Venice

by Lynne Connolly

  “Could you do that?”

  “For Richard’s sake, I might manage it.” I didn’t ask any more, this hardly being the place, but linked my arm through his and asked me to explain the story of the painting in front of us. It was an enormous work, the “Paradise” by Tintoretto, one of the glories of Venice, or so he told me, but I didn’t like it as much as some of the others. Perhaps it was too large, too grandiose. In any case, it didn’t take my fancy and we moved on, out of the Palace and into round into St. Mark’s Square, followed by the inevitable attendants, Carier and Nichols.

  Gervase stopped so I could take in the great space. “It’s not as impressive as St. Peter’s Square in Rome, but it has its own charm.”

  I had not yet seen St. Peter’s. We had entered the Square at the top end, by the Campanile in front of St. Mark’s, so Gervase took me down, so I could see the front of the Basilica. He let me take it in, standing next to me in complete silence.

  It was like no other church I had ever seen in my life. As well as the unfamiliar architectural style, mosaics and great round arches embellished it, some tipped with a point, more Moorish than Christian. When I mentioned that to Gervase he, as usual, had the answer. “The Venetians fought the Moors for many years, but such close connections led to the Venetians adopting some of their art and design for themselves.”

  “Oh, I see.” I studied the building again. “So love and war can sometimes be very close.”

  “It’s a constant theme of Classical art. Venus and Mars. Venus usually wins,” he concluded dryly. “She lets him make love to her and then he falls asleep, under her governance.”

  I remembered last night and I wanted to divert the subject before I blushed. “A shame it doesn’t really happen that way. Richard says the peace won’t last long, we’ll be at war again before too long.”

  “Bound to be,” Gervase agreed. “The peace of Aix-la-Chapelle won’t last much longer.”

  “Will it affect us?” I asked anxiously.

  “It might do, but if you’re thinking either Richard or I are considering going for soldiers, you can probably discount that.”

  I laughed. “No, I wasn’t thinking that.”

  We walked towards the Basilica now, following the mass of people inside.

  My first impression was of gold. My austere Protestant upbringing hadn’t prepared me for the magnificence inside. Everywhere glittered gold and precious stones, the twinkle of the delicately tessellated mosaics and the inset jewels flashed in the light of the many candles as we moved, creating an impression of overabundant excess.

  Gervase slowly led me towards the high altar, the staggering Pala d’Oro, a great slab of gold set with innumerable precious stones, surrounding ancient Byzantine enamels, priceless in both its artistic and intrinsic contents. I could say nothing for a time, I just stood in front of it.

  Gervase murmured to me, “I’ve seen it many times and every time it overwhelms me.”

  I nodded, beyond words. The colours and the magnificence gave some idea of how rich Venice had been in its heyday, but there must have been much more, personal fortunes commuted into goods, paintings, sculptures, buildings.

  More people approached the high altar and the crush was growing oppressive, so we moved away.

  Gervase showed me the rest of the Basilica, but I’m afraid my mind was wandering by then. There is only so much beauty one person can absorb in the course of one day.

  I was relieved to go out into the sunshine again, out of the relative darkness into the light, but I had to stand still, blinking until my eyes got used to the glare again.

  “There’s a coffee house in the Square,” Gervase said. “It’s the oldest in the world and quite unexceptional for a lady to go there. I have a feeling you could use the rest.”

  I thanked him and we strolled down one side of the Square, trailed by our attendants. I wondered what they had made of the great Basilica, so different to our great cathedrals at home. I wondered what the Italians made of our great grey churches, impressive but austere; their great spaces their main beauty. I would have to ask the contessa, who must have seen both.

  It must be mid afternoon now, I guessed. I asked Gervase for the time and he drew out his watch. “You have no watch of your own?” he enquired.

  “It broke.” It was close on three, as it turned out and I looked forward to my coffee with some eagerness.

