The Stargazer: The Arboretti Family Saga - Book One

by Michele Jaffe

  “My permission?” he asked incredulously when it became clear that she was moving her lips for a purpose, not simply to remind him how kissable they were. “For what? Are you planning to launch a flotilla or storm a castle? Anything short of that and I know as well as you do that you would go ahead on your own initiative.”

  Bianca smiled her most winning smile and leaned farther across the desk. “Come, Ian, I am not that bad. I would never wage war on any sovereign nation. I know my limitations.”

  Ian grunted.

  “For example. I came today to ask if I might go to my house, the house I shared with my brother before I had to move in with Aunt Anatra, to get another work dress and gather my few remaining belongings. Is that so outlandish?” It was partially true, she reassured herself.

  Ian grunted again. “No.”

  “No?” Bianca stopped breathing. She should never have asked.

  “No, it is not outlandish. You may go. But take someone with you.”

  Her breathing resumed. “Will a gondolier do or shall I hire some off-duty members of the Palace guard?”

  “Out!” Ian ordered, not wholeheartedly. “I have work to do.”

  Bianca complied, but only after circling around the desk to plant a deep kiss on his lips. Ian spent the next half hour at war with himself, one part arguing that he would be more productive later if he went and dragged her into bed, another suggesting that he should skip the bed and bring her back to the library, a third pointing out the commodiousness of the dining room, a fourth wondering if the gardenia section of the plant rooms was empty. But it was the fifth, which reasoned logically that he would have time later to experiment with all of those if he concentrated on his work now, that eventually won the day. That and the perplexing question of the double invitation to Ca’Dona.

  It was not unthinkable that a blackmailer would try to gull more than one person, but it seemed unwise to allow his various targets to meet or know of each other’s existence, which was exactly what would happen if they were all present at the meeting that night. A desperate man might be convinced to cough up gold, but a group of desperate men could fight back as a body, and probably would. Unwittingly he had walked into a situation that promised to be not only volatile but even explosive.

  “Good work,” he spoke aloud to the empty room, all thoughts of Bianca’s delicious curves quickly receding. He had not touched a weapon since Christian’s death, had not even planned an experiment with gunpowder, too insecure in his abilities and too afraid of the memories it might ignite. All of his weapons, like all of his feelings, had been locked tightly away in a small room that he had sworn he would never revisit. Now, it seemed, he had no choice.

  “So Ian spoke the truth,” Crispin was saying to Bianca, the only other occupant at the luncheon table. “You do think me hideously malproportioned and cumbersomely dull.” He put up his hand to stop her protest. “Don’t try to make it better by complimenting me on my lustrous hair or slim ankles. I would just see right through that.”

  “What about your imperial nose or your striking jawline?” She hoped her voice sounded playful.

  Crispin shook his head. “It’s no good. There can be no other reason why you refuse to spend your afternoon with me.”

  Bianca felt pleased and trapped at once. Crispin’s willingness to put himself at her disposal suggested that it was Ian who would accept the invitation issued on the cream-colored stationery, which was exactly what Bianca had hoped. But Crispin’s unwillingness to forgo her company was a less than facile complication. Under any other circumstances the opportunity to pass time with Crispin would have been a treat, just not that day. It was out of the question. She was having trouble concentrating enough to eat, let alone enough to make conversation with someone for hours. Not to mention the obvious objection of her need to get to Ca’Dona in advance of her invited guests.

  “It is not you, my lord, but me.” Bianca hoped flattery might weaken his dogged persistence. “I fear I am feeling completely witless today and should find it impossible to pay you the attention you deserve.”

  Crispin was determined and undaunted. “Nonsense! I shall require no witticisms from you. I will even undertake to do all the talking.”

  “I also have a bit of a headache.” In a few more moments it would not actually be a lie.

  Crispin lowered his voice to a whisper. “In that case I won’t speak a word. We can relish each other’s company in ideal silence, like poets.”

  Bianca was desperate. “There are some errands I must attend to which promise to bore even me.”

  “Miracoli! I have some of those myself. We can be bored together.”

