Venetian Mask

by Rosalind Laker

  THE NEXT DAY, when Alix arrived at the Palazzo Cuccino shortly before noon, he was shown into one of the lush salons to await Louise. It was a beautiful room, full of light, with a fine ceiling painting and more decoration on the gilded double doors as well as on another that led into a small oratory for solitary prayer.

  There came a tap of heels and Louise entered. They greeted each other. Then she sat down on a buttercup yellow sofa and folded her hands neatly in her azure silken lap as he drew up a chair to sit facing her. He had not taken the decision lightly to speak to her about Marietta, but he was desperate, and in any case he was sure he could trust Louise to keep silent whether she agreed to help him or not.

  She heard him out. “I shall go to the Pietà this afternoon,” she said without the least hesitation.

  He smiled broadly in his relief. “What a good friend you are, Louise.”

  When he had gone, she crossed to one of the windows looking down on the Grand Canal and watched as a gondola bore him away. She thought him foolish to have fallen so seriously in love when he could have enjoyed a passionate relationship with the Pietà girl without any involvement of the heart. Yet she felt grateful to Marietta—was that not the name of Tintoretto’s daughter?—for showing her how strong was the bond of friendship that she, Louise d’Oinville, shared with Alix.

  At the Pietà Louise had no difficulty getting the information she needed. Marietta was well. She had not been appearing in concert because she was caring for her convalescent goddaughter by night. When Alix received this report he realized it might be the evening of the reception before he saw Marietta again.

  Chapter Six

  AS SHE WAS DRESSING FOR THE RECEPTION MARIETTA WONDERED, not for the first time, how it would be when she and Alix met again. Perhaps he would be angry that she had to all intents deserted him. Maybe he would not come at all.

  As soon as she and Elena were ready, they went to see Bianca. Still pale and weak, she sat propped against her pillows and smiled as soon as she saw them. Sister Giaccomina, sitting at the child’s bedside, looked up with a pleased expression from the book she had been reading to her.

  “See how much better our little patient is this evening,” she said, indicating an empty bowl and cup on the side table.

  “Did you really eat all your supper, Bianca?” Marietta exclaimed with approval.

  The child nodded proudly. “Every bit!”

  Elena applauded. “Well done!”

  “I’m to be allowed out of bed for a little while tomorrow.”

  “That is good news.” Marietta was about to say she would be back to spend the night as soon as the reception had ended, but the nun forestalled her.

  “Bianca knows that I’ll be sleeping here every night until she is able to return to her own bedchamber. It is important that you get proper rest again, Marietta.”

  It was a sign of the little girl’s improvement that she had accepted the new arrangement without tears. Had this been Sister Sylvia it might have been another matter, but all the children liked Sister Giaccomina for her motherly ways.

  At the reception, presentations were already under way when the French family group arrived. Marietta sighted Alix immediately and knew from the surge of joy in his eyes that their time apart had only increased his feelings for her. Although she longed to run straight into his arms, she kept her place in the receiving line, smiling and curtseying as the Maestro and the maestri on the staff took the visitors from one girl to the next.

  Then, as Marietta rose from yet another curtsey, it was to look straight into the eyes of Angela Torrisi.

  “This is a pleasure, signorina,” Angela said smilingly. “I admire your lovely voice so much.”

  “I’m honored, signora.” Marietta was thankful that Domenico’s wife was alone. It would have been difficult to keep her composure under his taunting gaze. Then Angela Torrisi’s next words stirred Marietta to unease.

  “I should like to talk to you for a little while later,” she said, inclining her head as she moved on.

  Elena, who was ahead of Marietta in the line, paid the French guests the courtesy of replying in their own tongue. Then she heard the name Desgrange and realized she was curtseying to Alix.

  “It is an honor to meet you,” he said with a wink, aware of others within earshot.

  “I hope you are enjoying your time in Venice,” she answered, her smile showing she was pleased to be meeting him.

  “All the highlights have been linked to the Pietà choir.”

