Lisa bent to obey, sobbing. Her shame and misery were pitiful to see. Giulia felt something take hold of her, a kind of clearheaded rage.
“Suor Margarita.”
The novice mistress turned, impatient. “What is it, Giulia?”
“It wasn’t Lisa.”
An echoing silence greeted this announcement. Lisa stopped sobbing and stared at Giulia with her mouth open.
“It was Costanza. I saw her pouring…whatever it was…into Lisa’s bed.”
“You’re a liar!” Costanza cried. “You didn’t see anything!”
“And I saw Costanza and Alessia talking afterward. Alessia told her to do it.”
“Alessia. Is this true?”
“She’s lying, Suor Margarita.” Alessia’s sallow features were tense with rage. “She’s a commoner who’s jealous of her betters. She’s trying to make trouble for me.”
“Costanza used a bowl,” Giulia said. “She threw it out the window when she was done.”
Costanza’s mouth opened. The expression on her face spoke her guilt as clearly as words.
Suor Margarita stepped to the window and looked out. For a long moment she did not move. Then she turned. In her face was the promise of punishment.
“Costanza. Alessia. Go and wait for me in the schoolroom.”
“But Suor Margarita, it was Costanza.” Alessia ignored Costanza’s gasp of betrayal. “You can’t punish me for what she did.”
“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.” Suor Margarita’s tone was ominously level. “I have had enough of you, Alessia, and more than enough. There’s no filthy thing these girls do that you don’t have your hand in, and well I know it.”
“My father will hear of this.” An ugly flush had risen into Alessia’s cheeks.
“Indeed he will. I will write myself to tell him. Now get to the schoolroom. And not another word.”
Alessia turned, her head high, and stalked from the dormitory. Costanza followed, weeping.
“Saints’ mercy, Lisa.” Suor Margarita sounded tired now. “What are you still blubbering for? Roll up the sheets and put them in the corner. I’ll see to them, and to a new mattress. The rest of you, finish dressing and line up! Quickly, quickly!”
The novices unfroze themselves and obeyed. Giulia tied on her kerchief and went to stand in line behind Lisa. The crippled girl turned. Her eyes were swollen, her nose still running.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “For saying what you did.”
“You’re welcome.”
“My sisters hated me too, but at least they ignored me most of the time. I thought it’d be different in the convent.”
“It won’t always be like this, Lisa.”
“Yes, it will,” said Lisa bleakly. “There’ll always be someone like Alessia.” She looked at Giulia. “Why are you nice to me? Why aren’t you mean like the others?”
Giulia dropped her eyes. “I know what it’s like to be the one who doesn’t fit.”
“You? But you’re pretty. And clever.” Lisa wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You’ll be in trouble now. She’ll be wanting to get even.”
“Hush, you two.” Suor Margarita came bustling toward them. “Or there’ll be a penance for you as well.”
Lisa turned away. The novice mistress clapped her hands, and the girls set out for the refectory.
Alessia and Costanza were not at the midday meal, nor at supper. When the other novices returned from the refectory, the two girls were kneeling before the hearth. For the next seven days, Suor Margarita announced, they would live on bread and water and spend the whole of the recreation hour in prayer, begging God to grant them charity.
When the Compline bell began to ring, Costanza went straight to her bed, her head down. But Alessia made it a point to walk by Giulia, slowing as she passed and turning on her a look of such concentrated venom that Giulia had to look away.
She knew it would be wiser to remain in the dormitory that night, but there was no question of missing Ormanno’s visit. For caution’s sake, she added an extra thousand to her usual count.
The sky was clear and the moon was close to full again. They did not really need the candle, but Ormanno lit it anyway, and set out the wine flask and the small early apples he had brought.
“I have a present for you.” From her sleeve, Giulia took a roll of paper. “I drew your portrait.”
He unrolled it and held the candle to it so he could see.
“You don’t like it,” she said when he did not speak, feeling the first acid touch of disappointment.
“Is that really how I look?”
She had drawn him in profile, gazing up, his eyes wide and his lips a little parted, as he looked when she named the stars for him. She had sketched him dozens of times over the past weeks, but this was the only attempt that had satisfied her.
“It’s how I see you.”
He glanced at her, then back at the portrait. “It’s very good. You’re…very good.”
“You don’t like it, I can tell. Give it back.”
She reached for it, but he snatched it away, rolling it up again. “No. You made it for me and I’m keeping it. Giulia…”
“Yes?”
He hesitated. She held her breath. Would tonight be the night?
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m leaving Padua.”
The shock was instant and horrible. “What? Why?”
“It’s time for me to move on. To become my own master. We’ve talked about this, Giulia. You know how I feel.”
This isn’t happening. Giulia held herself motionless, trying not to burst into tears. It isn’t true.
“The thing is…the thing is, Giulia…when I came up onto the balcony that day, I thought you were just a pretty girl. I thought…a bit of fun, something to boast about to my mates, since you said you weren’t for the veil. I never meant it to be serious. But I’ve never met a girl like you, a girl who knows the names of stars. And…the thing is…well, what I want to ask…will you come with me, Giulia? When I leave Padua?”