  Crispin smiled broadly at her, and she knew she was doomed. Just when everything seemed to be going so well, she found herself against an immobile impediment. She wondered how she had failed to notice earlier the rocklike qualities that he shared with Ian.

  It soon became clear that in addition to being stubborn, he also heard otherworldly voices, voices that gave Bianca’s consent completely without her knowledge. That was the only explanation she could contrive when she watched him push his chair from the table and heard him say, “Good, then it is all settled. Let us leave at half past three, less than an hour from now. We could leave earlier, but I will want to make myself presentable if I am to be seen in public with you.”

  He was gone before she could file a pointless protest. Alone in the dining room, Bianca surveyed her options. She could sneak out of the house as she had originally planned, but with Crispin expecting her in less than an hour, her absence would quickly be spotted and it would be difficult to evade pursuit without an adequate advance start. She could concoct some way to detain Crispin at the house, but short of putting something disabling in his meal, an opportunity she was sorry she had missed, she could think of nothing viable. Only one course of action remained to her, to somehow escape from him while they were out together. She hated having to entrust the success of her carefully laid plan to fate, but she could see no other way.

  At half past three, a spruce Crispin handed a dejected Bianca into his gondola. Even in her downcast state, Bianca had to admit that it was a particularly nice gondola, the cabin complete with lit candles and small crystal bud vases filled with flowers. Once they were off and he had assured himself that Bianca was well settled among the embroidered cushions, Crispin announced their itinerary.

  “I need to make a brief stop at a friend’s house to deliver something, and then I thought we could pay a visit to your charming cousin Analinda.”

  Bianca nodded, hoping she looked more agreeable than she felt. “I am sure she will be beside herself with joy to receive you. But would you mind if first we stopped at my former house in San Polo? I would like to get there before dusk, you know, so we won’t have to waste time lighting candles.” It was a weak excuse, particularly because the dark low-hanging rain clouds that had blanketed the city for days permitted little if any light through at all. Luckily, Crispin was not feeling inquisitive.

  “If it would put your mind at rest, why don’t we go there now?” It made no difference to him, his delivery would be eagerly received no matter when it arrived.

  “I should feel terrible if I were to inconvenience you too much.” Bianca tried to sound as if the most wonderful idea in the world had just occurred to her. “Why don’t you leave me at my house while you do your errand, then return for me on the way to Analinda’s?”

  Crispin leaned forward earnestly. “That will not do at all! Where you are concerned, there is no such thing as an inconvenience. Besides, as you can see, we have already arrived.”

  Bianca peered through the glass of the cabin and saw that they were indeed nearing the water gate of her old house. After a week in Palazzo Foscari, it looked decidedly small and dingy to her as they pulled abreast of it. The gondolier tethered the boat and Crispin and Bianca al
ighted.

  Although it had only been empty for the few weeks since her brother’s last departure, the house had a decided air of abandonment. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floors as they ascended from the ground level to the main floor above.

  “Make yourself as comfortable as you can, my lord.” Bianca was removing dust covers from the furniture and opening the drapes while she spoke, trying to keep her back to Crispin so he could not see the color rising in her cheeks. “I must gather a few things from my old room, but I will return shortly.”

  As she turned to go, Crispin was thinking that this was the perfect situation for a libertine to take advantage of a lady. Then he got distracted by the sight of a strange plant in the corner of the room. He pulled it out for closer inspection and discovered that it was not actually strange, just dying. All it needed, he diagnosed, was a few days under Luca’s watchful eyes and a strong dose of his newest fertilizer. He was so pleased at the discovery and the possibility of testing out his newest concoction that he did not hear the creaking of the back stairs, or the squeak of the rusty kitchen hinges as Bianca stealthily exited the house.

  She pulled her dark cloak closely about her, more to hide the expensive gown and jewels she was wearing than to keep off the unceasing rain. Her plan had been to change into less noticeable attire at her house, but she had not had time, Crispin’s presence making instant flight a necessity. As she wound her way on foot through the back streets of San Polo, she kept her eyes down and prayed no one would recognize her, turning around frequently to see if she was being followed.

