Death in the Floating City

by Tasha Alexander

  “Where would she have taken him?”

  “I think they’re in the brothel,” he said. “It would be easy enough to hide there. No one would take notice of her bringing in a man. We need to search it, top to bottom.”

  “Can we please leave that to the police?” I asked. “I think our efforts would prove more fruitful if we placed them in another direction.”

  He listened as I made my case, and then he stood, quietly contemplative. I knew not to interrupt him when he was in such a state. Finally, he nodded. “All right. We’ll follow your plan.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s just that we know the police can handle searching the bordello without any hitch. But this other…”

  “I know,” he said. “Only we could manage to pull that off. If we can.”

  If I’m right, I thought. If I’m wrong …

  My heart was racing as we stepped into the gondola. If I were wrong, I would wreak havoc on an innocent life. Nevertheless, I didn’t see that we had any other option. There was too much at stake. My nerves were on fire by the time we approached our destination. As we glided past the last church before we would alight from the boat, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer.

  Colin smiled when he saw this. “Becoming religious, are you? Take care or I’ll send you to a nunnery.”

  This made me laugh. Which was just what I needed to cut through my anxiety and return me to a state of focused calm.

  Signor Caravello waved when we entered the shop. He was speaking to two customers, and there was a third browsing the aisles. “Such good news, eh?” he called to us, smiling.

  This took me aback. “Good news,” I said, not wanting to reveal my ignorance.

  “Donata told me everything after she read your note,” he said. “I would never have agreed to let her go with you otherwise. I told her, no running about until after this bad business is all settled. And, so, it is settled. But did she mistake your meaning? She thought she was to meet you at the Danieli.”

  I didn’t want to cause him any unnecessary alarm. “Yes, but she asked me to collect a few of her things for her. She forgot them in the rush.”

  “What things could she possibly need for a celebratory picnic in the countryside?”

  “Books, of course,” I said. “May I run up and look for them? I’ve set my maid to the task of styling her hair and thought I could save time by getting them for her.” Now my heart was really pounding.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, turning his attention back to the gentlemen at the counter.

  “I expected her to be here,” I said under my breath as Colin and I climbed the narrow stairs to the family’s rooms. “Where else could she have gone?”

  “Think it through,” Colin said. “Bringing him here would have caused complications. She needs to take him someplace where she can finish the job.”

  “Unless I’m completely wrong and Caterina has both of them.”

  “We’re not going to worry about that now,” Colin said.

  We made quick work of searching the rooms, especially Donata’s bedchamber, looking for evidence, but found nothing. I grabbed off a table in her room the copy of The Venetians I’d seen her reading the day I met her. Sadness tugged at me. Closing my eyes to better focus on my thoughts, I went through every conversation we’d had—and then I knew.

  “Facio,” I said. “She’s in the barn where he died, I’m sure of it. No false suicides.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s something we talked about after Facio’s death, when you brought me to the shop. It’s her only chance at not being held accountable herself. We have to stop her.”

  I didn’t need to explain further to Colin. He took my hand and all but pulled me down the stairs. We called good-bye to Signor Caravello, waving the book in his direction as proof of the success of our invented mission, and leapt back into our boat. We made a brief stop at Ca’ Barozzi, just to confirm they had, as we suspected, taken the family’s boat. They’d left not in a gondola but in a larger craft, one suitable for travel through the lagoon.

  We needed a lagoon boat as well and switched to one at a police station. The driver—captain, I suppose I should call him—was extremely competent, assisted by two able-bodied police officers. Soon the sails were raised, and we were making excellent time in the direction of the Brenta Canal.

  Regardless of the skill of our crew and the mercifully steady wind that powered our journey, it was not a short trip. There was too long a distance to be traveled, and I was impatient. When at last we docked, Colin and I all but flew from the boat, hurrying along the path that led to the barn. The gray building soon loomed above us, and I felt my stomach turn, sickened by the memory of what had happened there. Colin, his voice quiet and calm, gave orders to the policemen who accompanied us. They would wait outside, ready to barge in should they be called upon to do so.

  I took a deep breath and steeled my shaking nerves. Colin squeezed my hand and then dropped it. He opened the door, just a crack.

  “Donata?” I called to her, hoping my voice sounded kind and concerned. “Are you there? Are you all right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

  There was a rustling. The sound of silk skirts. Emma’s skirts. “I’m all right,” she said. I detected surprise in her voice. I wanted to make her think she could still get away free, wanted her to think we didn’t suspect her. At least for long enough that we could get close to her without making her panic and possibly shoot Paolo.

  “Is Paolo still with you?” I asked.

  “He is.”

  “Barozzi!” Colin’s voiced boomed in the open space. “Do not lay a hand on her.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Paolo said. He sounded scared.

  “We’re coming in,” Colin said. He opened the door wide, looking back to nod at the waiting policemen before stepping into the barn. Sunlight knifed through spaces between slats that formed the building’s walls. Dust hung thick in the air, visible only when touched by the light. We moved forward slowly, letting our eyes adjust to the dimness inside. Colin kept a firm grip on my arm.

