“Are they making progress with the cataloguing?” Adrianna asked.
“Yes, and it shouldn’t be a long task.” Elena smiled. “Except that Sister Giaccomina sometimes becomes lost in the contents of the books! But Filippo doesn’t seem to mind and I look forward to their coming. When Bianca practices her flute it’s like having a little bird singing somewhere in the palace.”
“She has come a long way since you started her on a reed pipe,” Marietta remarked reminiscently. “If you hadn’t encouraged her she might have been lost to the musical side of the Pietà.”
“So did you, Marietta. You helped her far more generally than I.”
Adrianna changed the subject then and Marietta, having noted that Elena’s instinctive loyalty to herself was unchanged, wondered again why she never seemed relaxed when she came to see them these days. It had made Adrianna feel uncertain about calling at the Palazzo Celano, and Elena did not ask her to visit as often as before. It could not be worry over Bianca, because Elena would have spoken openly about that.
“Do let’s go for a walk again soon,” Marietta suggested, hoping that when they were on their own Elena might come out with whatever it was that had brought about this change in her.
“We will,” Elena agreed a trifle too eagerly, “but let’s wait until the spring. You know how I feel the cold.” She glanced at the clock. “I really must go.”
Marietta was taken aback by the deliberate rebuff and her anger flashed. Elena had never felt the cold, always declaring herself invigorated by it. “Don’t make such foolish excuses, Elena! What’s the matter with you? We hardly see you these days and when you do come you’re like a cat on hot bricks, watching the clock and trying to leave as soon as you possibly can!”
Elena, who had risen to leave, saw that Marietta had finally lost patience with her. Again her shame washed over her, but it was too painful to speak of; and she believed that if she did explain what was troubling her, both Adrianna and Marietta would see her as the fool and coward she was. That was a final humiliation she could not endure. She made the first excuse that came into her head. “I’ve met a lot of new people over the past few months and they take up my time. New friends are always so demanding.”
“So are old ones when they care for you,” Adrianna intervened quietly, “but that comes from the best of motives.”
“I know!” Elena spoke a little wildly, looking as if she wanted to take to her heels. She had never expected this terrible situation to come to such a climax. Then, to her horror, a deep-rooted cry from her heart took her as much by surprise as it did her friends. “But what can you expect of me with my own child gone, one of you pregnant, and the other surrounded by children!”
She spun around and rushed for the door. Adrianna tried to stop her but Elena shook off the well-meaning hand in a kind of fury and tore out of the house. Marietta started to follow her, but Adrianna blocked the way.
“Elena is in no state to listen. Don’t upset yourself. I’ll go and talk to her tomorrow when she has calmed down.”
Elena had been half expecting Adrianna and was prepared when she arrived the following day and expressed the worry that had brought her.
“I behaved badly yesterday,” Elena apologized. She was seated in a velvet robe in front of her dressing-table, having slept until noon after a night of dancing.
Adrianna had a smile in her eyes. “I’ve seen you in a mood many times before. I’ve never forgotten your first days at the Pietà.”
Elena gave an amused little grimace. “It’s a wonder I wasn’t thrown out.” She twisted around on the stool to look directly at Adrianna and spoke truthfully. “I’m not in the least jealous of you and Marietta and I never have been. Nobody could be more pleased than I that she is to have another baby.”
“I know that and so does she. So what is troubling you?”
Elena looked away. “Nothing that I can talk about.” Her tone brooked no more questioning. “All I can say is that it’s best if I stay away for a while. Maybe with time I’ll feel able to come and see you both again, but meanwhile all I ask is that you both have patience with me.”
“You don’t even have to ask that. Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help you?”
Elena shook her head decisively. “Nothing.”
Adrianna left soon afterward and Elena did not press her to stay. Both she and Marietta felt the visit had not been satisfactory, but there was nothing more to be done at the present time.
“We must just wait until she has worked out whatever problem she has and can return to us,” Adrianna said philosophically. Reluctantly Marietta agreed.
ELENA HAD NOT lied when she spoke of new friends. There were some among the Venetian nobility who had previously been prevented by the vendetta from having any real social contact with her. Their loyalties had been with the Torrisis, but with the ancient feud now in limbo they were able to become more closely acquainted with her, although not necessarily with Filippo. But since she and her husband now went their own ways much of the time, he did not have to be considered in any case.
Elena’s social circle thus became even more extensive and there was never an hour after midday when she was free of engagements. She indulged in flirtations, but nothing more, although there were many men forever trying to have liaisons with her. Her loyalty was not to Filippo but to Nicolò, even though he had gone from her life. There was no other man who could take his place.
Among the rakes and débauchés of Venice, Elena’s reputation as a faithful wife only added to her attraction in their eyes. They vied with one another to be the first to seduce her, but wagers laid on success were always lost. Frequently, when the company was entirely masked, Filippo would hear snippets of conversation about his wife that upheld his conviction that she would never dare to cuckold him. Yet he had finally reached the conclusion that he would have to be rid of her.