  Her heart was pounding as she entered the crowded streets around the Rialto Bridge. It was the financial heart of the city, attracting merchants of every stripe from every country known to man. She saw men in turbans speaking Arabic, others in long robes speaking Spanish, Frenchmen with their small hats and smaller mustaches, Englishmen notable for their padded shoulders, monks begging alms, even a Turkish holy man. What she did not see, what one never saw there, was anyone else like her, an unescorted noblewoman on foot. Though the crowds thickened, she found herself garnering more and more unwelcome attention.

  She climbed up the bridge, ignoring the inviting wares of the goldsmith’s shops that lined it, and instead scanned the streets she had just walked down for signs of pursuit. She saw nothing. Then, just as she was turning back, a flurry of motion below her caught her eye and the unmistakable blond head of Crispin came bobbing into view above the sea of turbans and berets. At the same moment that she spotted him, he spotted her and began frantically pushing his way through the crowds toward her. He had no idea why Bianca had run away from him, but he knew he would get no thanks from anyone if anything happened to her. Not to mention if she disappeared completely.

  Bianca’s heart was racing as she flew down the stairs on the opposite side of the bridge, ignoring the taunts and pushing by the arms that opened to receive her. A glance over her shoulder showed her that Crispin was gaining on her, and she wondered if Ian had put him up to the task of following her that day. Whatever his reasons, he had the advantages of both size and breeches, and he was using them. Bianca was only a few steps ahead of him when she reached the bottom of the bridge, almost close enough for him to grab.

  Without stopping, she reached under her cloak for the little purse she was wearing at her waist, and unhooked it from her dress. She opened it and brought it over her head, shaking it out behind her. The unexpected windfall of gold and silver coins brought people running from all sides of the square to form a large, immobile, and greedy crowd right in front of Crispin. He tried pushing his way through but found his way blocked by a fruit seller who had no intention of sharing his cache of coins with anyone. When he was finally able to get through the crowd, Bianca had vanished.

  The undesirables lounging along the Sottoportego della Bissa, the most dangerous street in Venice, denied having seen a woman dressed in black pass by, even when Crispin offered them gold coins from his purse. If the lady wanted to get away from him so badly that she spilled all that gold, who were they to interfere? Bianca had turned down the Calle del Paradiso, crossed Campo Santa Maria Formosa, and was in sight of the front door of Ca’Dona before Crispin found anyone who would even admit to having seen the woman in black.

  It was not a servant but Tullia herself who opened the door to admit the panting, frantic Bianca. The courtesan seated her friend on one of the kitchen benches while Daphne ladled a goblet of water for her, then another after Bianca had gulped the first down. With fairly steady hands, Bianca unhooked her soaking black cloak and let it fall onto the bench.

  Tullia let out a low whistle of admiration. “Were they after those sapphires? That necklace would buy any of my clients a lifetime pass to my bed.”

  Bianca touched the stones at her neck, having forgotten they were there. “No. At least, I don’t think so. It was Crispin, Crispin Foscari who was chasing me. Ian’s brother.”

  “But why—?” Tullia let the question hang, remembering what she had learned the previous day. “Bellissima, I find that I owe you an apology. Last week when you were here I had no idea that you were betrothed to Ian. When I found out, I felt just dreadful. You do know, though, that nothing happened? He was,” Tullia paused, searching for the right word for the count’s odd behavior that day, “unwilling…but very charming. Completely uncharacteristic, actually. At any rate, I am terribly sorry.”

  Bianca waved aside the apology, surprise and, strangely, delight filling her mind. “You have nothing to feel sorry about. In fact, in some ways I have much to thank you for.” She smiled to herself as she remembered the night of their reenactment. “But that will come later. It is after four o’clock, is it not?”

  Tullia nodded and Bianca stood. “Do you think you could send someone out to see if Crispin is still pursuing me? Perhaps even to send him in the wrong direction. If he realizes how close he is to your house, he might figure out where I have hidden.”

  Tullia complied immediately, giving one of her manservants a detailed description of Crispin and precise instructions about what to say. That accomplished, the two women went up one flight of stairs to the small reception room.

