City of Masks (22 page)

They scarcely listened while Rodolfo explained he would act as Regent, if Arianna were elected. They were descending on the table, shouting out their names and grabbing black pebbles from the box. Several citizens thrust back silver coins at di Chimici, much to his embarrassment.

By midday, the election official had had to send for more black pebbles, while the crate of white ones remained full. In front of Rinaldo di Chimici the pile of silver grew, which he pretended not to see. As the two candidates for Duchessa walked into the Council chamber for the formality of the count, his cousin Francesca hissed at him, ‘Get me a divorce!’

Back in the square, the coins lay untouched on the table. No one in Bellezza wanted any reminder that they might have voted for anyone other than the Duchessa’s own daughter.

As Enrico quietly pocketed the silver, the cry went up from outside the Palazzo. ‘Viva Bellezza!’ ‘Viva la Duchessa!’ Bellezza had a ruler again.

Chapter 19

Between Worlds

When Lucien heard the result of the pebble count, he hurled his hat in the air and cheered with all the rest of the crowd. He was standing with William Dethridge outside the Ducal palace and the old Stravagante linked arms with him and the two of them shouted ‘Viva la Duchessa!’ till they were hoarse. Luciano had completely forgotten about his cancer.

There was no way they could get to their friends through the mass of people jammed into the courtyard. Rodolfo and Arianna entered the palace by the big oak doors at the top of the white marble stairs and were lost to sight. Di Chimici and his furious cousin struggled through the mob pushing in the opposite direction. Lucien saw them coming and retreated with Dethridge into the Piazza, where an impromptu party was already starting up.

Wooden trestles were being set up, barrels of ale rolled into the square and handcarts trundled along, laden with cheeses and whole hams and flat Bellezzan loaves the size of cartwheels. The city had been preparing, in a half-hearted way, for the election of a new Duchessa, but the result had been better than the people had dreamed possible and now they were going to celebrate it in style.

‘Let us drinke gode helthe to the new Duchess!’ said Dethridge, flushed with excitement, and led Lucien over to one of the trestles, where ale was being sold in wooden cups. Lucien took a sip of the thin, sour beer and grimaced. It wasn’t nearly so nice as prosecco but Dethridge was obviously used to drinking something like it and knocked it back quickly and went for a refill. He called so many toasts that Lucien’s cup was soon empty too and then he found that the square was not quite stable underneath him.

‘Whoa! Stedye there, yonge man,’ said the Elizabethan, laughing. ‘Ye seme not to knowe how monye fete ye have. Let me get ye sum vittels to settil ye.’

Lucien watched happily while Dethridge wove his way across to a food stall. He felt completely content; Arianna had been elected Duchessa and that had to mean the beginning of a lot more adventures. He still didn’t know what the future held for him in either of his worlds, but for the moment, he was happy just to enjoy the present. He was among friends and was going to celebrate like a proper Bellezzan.

He hardly noticed when a man in the crowd took his arm; all Bellezza was linking arms and embracing. But this man seemed to be leading him somewhere out of the square. When Dethridge returned, Lucien was nowhere to be seen.

*

Silvia was having her own private celebration in Leonora’s garden. The two women sat drinking wine by the fountain.

‘Won’t you miss all the ceremony and grandeur?’ asked Leonora, as they listened to the sounds of revelry coming from the square.

Her companion didn’t answer straightaway. ‘There will be times when I shall,’ she said eventually, ‘but it is a price I’m willing to pay. I want my freedom. I’m tired of sitting in Council every week, listening to the lists of crimes my people commit. I’m tired of hearing the petty grievances of the people every month. I want to walk the streets without wearing a mask. I want not to have to endure Rinaldo di Chimici’s dreadful conversation and smelly handkerchiefs. And I want most of all for people to stop trying to kill me.’

‘Would you rather they tried to kill your daughter instead?’ asked Leonora quietly.

‘They won’t,’ said Silvia quickly. ‘They’ll have to start negotiations all over again with a new Duchessa. It took years of politicking before the di Chimici accepted I would never give in and sign their wretched treaty and resorted to murder instead. And they’re bound to think they have a better chance with someone young and inexperienced.’

Leonora smiled. ‘Even without you in the background, I somehow don’t think they will find Arianna an easy subject to persuade.’

*

In the Ducal Palace, Arianna was sitting on an elaborately carved wooden chair, wondering if she would ever be comfortable again. Susanna had suggested to her that she should keep on all the remaining waiting-women, who had been very anxious about their future since the supposed assassination. They had all been sent for and were now lined up to hear her will.

Arianna spotted a masked woman much younger than the rest, who looked not much older than herself. She seemed especially nervous and the new Duchessa felt an immediate bond with her.

‘What is your name?’ she asked, pointing to the girl.

‘Barbara, milady,’ said the girl, curtseying.

‘I shall need a personal maid to dress me,’ said Arianna. ‘Would you like to do that?’

Rodolfo looked over at her and slightly shook his head.

‘I mean,’ said Arianna more firmly. ‘That will be your new rôle.’

‘Thank you, milady,’ said the girl, gratefully.

‘The rest of you will continue in your accustomed tasks until further notice,’ said Arianna. ‘That will be all for now.’

It was the first moment she had had alone with Rodolfo since being led out into the Piazza that morning and they were both exhausted. Arianna wondered whether she dared broach the subject of her father with him, but it seemed as if Rodolfo might be nodding off to sleep. But he suddenly sat up and exclaimed, ‘Luciano!’

They both realized at the same moment that it was very late.

