Masquerade (14 page)

Angelique loved nothing more than spending the morning in the sitting room, making lace and discussing other people’s secrets. On this afternoon, the only secret on her mind was her own.

She sat at one end of the fawn-coloured damask settee with a cushion on her lap, her hands working quickly lifting ivory bobbins over each other, adding little by little to the intricate pattern of lace upon the cushion.

On the other end of the lounge, Orelia was sifting through a box of lace. ‘Did you really make all this?’ she asked, stroking a piece of fine pink lace of overlapping rose buds.

‘Si,’ said Angelique. ‘Needle lace is the more common technique, but I prefer bobbin lace. I think the result is prettier and you don’t get pricked by the needle.’

‘It’s beautiful. Can you teach me how to do it?’

‘Of course. Choose a pattern from that chest, then take a needle and perforate the outline of the drawing.’

While Orelia sorted through the patterns, Angelique’s hand moved to her hip. She felt around for the small vial concealed beneath the linen of her dress. No matter how many times she checked to see that her potion was safe, there was always that small vice of doubt that gripped her just before her hand found the precious item. Signora Quirini, ‘the witch’, had been happy to supply Angelique with another love potion at twice the cost on the grounds that raven’s hearts were in short supply. Angelique could not afford to buy another one without raising her father’s suspicion, which meant her future happiness relied on this very love potion.

As her fingers curled around the small vial, Angelique could not bear keeping it a secret any longer; she had to tell someone. What were secrets for, if not for showing off like a fine necklace? Orelia was that perfect someone. Angelique was certain her secret would be safe with her.

Finally, Orelia settled upon a simple geometric design and started to pierce the holes along the outline.

‘I consider you my dearest friend,’ said Angelique.

Orelia replied with a warm smile.

‘And there are no secrets between the dearest of friends,’ continued Angelique.

Midway through pressing the needle into paper, Orelia froze. ‘What makes you think I am keeping a secret?’

‘Not you, silly. I am the one guilty of keeping a secret. Would you like to know what it is?’ said Angelique, her voice taking on a deeper, huskier sound.

‘I believe that even between friends, sometimes secrets are –’

‘I have purchased a love potion from a witch,’ interrupted Angelique.

Orelia looked startled. ‘Surely you’re joking.’

Angelique shuffled closer to her, lifting the cushion off her lap and placing it on the settee next to her. ‘I shall prove it to you, but you must promise to tell no one. It will be our secret.’ She withdrew the potion from her pocket.

The dark amber liquid was a perfect match with Orelia’s hair. Her eyes grew wide and she reached out to touch it.

A second before her finger connected with the glass, Angelique pulled the vial away and closed her hand around it. ‘I can’t let anything happen to it,’ she said.

‘How did you acquire it?’ asked Orelia.

‘From a witch, though she does not call herself a witch, she calls herself an apothecary. I visited her a week or so ago when you were at the tailor with Anna.’

‘How do you know it will work?’

Angelique let out an exasperated sigh. Orelia was almost as bad as Veronica.

‘Do you not want to know who I intend to use it on?’

‘Bastian,’ answered Orelia softly.

Angelique was taken aback for a second, then she simply laughed. ‘You know me like a sister,’ she said, grabbing Orelia’s hand. ‘And sisters help each other.’

Orelia pulled her hand away, as if pricked by the needle. ‘How can
I
help?’

‘I have to slip the potion into Bastian’s drink. I failed at the opera and –.’

‘That’s why you knocked the drink from Marco’s hand?’ interrupted Orelia.

‘Si. I would have succeeded if not for that big fool. Can you imagine if he had drunk the love potion?’ Angelique shuddered. ‘I would have thrown myself off the balcony.’

‘Why did you not try again at the banquet last night?’

Angelique gasped. ‘Bastian was there?’

Orelia shifted uncomfortably, as if the expensive settee from Paris was suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. I just assumed he was there. There were so many noblemen present.’

‘No, father never invites Bastian. He doesn’t like him.’

‘Your father said that?’

‘He doesn’t have to. He believes too much of what he hears. Not all that is said about Bastian is true.’

‘So I’ve been told,’ said Orelia dryly. ‘How well do
you
know him?’

‘Not as well as I’d like to. Will you will help me get Bastian to take the love potion?’

‘I don’t see how I can be of any assistance.’

‘He is interested in you because you’re new, and who doesn’t like new things? We can use that to our advantage,’ said Angelique. ‘Perhaps you could invite him out for coffee? I could go in your place, masked, of course.’

Before Orelia could respond, the door to the sitting room opened and Veronica walked in. She was wearing a dress of bold red, green and yellow stripes with only a fraction of the lace protruding from the elbow-length sleeves that Angelique thought fit for a woman of their distinction. Her dark hair fell naturally around her face. She glided over to an armchair holding a book.