  When he reached Marietta, his eyes were full of infectious merriment. She responded gaily with a deep curtsey to the exaggerated flourish of his bow.

  As soon as the presentations were over Angela beckoned Marietta over to sit by her side. Somewhat uncertainly Marietta obeyed, but she soon overcame her initial disquiet as the two of them entered into conversation. Before long Marietta found herself talking about her singing, her village days, and her hopes for the future.

  “So you have your sights set on the concert stage,” Angela remarked with interest. “Not an opera company?”

  Marietta gave a little laugh, completely at ease now with this gracious young woman. “I’ve heard so many tales of how badly the impresarios treat their singers, even forcing them out of a sickbed to sing if need be, that life in an opera company doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “I believe such merciless treatment is quite common, but not toward a prima donna as you would be.”

  “You compliment me most highly, signora.”

  “No one deserves praise more. But I’ve been taking up too much of your time. Others are waiting to chat with you. We shall meet again, I’m sure.”

  At last Marietta was free to wend her way through the gathering toward Alix. He broke away from his conversation with a group of gentlemen as she reached him. Elena, passing from one guest to another, noticed how engrossed in each other the two of them appeared. Then she saw that the young Frenchwoman, Madame d’Oinville, was also watching them observantly. Her composed expression was impossible to read, but there seemed to be a hint of exasperation beneath the bland surface.

  That night when Marietta emerged from the Pietà, she and Alix ran to meet each other and he swept her up and around in jubilation at their being together again. He no longer had any doubt that he was deeply and irretrievably in love.

  As their nightly meetings were resumed, Alix yearned to be alone with her, away from the coffeehouses and ridotti and public ballrooms where they spent their time together. But he could tell that she never thought of their going anywhere else. She was happy wherever they were, dancing tirelessly, light as a butterfly. Only in the loggia did passion sweep through her as she responded to his kisses, and each time he was tormented by the thought of how it would be if she were lying in his arms.

  Cherishing her as he did, his whole nature balked at the idea of taking her blatantly to a place of assignation, of which there were many in Venice. He was not at all sure she would agree in any case. The apartment where he was staying would have been ideal, but although Henri rarely returned before dawn, Jules was too light a sleeper to risk taking her there. The problem remained unsolved and his intense desire for her unassuaged.

  It was a night bright with moonlight when Marietta saw that Alix was attired in his Harlequin costume as he waited for her in the loggia. Outside in the calle she admired his appearance.

  “You make a dashing Harlequin! I am sure that is one of Signor Savoni’s masks that you are wearing!”

  “It is.” Jokingly he struck an attitude for her in the best Carnival tradition. His jacket and pantaloons were vividly diamond-patterned, his ruffle white about his neck. Bows adorned his shoes and there was a feather in his round-brimmed hat.

  She gave a mock-rueful sigh. “I shall lose you to the first Columbina who comes along, even though I’m wearing my lovely green mask.”

  He took her hand, looking lovingly down into her upturned face. “She is already here. Tonight we shall celebrate Carn
ival in St. Mark’s Square with everybody else, but we shall transform you first.”

  They ran most of the way to the costumier’s shop on the Merceria. At the week’s end, when the carnival gained momentum, it was worthwhile for those in any trade connected with it to keep their business premises open late. When Alix and Marietta arrived, breathless and merry, the costumier knew at once what they required.

  Behind a curtain Marietta changed into the Columbina costume that had been produced for her. It was of silk, in the shimmering turquoise of the lagoon on a summer’s day. The abundantly full skirt was banded with multicolored, diamond-shaped patches bordered in silver braid, and a narrow pink ruffle about her neck matched the little apron and the bows on the elbow-length sleeves with falling cuffs of lace. Lastly she tucked her hair into a white wig and topped it with a small pink frilled cap. The mirror showed her that she was Columbina. Not even Domenico Torrisi could recognize her now. Like a dancer she sprang lightly out through the curtains for Alix’s inspection. His reaction was predictably enthusiastic. “Bravo!”