  I was enjoying the day, Gervase’s companionship and the beautiful sights he had shown me. The sun shone and I was looking my best, as I stopped to replace my large straw hat, which I had taken off to enter the church. Nichols came forward to help me.

  Then we heard it, both of us and our heads jerked round, the hat falling forgotten to the floor. Gervase called “Rose!” and moved towards me, no doubt in an attempt to shield me. Two shots sounded close together, rocketing me back in time to that awful moment in the coach when we left Peacock’s.

  Chapter Seventeen

  NICHOLS MOVED FIRST, deliberately stepping in front of me as I cried out in horror. Gervase, who had stood apart from me while I was putting my hat back on, fell to the ground.

  Carier passed us in a blur of movement, calling out to Nichols, “Get her back in the boat!”

  I shouted back, “No!” and ran to where Gervase lay on the ground.

  I wasn’t the only person to run to him. Quite a few people ran in his direction, those that weren’t screaming or running blindly. I knelt on the flagstones, looking anxiously to Carier for guidance.

  It was obvious Gervase was hit—blood seeped through the fabric of his coat on the left side. “You must go back, my lady,” said Carier. “Get into the boat, get to safety.”

  “No,” I replied calmly. “I won’t leave Gervase. The man has gone now.”

  Carier was stripping the coat from Gervase with a knife, cutting away the material to get to the wound, but he paused when I said that and stared at me, startled. “You saw him?”

  “Nichols and I both did. We saw him going out of the Square. I know him. We’ll talk later. They won’t catch him now, but he won’t get away from us.”

  The proprietor of the café came to us with some waiters in tow. With Carier’s permission, they lifted Gervase and carried him inside to the private part of the establishment at the back of the building. He moaned, but said nothing. I thought of sending for Richard, but there was nothing he could do and it might alert our pursuers to something I didn’t want them to know.

  They laid Gervase on a large kitchen table, where Carier and I could get to work. I sent Nichols outside, to see what people were saying and to tell them the gentleman was perfectly all right, just shaken. I hoped it would help to disperse the crowd that was gathering outside, to stop rumour and conjecture spreading as it could do so quickly.

  It was easier to see to Gervase now they had lifted him up. He stared at me, bewildered as I took his hand, smiling down at him to try to reassure him. He was so like Richard my heart beat a little faster, but I had no time for feminine hysterics now.

  “You’ve been hit. We’re trying to find out what damage been done.”

  I took a kitchen knife to his coat, slicing it away, and Gervase cried out in pain when I tugged his sleeve off.

  It looked bad. Blood still poured from the wound but thankfully did not spurt. Carier pressed hard on the area, causing Gervase to bite his lip hard and I cleaned the blood away so we could see the damage better. I let my breath out in relief when I saw the wound wouldn’t be immediately fatal. The flow was easing now into a sluggish trail.

  Carier looked up at me, his dark eyes sombre but bearing the same relief I was feeling. “We should get him home, my lady. He’ll be more comfortable there and we can treat him better. I’ll bind this up for the journey.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him and while Carier bound the wound, I went to see if Nichols had succeeded in her allotted task.

  The crowd was indeed dispersing now, only a few people gazing at my bloodstained gown with curios
ity and interest when I emerged from the building. Nichols met me at the door. “He’ll live,” I told her. “The bullet is lodged in the shoulder, or perhaps lower down, but it hasn’t reached his heart. We need to get him home and take it out.”

  She stood with me as the waiters brought Gervase out. He was lying on an improvised stretcher, a door off its hinges by the look of it, his right hand to his forehead, his hat lying next to him on the door. I remembered mine, but it had disappeared from where I had let it fall. I wished the thief joy of it.

  My mind went back to the coach accident last October and the loss of blood that had nearly killed Richard. In my mind’s eye I saw the blood soaking my riding habit and the dazed look he turned to me when he finally came around. That was the moment I had fallen in love with him, inappropriately but irrevocably. I had touched the scar on Richard’s arm only last night, tracing the white line with my finger as we lay drowsily together, drifting into sleep. Now his brother was wounded and despite what I had said to Nichols, was in some danger of losing his life.