  They were in the center of the cavernous space, Donata standing over Paolo, who was sitting on the floor, a piece of paper in front of him, a pencil in his hand. Donata’s arms were at her sides, but I could see the gun in her right hand. Emma’s dress fit her very ill and barely laced up the back.

  “Paolo is composing a note,” she said. She was very matter-of-fact. “He has a few things to say before he kills himself, you see. I don’t want to influence him, of course, but wanted to offer my support, if you will.”

  Tears were streaming down Paolo’s face. He was scribbling something on the paper, but his hands were trembling so violently I doubted the words could be legible.

  “Put down the gun, Donata,” Colin said. “That’s your first step to finding your way out of this situation.”

  She laughed. “I’m afraid I’m not that naive, Mr. Hargreaves. It seems that Paolo is going to have to further indulge his murderous tendencies before he takes his own life.” Now her voice cracked, just a little. “Which is really quite unfortunate, Emily. I always liked you. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “You can put the gun down,” I said. I made sure my tone was calm, as Colin had instructed me. “You’re in no danger, and we can help you.”

  “No one can help me,” she said. “The days of that being possible are long since past. I know it all too well.”

  “There’s no point making things worse,” I said. “Something bad happened, yes, but I’m sure we can work through it, Donata. Do you need anything right now? We brought some water. It’s awfully hot in here.”

  She was tempted, I could tell. Now that my eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, I could see the sweat beaded on her face and dripping down her neck.

  “I don’t know how cool it still is, but water is water,” I said.

  “No, I don’t need anything,” she said. “We need to let Paolo finish w
riting.”

  “What’s he writing about?” I asked.

  “I told you already,” she said.

  “Yes, but I was hoping you could give me more details. You said he had a few things to say. I was only wondering what they are.” Colin had told me it was critical that I make Donata think I was listening to her, and that she believe I was, within the bounds of the law, on her side. Only then could there be any hope of disentangling her from this situation without it escalating into violence.

  “Paolo wants to take responsibility for what he’s done,” Donata said. “For ruining so many people’s chances of happiness.”

  “That’s an admirable thing to do, Donata,” I said.

  “So why don’t you leave and let him finish?” she asked, raising the gun and pointing it at Colin. “Or do you need a little encouragement to do that, Emily?”

  Un Libro d’Amore

  xxiii

  For seven years, Lorenzo carried letters between Nicolò and his sister, and for seven years, she entrusted him with her answers. He delivered them all to Ca’ Vendelino, careful to make sure no one saw him outside the house of his enemy, not wanting his presence to draw the ire of any Vendelino cousin. He had promised Besina. That was all that mattered.

  He attempted, over and over, to bring Tomaso to see her, but Rosso would never allow the boy to spend any time alone in his uncle’s care. This did not surprise Lorenzo, but it did not stop him from continuing to try.

  Then things began to change.

  Besina’s illness had come on gradually. At first she lost weight, but no one other than herself could see that. Her voluminous habit hid any signs of changes to her earthly body. Not even Besina thought anything was wrong for a great many months. Her appetite had disappeared, but she hadn’t taken any pleasure in food after she left Rosso’s house. To her, it seemed appropriate that her stomach had at last accepted the lack of interest that had long since taken over her mind. Her hair turned brittle, but she credited that to no longer taking care to tend to it well. She applied no oils, no pomades. Her appearance did not matter.

  She took no particular note of any of this until the pain began. It started in her legs, first the left, then, soon after, the right. Some days she could hardly discern it. On others, she could hardly bear to leave her bed. But no matter how great her suffering, she always managed to go to mass and always managed to say at least three rosaries every day.

  Lorenzo expressed his concern when he saw her on one of those days where the pain all but paralyzed her. He wanted to send for a doctor, but Besina refused.

  “It is the pain of my sins manifesting themselves in my body,” she said. “God will not burden me with more than I can bear. Do you not see what I’ve already been through? How could this be worse?”

  She took his hand and looked into his eyes. Lorenzo thought she meant to reassure him, but the result was not that at all. Her hand was small and bony, her skin like the thinnest tissue, and her eyes frightened him. The life in them, the brightness, the intelligence, had all started to fade away.

  Lorenzo knew he must speak to Nicolò at once.

  Nicolò did not know what to make of Lorenzo Barozzi’s request when he received it. He did not much care about the feud between their families, but he knew he was alone among his brethren in his position. Still, Nicolò agreed to meet Lorenzo, to speak to him face-to-face, somewhere no one else would see them.

  That evening, Nicolò ordered his boatman to take him to the cemetery island, where he found Lorenzo in front of the grave of an infant who hadn’t been given a name. When Lorenzo told him of Besina’s condition, when he told him that he believed she was dying, Nicolò fell to his knees and wept.