Angelique sighed. Her sister’s timing was as imperfect as always.

‘You two look very secretive,’ said Veronica, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smile.

‘I’m just learning to make lace,’ said Orelia.

‘I’ve never been good at lace-making or embroidery or any of those things society expects a woman to be proficient at.’

Angelique slipped the vial back into her skirt and rearranged the cushion on her lap. She resumed weaving the bobbins in and out of each other. ‘The poor man that shall have you as his wife,’ she said to her sister. ‘Or should I say poor Luca, since a wedding seems imminent?’

Veronica scoffed. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

‘You’ll have to marry someone one day. Why not Luca? He is handsome, rich and well-respected. What more could you want?’

‘Someone who has respect for me and for what I think. Someone who would ask my permission to marry me, not my father’s,’ said Veronica, relaxing into the armchair dreamily.

‘You read too many books. They are ruining all men for you.’

‘And you should read more books. Then you wouldn’t go falling in love with every man with a handsome face and gilded buttons!’

‘Done,’ said Orelia, holding up the sheet of paper. Pinpricks of light shone through the holes.

Angelique laughed, deliberately ignoring her sister’s remark, a defence she’d used since she was a child. ‘Wonderful, Orelia. Now you need to choose the colour of your thread. And when you’re finished, we will arrange that coffee date we were talking about.’ She sent Orelia a slow deliberate wink. Sharing her secret with Orelia had been a very smart move. Now that Orelia was her accomplice, Bastian was as good as hers.

Curse Angelique. Curse Luca.

All Veronica had wanted was a quiet afternoon curled up in the sitting room with her book, but now thanks to her sister all she could think about was Luca. Last night had gone terribly. She had gotten no closer to discovering Luca’s secret and at the end of the night her father had congratulated her on making such a good impression. It was a complete failure.

Across from Veronica, Angelique was instructing Orelia in the next step of lace-making, the both of them so carefree.

Veronica’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the sitting room door. A moment later, the door opened and Maria appeared. ‘Signor Boccassio is here requesting to see you, Signorina Veronica. Will you receive him?’

The book fell from Veronica’s lap to the floor as she sat suddenly upright. What was Luca doing back so quickly?

‘Are you all right, Signorina? You look unwell,’ said Maria.

Veronica nodded. ‘You may send him in.’

As Maria disappeared to collect Luca from the portego, Veronica returned her attention to her book, trying to put on her best act of disinterest for when Luca walked into the room. As she waited, her concern gave way to nervous excitement. This was her chance, perhaps her last chance. The air seemed to be laced with secrets today. She would discover Luca’s.

When Veronica looked up, it was with a smile. Luca was in the open doorway. His parrucca alla delfina, a periwig that was high in the front with a little bag for the hair at the back of the neck, sat a fraction askew. He greeted them all politely.

‘Signor Boccassio,’ said Veronica. ‘I am pleased to see that you are not wet. I take it your gondoliers are back in your service.’

‘Very much so. In fact, I begged them never to leave me again,’ said Luca.

Veronica laughed. ‘Please take a seat. To what do we owe this pleasure?’

Angelique looked between the two with bafflement like someone who was seeing two moons in the sky. Veronica ignored her and kept her attention on Luca, who had sat down upon the armchair facing her. She had not realised just how tall and broad-shouldered he was until he filled the small space of the armchair.

‘I have lost something very dear to me,’ he answered. ‘I think I may have left it here last night at the banquet. It is a small leather-bound notebook. It contains important information. I’ve looked everywhere else. This is the only other place it could be. Please tell me that one of the servants has found it.’

Veronica’s heart beat rapidly, but she fought to maintain her composure. ‘I’m afraid none of the servants have informed me that they have come across it, yet. Do you remember which room you may have left it in?’

Luca sighed. ‘No.’

Veronica stood up. ‘I shall go and alert the servants to begin searching. They will find your notebook.’

Veronica walked out of the room with controlled steps, but the moment she closed the door she broke into a run. She did not plan on alerting the servants, just one servant: Anna. She was the most trustworthy.

She found Anna cleaning the windows in Angelique’s room. ‘Signor Boccassio lost his notebook somewhere in the palazzo last night. It’s small and . . .’ Veronica’s sentence trailed off when she saw Anna pull the notebook out of her apron pocket.

‘I found it this morning when dusting in the library. Who did you say it belonged to?’

Veronica did not answer. She took the notebook from Anna’s hand and flicked through the pages and pages of scrolling handwriting. Guilty confessions, most likely. She needed to read it, even if only the first few pages, but her eyes could not make sense of the words under such pressure. ‘He is expecting me to return any moment,’ she said, almost to herself. If only Anna knew how to write . . .

