Belladonna

four

Come in,” Cass said innocently. “Oh, look, you already have.”

Agnese’s handmaid, Narissa, stood in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her ample belly, and her eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the sight of both Cass and Siena sitting on the bed. Siena jumped up immediately so as not to provoke a scolding about where servants should and should not sit.

“Come along, Siena,” Narissa said, “or you’ll miss out on supper.” She raised an eyebrow at Cass, her gaze lingering on the sagging folds of Cass’s dress. “Will you be dining this evening, Signorina Cassandra? Or have you given up on eating altogether?”

Cass was about to tell Narissa that she wasn’t hungry, but then remembered she had Feliciana to feed. “Actually I’m famished,” Cass said. “Can you ask the cook to prepare a full tray for me tonight?”

Narissa nodded curtly before excusing herself and turning toward the door. Siena trailed behind the older handmaid, looking penitent.

Cass counted to thirty before dropping her head over the edge of her bed and peeking underneath it. Feliciana looked almost comfortable stretched out on her back in the thin black space. Slipper lay nuzzled against her side.

“Traitor,” Cass whispered at the cat. He gazed back at her with wide green eyes.

“I probably still smell like squid,” Feliciana said, crawling out from under the bed and dusting off the front of her dress. “It’ll take me another bath and then some to get rid of that odor.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Cass said. She couldn’t wait to tell Feliciana about everything that had happened: the murdered courtesan, Falco, Madalena’s wedding, Luca’s arrest. But she didn’t want to start now, while she might be interrupted. “And just in time. Your sister almost went crazy with worry.”

“Poor thing,” Feliciana said. “She’s always been the nervous one. Remember back when she worked in the kitchen and broke one of your aunt’s teacups? I found her up in our room, crying her eyes out, positive she’d be sent away.”

“And the time that boy from the gardening crew flirted with her?” Cass said. “I thought she might faint right into the rosebushes.”

Feliciana laughed. She asked Cass about each of the longtime servants, happy that so many of them were still working for the estate and doing well. “I never should have left,” she said. “Everyone here is so kind.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, everyone except for Narissa, of course.” Someone else knocked at the door and Feliciana sighed. She started to duck back under the bed.

“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” Siena slipped into the room with a dinner tray laden with sliced chicken, herbed potatoes, cheeses, breads, and bowls of creamy soup. Cass and Narissa obviously had different ideas about what constituted a full tray. There was more than enough food for two famished people.

Siena set the tray in the middle of Cass’s bed. “It’s for the two of us.” She winked at Feliciana before turning to Cass. “Your aunt said it would be fine if I dined in your chamber tonight since you’ve had a difficult day.”

“She didn’t happen to mention if there had been any further news, did she?” Cass asked hopefully. Siena had been so stunned to discover her sister at the marketplace that she hadn’t thought to ask around about Luca’s arrest before hurrying back to San Domenico. Cass didn’t blame her, but she was dying to know what Luca had been charged with, and it was too late to go to the Palazzo Ducale today. She’d go first thing in the morning. By then, perhaps the misunderstanding would have been cleared up and Luca freed.

Siena dropped her eyes to the floor. “She didn’t, but Narissa would have mentioned if a message had been received . . .”

Feliciana looked from Cass to Siena. “News about what?”

“Luca,” Cass admitted. “There’s been some trouble.”

Feliciana’s eyes gleamed. “Is he still painfully short?”

Cass smiled. The question was completely inappropriate, but coming from Feliciana she didn’t mind. “He’s actually grown about a foot,” Cass said. “And according to Madalena he’s become quite handsome.”

“That doesn’t sound like trouble.”

“It’s a long story,” Cass said. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” She couldn’t bring herself to discuss Luca’s arrest. Not tonight. Siena seemed to understand, because she stayed quiet as well.

The three girls clustered around the tray, sharing the silverware and the food. The sun painted the sky outside the window a rainbow of oranges and pinks as it began to set. Slipper bounded up on the bed and sniffed eagerly at the tray. Cass tossed a small chunk of chicken in the direction of the armoire. The cat leapt from the bed and pounced on the hunk of meat, devouring it eagerly.

“Quite the hunter,” Feliciana remarked. “I remember when he was just a tiny baby.”

