Marietta knew that such a decision must have been heartbreaking for Elena, even though sooner or later it would have had to be made. As she entered the bedchamber Elena uttered a cry of welcome.
“You’re here! Adrianna said we couldn’t send for you as you’re expecting a baby soon too!”
“I’m glad I came.” Marietta was concerned by Elena’s appearance. The journey must have been hard on her. As Marietta sat down on the edge of the bed Elena clutched her hand in a rush of pain that made beads of sweat start on her brow. Adrianna wiped them away with a soft cloth scented with rosewater.
“Don’t be afraid of shrieking out,” she advised. “Nobody except the three of us in this house will hear you. The walls are thick and this room backs onto an empty warehouse. Make all the noise you want. We don’t mind. Marietta is going to help me with the birth. I’ll leave you on your own with her for a while.”
As she went, Elena managed a little smile. “Adrianna took me in as if she were my mother. She’s been so good to me. I knew she would never turn me away.” Then her eyes grew wide. “But I’m so afraid! Not for myself but for my baby. I wrote you a letter last night in case I should die in childbirth, because you are the only one to whom I can turn. Adrianna would take the baby if she could, but Leonardo would never allow it. He thinks I’m wanton as it is.” There was a pause as the pain started again. “I love Nicolò as he loves me. If my marriage could have been annulled we would have married instantly. As it is, he is as trapped by obligations and responsibilities in Florence as I am by being Filippo’s chattel.”
“Leaving aside the fact that you are going to come through this birth and so is your baby, tell me what you wrote. Will Nicolò be taking the child? Is giving the infant to him what you want me to do for you?”
“He doesn’t know about the baby. I managed to keep my pregnancy from him. If I should have a girl, I want you to place her at the Pietà. I shall arrange to act as her godmother, which will give me more access to her as we have to Bianca. When she is grown I will be able to tell her the truth.” Another wave of agony took possession of her and this time she shrieked at the force of it. Marietta wiped her face with the rosewater.
“And if you have a boy?” Marietta asked when Elena’s pain had subsided again. “Surely then he should be with his father?”
Elena spoke emotionally. “Nicolò shall have his son. I couldn’t deny a boy all the advantages he would have growing up with a good father.”
“I will do whatever you wish.”
All the time Marietta sat at the bedside her own pains grew stronger, but she was determined to hide them as long as she could. As soon as Elena gave birth, she would return home. It would not be easy getting into a gondola, but somehow she would have to manage it.
In the end, Sister Giaccomina had to help, for shortly before the birth Marietta’s own waters broke and she was pierced through by knife-like pains that caused her to collapse. Adrianna left Elena briefly to half-carry Marietta through to the neighboring bedchamber. After getting her out of her clothes and into one of Elena’s spare nightshifts, she saw Marietta into bed and hurried back to Elena.
For Marietta there was only torture. Sister Giaccomina did what she could, and Marietta was unaware that her own screams echoed those of Elena. Time ceased to exist for Adrianna, who was fighting to save one woman’s baby while fearing for the other. Elena’s daughter was born only minutes before Marietta, who had been left temporarily alone, gave birth to a stillborn son. Even as Adrianna ran to her across the landing, Marietta was trying to reach for the flawlessly formed infant.
Twice in the night Elena woke to the sound of her friend’s harrowing cries. Leonardo had informed the Torrisi servants that their mistress was a guest of himself and his wife, but gave no reason. Marietta would not want to face the well-meaning sympathy calls from friends and acquaintances as soon as she returned home. Elena wanted to go to her, but Adrianna had forbidden either of them to move from their beds.
At dawn Elena lay suckling her daughter, whom she had named Elizabetta after her own mother, stroking the dark down on the baby’s head with a loving caress. Adrianna, who with Sister Giaccomina had been watching over the two friends all night, looked tired and in need of rest.
“How is Marietta now?” Elena asked.
