Venetian Mask

by Rosalind Laker

  Suddenly Marietta saw Elena just entering a box directly across from theirs. Her hair was elaborately dressed but left golden and unpowdered with sapphire ornaments, her low-cut gown was of silver lace, and she was laughing and chatting to those in her party. Marietta turned to Domenico.

  “There is my good friend, Elena!”

  “That is the Celano box. I think you will find that neither she nor those in her company will look across here. It is the social protocol for Torrisis and Celanos to ignore one another in public. When others in either party are acquainted with both sides, they simply follow the behavior of the one they are with and no offense is taken. It makes life easier.”

  “Marco Celano once challenged you at a Pietà concert.”

  “I remember. Just previously there had been some contretemps between two members of our respective families and a period of high tension always follows. Sometimes it is the same for weeks beforehand. It caught Marco Celano unawares to suddenly see me there.”

  The orchestra had struck up the overture to the Monteverdi opera and Marietta waited eagerly for the curtain to rise. The singers were good but no one in the audience seemed to be paying attention. People went on talking and visiting one another in the boxes. Only when the prima donna sang did everyone become quiet, for she was popular in Venice and sang superbly. For the rest of the time the opera was merely a background for everything else that was going on. In several boxes, games of cards were being played; in others supper was being served. Three boxes already had their shutters closed and as there had been only one couple in each, it was not hard to guess what was going on within.

  During the second act, when Domenico had ordered supper to be served, Marietta realized that Elena had seen her. She was giving a special signal sending greetings with her fan. Immediately afterward, another gesture conveyed her surprise at seeing Marietta there.

  Marietta replied by lightly resting a hand at the base of her throat in one of their danger signals. Elena gave back with the same, showing that she had to be equally careful. They had no sign for “betrothed,” but Marietta slid her ring up and down on her finger and knew that Elena would understand.

  “Does the ring not fit well?” Domenico asked. “It can be altered.”

  “It fits perfectly and I’m quite dazzled by it.”

  Elena witnessed his questioning of her friend and neither of them risked communicating again.

  During the third act, Antonio Torrisi came to his brother’s box. Marietta recognized him immediately from the time she had seen him through the grille at the ridotto. He was very courteous and welcomed her into the family.

  “I have heard you sing many times, Marietta,” Antonio said, bowing over her hand. “Now that my brother has won you, no concert will ever be the same again.” His grin was infectious. “I hope you will continue to sing for us.”

  “I will do that,” she promised light-heartedly.

  He drew up a chair and stayed a little while, talking to her. She noticed he was like Domenico in never once looking across to the Celano box.

  On the way back to the Pietà, Domenico spoke of his immediate plans for after their marriage.

  “I shall take you to our country villa. It will be a good time to leave Venice for the summer, and I’m sure you will like it there. It is very peaceful and the countryside should remind you of where you were born.” He paused, smiling questioningly. “What is amusing you?”

  “I am just thinking how astonished I would have been if I had been told long ago that one day I should stay in the villa that the barge man, Iseppo, pointed out to me on the way to Venice. Instead he predicted I should marry the Doge, and that was wrong!”

  “I trust you have made the better choice.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Choice!” she echoed wryly.

  “That was tactless of me.”

  “No. It could be said that I did choose simply by not going away.”

  “That is gracious of you, Marietta. I believe we shall get along very well.”

  His warm gaze was on her and she felt ravished by it. Then he crushed her against his hard muscular body as they kissed and she felt her heart tilt as if it were more than ready to be lost to him.

  They arrived at the water gate of the Pietà to be met by the mewing of an infant girl, half wrapped in a costly silk shawl, who had been left just inside the aperture under the gate. Marietta guessed she was the offspring of a courtesan, and, alighting from the gondola, she reached through the aperture to gather the babe in her arms and rock it gently.

  “How fortunate it is not a cold night,” Domenico said, coming to her side and ringing for admittance.

  “Usually the mothers summon on the bell before they leave,” Marietta explained, “but sometimes they are afraid of not getting away in time.” Then she smiled. “What an unexpected ending to our evening together!”

  “Everything is unexpected with you, Marietta.” There was that same embracing look in his eyes. “May that never change.”

  The door had opened and the gates were being unlocked by the watchman. Marietta bade Domenico good night and swept indoors to meet Sister Sylvia’s outraged expression with a smile.

  “I have named this new arrival already,” she said, placing the infant in the nun’s arms. “She shall be Marietta. I have been at the Pietà so long that there should be another here when I marry Signor Torrisi.”

  But Sister Sylvia was not to be diverted from what she had to say. “How dare you be back so late, Marietta!”

  “But I had such a marvelous time!” Marietta danced around the floor and started up the stairs.

  Sister Sylvia’s indignant shriek followed her. “Signor Torrisi should never have been allowed to take you off without me!”

  Marietta looked back over the banisters and laughed mischievously. “You should have seen me at the opera! Without a mask! Without a veil! Half of Venice recognized me!”

  There came a further shriek that made the chandelier ring. The infant, who had become quiet, began to mew again.