“He’s still a baby,” Cass said, thinking of all the trouble Slipper managed to get into. “He’s just bigger now.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Siena held up a tarnished key: it was the key to Agnese’s storage room. “I managed to swipe it when I delivered her dinner tray,” she said proudly. “I already unlocked the door. I’ll replace the key after Signora Querini falls asleep.”

“Thank you, Siena,” Cass said.

The sun disappeared below the horizon and the stars began to appear. Siena clasped her older sister’s hands in her own, giving Feliciana a fierce hug before retiring to the servants’ quarters. Feliciana went to the window and inhaled deeply.

“I’ve missed this sky,” she said. “There’s so much haze over the Rialto, you never get to see stars.”

Cass thought about how she used to feel the same way, before her friend Liviana’s body had disappeared and set into motion a series of events that ended with Cass being attacked. Outside the window, the spikes of the graveyard fence glittered in the moonlight, the high grass beckoning to her like skeletal fingers. No one knew where Livi’s body had ended up, but Cass suspected it lay piecemeal in Angelo de Gradi’s workshop. The courtesan Mariabella’s body still lay in Liviana’s tomb.

And what of Sophia’s body, which had floated to the surface of the Grand Canal? She hoped Dubois had had the decency to bury her, so that her soul could ascend to heaven.

But it was unlikely.

“I’m sure you’re ready to get some sleep,” Cass said. She didn’t want to think of dead bodies or Joseph Dubois anymore tonight.

Feliciana ran a hand over her bonnet, smiling once again at the night sky. “I’m just happy to be here,” she said. “It has been forever since I’ve felt safe. But I do, now.”

Cass wished it were that easy. She didn’t feel safe anywhere. But she just smiled and nodded. Grabbing a folded blanket from the bottom shelf of her armoire and a pillow off her bed, she opened the door of her bedroom just a crack. The villa was dark and silent.

She lit a candle that sat on her washing table and motioned to Feliciana. The two girls crept through the portego and into the dining room, where they descended the narrow servants’ staircase. San Domenico was built up slightly higher than the Rialto, so there wasn’t any standing water in the hallways, but the stone floor was damp and the air smelled moldy.

“Sorry,” Cass whispered. “It’s probably not too much of an improvement from your previous accommodations.”

“If you’re not going to wake me in the middle of the night and command me to pray, I’ll consider it an improvement,” Feliciana whispered back.

Cass led Feliciana past the butler’s office to the far corner of the villa’s first floor, where an arched doorway was cut into the stone. She pushed on the wooden door and it creaked inward. Unlocked, just as Siena had promised. Cass held her candle high in the dark space. She had no idea what her aunt was storing down here.

Neat stacks of evenly spaced wooden crates filled most of the low-ceilinged rectangular room. Some of the piles were covered with canvas sheets. All of the stacks were balanced on platforms made from stucco bricks, which kept the lowest boxes from being damaged by occasional flooding and the near-constant dampness.

“What is all this?” Feliciana asked, peeking beneath one of the sheets. “Your parents’ things?”

Cass shook her head. “I don’t think so. My parents’ belongings were sold with the estate.” She tried to remove the top of the crate nearest to her, but it was nailed shut.

“Who knew Signora Querini had so much?” Feliciana asked.

“Feel free to nose through it,” Cass said, handing Feliciana the candle. “Maybe you’ll find some additional clothing that fits. Siena or I will do our best to sneak you some breakfast in the morning.”

Feliciana dragged two wooden crates together and laid Cass’s blanket down on top of them. “Pleasant dreams, Signorina Cass,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t need the candle to get back to your room?”

“I’ll be fine.” Cass had navigated the darkened villa so many times, she could do it blindfolded and in her sleep. “Good night, Feliciana.”

Back upstairs, Cass crawled beneath her covers. She had feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the events of the day had exhausted her. She dreamed of a tossing black sea and voices calling to her from the dark, and then she didn’t dream at all.

Loud voices from the portego woke Cass the next morning. She slipped on a dressing gown and stepped out into the hallway. Agnese was sitting on the divan, clutching a teacup in one hand and a roll of vellum in the other. Siena hovered close by, a basket of mending perched on one slender hip. Cass couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her aunt up so early.

“What is it?” Cass asked, praying someone hadn’t already discovered Feliciana. She held a hand in front of her eyes to block out the harsh daylight streaming through the open shutters.

