The Rossetti Letter (v5) (14 page)

“Can you not smell it?”

“I didn’t say it was pleasant, but I thought you might be able to bear it until you are better.”

“I believe I shall be ill as long as I am thus anointed.”

“Very well then. Nico will bring a basin for you to wash in.” She walked toward the door, stopped, turned around. “I have not sent to the marquis to tell him of your arrival. I thought it better to wait until you were well, and seek your counsel on the matter.”

“You are prudent as well as accommodating.”

“Shall I send Nico with a letter?”

“Do you often send messages to the marquis?”

“Never.”

“I was instructed not to approach him directly. If you do something out of the ordinary, it may attract notice. Perhaps we should delay, until he arrives at his customary time.”

“As you wish.”

As Alessandra left the room, Antonio saw that his clothes had been dried and neatly folded in a stack on a chair at the end of the bed, and realized to his chagrin that he was, underneath the coverlet, completely naked.

Alessandra sat in front of the large, gilt-framed mirror in her bedchamber, powdering her exposed shoulders, finishing the last of her toilet. Bianca had hired a girl, Luisa, who came in every afternoon to curl and arrange her hair. Tonight it was swept up with a diamond comb in back, the curls framing her face, a style that Luisa said was being worn by the most fashionable women in town. Her maquillage was exquisitely pale, though a bit more dramatic than usual. She preferred a light hand when it came to face powders and lotions, but tonight would be spent with Senator Contarini. He was the type of man who liked the look of a painted woman, as long as it was not overdone.

Sometimes Alessandra thought that she spent more time getting ready for her liaisons than having them. Not long ago, she never would have imagined that she’d spend so many hours staring at her own reflection, carefully considering how a lock of hair was set or if the color of a fabric complemented her skin. In some ways she found it tedious, but the act of preparing for her lovers was often reassuring; the time it took for her physical transformation provided the opportunity for her emotional transformation, too. She became a creature who was not quite herself, a chameleon who could embody whatever fantasy her clients desired: a seductress, a virgin…a boy, even, she thought with a wry smile, thinking of Signor Vespaccio’s unusual proclivities. She’d discovered that younger men generally preferred more artifice, older men tended to care little for powder and rouge: unadorned youth was evidently more beguiling as one aged, and she dressed and made herself up accordingly. Contarini was, at forty-two, one of her younger clients, and he expected to see Alessandra at her glittering best. She surveyed herself carefully one last time: kohl-lined eyes; deep red lips; her newest and finest dress, a flattering green silk heavily woven with gold thread. For the finishing touch she clipped on a pair of diamond earrings and fastened a matching necklace around her throat. It wouldn’t do to go out without them: the jewels had been given to her by Contarini himself.

“You should be in bed.” Alessandra stopped by to check on her patient and found him attired in his shirt and slops, the loose breeches worn by Spanish soldiers. He was peering through the glass of her curio cabinet. The tray that Bianca had brought up earlier had only crumbs left on it, and Alessandra surmised that he had discovered his appetite after all. The bath and clean linens had no doubt helped; the room smelled fresh again.

“I was admiring your collection.” His white shirt glowed in the firelight, and orange points of light gleamed in his dark eyes. “Is that truly a human hand?”

“It’s the hand of an Egyptian mummy. My father was a merchant who used to visit many exotic ports.”

“He no longer travels?”

“He and my brother were lost in a storm. But while he was alive, he never failed to bring back interesting presents.”

“A mummy’s hand seems a strange gift for a girl.”

“Perhaps I am a strange girl.” She laughed at his surprised expression. “Originally it was an entire mummy. But then the crew was apprised of its worth, and their avarice reduced it to this.”

“What would you have done with an entire mummy?”

“I don’t know. Propped it up in a corner to scare away thieves, I suppose. It would have made a wonderful study,” she said wistfully.

“Those are your drawings, I take it?”

“Yes, but they’re not meant for others to see.” Alessandra hoped he did not see the flush in her cheeks. This was her private sanctuary, a place where guests were not invited, which was why she had hidden him here. It hadn’t occurred to her that he was a guest, too; but then, he hadn’t been conscious at the time.

“I think they’re quite good.” Antonio swayed a little as he spoke, and Alessandra realized that he had remained standing out of politeness.

“I insist that you rest,” she said, and this time he didn’t hesitate to return to the bed. She took the tray away as he climbed under the coverlet.

“Where are the things I carried with me?” he asked.

“You mean the letter? It is in the bed-table drawer.”

“Thank you for keeping it safe. And for keeping me safe. I’m sure your generosity will be rewarded.”

“I require no reward, but an explanation would be welcome. Why were you instructed to come here instead of going to Bedmar directly?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“I have a right to know.”

“I cannot tell you because I do not know. I’m not privy to the contents of the letter or to the duke’s reasons for such secrecy.”

“You’re just the messenger, then?”

“In this instance, yes.” He searched her expression for a sign of trust and found none. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe, except that I am being used for some end in which I have no part.”

“Perhaps your lover, the marquis, can explain.”

In the viscount’s comment she discerned a snide insinuation and a coldness in his voice that she didn’t in the least like. She moved toward the door, taking the tray with her.

“You’re leaving?” he called.

She turned to face him. “I’m called out for the evening.”

“Is that why you’re dressed so handsomely?”

“It is a courtesan’s duty to beautify and entertain.” She curtsied with an irony she suspected was lost upon him.

“What mask will you wear?”