  After that there were to be no more unchaperoned outings for Marietta and Domenico before their marriage. Sister Sylvia made sure of that. She pointed out to the rest of the board of governors that it did great harm to the Pietà’s good name for one of their leading singers to be seen unchaperoned, whether she was betrothed or not. They in turn persuaded Domenico, much to his exasperation. At the age of thirty he was not prepared to endure the constant presence of a third party, particularly as that aggressive nun had declared her intention of replacing the gentler Sister Giaccomina, who would have been content to pass the time with his books.

  “This means we shall not meet again until our wedding day,” he said to Marietta, “but we have the rest of our lives in which to share each other’s company.”

  She nodded. The rest of their lives. The prospect was daunting. Neither of them knew whether their marriage would be for good or ill.

  Chapter Ten

  NOBODY BUT SISTER GIACCOMINA KNEW THAT ELENA SANG at Marietta’s wedding. Between them they made secret plans. The nun let her in at the water entrance and she changed quickly into a Pietà red silk gown. With a veil over her face, she sped along to take her place behind the choristers at an upper grille where they sang for the entrance of the bride.

  She thought Domenico looked particularly fine in his gold brocade coat and breeches, but it was his bride who stole the day. Following her own instinctive sense of style, Marietta was wearing a gown of gleaming cream satin in the newest silhouette, which relied solely on petticoats to give fullness to the sides and back of the skirt. Her beautiful throat and bosom rose from a fichu of lace and her luxuriant Titian hair was crowned by a chaplet of cream roses.

  When the marriage ceremony was over Marietta looked up at the galleries as she and Domenico made their way down the aisle. She smiled at the girls, whom she could just glimpse through the grilles. Although she knew it was only wishful thinking, more than once during the service she had tho
ught she heard Elena’s voice among theirs. Then she went with her bridegroom out into the hot June sunshine.

  Elena left the gallery immediately and ran as fast as she could to Sister Giaccomina’s room, where she threw aside the Pietà veil and slipped out of the red gown into her own. Throwing on a light silk domino she sped downstairs again without meeting anyone. Those girls not in the church were at lessons or practice. The water entrance remained unlocked for her and a waiting gondola took her out of the side canal and under the bridge in time to see the flower-decked bridal gondola heading into the Grand Canal, a host of others bearing guests in its wake. As the music and love songs of the accompanying singers drifted across the water, she wished only happiness for Marietta and hoped she would find it in the Palazzo Torrisi.

  The wedding feast was held in the great sala del trono, so named for a pair of ornate and gilded antique chairs, which had been placed side by side for the bride and groom at the head table. At the remaining tables six hundred guests were seated with ease. After the feast there was music played by the Pietà orchestra. Marietta danced tirelessly into her new life. In the weeks since her night at the opera she had had only a few words with Domenico whenever he happened to be at the Pietà, and each time she had felt herself still more bound to him by events in her own life. How could she help but associate him, however tenuously, through the golden mask to all the love and security of her earliest years. Not that she expected the same equilibrium of her married life. On the contrary, she expected to lead quite a tempestuous existence, but the thought of that appealed to her after so many years in the almost artificial peace of the Pietà.

  All her partners in the dancing were graceful and full of compliments, but with Domenico it was as though her feet did not touch the floor and her happiness surfaced completely. He, worldly and experienced, saw how it was to be between them and was well satisfied.

  When it was time for her to retire, a group of Torrisi women, all Domenico’s cousins, assisted her out of her wedding garments. They were friendly and full of laughter, which suited her own exhilarated mood, exclaiming over the silk and lace nightshift that had been specially made for this night.

  After slipping the gown over her naked body, they saw her into bed, kissed her in turn, and left her sitting against the pillows in the light of a single candle-flame. She could hear the music and the distant buzz of voices as the celebrations continued. Yet, now that she had time to reflect, she realized that since it was a second marriage for Domenico there had been a subdued note to the whole proceedings. Several times she had caught glances in the guests’ eyes that told her they were wondering if she knew how great a love match it had been between Domenico and his first wife. They must have noticed, as she had, that Angela’s portraits had been removed from the main salons and other paintings put in their place. She was certain that her bedchamber had been entirely redecorated and refurnished in the elegant rococo style, for everything looked brand-new. The walls had flowered panels and the ceiling plasterwork was made to resemble swathed primrose silk held up by little cherubs, with garlands suspended from the cornices. The bed had hangings of floral silk, and porcelain bowls of pastel-hued roses perfumed the air.

  Footsteps in the adjoining bedchamber caused her heart to thump. She heard Domenico’s voice and guessed he was alone with his valet. Then the communicating door opened and Domenico appeared in a blue brocade robe with a decanter of wine and two glasses in his hands. If he had seemed handsome to her before, she found him even more so on this night. He had had his hair cropped short for the fashion of wig-wearing he had adopted that day, and it shone well-brushed in the candle-glow.

  “Would you like a glass of wine, Marietta?” he asked, setting the decanter and glasses on a side table. “I could do with one myself. All that dancing has given me a thirst.”

  She nodded and he poured the wine into both glasses, then came across to sit on the bed beside her. “A toast is in order. I know there were plenty offered downstairs, but this is just for us to share. Let us drink to our future. May it bring us close as husband and wife.”