“She is inconsolable,” Adrianna said sadly. “Had she not seen the baby it would have been easier. I fear for her. I’ve seen women develop melancholia after losing a baby at birth.”
“Is she sleeping at all?”
“She dozed for a little while in the night. For the rest of the time she either sobbed or lay silent as she is now, looking up at the ceiling with tears running from the corner of her eyes.”
“How soon can I go to her?”
“Wait a while longer.” Adrianna paused. “Don’t take Elizabetta with you. It could rub salt into the wound.”
Elena did not answer, but had made her decision during the night hours. When Adrianna went downstairs to join Sister Giaccomina, who was preparing breakfast, Elena kissed her baby devotedly.
“I had hoped to keep you with me a little longer,” she whispered, “but you will be loved and cared for.”
Leaving the bed, she went on bare feet into the next room. Marietta stirred and looked yearningly toward the baby in Elena’s arms.
“You’ve brought Elizabetta to see me. I asked about her and heard she is a fine baby.”
“I’ve done more than bring her,” Elena said upon reaching the bedside. “I’m giving her to you.”
She placed her daughter in Marietta’s arms. As if Elizabetta sensed that some vast change had been made in her destiny, she opened her eyes and seemed to turn her unfocused blue gaze on her foster mother. Marietta’s face became Madonna-like with tenderness and love as she gazed down at this priceless gift she had received. All that her own child had left hollow and bereft in her seemed to flood with warmth. It was as if his spirit had returned to settle in her heart and give her peace, enabling her always to love him as she had done in those few brief seconds before Adrianna had covered her eyes and forced her to lie down again. She was having difficulty adjusting her thoughts. “But you said she should go to the Pietà,” she said falteringly.
“With you Elizabetta will have much more.”
This was a matter between the two of them, and as yet neither one had given a thought to Domenico. When Adrianna came back upstairs with a breakfast tray she paused on the threshold of the room, dismayed to see that Marietta had the infant at her breast and Elena sat watching, both with the same look of devotion directed at Elizabetta. No explanation was needed. Distraught, Adrianna went to the foot of the bed.
“What have you done?” she cried to Elena. Then to Marietta, “What of your husband? He will never accept a child with Celano blood in her veins.”
Marietta’s expression changed to one of defiance as she gathered the baby closer in a protective attitude. “Domenico shall have a son in time to come, but I will have this child to love and care for as Elena would have done. Since he has kept secrets from me, so will I hold this secret from him!”
It seemed to Adrianna that giving birth had left neither of these two young women quite sane. Marietta was preparing to undertake a great deceit and Elena was condemning herself to heartache for years to come. At least if Elizabetta had been placed in the Pietà, Elena would have been able to visit her frequently. Yet it was impossible not to see that the solution they had chosen was the best for the child herself.
After five days Marietta went home with Elizabetta, escorted by Leonardo. During those days she and Elena had cared for the infant together. They had arranged for future meetings at Adrianna’s, when Marietta would bring the child. As yet they did not look to the time when Elizabetta would be old enough to talk about these visits, deciding to meet that hurdle when they came to it. Elena showed courage when she kissed her daughter for the last time, yet no sooner was the door closed after Marietta and the baby than suddenly Elen
a fainted. There followed many heartrending scenes when she would rock in distress with her arms thrown over her head. She dared not return home until her milk had dried up, but at last the time came when she had to prepare to leave for the Palazzo Celano. This required even more deceit and considerable planning, for she and Sister Giaccomina had returned to Venice by sea. Leonardo organized the release of their baggage from the custom house and saw to its delivery to coincide with Elena’s home-coming, as well as with the arrival that day of a ship from France. She did not let Sister Giaccomina accompany her to the palace, for fear that Filippo might question her. But as it turned out, Elena’s arrival itself caused quite a stir. Servants came running to bow or bob. “Where is the Signor?” she asked.
“In the library, signora.”
As she entered the large book-lined room she saw Filippo in a chair by one of the windows, a gold-topped cane propped within reach, his feet resting on a footstool.
