The Girl Behind the Mask (31 page)

As we drifted along, we passed dozens of gondolas bearing costumed passengers. They nodded as they sailed by. It was strange, I thought, that the wearing of masks enabled people to be more friendly than usual.

From the bridges and the bars on the canalside, tourists called and waved. The flashes of their cameras glittered like stardust.

‘It’s like being in a film,’ said Bea. ‘All these people trying to photograph us.’

‘And why not?’ said Nick. ‘We are quite the smartest gondola in town.’

We had Marco Donato to thank for that and I, for one, could not wait to express my gratitude in person.

Chapter 45

Outside the Palazzo Donato, several gondolas were already moored so their passengers could disembark. As we waited for a space to dock, I looked up at the house. Usually so dark and silent, that night every window was ablaze. Flaming torches marked the corners of the landing-raft, where liveried servants were helping guests make the tricky transition from boat to, almost, dry land. I recognised none of them. They must have been hired for the evening. Where, I wondered, was Silvio? I gazed at the disembarking passengers, in their extraordinary finery. Clearly, none of these people had been reduced to the Eighties-style monstrosities in the dress-hire shop. Bea cooed over a woman in a metallic dress with the shimmer of molten mercury. Her mask was coated in the same material, giving the impression that she might dissolve into a puddle of quicksilver at any moment. Another woman wore an enormous domino, the extravagantly flounced cloak made popular in the eighteenth century. The ruffled hood made her seem so top-heavy that as she made the step from gondola to raft, I held my breath and waited for a splash.

Who were all these people? I knew the Palazzo Donato had not welcomed guests for over a decade. Were the guests walking into the house through an arcade of blazing torches old friends? What did they think about the years of social exile? They must have been curious. Just as I had been curious to see what lay behind the front door on the first morning I came to see Luciana’s letters. It was strange to be coming to the house to find it so busy and full of life. I felt oddly protective of the usually empty courtyard and the library. I hoped the library, at least, would remain out of bounds. It was my sanctuary. It was a space I wanted to share with no one but Marco. I hoped he felt the same.

At last, our gondola drew alongside the landing-raft and the liveried servants turned their attention to us. I let myself be lifted onto the raft by two strong pairs of arms. Bea, whose borrowed dress was altogether more extravagant, needed not only the pull on to the raft but a push from the gondola beneath as well. Nick joined forces with the gondolier to hoist Bea to safety, then followed quickly behind her. In his velvet trousers, he didn’t need a hand at all.

‘So here we are,’ said Bea. ‘I have to say, your boyfriend has put on quite a show.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I reminded her.

‘I have a feeling that after tonight he will be. I mean, all this
must
be for you. He hasn’t had a party in what? A decade?’

‘I’m sure he was having the party anyway,’ I said, as I’d always said, though I still hoped I was wrong. ‘Put your mask on properly. Otherwise there’s no point having swapped clothes.’

The tiny courtyard that had been so tranquil the first time I visited was transformed. The fountain was in full flow, its glittering jets turned into natural disco lights by the flaming torches that lit every corner. More liveried servants circulated here, bearing trays of prosecco, turned liquid gold by the flames.

Nick took two glasses of wine and turned to offer them to Bea and me. I accepted mine gratefully, as did Bea before she realised that her
servetta muta
would absolutely prevent her from being able to enjoy it. She signalled to me with anguished eyes.

‘Not yet,’ I answered. ‘I want to see his reaction before you take off the mask.’

She grunted her assent.

‘You know what?’ said Nick. ‘I think those masks should be compulsory in the university. I’d get a whole lot more work done.’

Bea grunted something else.

‘What’s that? You’d be happy to take my students so I can prepare for the Paris conference next month?’ Nick teased. ‘Bea, you are so very kind.’

I scanned the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard. I had an idea of what I was looking for. I estimated from the photographs I had seen of him that Marco would be at least six foot in height. As a younger man, he’d had a swimmer’s physique. That probably wouldn’t have changed so much. Judging by the pictures of his father and his grandfather, the Donatos were not a family that ran to fat in middle age.

‘Which one is he?’ Nick asked.

‘Hard to tell. Everyone’s wearing masks.’

‘Look for someone who seems proprietorial?’ Nick suggested. ‘Is there anyone who looks as though he’s playing the host? Anyone with an unusual number of attractive women around him? There must be people here who could pick him out even with a mask on. No one is that anonymous. The way they walk, talk, even the shape of their ears will give them away.’

Bea grunted something along the lines of ‘get on with it’. She was obviously keen to be introduced so she might swap the hateful
servetta muta
for the white mask she had brought to replace it once my little joke was over. I was very conscious of this. There wasn’t a lot of time. It was a shame I would not get much opportunity to watch Marco as he moved among his friends.

We followed the crowd through to the salon on the
piano nobile
. The doors with their monkey-headed roundels were wide open. Ernesta and her pet watched proceedings from their place on the wall.

‘That’s a Carriera,’ said Nick when he saw the painting. ‘Worth a bloody fortune.’

Bea held her mask against her face but dropped the button from between her teeth to tell me, ‘Girl, you have lucked out.’

But had I?

I surveyed the room. There were so many women jostling for space in front of the mirror and, to my mind, they all had more to show off than I did. Who were they? Were any of these women the girls who had draped themselves over Marco for the cameras? Was he talking to one of them now? Was that him in the blue suit and the plague mask? Or was he the man dressed as a joker? How about the sombre-looking fellow in the black cloak and tricorn? It was impossible to tell.

In the Dior dress that squeezed her waist as small as a wasp’s, Bea was turning plenty of heads, both male and female. One of them must be my epistolary lover. I longed for him to reveal himself to me. Despite the red of my dress, I felt myself fading from sight.