When Alessandro came on a visit from Rome, Filippo asked him what the chances were of the Pope allowing the marriage to be annulled.
“None!” Alessandro replied crisply. “Because I would oppose it. You say yourself that Elena has given you no cause for complaint beyond her failure to have children. I recently spoke to a man whose wife had given birth at the time of life when her childbearing days were ending. That was after twenty-two years of marriage.”
“My patience has run out! I want an heir soon!”
“Wait another few years. Then, if the situation remains the same, legally surrender your authority to Pietro to allow him to marry.”
“What!” Filippo’s face was congested with temper. “You would expect me to do that?”
“It would be your duty.”
“Duty be damned! I was born to be the true head of this house and I’ll die as its head.”
“I can assure you that Pietro would never want to live in Venice. Your creature comforts would be undisturbed.”
“No!”
“I have advised you and I leave it at that for the time being,” Alessandro said coolly. “I’ll remind you that you have only yourself to blame for your predicament. Any other woman would probably have given you a quiverful of children, but your deadly sin of greed caused your bitter jealousy of your brother and your determination to have everything that was his, including the girl who would have been Marco’s bride.”
“Don’t give me any pious talk,” Filippo sneered. “What’s happened to you? Are you aiming to be the next Venetian pope?”
Alessandro did not blink. “That is my hope,” he admitted smoothly.
“So that’s why you refuse to intercede on my behalf for an annulment of my marriage! You don’t want your family to be involved in any hint of matrimonial trouble that might taint your chances!”
“That is correct. So let’s drop the subject.” Alessandro held up an authoritative hand. “I shall go to the mainland tomorrow to visit Mother. Have you seen her recently?”
Filippo had stalked to the window where he stood glaring out. “I hav
en’t set eyes on her since she left here for the last time.”
Alessandro went across to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me tomorrow. Lavinia has written that Mother is not long for this world.”
“Go alone. I have nothing to say to the old woman. She would mock me with her last breath.”
With a shake of his head Alessandro went from the room. Filippo thumped a fist against the window frame in angry frustration and then turned around to pace the room. His brother had destroyed his last hope for the annulment of his marriage, forcing him to turn to other means. His mother’s evil advice had come often into his mind, making him loathe her more each time for she must have known that her words would remain in his blood. How satisfied the old hag would be if she knew that he had finally come across a powerful and effective antidote to the sexual attraction Elena had always had for him. As so often happens in life to a man of his age, a younger woman had eclipsed all others for him.
Many men at forty had already lost a wife or two in childbirth, giving them the chance to take a new young bride, but whereas their opportunities came by natural means his must come by violent action. He had no choice. In Bianca with her lovely face and figure, that beautiful silver-gilt hair and her enchanting girlish ways, he would recapture his youth and make a new beginning. She was already in love with him. He had only to clear the way for her.
Two hurdles to the task still remained. First, everything had to be planned to the last detail so that no suspicion would fall upon him. Second, only he could settle Elena’s fate. It was an old resolve that could not be shifted.
WHEN ALESSANDRO ARRIVED at his mother’s house he was struck by how tired and old his sister looked. After nursing her mother night and day, there were few traces left to show that Lavinia had once been a pretty woman.
“How is Mother today?” he asked after they had greeted each other.
“Very poorly, but she has been looking forward to seeing you. Alvise and Vitale rarely come and Maurizio only occasionally. Pietro would travel from Padua to see her if she would allow it. He writes to me about his doctoring and I send him what family news I can.”
“I have a regular correspondence with him. Recently I had some skin trouble on my hands and he sent me an ointment that cleared it up.”
Lavinia knew how proud Alessandro was of his pale, long-fingered hands. “He is very skillful. I’ll take you to Mother straight away. She will be annoyed if I keep you talking.”
Apollina Celano, looking small and shrunken, was propped against lacy pillows in her huge bed. Her eyes glinted with pride at the fine sight her eldest son made in the scarlet brilliance of his rustling soutane. The heavy cross he wore was studded with magnificent jewels. He had grown more handsome with the years and his ambitions had kept pace. He kissed her hand and then her cheek before sitting on the chair at her bedside.
“Well, Mother, how are you?”
“You can see how I am,” she snapped, envious of his strength and health. “You’ll all soon be free of me. But don’t start wanting to pray at my bedside. I’ve my own priest for that. Tell me the latest scandals from Rome.”
He gave a quiet, reproving laugh. “Mother, I don’t give my time to listening to idle gossip.”
“Then you’ve become a duller fellow with the years. Why are you making a steeple of your fingertips in that affected way?”
He had not been aware of it, having become used to holding his fingers together in a saintlike pose when sitting. “I did not come here to be criticized as if I were still six years old,” he said firmly. “I thought you’d like to know I’ve spoken firmly to Filippo about the lack of an heir. I must say it’s a misfortune on our house that takes the edge off our triumph in vanquishing the Torrisis.”
“The House of Torrisi still lives all the time Domenico Torrisi draws breath.”