  “We have both let her down,” Nicolò said, pulling himself back to his feet and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We now must do something to bring her comfort that will carry her peacefully through the rest of her life. We must save Tomaso from Rosso’s influence, and Besina must know it. If she can believe our child is all right, maybe she will let herself heal.”

  The two men talked at length and soon had a plan. Nicolò would write to Besina at once. He would set her mind at ease. He would bring her peace.

  He would end forever the feud between the two families.

  None of their descendants would ever have to suffer for love in the cruel way they had.

  24

  Donata held the gun in front of her with two hands. She could not keep it quite steady, but it was definitely aimed towards my husband.

  “Donata, there’s no need for that,” I said. “We’re just here to talk and to help you.”

  “You had chance after chance to help me and you didn’t bother,” she said.

  “Explain to me how I let you down, and I’ll try to rectify the situation,” I said.

  “That’s impossible now.” Her arms bobbed up and down, as if the tension of trying to keep them—and the gun—level were too much for her.

  “Of course it’s not. You’ve done so much to help me. It’s only fair I repay the kindness.”

  This made her laugh. “Oh, yes, I did help. I tried to get you to spend more time with the Libro d’Oro. Tried to get you to look through the marriage records before we had enough information to make such a task worthwhile. I helped to make sure you didn’t learn too much. But you had to go and uncover the Vendelino connection, didn’t you? I should have known removing those documents from the archives wouldn’t be enough. I never thought Angelo would have shown you his family’s book.”

  “All that told me was that there was a connection between the Vitturi and Vendelino families, Donata. It’s nothing to do with what’s happening now.”

  “It made it possible for you to find everything. To know that Angelo could lose everything. To know that nothing, ever, would end as it was supposed to.”

  “You’ve known Angelo since you were five, haven’t you?” I asked. “I understand your father was his tutor. I saw his name in the family’s staff records. Did you live in Ca’ Vendelino?”

  “We did until Angelo’s father died,” Donata said, “and then his mother turned us out. Not because Papà wasn’t an excellent tutor, but because she caught Angelo kissing me.”

  “But then you went to Paris and everything was better, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “I missed Angelo terribly. He was my only friend, you see,” she said. “The only one I ever had. His sisters didn’t want anything to do with me, and I didn’t like them much either. In Paris everything was different. No one cared that we weren’t from a noble family. They only cared that Papà knew so much more than they did. They adored him there. They admired him. And I loved the university. We were surrounded by people like us, people who could discuss Dante and Shakespeare and who didn’t expect me to want nothing more than dancing and fashion.”

  She still hadn’t released her grip on the gun.

  “Did you want to come back to Venice after your father retired?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to if Angelo hadn’t come to Paris,” she said. “He changed everything.”

  “When did he come to Paris?”

  “It was three years ago. He found me—came to the university looking for my father. We walked along the Seine and fell in love all over again. He asked me to marry him but explained we would have to wait so that he could bring his mother around to the idea.” Her voice broke.

  “He must love you very much, Donata.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Had she really not known that Angelo, even then, already had a wife?

  “I told him I would wait as long as necessary. The pain of losing him the first time had never really faded, and I could not bear to go through it again. So I pledged my faith to him, and we … we…”

  I looked at Colin. “Perhaps you should leave us alone. Some topics are not fit for gentlemanly ears.”

  “No.” Her voice was sharp again, and she lifted the gun a little higher, more towards his head. “He’s not going to move an inc
h.”

  It had been a misstep on my part. I shouldn’t have strayed from talking about Angelo, but I so desperately wanted my husband out of the range of her gun. “What happened next with Angelo?” I asked, my tone gentle. “Did you see him again?”

  “He came to me as often as possible. We pledged fidelity in the cathedral of Notre Dame, in front of God, and promised we would do so again in Venice, with a priest and our families. In every way that mattered, we were already married, and we spent every night in each other’s arms.”

  Paolo was frozen in his seat. He’d raised his eyes from the paper and was watching Donata standing above him. It is not pleasant to see such terror on the face of a man.

  “Angelo was lucky to have found you again,” I said.

  “So I thought. Then when Papà decided to retire, and return home, I rejoiced. Because Angelo and I would be together all the time.”

  “And were you?” I asked.

  “Not all the time,” she said. “Of course, I understood that would not be possible until the wedding I thought he was planning. Then in the market, soon after we had come back to Venice, I heard a kitchen maid talking about how Signora Vendelino was so difficult to serve, how she was so particular about what she’d let her children eat. I thought that was odd, that it was not something Angelo’s mother would ever do.”

  “Did you confront her?” I asked. “The maid, that is?”

  “No, but I looked into the matter and found out Angelo had been married the whole time.”

  “He has behaved in a most underhanded and despicable manner to you,” I said.

  “No, no, Emily, he has not,” she said. “You see, when Papà and I left for Paris he didn’t think he’d ever see me again. That’s the only reason he agreed to marry his wife. He said he would leave her. He said that’s what he was really waiting to do, but that it wouldn’t be possible until his mother died. She would never approve of him divorcing and would disinherit him, and without his fortune, he couldn’t support me.”