“I hate Venice,” Lilith said, although of course only Jane could hear her. “What moron thought it was a good idea to build a city in a lagoon?”
“They’re Italian,” Jane said. “They’re all mad as a basket of rats.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Lucy, who was sitting behind Jane.
Jane had forgotten that she didn’t need to speak aloud when communicating with Lilith. In fact, it was best if she didn’t, as having a seemingly one-sided conversation with oneself was likely to bewilder anyone who—like Lucy—happened to overhear what was being said.
“She’s lost her mind,” Miriam said under her breath. “Someone should check her basket for rats.”
“Don’t make me pitch you into the canal, old woman,” said Jane in a tone that only Miriam could hear. “Remember what happened to Katharine Hepburn when she fell in while filming Summertime.” Jane bugged out one eye and twitched it, mimicking the results of the infection that supposedly plagued Hepburn for the rest of her life following her dunking.
Miriam turned her face away and pretended to look at something on the other side of the canal. Jane, pleased with herself, turned around. “Just having a chat with my dear mother-in-law,” she said to Lucy, enjoying the way Miriam stiffened at the reference.
“Coming up you will see Ponte dei Sospiri,” said the gondolier, who despite being named Napoleon was actually quite tall and very good-looking. “You will know it as the Bridge of Sighs, a name that was given to it by the famous poet Byron.”
Jane rolled her eyes. Enough with him already, she thought. It was bad enough that they were staying at the Byron Hotel. She’d forgotten how much the Venetians considered him an adopted son of the city. It’s a good thing he’s not here, she told herself. He’d be impossible to live with.
“It’s said that if lovers kiss beneath the Bridge of Sighs just at sunset, their love will be eternal,” Napoleon informed them. He then glanced up at the sky. “If we wait a few minutes, we can put this to the test.”
“That’s all right,” Miriam said loudly. “We don’t need any of that.”
“Just because nobody wants to kiss you,” Jane murmured in her ear. She made kissing sounds just to be irritating. Miriam swatted her away as if fending off a mosquito.
“Listen to this,” said Ben.
At a bookshop in a narrow street just off Piazza San Marco he had picked up a battered copy of Mark Twain’s classic piece of travel writing, The Innocents Abroad. He had been reading them bits and pieces of it throughout the day, focusing, naturally, on the chapter devoted to Venice. It had become bothersome, but he was so enthusiastic about it that no one wanted to tell him to stop. Also, because he was a rabbi, there was a feeling that it would be too much like poking God with a stick.
“ ‘The gondolier is a picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed bonnet, no silken tights,’ ” Ben read. “ ‘His attitude is stately; he is lithe and supple; all his movements are full of grace. When his long canoe, and his fine figure, towering from its high perch on the stern, are cut against the evening sky, they make a picture that is very novel and striking to a foreign eye.’ ”
Napoleon beamed as if Twain had written the words after having taken a ride in that very gondola. “Apart from calling such a fine craft a canoe, I can find no fault with that,” he said.
“I love Twain,” Walter said, surprising Jane. “He had such a wit.”
“He did indeed,” said Miriam. “Do you know what he said about Jane Austen?” She didn’t wait for anyone to answer before continuing. “ ‘Every time I read Pride and Prejudice I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shinbone.’ ”
Miriam laughed loudly, and Jane was horrified to hear Walter laugh along with her, although he didn’t laugh nearly as loudly. Lucy, ever the true friend, remained silent, and Jane chose to believe that Ben did not join in the mockery because he found Twain’s assessment rude and not because he was too busy reading Twain himself.
“How interesting that he said ‘every time I read Pride and Prejudice,’ ” Jane remarked, keeping her temper in check. “If he really detested the book, I wouldn’t think he’d want to read it ever again.”
She saw Miriam open her mouth to rebut, and cut her off. “And of course Pride and Prejudice has outsold, well, all of Twain’s books combined, I would think.” She smiled. “I imagine that would take a bit of the sting out of such a remark. If Austen was alive to hear it, of course.”