Agnese shook the roll of parchment. “Heresy,” she said. “Luca’s been imprisoned for speaking out against the Church.”

“What?” Cass grabbed the letter out of Agnese’s swollen fingers and scanned the swirly handwriting. The message was from Donna Domacetti. Of course. She would be the first to know—and spread the news—about any tawdry gossip. Apparently, the donna had seen soldiers escorting Luca toward the Palazzo Ducale the day before and had asked her husband, a senator, why Luca was being arrested.

“That’s madness,” Cass said. Luca was a good man. He had never spoken out against the Church, she was certain of it. If anyone deserved to be accused of heresy, it was Falco, who wandered around saying science was his religion and that bodies ought to be torn apart in the name of research. “On what evidence?”

“We’ll know more soon,” Agnese said. “Donna Domacetti is on her way over. You’d better make yourself presentable.”

Cass allowed a pale and trembling Siena to tow her in the direction of her bedchamber.

“Heresy,” Siena croaked out. “It’s such a serious crime, Signorina Cass. What are you going to do? What can you do?”

“Have you seen your sister today?” Cass asked impatiently. She was quite certain she had not moped around the house like a shivery, wilting flower whenever anything bad had happened to Falco. Siena needed to pull herself together, immediately. “Luca is a man who can take care of himself. Feliciana is depending on us, for the time being. Try to remember that.”

Siena hung her head. “I was sneaking her a bit of breakfast when I saw the messenger approaching. She’s fine. Bored, but fine.”

“Good. Now help me get dressed before Donna Domacetti arrives and starts telling lurid tales without me.”

Siena pulled a cream-colored garment from Cass’s armoire.

“Not those,” Cass said. “My other stays.” Ever since Cristian’s dagger had narrowly missed her heart by embedding itself in the whalebone ribbing of her ivory stays, she had considered the undergarment lucky. With a runaway servant hidden in the storage room and Luca in prison, Cass would take all the luck she could get.

She slid her arms into the armholes, and Siena began to thread the laces from behind, her obvious distress causing her to cinch them even tighter than usual.

“Ouch,” Cass said. “Remember, I have to be able to breathe when you’re finished.”

Siena loosened the laces slightly and then began searching through Cass’s armoire for skirts and a bodice. She came back with a set of emerald-green skirts and a gray bodice with long silvery sleeves already attached.

Cass slipped the skirts over her slim hips while Siena went to work on the laces of the bodice. “Once I hear what the donna has to say, I plan to go to the Palazzo Ducale, to speak on Luca’s behalf.”

It was unlikely that the Senate would let her speak to Luca, but Cass was going to try. She couldn’t help him without more information, and she wasn’t sure she could trust a single word that came from the mouth of that gossiping crone Donna Domacetti. It couldn’t hurt to ask for a meeting. Maybe a little extra gold would open doors, literally.

Siena grabbed the silver-plated hairbrush from the dressing table and motioned for Cass to sit. Cass waved her away. “I’ll just twist it all under a hat,” she said, grabbing one made of gray velvet from a shelf in her armoire. “I don’t want to miss a moment of the donna’s visit.”

Donna Domacetti was just settling herself in a velvet chair when Cass returned to the portego. The woman lurched back to her feet, putting a dangerous amount of weight on the wooden frame of Agnese’s chair as she did so.

“Cassandra, you poor dear.” She leaned in and grasped Cass’s bare hands in her own. “My heart goes out to you.” Dressed all in red with her gray-streaked hair twisted into a high pair of horns, the donna looked more like an obese devil than Venetian nobility.

“Grazie.” Cass curtsied stiffly. Her eyes dropped to the donna’s fingers. In addition to a fat ruby and a diamond-encrusted circle of gold, the woman still wore the ring with the six-petaled flower design.

The donna gathered her wide skirts around her as she took her seat on the chair again. Cass noticed the scarlet gown was embossed with shiny metallic threads—gold, undoubtedly. Agnese was still seated stiffly on the divan, a blanket covering her legs and waist. As a kitchen servant appeared with a pot of tea and several cups, Cass realized she was the only one still standing. She pulled a chair over from the far side of the portego, passing by the life-sized depiction of The Last Supper as she did so. Cass shivered. She liked the work of da Vinci, but she always felt like the figures in the giant mosaic were watching her.

