georgia says you took it,’ he said acidly. ‘And she seems to think you did it to annoy her.’
Russell shrugged. Bad move. It annoyed both parents.
‘Well, did you?’ asked Ralph.
There was a silence. Georgia held her breath. If Russell denied it, could she possibly ask to have his room searched? Would Ralph go along with that? He seemed to be backing her up now, but she knew how quickly adults could veer from one side to another during a dispute. What happened next could determine her whole future in Remora.
Roderigo was beside himself with guilt. The flying horse had been entrusted to his care and now she had gone. He brought Diego out to tell the story of her disappearance again to the two distinguished visitors from Bellezza. The Horsemaster’s boy from the Ram was already in Santa Fina, scouring the neighbourhood for any trace of the black filly.
‘The lunge snagged on a tree,’ said Diego, looking haggard. He had given his account several times and did genuinely believe that he had witnessed an accident. But he had a nagging discomfort at the back of his mind, knowing that he had not kept the flying horse the secret she was meant to be.
‘It was last night,’ he continued. ?
??I had her out for exercise as usual and was flying her on the lunge. Then it caught on a tall tree at the edge of the paddock and it broke. She was away before I could do anything about it.’
‘I have men out searching everywhere,’ said the wretched Roderigo. ‘Surely we shall soon have her back. She will fly home to where her mother is.’
‘If no one else finds her first,’ said Luciano.
‘We moste goe to the mothire,’ said Dethridge, and the two Stravaganti went into the stables to visit Starlight. She was standing very still in her stall.
‘She is not eating,’ said Roderigo, shaking his head.
Dethridge went over to the grey mare and fondled her ear, whispering into it. Starlight tossed her head and looked as if she understood what he was telling her.
‘It was just a joke,’ muttered Russell grumpily. ‘I was going to give it back.’
‘Go and fetch it immediately,’ said Ralph sternly.
While Russell was out of the room, Ralph apologised to Georgia. He was obviously hugely relieved that his son had owned up. But not as relieved as Georgia was. At that moment she felt willing to forgive Russell anything, as long as he returned his talisman to her.
That feeling changed as soon as she saw what he was holding in his hand when he came back into the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, feigning contrition. ‘It seems to have got a bit damaged.’
The little Etruscan horse lay in the palm of his hand with both its wings snapped off beside it.
Gaetano’s all-important meeting with the young Duchessa took place not in her state rooms at the Ducal palace but in her father’s roof garden. The Regent’s manservant, Alfredo, showed the young di Chimici up into what appeared to be a marvellous floating garden high above the city. Gaetano saw immediately that the terraces and paths stretched into a distance further away than should have been physically possible. But his awe was tempered by the fact that the Stravagante did not appear to be anywhere there. At least his audience with the Duchessa would be private.