Giulia’s heart seemed to turn over in her chest. The edges of her vision flashed blue. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“I know I’m not much of a catch,” Ormanno continued. “A foundling, a thief, a journeyman painter with no reputation of his own. I know you’re too good for me—you’re educated, you have noble blood. But you’re alone in the world, same as me, you’ve been abandoned by the people who should have cared for you, same as me, and that makes us more alike than not. I don’t have much now. But one day I will have everything, and I swear that I can make you—”
“Yes.” She flung herself into his arms, oversetting the candle and nearly him as well. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He held her tightly. “Yes?”
“Yes. I love you.” It felt wonderful, and terrifying, to say it at last. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
“My orchard girl.”
A little later, he pulled away. The candle had gone out in the grass. There was only the moon to see by, and the vast ocean of stars wheeling overhead.
“I’d like to leave this very night,” he said. “But there’s something I need to do first. It’ll be another week, maybe two.”
“Where will we go?”
“Florence. There are many painters there. I’m sure I can make my way. It’s a beautiful city, or so I hear.”
“I don’t care, so long as we’re together.”
He smoothed a curl of hair behind her ear. “You’re happy, then?”
“Oh yes.”
“I won’t expect you to stop drawing, you know.”
“I don’t just want to draw. I want to paint.”
“I can teach you a little, if you like.” He was still stroking her hair.
“I don’t only want to learn, Ormanno. You’ll have your workshop. I can be part of it. We can be painters together.”
His face stilled. His fingers fell away.
“Ormanno—just listen
to me.” She reached after him, catching his hands. “I know what the world thinks of woman painters, and I know you think it too, even though you’ve seen my Maestra’s work and know the rumors about her are false. But I can prove you’re wrong. Give me the chance to prove it to you. It doesn’t have to happen right away. I’m not ready yet, I won’t be for some time. But one day I will be ready.” She caught her breath, feeling the desire in her, the core of fire that was her talent, eager to blaze up and be seen. “I know it’s never been done before. But you’ve told me about your experiments, about how you want to break with tradition and try new things. Well, this is something new.”
“Giulia—” He broke off. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Since the first night you came here.”
His brows drew together. “You were that sure of me?”
“I’ve known…how I felt about you…since that day on the balcony. I hoped you felt the same.”
“Giulia.” He pulled his hands away. “I’ve already told you I don’t expect you to stop drawing. You can do that to your heart’s content in your spare time. But a woman in my workshop—” He shook his head. “You have to see that’s not possible. I could never build a reputation or attract patrons. I’d be laughed at. I’d be treated as a curiosity.”
“But I’m good. You said it yourself. Could you look at the drawing I gave you tonight and say whether a man or a woman had made it?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I couldn’t. But don’t you see—it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what other people think. I have to consider my future. Our future.”
“But it’s the painting that matters! The painting, not what people think!”
“It is hardly so simple, Giulia. Painting is an art, but a workshop is a business. There has to be a balance.”
“You’re afraid.” She knew she shouldn’t say it. But her plan was unraveling, falling to pieces, and she could not stop the words. “You’re just afraid!”
“Enough.” His temper snapped. “If you are so bound to be part of a workshop, there is one right here at Santa Marta that would be glad to keep you.”
“So now you want me to stay here?” The tears she had been fighting spilled over. “You’ve changed your mind? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!” He caught her in his arms. She resisted, her own arms stiff at her sides, but he held her tight and after a moment she stopped struggling. “No. I want you with me. I do. I just…you can’t expect…ah, Giulia, Giulia!” His voice strained with frustration, and with his effort to contain it. “I don’t want to quarrel with you. I don’t want to disagree.”
“I don’t want to quarrel either.”
“Then let’s not. We don’t need to talk about this now, do we? Can’t we leave it for another time?”
“What other time?”
“When we’re away. When we’re safe.”
She drew back so she could look into his face. “Will you think about it? Will you at least do that?”
He pulled her close again. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do you promise?”
He let out his breath, not quite a sigh. “I promise.”
He released her and got to his feet, though the midnight bell had not yet rung. He reached down his hand and she allowed him to draw her up.
“I’ll come on Friday,” he said. “I should know by then when we can leave. Good night, my orchard girl.”
He kissed her chastely on the forehead, then untied the rope that held the boat and climbed over the wall. She listened until she heard the sound of his oars. As she turned to go, she thought she glimpsed a spark of blue, glimmering in the shadows beneath the trees. But then she blinked, and it was gone.
In the dormitory, huddled in her bed with the covers pulled over her head, she realized that she had made a mistake. She should never have told him her idea about the workshop. It was too sudden, too soon. After all, he’d only seen two of her drawings. Why should he have faith in her on the basis of that? She should have held her tongue till they were away, till they’d had time together and he’d had a chance to see what she could do.