‘I hope he hasn’t got so caught up in the celebrations that he’s lost track of time,’ said Rodolfo. He moved towards the door. ‘I must leave you for a time, my dear, and get back to my Palazzo. Why don’t you rest for a while? The people will expect to see you on the loggia later.’

With that, Arianna was alone at last, the new Duchessa of her beloved Bellezza. She took a candlestick and explored the Palazzo. It was strangely still and empty. Most servants were in the kitchens, preparing for a night of feasting. This was the first time she’d had the chance to roam the palace on her own. The blackened door of the Glass Room was sealed up and she passed it with a shudder.

Up and down marble staircases she went, the candle casting huge wobbly shadows before her. How she wished Luciano were here to share this strange night with her! On the ground floor, she lost her bearings and pushed open a heavy door to see what room lay behind it. And almost dropped the candlestick. The room seemed to be full of Duchesse, arrayed in magnificent clothes and all staring straight at her.

Shaking, she tried to hold the light steady. Then she realized it was the gallery of the last Duchessa’s dresses worn on important occasions. Case after case of mannequins moulded to look like Silvia, wearing gorgeous silks and satins and brocades, their faces hidden behind jewel-studded masks. Arianna shuddered. ‘I can’t do this,’ she thought. ‘I’m too young.’

A sound behind her made her spin round, spilling hot wax on her hand.

‘I’m sorry, milady,’ said Barbara. ‘I have been looking for you to ask what you would like to wear tonight.’ Her gaze followed Arianna’s to the magnificent dresses of the last Duchessa. ‘They are lovely, aren’t they, milady? But there are lots more in the Duchessa’s chamber and if you would choose one, I could pin it to fit you.’ She dropped a curtsey, wondering if she had been too forward.

‘I’ll come,’ said Arianna, her lips almost too numb to speak, but she was now resolved. If she had to take her mother’s place, she would do it properly.

*

‘What do you mean, disappeared?’ said Rodolfo, running his hands through his silver hair in frustration. It was clear that Dethridge was more than a little drunk.

‘No grete matere,’ said the Stravagante. ‘Hee was with sum othere revellers. Withoute doubte hee has gone home by nowe.’

‘No,’ said Rodolfo. ‘He can’t have done.’

He left Dethridge with strict instructions to keep Lucien in the laboratory if he should turn up, then, shrugging off his weariness, ran down the stairs and all the way to Leonora’s house.

‘How is she?’ asked Silvia, alarmed to see him so distracted.

‘She is managing well,’ said Rodolfo. ‘I should get back to her soon, to present her to the people. But I’m worried about Luciano. Has he been here?’

Both women shook their heads, but neither could understand why Rodolfo was so worried. ‘Would you give us a few minutes together, Leonora?’ asked Silvia and the widow retreated into the house, leaving them on their own, sitting side by side on the wall of the little stone fountain. But before he could tell her about Lucien, Silvia had launched into her own speech.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she began, looking at his brooding face. ‘There will be objections raised about Arianna’s legitimacy as soon as the di Chimici have regrouped, maybe as soon as tomorrow and certainly before the coronation. They would grab at any straw to overturn the election and instate their puppet.’

Rodolfo waited. ‘It is time to reveal the truth,’ Silvia went on. ‘You must tell them that she is my legitimate heir. You will have to reveal our marriage.’ It took Rodofo a few seconds to realize what Silvia was telling him.

‘Our marriage has no effect on her legitimacy,’ said Rodolfo thoughtfully. ‘Not unless ... are you telling me that Arianna is our child?’

When Silvia said nothing, Rodolfo took her chin in his long fingers and turned her face towards him.

‘I must know,’ he said as gently as he could. ‘It has been driving me mad.’

*

The effects of the ale had worn off and Lucien was wretched, with a throbbing headache, shut in a room somewhere near the Great Canal, he guessed. His companion had been a man in a blue cloak, who looked vaguely familiar. But once out of the Piazza, he hadn’t seemed friendly at all, gripping Lucien’s wrist and threatening him with a merlino-blade, if he should try to break loose. Once in a side alley, he had gagged the boy and tied his hands, then blindfolded him.

Lucien stumbled along, protesting through the gag, but the few passers-by took no notice. He was taken up some stairs and flung in a stone-flagged room and the door slammed and locked. Later, someone came back, the same man by the smell of him and searched Lucien carefully. He took all his belongings; in spite of his struggles and cries, he had to give the notebook up along with everything else. Much later, a woman brought a cup of ale, the last thing Lucien wanted, and a hunk of fresh bread. But she did not untie his wrists. Through the blindfold, Lucien could see how dark it was getting. He lay down on the cold floor and gave way to despair.

Mr Laski was in his Harley Street consulting-rooms when Casualty bleeped him. Within minutes, he had rearranged the rest of his morning appointments and was in a taxi on his way to the hospital.

David and Vicky Mulholland looked white and strained in the curtained-off cubicle. Their son lay on the examination table, relaxed and apparently fast asleep. It took all Laski’s training and experience to relate to them sympathetically, instead of plunging straight into an examination. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the patient, but he forced himself to listen to the mother’s account and to ask questions.

‘It’s much worse this time than the other two,’ said Vicky Mulholland, her voice unsteady. ‘I had to call the ambulance – he just wouldn’t wake up. I tried everything – shaking, shouting, wet flannels. And then I just panicked. I phoned my husband and he said to ring 999 and he’d meet me here.’

She was screwing a paper tissue in her hands as she talked. ‘What is it? Is it the tumour affecting his brain?’

‘I can’t say until I’ve examined him,’ said Mr Laski soothingly.

‘It’s not normal, though, is it?’ said David Mulholland, tensely. ‘You didn’t say at his check-up that we should expect anything like this.’