  The journey back was a nightmare, but probably better than if we’d had to take to the road. I got in first, so I could pillow Gervase’s head and shoulders on my lap, thinking wryly if anyone we knew saw us, they would think Richard’s standards of behaviour were slipping badly. We laid him down in the small boat as gently as we could. I spoke to him reassuringly, telling him what was happening and where we were going. He was still conscious, but drifting with the shock of the incident. There was blood on his lip where he’d bitten it.

  The water made the journey smoother and our gondolier was a skilled operator, poling strongly but gently so it didn’t jolt Gervase too much. The gondolier took the middle channel of the Canal, to provide as smooth and as swift a journey as possible.

  Nichols and I didn’t speak, giving me a chance to think over what had happened. I don’t think the assassin realised we had seen him. It had been mere chance that we’d seen the one person who walked quickly in the opposite direction, leaving the Square as everyone else ran towards us. We must have been looking in the direction the sound of the shots had come from as she adjusted my hat.

  It seemed an age before we got to the apartment. As we poled to a stop on our landing stage, Nichols kilted up her skirts and leapt ashore, returning quickly with two of our footmen. They climbed aboard and carefully lifted Gervase off me and up the stairs. Poor Gervase was still conscious, groaning gently. I followed up the stairs with Nichols and Carier, one in front of me, one behind, not knowing what we would find when we undid the wound upstairs.

  Richard met us at the door, and when he saw my bloodstained gown his face grew pale and tense, as did Freddy’s. Freddy took one look at Gervase, said briefly, “I’ll go and find a physician,” and ran out of the apartment, down to the gondola, shouting for the gondolier to pole away again. The footmen took Gervase through to his bedroom and I stayed behind to talk to Richard.

  I took his hand, making him look at me and concentrate on what I had to say. “Gervase has been shot. The bullet missed his heart, but is still in him somewhere and we need to dig it out.” I saw his dazed look travel down my bloody gown and I added; “I’m not hurt, not in the least.”

  Then, blood or no, my husband held me to him tightly before we followed the others into Gervase’s bedroom.

  Carier had laid the wound bare again and we examined it together. The bleeding had almost stopped. “I’m sorry, sir,” Carier murmured to Gervase, “I need to roll you to see the other side.” He signalled and a footman came forward to help. They rolled Gervase on his side. Gervase cried out once in pain and then was silent. We looked, but we couldn’t find an exit wound. They laid him down again.

  “There’s no doubt,” I told Richard. “The bullet’s still inside. We’ll have to get it out.”

  Richard winced in sympathy and took his brother’s hand. “It’s brandy or me, I’m afraid.”

  Gervase managed a grin, but only with his teeth clenched. They might start to chatter if he ungritted them. I’d no idea what Richard meant until Gervase looked at him and nodded, briefly.

  Richard clenched his fist and swung his arm back. Before anyone could intervene, he clipped his brother under the jaw, knocking him unconscious. Without another word he stepped back and let us take over. It wasn’t the anaesthetic I would have chosen, but it worked well enough.

  I’d had an interest in helping the wounded all my life and Carier had been in the army. He had seen far worse things on the field than he did in civilian life and coped with them as well as he could, which was very well indeed. I checked Gervase was peacefully unconscious, feeling his wrist pulse, which thankfully beat strongly and his breathing, also even.

  The bullet had entered Gervase’s body at an angle, breaking an upper rib and coming to rest deep inside the fleshy part of his shoulder. If he hadn’t moved towards me at the time the assailant had fired, the bullet could well have entered his heart. His arm would have to be immobilised on that side for the messy wound to heal properly. Carier worked methodically and I swabbed away the blood for him so he could see what he was doing, as he slowly cut away to the bullet and extracted it, using the kitchen utensils that were all we had available. Without his considerable skill it would have been butchery, but we had little choice. We worked quickly, for fear of Gervase waking up and were thankful when we saw the bullet was in one piece and the break to the rib was clean and had caused no more damage.