“We’re so grateful you took the time to come,” Agnese said. “A dreadful, dreadful business.”

“Indeed.” Donna Domacetti drained her tea in a single drink, leaving a smear of blood-red lip stain on the rim. “I was shocked. Luca da Peraga, taken to the Doge’s prison by order of the Senate. My husband and I could hardly believe it.” She lifted her hand and twisted her wrist at one of the serving boys. The boy hurried over and refilled her cup.

Cass set her cup gingerly on the table and glanced over at her aunt. She had plenty of questions for the donna, but it would have been rude for her to speak before Agnese.

“It’s absolutely absurd.” Agnese clucked her tongue. “Trumping up some charges against a good Venetian man who’s returned home for a betrothal ceremony? Exactly how do we go about getting him released?”

Donna Domacetti shook her head sadly, her multiple chins jiggling back and forth. “I wish it were that simple, Agnese. Not only was Signor da Peraga implicated through the bocca di lione—”

“The bocca di lione?” Cass nearly upset her cup. “They’re holding him based on anonymous accusations tossed into the mouth of a sculpture? I’ve seen children throw parchment in there as a joke.”

“You didn’t let me finish, dear.” Donna Domacetti took a long drink, swallowing slowly and dabbing at her crimson mouth with one of Agnese’s good napkins before continuing. “It seems there are also eyewitnesses to your fiancé’s heresy. Nobles who came forth to give testimony.” She said this with such undisguised enthusiasm that it took all of Cass’s self-control to keep from flinging her untouched cup of tea at the woman’s smug face.

“And who exactly are these confused nobles?” Agnese asked, shooting Cass a warning glance. Cass knew she was one comment away from being ordered to her room. She reclined in her chair and gave Donna Domacetti her most daggerlike scowl.

“I really shouldn’t say anything,” the donna demurred, “but rumor has it Don Zanotta’s own wife is one of the accusers.”

“Hortensa Zanotta?” Cass had met her when she visited Palazzo Domacetti for tea. What she remembered most was the deep gouge of smallpox scars on the donna’s cheek. That and how she had spoken so cruelly about the murdered women, as if they had deserved their fates. Scarred or not, a wealthy donna with a powerful husband could have whatever she wanted. Why in the world would she condemn an innocent man to die?

“Will there be a trial?” Agnese asked. Her swollen hands dropped to her lap. Cass realized her aunt was working the beads of her rosary. She watched Agnese’s fingers push a bead along the golden chain.

“I’m afraid not,” Donna Domacetti said. “That is why I came immediately, so that you both would know the gravity of the situation. The Senate has ordered Signor da Peraga to be executed, exactly one month from today.”

For a second, no one spoke. The room started to dissolve before Cass’s eyes, individual tiles of the da Vinci mosaic winking out like candles that had been extinguished. She fanned herself with one hand. Her bones felt weak, slippery. She had the strangest sensation that she might slide right out of the cushioned chair and onto the floor. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was that of a stranger, tiny and timid. “Executed?” she managed to squeak out. “What—what do you mean?”

Donna Domacetti cleared her throat to say more, but Agnese cut her off. “That’s preposterous.” She reached out to pat Cass on the arm. “Luca is an innocent man, a devout Catholic. Once the Senate has ample time to contemplate the facts, I’m sure they’ll reconsider.”

Cass inhaled sharply, and then again. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest. “But if there’s to be no trial, when will anyone contemplate anything?” she asked. The room started to come back into focus, but things were still a little off, like she was viewing everything through a smudged wineglass.

She watched her aunt struggle to her feet and motion to the donna. The two women slowly crossed the portego and hovered at the top of the spiral staircase. Their lips were moving, but Cass couldn’t hear their words. She wanted to get up and move closer, but her bones still felt soft, her muscles useless. She rested her head in her hands and tried to replay the parts of the conversation she remembered. Luca da Peraga . . . Doge’s prison . . . order of the Senate . . . eyewitnesses . . . heresy . . . executed . . .

Executed.

Luca had gone to meet with Joseph Dubois and now he was in prison. Executed. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. If he was arrested because of something he’d said to Dubois, it probably had something to do with Cristian. Which meant it had something to do with her. Executed. Cass touched the lily necklace through the fabric of her bodice. Luca had saved her once. Now it was up to her to save him.