  She left her cloak and gown with her mantilla at the costumier’s shop to change into later, for he would not be closing for another three hours. Then, hand in hand, they hurried to join the revelers in the square. Music permeated the air. Fireworks spattered and rockets soared. High on the Basilica the four bronze horses changed their hue with every burst of stars. A peddler was selling roses, little short-stemmed blooms of crimson that had been shipped in from some warmer clime. Alix was in time to buy her the last one. It had no thorns.

  “I love you,” he said, giving it to her, “forever.”

  Her shimmering eyes never left his as she put the rose to her lips in acknowledgement of his words. Her whispered reply was scarcely audible in the carnival din, but he heard her, for it was as if they stood alone in the eye of a hurricane.

  “This is a night I shall remember all my life.”

  A soft fall of gaily colored ribbons, thrown by someone nearby, fell over them by chance as they kissed. Then he helped her to tuck the rose deep between her breasts, for she was fearful of losing it, and their eyes met again as he carressed her before he withdrew to lead her into the dancing throng.

  There were no formal measures here, but a skipping and spinning and prancing well laced with kisses and laughter. Once a long line of grotesquely masked revelers wove through the crowd like a snake; the last one grabbed Marietta’s hand, drawing her and Alix along with them. More dancing followed, and finally it was Alix who looked up at the Moors’ clock to see that it was long past the time when Marietta’s garments should have been collected.

  “The costumier will have closed!” he exclaimed with concern. To his surprise Marietta, intoxicated by the carnival as if by wine, was not in the least disturbed.

  “No matter,” she said with a radiant smile. “You can collect them for me tomorrow.” She linked her fingers behind his neck. “I daren’t go back by way of the calle now. The watchman will be plodding about as he waits to go off duty. Sister Sylvia will be about too.”

  “But how else—?”

  “The baker’s apprentice makes a delivery at the Pietà water entrance at dawn. If you bribe him for me he would keep them busy in the kitchen and I could slip in that way. Elena may well be there and she would help too.” Marietta raised herself on tiptoe with joy. “Don’t you see what it means? We have until dawn to be together!”

  He held her tightly to him. “Did you plan all this ahead?”

  Her smile was mischievous. “Not until I put on this costume and saw my reflection in the mirror. Then I knew I couldn’t go home until dawn.”

  “Oh, Marietta,” he said softly, “I promised you a whole night at the Carnival, but I had intended it to be when there was no longer any danger for you.”

  “How would you have managed that?”

  “By making you my wife.”

  Instantly she leaned back and placed a fingertip against his lips, shaking her head. “No talk of that! Please. Especially this night, because it cannot be.” In the same instant she had the sensation of being watched and glanced up quickly at one of the lighted windows above the north arcade. Among those looking down on the roistering below was a man whose golden mask set him apart from the rest. His glittering gaze was fixed on her.

  She jerked her eyes away and threw her arms around Alix as if for safety, her cheek pressed against his. He held her close, the two of them motionless amidst the brilliant, churning throng. Then, just as abruptly, she broke from him.

  “Let’s get away from here!” she implored.

  “I know where we can go.” Joyfully he led her out of the square. Soon her exuberant mood returned and she was full of laughter again.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The apartment where I’m staying. The comte is at an all-night card party and Henri is at the Carnival.” It was the chance he had long awaited.

  In the apartment she moved light-heartedly about the elegant salon, looking at everything, for she was interested to see how travelers to Venice were accommodated. When she reached a mirror she removed her mask and her wig.

  “Nobody to recognize me here,” she declared, smiling at his reflected image as she combed up her hair with her fingers. “Do you realize that this is the first time we haven’t had masses of people all around us?”

  He was well aware of it. She left the mirror and went across to the glowing fire, holding out her hands automatically to the warmth, although the night was mild and she was not in the least chilled. His gaze dwelled lovingly on her. She was standing with her back toward him and in the firelight her hair was the color of glass heated to red-gold, such as he had seen at a glassmaker’s on the nearby island of Murano.