  Carier doused the area in neat gin to try to inhibit any infection. That was something he had done before in my presence, when he had stitched Richard’s wound after his accident. Then he bound the wound up as tightly as he could, enlisting my help to pull the bandage firm.

  “We’ll know in the next few days if there’s any infection,” he said to me. He always seemed to forget who I was when I was assisting him, addressing me directly and giving me orders I was very glad to undertake, if they would help. “If there is, we’ll have to cauterise.” I nodded.

  “Just call for me,” I said briefly and I stepped back to Richard, still standing by his brother’s side, watching us work.

  “It could have been worse. His rib stopped the bullet going any further. The assassin had to fire from quite a distance away and the Square was crowded. I’m afraid the news will get out quickly. We must decide what to do.”

  Richard passed his hand wearily over his forehead. “Dear God, that I let you go!”

  I reached out and took both his hands in mine. “It wasn’t me he wanted. I was standing apart from Gervase when it happened, in clear sight. His target must have been you.”

  Richard met my eyes, the blue gaze turning icy cold. “Who knows it was Gervase?” He had begun to work things out.

  I pondered. “Mrs. Crich and her daughter.”

  “I’ll have word sent round for them to keep their peace and to tell them to rest easy, that he’s alive,” said Richard. “Let our enemies think it was me they shot.”

  Nichols was waiting. I glanced down ruefully at my pretty jonquil gown, now stained liberally with brownish red. “I’ll go and change. Gervase must rest now, we can do no more here for a while. Shall I see you in the drawing room?”

  By the time I had changed and returned to the drawing room, Freddy had returned and was sitting with Richard. He’d found a physician, but we dismissed the man for the time being, leaving his address with us in case he we needed him. The less people who knew there were two Kerre brothers in Venice, the better.

  I poured us all a glass of wine. I needed something to strengthen me. I was beginning to feel somewhat shaky.

  Despite my determination to be strong, I must have given something away, because Richard stood and despite Freddy’s presence, put his arms around me. I rested my head on his shoulder thankfully and let it stay there until he moved to take me to the sofa, holding my glass for me.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he said to me. “Wouldn’t you prefer to go and rest?”

  “No,” I
said. “That is, I would, but I want to get things settled first. Tell you what I know and find out what we’re going to do about it.”

  “So brave,” he murmured against my hair.

  I sat up so I could look at him, taking his hand. “It was Squires. The fat man from the Palazzo Barbarossa. Nichols and I both saw him, as clear as day.”

  Whatever name Richard had expected me to come up with, it wasn’t that. “Dear God!” He fell silent, staring into space, thinking.

  I explained to Freddy. “Both times we went to the palazzo, Squires and his wife were there. Except, I don’t suppose she is his wife, because the man we were looking for is alone. Gervase brought word from England that a man called Abel Jeffries was the assassin who tried to kill us after our wedding. The man I saw who tried to kill Gervase was Squires. I think Jeffries found us and called himself Squires, using the situation at the Palazzo Barbarossa to get close to us. Maybe he thought the false Strangs were real until he saw them.” Richard swore, when he, too, realised how far we had let our guard down.

  To my horror the tears sprang to my eyes and I trembled uncontrollably. I suppose it must have been the shock, it was certainly nothing I could do anything about.

  Richard came out of his reverie immediately. He put his arms around my shoulders and glanced at Freddy. “I’ll take her to bed, then I’ll be back.”

  Freddy, his face clouded with concern just said, “Of course. Take your time.”

  He took me to the bedroom, helped me to take off my gown and stays and put me to bed, rather as if I were a child. He didn’t allow me to do a thing for myself. I found his care of me very comforting.

  Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. “I’m not going until you’re asleep. Then I’ll send someone in to sit with you. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

  “You won’t rush out and kill somebody?”