Snapping the notebook shut, Veronica handed it back to Anna with a glint in her eye. ‘Take this to Signor Paolo at the bookshop around the corner,’ she said. ‘Have him to copy as much as he can in half an hour. Neat, legible handwriting. Tell him I will pay handsomely later. Make sure he understands that absolute secrecy is required. And do not let Maria know where you are going or what you are doing. When you return, leave the copy in my bedroom and bring the notebook to the sitting room. Signor Boccassio is waiting there for it, but he must not know about your trip to Signor Paolo. You must pretend that you have just found his notebook. And do hurry.’

Anna looked as if the instructions had been given to her in Arabic, but she nodded and hurried out of Angelique’s room with the notebook.

Veronica turned the other way and walked back to the sitting room. Her mind spun with all the things that could go wrong with her plan: Signor Paolo could be out, Anna could return late, Maria could catch Anna. With all these devastating scenarios playing out in her mind, Veronica walked back into the sitting room with an expression to match the internal drama.

Luca, who was on his hands and knees searching beneath the settee, looked up at her as she walked into the sitting room. ‘Is something wrong?’

Veronica blinked a few times. ‘Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere. Have you found your notebook?’

He rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. ‘No, it’s not in here. May I search another room? The library, perhaps.’

‘The servants are taking care of it. It is better that we stay out of their way. I’m sure they’ll find your notebook before the hour is up. How about a game of cards while we wait? Angelique? Orelia?’

Angelique stood up. ‘Orelia and I were planning on taking a ride down the Canal Grande. It was lovely to see you, Signor Boccassio.’

Orelia stood and smiled in her own particular way, requiring no accompanying words. Then the two of them left.

‘I played enough of cards last night,’ said Luca. ‘How about a game of chess instead?’

‘Certainly, though I must warn you that I am undefeated in chess.’

‘That sounds like an irresistible challenge.’

Veronica removed the chess set from a chest beneath the window and began setting it up on the low table between two armchairs. ‘I always play with white.’

‘How convenient, I always play with black. What a magnificent chessboard!’

‘The wood is inlaid with bone and chestnut. It has been passed down through our family since the sixteenth century.’

Before Luca had finished placing his final piece on the board, Veronica had already moved her first piece.

‘You have a very competitive nature, Signorina,’ said Luca, making his first move. ‘It’s not often one meets such a spirited woman.’

‘If you aim to distract me with insults, you are wasting your time.’ To prove her point, Veronica took Luca’s bishop. ‘Your turn.’

They played for several minutes in silence, exchanging victorious smiles.

‘Do you think we should check on the progress of the servants?’ said Luca, beginning to stand up.

‘Please sit down, it has only been . . . half an hour,’ said Veronica, glancing at the clock above the fireplace. In her mind, she quickly calculated where Anna might be. It was a five-minute walk to the bookshop, then she had allowed half an hour for Signor Paolo to copy as much as he could, and then there was the five-minute return trip.

‘I’m sure it won’t be much longer,’ said Veronica. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what does the notebook contain that is so important?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Luca paused, studying the board. ‘Check.’

The next few moves of the game were played with the seriousness of art collectors at an auction. Neither Veronica nor Luca took their eyes off the chessboard.

Finally, Luca leaned back into the armchair with a big smile. ‘Checkmate.’

Veronica inhaled sharply, as her eyes quickly scanned the board. Before she could say a single word, there was a knock at the door and Anna entered the room. The notebook was in her hand.

Luca jumped to his feet and turned towards the door. Behind his back, Veronica looked at Anna with a rigid and questioning expression. Anna gave an almost imperceptible nod and Veronica’s face softened into a smile.

‘Grazie millie,’ said Luca, as he strode over to Anna. He took the notebook from her and tucked it into the pocket of his dress-coat. ‘You did not read it, did you?’

Anna shook her head.

Luca smiled and withdrew a purse of coins. He handed it to Anna. ‘For your kind assistance.’

‘I cannot accept this,’ said Anna, weakly shaking her head.

Pushing the coin purse into her hands, Luca said, ‘I insist.’

Anna offered her thanks many times over before hurrying from the room.

Veronica walked over and stood beside Luca in the doorway. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that. Now she will expect something in return each time she finds my missing stockings.’

‘And your missing affections?’ said Luca.

Feeling her cheeks flush with annoyance, Veronica opened her mouth to offer a retort.

‘I must be going,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed our game of chess and look forward to a re-match.’

Veronica clenched her teeth, then realised that while she did not win their game of chess, she was the victorious one. With a smile, she reached out and patted the place on his chest where the notebook lay concealed. ‘I’m just glad your secrets are safe.’