“How are you, Filippo?”
He looked up with a jerk of surprise, and it was all she could do not to gasp at his disfigurement. Adrianna had warned her that it was said he had suffered facial injuries, but she had not been prepared for the deep rapier scar down the whole left side of his face.
“So you’re back! It’s about time. You’ve put on weight and it suits you. Don’t be alarmed by this.” He indicated his scar. “I fought a duel with Antonio Torrisi and neither of us was the victor. Why are you standing so far away? Does my appearance frighten you?”
“No.” She believed that in spite of his terrible scar many women would still find him attractive, for with the other side of his face unflawed he had the look of a returned warrior. She went forward to give him the kiss he expected, inwardly repelled by having to suffer his lips on hers again. When she leaned down to him he clamped her head in his hands and burrowed into her mouth as if he might swallow half her face. When he released her he would have caught her about the waist, but he winced, going white about the lips, and rested a hand gingerly on his side.
“That damnable duel. If only I had killed the Torrisi it would have been worth what I’ve had to endure. The doctors say I’ll mend with time, but I have to be patient. That was never my strong point. But I’ve passed a deal of my time working out how to settle the score with Domenico Torrisi in his brother’s absence. He shall pay! In full!”
“What have you planned?”
“That’s not for you to worry about, and nothing is decided yet. It will take time. You have other matters to concern you on a lighter plane. Now you are home we can entertain again. I haven’t felt well enough before. You can sing and play for me too. Everything will be more agreeable with you back in the palace.”
“Is your mother here?”
“Not at the present time. She came at once to nurse me after the duel and fought for my life.” He grinned cynically. “Odd, isn’t it? Considering that she never liked me or any of my siblings except Marco. I suppose she felt the House of Celano would go to pieces if drunken Vitale, or extravagant Alvise, or even Maurizio with his brains and weak heart, had to succeed me. As for Pietro at the monastery, he would be last on her list. Incidentally he has been here. You’ve missed seeing him.”
She was surprised, recalling that Pietro had purposely not been notified of Marco’s death until after the funeral.
“Why was he in Venice?”
“When it seemed I was going to die, Maurizio sent to the monastery as a last resort and Pietro came. He saved the sight of my eye. So between the efforts of my mother and Pietro I survived.”
“Has the Signora softened toward him as a result?”
“Not she! He committed the crime in her eyes of arriving when she thought her days of childbearing were over. My mother never forgives. You should know that by now.”
“Is Lavinia well?”
“She’s well enough, but I daresay she is fit to drop. My mother suffered a slight seizure when she went home after nursing me, which has made her a semi-invalid for the time being. Lavinia is more at her beck and call than ever.”
Filippo’s elbow was resting on the arm of his chair, and he raised his hand to receive hers. She placed it into his clasp with inward reluctance. He fondled it, rubbing her palm with his thumb. “I’ll not be able to husband you as I would wish until I’m free of the pain in my ribs, but you will be able to pleasure me in the ways I have taught you.”
She felt no shame in wishing that Antonio Torrisi’s rapier had pierced his heart.
WHEN ELIZABETTA WAS eight weeks old, Domenico returned. Marietta had gone to a Pietà concert with friends and found him waiting for her when she returned. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, leaner from his travels and more handsome for it, but his first joyful words reminded her of the true situation and checked her from running to him.
“So I have a beautiful daughter, Marietta!”
As he swept her into his arms and kissed her she could almost have forgiven him for having deceived her. But the fact that she had equalized matters gave her no satisfaction.
He had never been more tender and loving than he was that night. Noticing a slight change in her manner, he mistook the reason, assuring her that he was not in the least disappointed to have such a daughter.
“If we should be destined to have only daughters,” he said generously, “instead of a son to inherit, Elizabetta shall have everything and be head of the House of Torrisi even if I have to fight for a change in the law to accomplish it.”