  He stood behind her and put his lips to the nape of her neck. She leaned back contentedly against his chest, letting her hands fall lightly clasped in front of her while he enclosed her arms within his. He buried his face in her hair. It held the scent of summer. When he looked down he could see her shadowed cleavage.

  “I wish we could have come here before,” she said dreamily. “It is cozy and quiet. All our hours together have been wonderful. It’s just that this is such a change.”

  “My darling Marietta,” he breathed. “We shall have many such times as this in the future.”

  She chose to misunderstand. “Yes, you will be far away in Lyon and I shall be in Venice, but firelight is a pleasure everywhere.”

  “We need not be apart.” He felt her tense at his words.

  “Don’t say any more, Alix.” It was a kind of warning plea.

  “You shall not silence me now. I love you and I believe you love me, even though you have refused to admit it. Soon I may be leaving Venice and I cannot go without you.” He set his hands on her waist and turned her around to face him, but she bowed her head, refusing to look him in the eye.

  “Please! No!” Her voice was choked.

  “Tell me how much you care for me, Marietta. I want you to come back to France as my wife.” He took her chin fondly between his finger and thumb and raised it until her eyes met his. He saw that hers were full of tears. She answered him haltingly.

  “I gave you my answer when we were in the Square. Neither of us could get permission to wed. Legally you’re under age and still subject to your father’s will, while I’m bound by the Pietà’s rules regarding marriage to foreigners. The governors would never consider you without authorized documents and the endorsement of your ambassador.”

  “I know all that. But do you love me? That’s what I want to know.” He jerked her face back to him when she would have turned away. “Tell me!”

  He was not sure why he should be getting angry, but he could no longer endure her refusal to let him coax out of her the words he was desperate to hear. Unless she told him now, he could not make plans for the marriage she was so convinced could not take place. When he saw her lips tighten, as if she feared her heart might cry out what she would not say, he grabbed her by
the shoulders and shook her hard.

  “I’ll not let you leave here until I have the truth from you! If it takes until this time tomorrow, I swear I will not release you! By then the Pietà will have dismissed you to the streets as a wanton and you’ll have no choice but to stay with me.”

  She swung up her hand and hit him with full force across the face. As he stepped back in shock she whirled away and bolted for the door, hurling it open to dart out into the night. Instantly he was after her and caught her halfway down the calle.

  “Forgive me! I didn’t mean what I said!” he shouted. “I’m scared of losing you!”

  She struggled with him, hammering his chest with her fists, her face contorted by fury and misery. “Even if I did love you, there’s no future for us!”

  He pulled her tightly against him, pinioning her fists. “Listen to me! We can elope!”

  She became still in his arms and shook back her hair to look questioningly at him. Wariness and uncertainty showed in her expression, as if she stood at a crossroads where all paths were unknown. “The Pietà would not abandon me if I should go missing. There would be a hue and cry throughout the city to discover who had abducted me. Should it be suspected that I had run away, alone or with another person, guards would be sent in relentless pursuit until I was found.”

  “I know that. But I’ll find a way somehow.”

  Suddenly she was full of hope. She loved him and she wanted to flee Venice with him. Despair melted away. As he smoothed back her hair, which had become tousled in their struggle, her eyes searched his.

  “Is it possible?” she asked.

  “Trust me,” he urged, his embrace drawing her to him. She responded eagerly to his loving kisses. If she thought fleetingly that her happiness sprang more from relief at escaping the amorphous threat of the golden mask than from the prospect of elopement, she quickly banished it from her mind.

  They did not return to the apartment. For her it had been tainted by their quarrel, and she would never want to go there again. Wandering along, they came to one of the little squares where Carnival folk in gentler mood sat on the steps of the houses as they listened to a group of singers with accompanying lutes. Marietta and Alix found seats side by side, and there they stayed until it was time for her to return to the Pietà. He hailed a gondola.