“Do you know why Byron called this the Bridge of Sighs?” Napoleon asked, bringing the exchange to an end.
Jane spent the remainder of the ride rubbing her right foot against her left shinbone and wondering just how much damage it might do if applied to a head with the proper amount of force. She regretted not having heard of Twain’s remark while he was still alive, so that she could have provided him with the opportunity to find out. She made a mental note to remove all of his books from her store when she got back, or at least to hide them in the stockroom so that people would be forced to ask for them. Customers seldom asked for anything; they either left when they didn’t find what they were looking for or, more often, selected something else. Jane knew this because until Lucy had found out and made her stop, she’d kept any book by a Brontë in the back room as well, and generally suggested one of her own to anyone foolish enough to inquire about Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre. (She made an exception for The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, keeping a single copy on the shelf out of curiosity to see what kind of person might buy it. So far, no one had.)
When the gondola ride ended, Jane clambered out and onto the dock, happy to be out of the narrow boat and away from Miriam. She was even more relieved to get back to the hotel and into the shower, where she spent a good long time washing away the feelings of irritation aroused by the afternoon’s activities. By the time she got out she was looking forward to the rest of the night.
First to come was dinner, which promised to be excellent. She and Walter had been invited—along with Lucy, Ben, and the rest of Team Chumsley—to join Orsino at a restaurant he knew from having lived in Venice for several years. Miriam too had been invited, but to Jane’s relief she had declined. Jane hadn’t cared enough to ask her what other plans she might have, and Miriam had not offered any explanation.
Following dinner they were to attend a performance of La Traviata. But rather than sitting in the stuffy, albeit lovely, La Fenice they would be in the Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto, a fifteenth-century home in which operas were performed in the actual rooms of the palace, moving from room to room with each act. The idea thrilled Jane no end.
Fitting the occasion, Jane wore a strapless blue crushed velvet dress, with a beautiful vintage diamond and sapphire necklace. The jewels were paste, but no less wonderful for that, and when Jane looked at herself in the mirror she felt very elegant indeed. Her hair was up, and she had applied some blush to give her naturally pale skin a soft, pinkish glow.
“You’re stunning,” Walter said, coming up behind her and putting his hands round her waist. “I’m not sure I want anyone else seeing you tonight. They might fall in love.”
“You’re quite dashing yourself,” said Jane.
“Aren’t you going to be cold in that?” Walter asked. “It’s freezing out there.”
“I bought a cloak,” Jane told him. “While you were taking a nap after lunch, Lucy and I did some shopping. Look.”
She went to the closet and took out the cloak. Made from lightweight black wool, it fell all the way to her feet and had a hood that could be pulled up for protection from the elements or (Jane theorized) to create an aura of menace. It likely wouldn’t keep one terribly warm in the event of truly inclement weather, but she didn’t require it for that and so it was perfect.
“You look positively Venetian,” Walter told her as she modeled her purchase.
“I thought it was nicer than my Paddington raincoat,” Jane said.
They went downstairs, where they met up with Be
n, Lucy, Chumsley, Sam, Brodie, and Orsino and proceeded to the restaurant.
La Caverna Nascosta was, as its name implied, impossible to find if one wasn’t accompanied by someone who knew the way. It was not on any lists of restaurants recommended for vacationers, and no amount of Googling or Binging would reveal its whereabouts. It had no sign.
Nor did it have menus. Having found it, diners were seated at a single large, round table in the middle of a beautiful dining room that was lit by dozens, if not hundreds, of candles. The windows of the room overlooked a canal, and the walls were frescoed with faded scenes from Roman mythology, not all of them appropriate for the prudish. Jane found them delightful.
Once seated, guests were brought dish after dish of delights, the menu created by the whims of the chef. Sarde in saor came out, the grilled sardines atop a bed of onions, pine nuts, and currants. This was accompanied by polenta e schie and baccalà mantecato spread on crostini. A creamy risotto nero alle seppie, rich with squid ink, was followed by fegato alla veneziana, galletto alla brace, branzino del doge, and stinco di agnello brasato.