I can still make it right. She would bide her time, saying nothing more about the workshop, accepting the teaching he had offered her. She’d be a good pupil—she knew she had a great deal to learn. As they worked and lived together as man and wife, he’d grow accustomed to the presence of a woman painter. She would make herself indispensable to him, for he’d need assistance while he built his reputation. When she proposed again to join him in his workshop, the idea would no longer seem so strange. It would seem, instead, a natural transition.
Yes. That’s what I’ll do.
She would have to be patient. She would have to keep secrets. She felt a pang—she’d thought she would be done with those once she was out of Santa Marta. But it wouldn’t be forever. And in the end she would succeed. He was star-sent. He was her heart’s desire. It was impossible that he should refuse her what she wanted so much.
She closed her fingers around the talisman. In a week, maybe two, I’ll be gone, she thought. Beyond the walls of Santa Marta, out in the world. Married.
It was only then, with a shock that turned her icy cold under the stuffy covers, that she realized something: Ormanno had never actually mentioned marriage.
Part 4
Heart’s Desire
CHAPTER 19
Madonna and Child
In the middle of the next afternoon, just after the bell for None, Paola, the youngest novice, came to the workshop door.
“Giulia,” she called. “Giulia!”
Giulia turned from the supply shelves, where she was taking down a box of cinnabar. “What is it, Paola?”
“You’ve got a visitor. In the parlor.”
“A visitor? For me? Who is it?”
“Dunno. I’m s’posed to tell you to come right away.” Paola turned and trotted off.
Giulia put back the cinnabar and began to untie her apron. It could only be Ormanno. But why would he come to the parlor? Had something gone wrong? She’d had a bad few moments last night, until she remembered that Anasurymboriel was bound to bring her her heart’s desire—and that meant a husband, not a lover. Ormanno would ask her to marry him; the talisman assured it.
But now the icy dread gripped her again. Has the enchantment failed? Has he come to tell me he’s changed his mind?
“Who do you think it is?” Angela, also at the shelves, was selecting pigments. They were for herself; Giulia had volunteered to do Angela’s share of that afternoon’s work so the young nun could have some uninterrupted time to spend on her practice painting. “You haven’t any family here, have you?”
“No.” Giulia hung her apron on its peg, forcing herself not to rush. “I…I have a cousin, though, from Milan. He travels sometimes.”
“Really? You never mentioned him.”
Giulia left the workshop and hurried down the main hall of the convent’s north wing. The choir nuns were all in church singing None; she saw no one but a pair of conversae, raking gravel in one of the courtyards.
She passed the mouth of the short corridor that led to the chapter room, where the choir nuns met monthly to discuss and vote on the affairs of the community. Giulia had never been inside the chapter room, but she’d walked by it several times with Angela, on their way to the parlor when Angela’s brother, Alberto, came to visit. Candles in niches lit the main hall, but side passages like this one, whose rooms were not in use, were dark.
A flicker of motion caught her eye. Then there were running footsteps, and she understood what was about to happen an instant before the hands fell on her. Her captors yanked her into the corridor, then ran her down its length and slammed her against the chapter room door. She managed to turn her face aside just in time. Pain burst across her cheek.
“That’s for yesterday,” Alessia hissed from behind her. “For blabbing to Suor Margarita.”
Giulia tried to struggle, but th
ere were three of them, and they had her held fast. In the dimness over her shoulder she could see Alessia’s fury-twisted features, and also the pale face of Nelia. The third captor, she guessed, was Elisabetta. Costanza, who’d botched the attempted humiliation of Lisa, would be out of favor just now.
“You don’t belong here,” whispered Alessia. “A nobleman’s bastard with a commoner mother, a conversa who thinks she’s as good as a choir nun. I’ve known it from the day you arrived.”
Giulia held her breath, refusing to let them see her fear.
“You’ll never take vows at Santa Marta. Never, do you hear me?” Alessia set the point of her elbow between Giulia’s shoulder blades. “I’m going to see that you’re thrown out of here with nothing more than the clothes you stand up in. And it will happen sooner than you think.”
She ground her elbow viciously into Giulia’s spine. Giulia could not help herself; she gasped.
“And if you ever interfere with me again, or with any of my friends, I’ll make you sorry. I swear it. Do you understand me, tattletale? Well, do you?”
“Yes,” Giulia whispered.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes!”
Alessia leaned in harder; it felt as if her elbow would go right through Giulia’s back. Then she stepped away.
“All right. Let her go.”
The prisoning hands fell away. Giulia’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor. She stayed there, huddled against the chapter room door, as the girls’ footsteps receded, as silence returned and her heartbeat began to slow.
She could still feel the imprint of Alessia’s elbow between her shoulder blades, a knot of pain lingering like an echo. Stupid, she thought, in time with the throbbing in her cheek. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d known Alessia would retaliate. The oddness of the summons, brought during a time when the convent corridors were mostly empty, should have made her suspicious.
You’ll never take vows at Santa Marta. Giulia shivered at the memory of that vicious whisper. The joke was on Alessia, though. In a week, maybe two, Giulia would indeed be gone—but by her own choice, not Alessia’s.
Passion Blue Page 18