  “I can think of no better wish.” She sipped from her glass.

  He leaned forward, his lips moist with wine, and kissed her gently. Then as he sat back he studied her speculatively. “Your eyes are thoughtful. What is it?”

  “You look different.”

  He grinned and ran a hand carelessly over his head. “Pomade and powder are fiendish inventions. I tolerated them long enough. That is why I have taken to a wig. Does my appearance without it displease you?”

  “No. You have acted wisely.”

  “Then there must be something else.” He reached out to stroke back a tendril of her hair and tucked it carefully behind her ear. “We are not and never have been strangers. You told me that our paths crossed long ago in a mask-maker’s workshop before you came to Venice. So tell me what is on your mind.”

  “I was thinking that perhaps it was you I saw in the doorway of the Torrisi villa. There was someone coming out to meet those guests.”

  “Of course it was me!” he declared.

  A smile came to her lips. “I suppose you will say next that you saw me too.”

  He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Surely you saw me wave to you in the barge?”

  A little laugh erupted spontaneously. “What a tale! Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Not really. But it could have happened.”

  “I suppose it could.” She found him easy to talk to and wished she could have told him about imagining that she had heard Elena singing during their wedding, but that was impossible. Then he stroked a hand softly across her breast.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Marietta. But however lovely you looked in your bridal finery, you are even lovelier to me now.”

  She recalled that the first time she had seen him in the golden mask she had wondered how it would be to feel caresses from such a man. The subtle skimming of his palm had set her trembling deliciously. He was still speaking.

  “I know I promised to court you after we were married, but that did not mean I would leave you this night or any other.”

  She gave a nod. “I realized that,” she said faintly.

  His hand slid around to her spine and he brought her forward to take her mouth with sudden, hungry ardor in his kiss. Then he looked long at her as he took the empty glass from her fingers and left the bed to set it with his beside the decanter. Although the room was mainly in shadow, the single candle-flame flickered and highlighted him as he untied his robe and threw it carelessly across a chair. Of all the many works of art she had seen, none had prepared her for the full sight of a naked, handsomely built man already alerted by desire. She gave a little gasp as he entered the bed and gathered her amorously into his arms.

  Slowly he drew her with him into a night of sensual lovemaking. Bathed in kisses and caresses, she was borne up and down and around on crests and in valleys of passion. At times his hands were unbearably tender, touching and stroking, making her writhe sensuously, while at others he crushed her to him with a power that brought its own fierce ecstasy. As if she had been born for this night, her body seemed to cleave to his in homecoming. Once, as she tossed beneath him in ecstasy, her hair tumbling about her on the pillow, it was as though destiny had bound her to him long before this time and place.

  When dawn came they lay sleeping close together in the rumpled bed, his arms about her waist. An hour later he awoke to see rays of early morning sunshine penetrating the shutters. Propping himself on an elbow, he looked down at her. He had never expected to be the first with her. Who would have thought that a love which had induced her to take such risks would have stopped short of consummation? He had always supposed that she and her Frenchman had spent time in houses of assignation, for more than once his spy had lost them in the Carnival crowds.

  He smiled to himself and drew her hair back from her sleeping face. Whatever reservations she might still have held against him had been lo
st in the pleasure he had created for her. She was lying with the sheet barely covering her, and her limbs were in graceful repose. He would spare her waking to his presence. Had they been lovers in other than a physical sense he would have stayed, but it was his guess that when she awoke she would need time to think about all that had happened between them.

  He swung himself from the bed and put on his robe. On his way to the communicating door that led to his own bedchamber he paused to look back at her. It could happen that when a long-desired woman was finally possessed her appeal soon faded, but that would not be the case with Marietta. With her unconventional looks, which held their own rare beauty, and her lovely body, she fascinated him now more than ever. He knew they had only brushed the surface of what they could experience together in that bed and already he wanted to return there. It was a narrow gulf between fascination and love, but whether he would ever carry her to the great marriage bed of the House of Torrisi in his own room, where he and Angela had always slept, was another matter.

  Although he closed the door quietly behind him the unfamiliar sound disturbed Marietta’s sleep. She opened her eyes with a start and then sat up abruptly, but Domenico was not at her side and the room was deserted. Memories came flooding back and she drew up her knees to rest her forehead on them and link her hands about her legs as if it were necessary to hide her face. But she was smiling.

  After a while she lifted her head again and shook back her hair. She was ravenously hungry, but before she summoned a maidservant to bring a breakfast tray she must find her nightshift. Domenico had rolled it up over her head to fling it aside not long after coming to bed. She spotted it lying in a gleaming heap by the window. Swiftly she left the bed to gather it up, but before putting it on she went to the adjoining marble bathroom. There was only a ewer of cold water standing from the night before, but she bathed herself and poured the last few drops over her body to trickle down refreshingly. Wearing her nightshift she returned to the bedchamber. The windows were open and she released the clasp of the shutters to send them wide. Below was an enclosed garden of trees and flowers with antique statuary and an ornate loggia. There were roses in abundance. Suddenly, without knowing why the conviction should take hold of her, she knew that Angela Torrisi’s favorite flower had been the rose.