“None at all. Masks are worn only during Carnival and other festival days.”

“So your beauty will be on display for everyone to enjoy.”

“Is that a compliment, or a slight? Your words, like your sword, can cut both ways. In your blundering attempt to win a woman’s heart, you may harm yourself.”

“I thought a courtesan’s heart could not be won, only bought. And as you no doubt have seen from my purse, I have not the means. I am but a poor viscount, reduced to soldiering.”

“That is a shame, indeed. Perhaps the next time you come to Venice, you shall be better equipped.”

Alessandra was determined to ignore Utrillo-Navarre entirely, but by the next evening her resolution had wavered and she sent Bianca with a message asking him to join her downstairs for supper, if he were well enough.

Still pale but steady of step, Antonio appeared in the parlor at the appointed hour, and escorted Alessandra into the dining room. Nico had lowered and lit the chandelier that illuminated the gold cloth-covered table, on which Venetian glass goblets and an array of exquisite Florentine china sparkled and shone.

“I thought that this evening you would once again be summoned to a party of pleasure,” Antonio said as he pulled out Alessandra’s chair, then took a seat across from her.

“It’s true, I am unexpectedly free. It seems that one of my patrons has found other company he desires more.”

“I hardly know how to respond to such a new and unique challenge to my gallantry. Should I congratulate you for relinquishing one of your weekly sins or condole with you for losing a portion of your keep? I confess I am confused. Although I must say you don’t seem unhappy.”

Alessandra laughed. “No, I’m not unhappy, strangely enough. As for your predicament, I require neither your congratulations nor your condolences.”

“And how was your evening? Was it magical? Was your gown a success?”

“So many questions! You must have been terribly bored.”

“On the contrary. While you were out making conquests, I was praying for your soul’s salvation.”

He spoke so solemnly that at first Alessandra believed he was sincere, then she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re jesting.”

“But you believed me for a moment.”

“Only a moment. You don’t have the look of the saint about you. I’m certain that if you were feeling better, you would join in the revels.”

“Perhaps. But if I did, I would claim to be unduly influenced by a certain Venetian courtesan.”

Bianca carried in a tray with dishes of olives and bowls of soup.

“I believe you find delight in thinking me wicked,” Alessandra said after Bianca had gone.

“You mistake me. I simply want to understand your character.”

“‘Venetians first, Christians second,’ is what we say here, and I suppose that applies to me as well as anyone.”

“So you do not consider your way of life sinful?”

Alessandra’s hesitation was barely noticeable. “No, I do not.” She had never felt the need to share her private misgivings; why did she have to suppress an impulse to do so now?

“Tell me, how is it you are without children? Is it not a mortal sin to prevent their conception?”

“What the church may call a sin I call a kindness. I have no desire to produce more fatherless babes for the orphanage. But lest you think that all Venetian women are as sinful as I, please let me assure you otherwise—there are many bastards in Venice.” Alessandra smiled. “Some of whom were not even born here.”

Antonio laughed heartily. “I deserved that. I must confess, I have never been devout. I did not like church at all when I was a boy. My family belonged to the grandest church in Pamplona, and I thought it was fearsome. Often enough they had to drag me there, kicking and screaming.”

“You were afraid of church?”

“When I was a boy, yes. When I got older, I simply slipped out the door as soon as it was convenient.”

“You’re not afraid any longer?”

“No.” He smiled. “But I always carry my sword, just in case.”

“It does not seem as if fighting and praying are all that compatible, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised. There is a great deal of praying on a battlefield.”

“Do you like being a soldier?”

“I suppose. I don’t think about it much. It was the path that was chosen for me, and yet I think I am well suited to it. Although there was no indication I would be. My father, may he rest in peace, always said I was undisciplined, but that changed when I went into the duke’s service.”

“The duke of Ossuna?”

“Yes.”

“Are you pleased to be under his command?”

“In what way do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question. Your refusal to answer tells more than you would wish known, I suspect.”

“On the contrary, I do not refuse. The duke is a man of vision who reigns supreme in Naples.”

“We Venetians have a different view. He is a rogue who challenges our fleet without provocation, and it is rumored that he is living too well off the riches of his fiefdom.”

“He assumes the privileges of power as does any lord.”

“You defend him.”

“Of course.”

“You believe in unquestioning obedience, then?”

Antonio’s jaw tensed. “That is a soldier’s duty. And, I might add, a courtesan’s duty if she cares to keep the patronage upon which her subsistence depends.”

“My mind is no one’s possession but my own.” She rang for Bianca. “I find I am no longer hungry. Please continue, if you like.” Alessandra hurried from the room.

Antonio hesitated a moment, then stood and brushed by Bianca as she entered the dining room. He caught up with Alessandra on the stairs leading to her bedchamber on the top floor.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“You could begin by answering my questions.”

“To reveal my thoughts could imperil both of us.”

“Your presence here already does.”

Against his better judgment, Antonio decided to take her into his confidence. “The duke of Ossuna is not a completely rational man,” he confessed reluctantly. “I cannot respect him, yet I must serve him or my life is forfeit. He rules with an iron fist and, in doing so, foments rebellion. He concocts grandiose schemes by which I fear he will bring himself and others to ruin.”

“And the marquis? Do you serve him, too?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I do.”

“And what is your opinion of him?”

“Ambitious, ruthless, even cruel at times. But he’s also a masterful politician, a brave soldier, and a strong leader.”