Chapter 46

30th June, 1753

The afternoon of the Duke’s visit arrived. Maria was far more excited than I was. She brushed out my hair twice as enthusiastically as usual before arranging it in a style of ludicrous complexity, which was apparently all the rage. It was especially ludicrous given that I intended to wear a veil.

When she had finished messing with my hair, she pinched my cheeks to bring some life to them.

‘Ow,’ I complained.

‘You don’t look well,’ she told me. ‘What is the matter with you? Aren’t you excited you’re meeting your future husband?’

‘A potential suitor,’ I corrected her. ‘I have the right to turn any suitor down.’

‘If you want to be turned out on your ear,’ said Maria. ‘A duke has come to ask for your hand and you’re talking about turning him down? You will get no better offer, believe me. If I were you I would stop talking so ungratefully and do my best to make sure the Duke is impressed.’

I nodded. There was no point discussing the matter further with Maria, who could not see how any woman could be complete without a husband. In that case, perhaps I should have told her to look to her own behaviour. Chasing a priest? She might as well have chased the Doge himself.

She pinched my cheeks again. This time she pinched so hard she brought tears to my eyes.

‘The idea is to make me look beautiful,’ I reminded her. ‘Not desperate.’

‘Men like to see a girl on the verge of tears,’ said Maria, ridiculously.

But not so ridiculous as she imagined when it came to the Duke. Yes, I had sensed when I met him at Ernesta’s house that he was a man who liked to see a woman cry in pain as much as in sadness. I held the courtesan’s pearl in my hand. I grasped it so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palm. I thought about Ernesta’s bruise. I would avenge my friend. Or at least, since my power was so limited, I would let the Duke know he had no secrets from me.

I planned it all very carefully. I was the picture of virginal innocence that afternoon with my face scrubbed, my hair covered and not a hint of ostentation in my plain but feminine dress, which was the very opposite of the trousers I had grown used to. But I held in my hands a string of worry beads. No one would think that too odd, I decided. After all, I was a naïve young girl about to meet a man to whom I might promise my life. I had so little experience of men, other than my relatives and the few ageing male servants my father would allow at the house. Of course I was nervous. Hence the beads. But I also held in my hand Ernesta’s pearl. And what no one else knew is that I had snipped the string of my worry beads, so that the moment I wished it, they would fly apart and cover the floor of the salon. After that, I had to rely upon the Duke having at least some gentlemanly instincts.

My father looked so very pleased to have such an important guest. I was disappointed in him for that. I had not expected him to be so overawed by the Duke’s title but Papà could not do enough to make the odious man comfortable. The table in the salon was laden with the sort of feast I would have expected at Christmas. The cook had outdone herself. There were enough cakes to feed all the children in the city’s
ospedali
. Of course, I would not be touching any of them. Neither would Maria, though as soon as we entered the room, I could tell she did not know where to look first. At the Duke? At the cakes? At the Duke? The cakes won out. They were certainly more attractive to me than the peacocking braggart at the window. He had chosen to stand there in the hope of showing himself off to best effect.

My father introduced me to my wealthy suitor and I played the innocent girl. The Duke showed none of the nervousness he had shown in Ernesta’s presence. For my part, I expressed my delight and surprise at having received such an illustrious offer for my hand. I kept my eyes to the floor, raising them only in the direction of my father to see how he was enjoying my little charade. Papà smiled at me dotingly. Oh, Papà. He couldn’t wait to make me this other man’s responsibility, no matter how much it cost him.

The Duke seemed to enjoy my performance too. He recounted the story he had told my father regarding having seen me in church. He claimed he had noticed me week after week, gazing modestly at the prayer book in my hands, looking up only to see our Lord’s face when I took the sacrament. He could tell I was a good pious girl, unlike so many of the women in this terrible city. My father nodded in agreement. As did Maria.

‘Maria is deeply pious too,’ said my father. ‘There is nothing she won’t do for the church.’

One of the housemaids was serving the coffee and offering round some pastries. Overhearing my father’s remark about Maria’s piety, the poor girl almost dropped the coffee pot. Maria crucified the girl with a look as she helped herself to an enormous serving of cake. I refused.

‘I’m too nervous to eat,’ I claimed. Everyone was happy with that. Good. Nerves were my cover. I fiddled with the beads in my hand. Once or twice the Duke looked to see what it was I was doing as the beads went click, click, click. Perhaps he thought I was saying a rosary. He was the one who should have been praying.

My father and the Duke made chit-chat about the summer in Venezia. They both believed it was the hottest June they had ever experienced. Neither could wait for the autumn to set in. The very best time to be in the city was the springtime, of course. Before the great heat started, when the days were still cool and clear.

‘What do you think?’ the Duke asked me.

I told him I agreed. Venezia was best of all in the spring.

Then one of the servants came upstairs to tell my father he was wanted. A business associate had come calling with important news. The Duke looked slightly perturbed. Perhaps my handsome dowry had gone down in a ship newly scuppered by the Turks. My father excused himself.

‘I’m sure it is not so important,’ he said to our guest. ‘But you understand that any large business such as ours requires constant attention. Maria will keep you both company. Maria.’ My father turned to her. ‘Please ensure the Duke has all he needs.’

‘Perhaps the Duke would like some more cake?’ Maria offered at once.

He demurred and so did I but Maria saw no reason to deny herself. And while she was helping herself to another
cornetto
, I saw my chance. I had been rolling the worry beads in my hand for the entire interview. Now it was time to let them go. With a flick of my wrist, I flung the beads onto the floor. The pearl went with them.

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed.

‘You have been worrying too much,’ said the Duke.