“But he will be in prison until he dies. I made a point of discussing the matter when I had an audience with the Doge, who told me the name of Torrisi had been struck from the Golden Book. The question of a pardon on one of the feast days is out of the question. Domenico was shown the only leniency that will ever be granted him in not being condemned to torture or a painful death.”
Apollina’s eyes flashed under their wrinkled, pigmented lids. “The Torrisi wouldn’t have lived as long as this in his imprisonment if I’d been well enough to bribe poison into his food!”
“It’s not so easily done these days as when you were young,” Alessandro answered sternly, drawing back in his chair as if trying to disassociate himself from her venomous tongue. “In any case I would have forbidden such an act just as I refused to intercede with the Pope to help Filippo to annul his marriage.”
“So he’s finally waking up, is he?” It was the best news her eldest son could have brought her because it meant that Filippo had begun to think along the lines she had set him. She was glad Alessandro had refused to help with an annulment. That could sometimes drag on for years, which meant Filippo would not dare make a move against Elena in the interim lest he place himself under suspicion. “Do you know what I believe?”
“What is that?”
“The fool has always been half in love with Elena and hasn’t known it.”
Alessandro pondered her words. Since she had never shown love to any of her children except Marco, it was quite logical that Filippo, having grown up without affection, would be too warped to recognize love within himself. Alessandro had made a study of human nature and knew there was nothing more complex than mankind.
“I have advised Filippo,” he said, “to think seriously about handing over his authority to Pietro if he is still childless in a few years’ time. That would not mean surrendering the Palazzo Celano or other properties or the land that normally goes with the estate. Pietro would not have need of it anyway since he seems destined to follow in my footsteps with good works, although not entering into Holy Orders yet awhile. I’ve advised him to bide his time over taking vows in case it proves necessary for him to shoulder the burden of becoming head of the House of Celano.”
“Good works!” his mother echoed with contempt. “The only good works you have done since you left Venice have been for your own benefit. With you dealing out ecclesiastical favors at the top end of the scale, and Pietro who wastes his time on the shiftless poor at the other, a fine couple of sons you make!”
It took all Alessandro’s self-control to stop him from losing his patience with this sick old woman who was also his mother. Deliberately he ignored her taunt. “I daresay when the time comes Filippo will see reason.”
“He’ll never do that!” she declared with conviction.
“We shall see,” he said levelly, already revising his original intention to stay several days with her. Twenty-four hours would suffice.
ELENA HAD DECIDED to search again for whatever might have been written down at the time of the plotting against Domenico. The notion had come to her suddenly one night when she was on the point of sleep that Filippo would want a full account of his vanquishing of the Torrisis to be lodged in the family archives. His conceit would not allow him to let such an historical event escape the records for future generations. Even if Maurizio had kept their notes in his leather file, he would have had to surrender them to Filippo when all was done, even if he had kept a copy.
She sat up in bed on this enlightening thought. The most likely place to look was the treasure room. Elena wished she could leap from her bed and begin her search immediately, but that was not possible. In any case, this matter must not be rushed. As she returned her head to her pillow she pictured Marietta presenting the evidence of Filippo’s plot to the Doge himself, resulting in an immediate release for Domenico. Then all would be mended and her own guilt at having failed would be wiped away. She and Marietta could take up their friendship again and her link with Adrianna would be restored.
Elena’s first step was to gain access to the treasure room on a day when she and Filippo were to attend a ball. It was t
he most likely place to find what she was looking for, and Filippo always gave her the key without question when she wanted to select a piece of the heirloom jewelry that was kept in caskets there. She made her request for the key just as Filippo was going out so that she could count on having the whole afternoon for her search.
No one could have been more thorough. By the light of a candle-lamp she began systematically with the chests of ancient documents. Even those that were yellow with age did not remain undisturbed, for although she did not examine them she turned them over. There was always the possibility she would find newer papers underneath. She went through chest after chest and there were still many others left when finally she locked the door again. For once she had given no thought to which of the heirloom necklaces she would wear and had snatched up the first at hand on her way out. Throughout the following weeks she repeated these visits until she was absolutely sure that nothing had been overlooked. It was time to direct her efforts elsewhere.
IT WAS THE last day of the cataloguing. As Bianca penned the final entry under Sister Giaccomina’s direction she was not far from tears. The past months had been the best in her whole life. She was glad she could look Elena in the eye without guilt, for never by any word or deed had she encouraged Filippo, and nothing untoward had passed between them. Yet whenever they had met, sometimes only for a matter of minutes, his every look, smile, and word was hers to mull over happily afterward.
“There!” the nun said with satisfaction as Bianca put down her pen. “That’s all finished. We’ll let Signor Celano know and then we can go back to the Pietà.”
“I’ll go and tell him.” Bianca was quick to leave her chair.
“Very well. I’ll start packing up.”
A servant directed Bianca to a salon on another floor. She tapped on the door and then entered. Filippo was with an art dealer and studying a painting, one of several that were propped about the room, but he grinned spontaneously when he saw her.
Venetian Mask Page 34