“No!” Alarmed that he should even consider such a move, she pressed her fingertips against his smiling mouth. “That must never be! Don’t think of it again. We shall have sons. Sooner or later there will be a male Torrisi heir!”
“There’s no need to get upset, my love.” He had become very serious, pondering her agitation. “I only wished to relieve your mind.”
She stayed awake long after he fell asleep with his arm still around her. Even if she had wished to tell him the truth, it was impossible, for she was bound to silence forever by Elena’s trust. At all costs she must have a son, and soon. To let Elizabetta—of Celano descent, however removed—inherit all that Domenico upheld would be the ultimate betrayal.
ELIZABETTA WAS CHRISTENED at the Santa Maria della Pietà. Adrianna and Sister Giaccomina were a natural choice of godmothers, but the nun thought otherwise about herself.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t gladly accept the duty,” she explained to Marietta, “but in this case, who could be more suitable than Bianca? She has always been so fond of you and Elena, and both of you have always been extremely good to her. Although she is only ten she has a strong sense of responsibility toward the little children, as you know, and a kind, sweet nature. She would never harm anybody or anything. I think she deserves the honor.”
Marietta welcomed the suggestion and the nun’s unselfishness. Domenico was in agreement. He liked the child, who had come to visit them with the nuns several times since his marriage to Marietta.
Bianca’s reaction was one of total delight. “Yes, please! How wonderful! May I hold Elizabetta during the christening?”
Marietta, who had made a special visit to the Pietà to see her, nodded smilingly. “I’m sure Adrianna will agree to that.”
As at Marietta’s wedding, Elena watched from behind a grille as her daughter was christened. She was pleased that Bianca was a godmother and holding Elizabetta in her arms. It was the first time Elena had seen her daughter since giving her away. In spite of the plans they had made, Elena realized after the initial parting that her agony would be renewed each time she had to see her child leave. Yet she could not have missed this special occasion in her daughter’s life, whatever the cost in anguish afterward.
She was glad to discuss the christening at her next meeting with Marietta, who always gave her an eagerly awaited report on the child’s progress and well-being. It pleased her that Elizabetta bore a likeness to her across the eyes, even though they were not the same violet-blue. Providentially a coppery t
int was beginning to show in Elizabetta’s hair, which echoed Marietta’s. It was only when Marietta was with Elena that she remembered the child she loved was not of her own flesh.
To Domenico and Marietta’s great relief Antonio eventually wrote to say he had settled in Geneva. Not only was it an independent state, but he had friends there, a family to whom he had once extended hospitality when they were unable to find accommodation in Venice during Carnival. He had been attracted to the daughter, Jeanne, but was forbidden by Venetian law to marry. Now that the rules of La Serenissima no longer applied to him, he and Jeanne were about to be married and he would be entering his father-in-law’s banking business.
“What a letter of good news!” Marietta exclaimed when she had read it. Then, knowing what it would mean to Domenico to have all his brothers so far away, she went to put an arm about his shoulders. “You know, we could visit him one day.”
“I was thinking that. I might even extend my journey next time I’m given a mission in that direction.” Domenico was frowning over the letter, which he had taken from her. Geneva was not too far away for Filippo to send hired assassins if he should ever discover Antonio’s whereabouts. He could not be trusted to keep to the traditional courtesies observed by his predecessors.
Although Domenico said nothing to Marietta he was constantly watchful as far as Filippo was concerned. With Antonio out of reach and the score of the duel unsettled, it was inevitable that sooner or later he himself would be the target of a vengeful attack.
Elena also kept from Marietta the fact that she had been alerted at her homecoming to a possible plot against Domenico. She had never been admitted to any of the conferences Filippo had with his family or business colleagues, but she began to take note of all who came to the palace and she eavesdropped without the least compunction whenever he was closeted in discussion behind closed doors. Often she caught only a snatch of what was being said, but she wrote everything down with the date and time she had heard it. Her hope was that one day her notes might allow her to pass advance warnings through Marietta to Domenico.
Venetian Mask Page 27