As each dish arrived it was sent around the table to a chorus of delighted oohs and aahs. Forks and knives clinked against china, and much prosecco and amarone was drunk as glasses were quickly refilled by the attentive waitstaff. The conversation was lively, and all in all, Jane couldn’t imagine a more delightful evening.
She was seated with Walter to one side and Sam to the other. She hadn’t really had a chance to talk to Sam very much, and despite her initial wariness of the woman due to her connection to Walter, she found herself chatting easily with her.
“How are you getting along with Miriam?” Sam asked during the short period between the last dinner dish being swept away and the arrival of small dishes of zabaglione and plates of baicoli, zaletti, and galani.
Jane laughed. “How well do you know her?”
“Well enough to know what a bully she can be,” Sam replied. “Did you know she tried to get Walter to marry me?”
“No!” Jane said. “Really?”
Sam nodded. “Oh, she really put the screws to him. Mind you, I’d only met her once, at a party for the opening of a building Walter and I worked on together. But apparently she decided I was going to be the new Mrs. Fletcher. She wouldn’t stop nagging him about it.”
Jane felt the fingers of jealousy tickling her. “Had you and Walter been dating long at that point?” she asked cautiously.
Sam smiled. “I don’t think my girlfriend would have been too happy if anything like that had been going on,” she said. “Well, she was my girlfriend then.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, enormously relieved. “I assume Miriam’s behavior had nothing to do with the breakup?”
“Breakup?” Sam said, accepting a cup of espresso from a waiter.
“Your girlfriend,” Jane said. “You said she was your girlfriend then.”
“Oh,” said Sam. “I meant that then she was my girlfriend. Now she’s my wife. We got married in Massachusetts—gosh, almost eight years ago.”
“Congratulations,” Jane said, marveling at how the world had changed for the better since her time.
“Thank you,” said Sam. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. Of course, I can’t believe we have two boys either.”
“Two?” Jane said.
Sam nodded. “Gus and Max,” she said. “They’re five. Twins. I have to remember to get them something before we leave tomorrow. Do you know where Miriam got that clown doll?”
Jane choked on a galani, spraying powdered sugar down the front of her dress. “Clown doll?” she said.
“She had one when I ran into her in the elevator as I was coming down to meet everyone tonight. It looked really old, but she said she had just bought it. Max and Gus love clowns, and I thought a doll like that would make a great present. I was going to ask her where she got it, but she seemed to be in a hurry to get wherever she was going.”
Jane was seized by a sudden panic. “Was it black and white?” she asked.
“That’s the one,” said Sam. “Do you know where she got it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jane said. “But I’ll be sure to ask her. Will you excuse me a moment?”
She turned to Walter. “Sweetie, I’m having a bit of heartburn. I’m going to run back to the hotel and take something. You go ahead to the opera and I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll come with you,” Walter said, just as Jane knew he would.
“Aren’t you sweet?” she said, kissing his cheek. “But I’ll be fine. You finish your espresso.”
She left before he could object again. Fortunately, the hotel wasn’t that far away, and she made it there in under ten minutes. She took the elevator to the third floor and strode briskly to Miriam’s door.
As she raised her hand to knock she heard a commotion from inside. Then Lilith’s voice was in her head.
“Let me out of here!”
Jane tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Pushing it open she saw Miriam on the bed. Straddling her was Bergen. His mouth was on her neck. The sound of Lilith’s barking came from the bathroom, where apparently she had been locked in. Bergen turned his head and looked at Jane. His eyes were wild, and he hissed at her.
Bergen’s the vampire? Jane thought vaguely as she tried to figure out what to do. That’s unexpected.
Bergen leapt off the bed and ran at her. Jane, acting on instinct, hauled off and punched him as hard as she could in the face. Her fist connected with Bergen’s nose, there was a disturbing yet satisfying crunch, and the little man fell backward. He stared at Jane for a moment, blood just starting to drip from his nose, then collapsed.