  “I had Daphne draw all the shades and bring in just one candelabrum.” Tullia pointed at the candles burning on the table. “Are you sure that will provide enough light to see their faces by?”

  “Easy visibility is exactly what I want to avoid, at least until the end.” Bianca spoke quickly, her excitement resurging. “In addition to not wanting to slander the innocent, I would not want anyone to be able to recognize me.”

  Tullia gestured gracefully with one hand. “Of course. Daphne and I stayed up half the night trying to imagine why you asked me for a mask and robe, but now it seems clear. I fear the robe will be a bit long on you, bella. Would you like to borrow a pair of zoccoli as well for added height?”

  The thought of herself in the impossibly high sandals that the courtesans wore brought an unexpected smile to Bianca’s lips. “I think it would undermine my credibility if I were to teeter and fall over in the middle of my threatening speech, don’t you?”

  “On the contrary.” Tullia put a persuasive hand on her friend’s arm and steered her from the room. “The added height will make you more intimidating, as well as harder to distinguish.”

  Bianca allowed herself to be led into an adjacent room where she found robe, mask, and zoccoli laid out for her. By the time she was disguised and had made at least one successful pass around the room in the high shoes, thanks to Daphne’s careful instructions, the clock was ringing five. Tullia and her maid sat with Bianca to distract her as she waited for her invitees to arrive but, being almost as anxious as she was, were of little assistance. When a manservant finally appeared to tell her that the room was full, Bianca’s heart was pounding hard enough to be heard on the other side of Venice. She took a deep breath, kissed Tullia and Daphne on the cheeks
, rose, and made a faultless entrance into the small reception room.

  Her eyes quickly took in the five men standing silently before her. “I demand to know—” one of them began, but she cut him off.

  “There should be six of you. If one of you is missing I shall have to request that you all unmask so I can determine who it is.”

  A voice came from the corner. “That will not be necessary. I am here at the request of two of your invitees.”

  Bianca was glad the mask covered the flush that Ian’s unmistakable voice brought to her cheeks. It had worked. He had come. Her nervousness gave way to excitement as she felt success within her grasp. All that was left was to reveal the murderer in his presence.

  Bianca bowed her head minutely to indicate she had heard him. It was that gesture that convinced him of her identity. When she entered the room, he had felt there was something familiar about her, but he had ascribed it merely to chance or to the fact that he had been a regular visitor at Tullia’s house for long enough to know most of the girls who worked for her. And yet he was not quite satisfied with his logic. There was something about her that reminded him of Bianca. That was foolish, he had told himself, Bianca would have no reason to stage an absurd charade, and plus she was considerably shorter than the girl in front of him. He was sure it wasn’t her. Then, with that minute bow, he became sure that it was.

  He was trying to decide whether to storm up to her, to storm out, or fume in place when she resumed speaking. “Very well, then we may proceed. You all received identical messages threatening to disclose your relationship with Isabella Bellocchio if you did not come.”

  “Then you admit you have nothing on us? That this is some kind of hoax?” one of the men asked in a nasal whine.

  Bianca shook her head. “This is no hoax. I admit that I have nothing on all of you. But before this meeting is over, I will have shown that one of you is a murderer, a thief, and a traitor.”

  All five men reacted noisily when she spoke her last word, one of them appearing on the point of collapse. He swooned forward, hitting the table in the middle of the room and sending the candelabrum flying to the floor. The candles flickered out as they fell, plunging the room into total darkness. Bianca had leaned down to retrieve one of them when she saw a flash and felt a horrible surge of pain in her right shoulder. Reflexively she reached up and felt a warm trickle that could only be her blood. Clutching her shoulder, she had just maneuvered herself back onto her feet when she saw a second flash of light. She held her breath, waiting for the pain to come again, but it did not. Instead, she felt rough hands on her body. Before she could fight or even figure out what was happening, she was being grabbed firmly by the waist, swung over someone’s shoulder, and carried from Tullia’s house. Her only consolation as she slipped from consciousness was that she would no longer be in pain when she was dead.