“Quick!” Jane said to Miriam. “Get me a stake!”
Miriam, who was getting up from the bed, said. “Don’t be stupid. He’s not a vampire.”
“But he was biting you!” Jane said.
Miriam patted her hair. “Actually, he was kissing me,” she said.
“That’s even worse!” said Jane.
“I was trying to find out who he’s working for,” Miriam said.
“Working for?” Jane said. “What are you talking about?”
Miriam poked Bergen with her toe. He remained still. She looked at Jane. “You really are the worst vampire I’ve ever met. Can’t you recognize a familiar when you see one?”
Jane looked at Bergen. She remembered what Walter had said about the odd man reminding him of Renfield, Dracula’s bug-eating assistant.
“Whose familiar is he?”
Miriam sat on the end of the bed and sighed. “That’s what I was trying to find out,” she said, “before you barged in here. What are you doing here, anyway?”
Jane, remembering why she’d come, stood up. “That’s right,” she said. “Before we talk about what to do with Mr. Faust here, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
The sound of wild scratching distracted her. It was coming from the bathroom. “Oh, right,” Jane said. “But first you should probably let Lilith out.”
Chapter 21
Tuesday: Venice
Libiam libiamo, ne’ lieti calici,
che la bellezza infiora;
e la fuggevol fuggevol’ora
s’inebrii a voluttà.
Libiam ne’ dolci fremiti
che suscita l’amore,
poiché quell’occhio al core
onnipotente va.
Libiamo, amore; amor fra i calici
più caldi baci avrà.
Alfredo lifted his glass as his voice filled the Portego Of the Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto with the opening lines of his famous drinking song. The small group of listeners, now understanding their role in the night’s performance, lifted their own glasses in return.
“Very clever,” Jane whispered to Walter, who stood beside her. “We’re not only the audience, we’re the guests at Violetta’s party.”
Walter sipped his glass of champagne. “It’s too bad my mother has a stomachache,” he sai
d. “She would love this.”
Jane said nothing. She felt terrible about the lie she’d told Walter. But Miriam had insisted on interrogating Bergen herself. She’d ordered Jane to go to the opera and make an excuse for her absence. A stomachache had seemed the easiest explanation, and so Jane had invented a bad oyster and the resulting digestive distress to explain her mother-in-law’s failure to appear.
She was still unclear on several points regarding the night’s events, and as the performers continued to toast the joys of friendship and love, Jane went over again what she knew and did not know. She had gone to Miriam’s room assuming that Miriam was the one who had stolen the Pierrot from her room in Paris. Miriam, however, had not taken it. She had found it, she said, sitting on the floor of the elevator at the hotel just moments before Sam had gotten on and seen her holding it. Assuming this was true—and Jane had no reason to think that it wasn’t—the identity of the real thief remained a mystery.
Then there was the matter of Bergen. Miriam continued to insist that she had lured Bergen to her room with the promise of a tryst. The very notion filled Jane with a horror beyond imagining. She tried very hard not to remember seeing Bergen kissing Miriam’s neck, but of course, having thought about it, it was all she could think about. She shuddered and drank some more champagne, hoping its intoxicating effects would dim the disturbing image.
What she didn’t fully understand was why Miriam had suspected Bergen of having nefarious intentions in the first place. That he was a vampire’s familiar was, frankly, not surprising. From a casting point of view he was perfect for the role in every possible way. Which was probably why it had never occurred to Jane to seriously entertain the thought that that’s exactly what he was.
Miriam, though, had suspected something. Of course, she suspects everyone of something, Jane reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help but be reluctantly impressed. It had been a brave move to invite Bergen to her room, and it could have ended very badly for her. Jane hated to think, for several reasons, what might have transpired had she not arrived when she did. Miriam had promised to explain her suspicions later, and Jane was looking forward to that conversation.
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