“What is the reason for this?” he asked with a frown.
“When the truth can be told I want to be able to prove my child’s legitimacy.”
“If this statement should fall into the hands of my superiors it could cause me great trouble.”
“It won’t, and you really have no need to worry. Much as I hope otherwise, it is possible that no one will see your signature until a son comes of age or a daughter is ready to marry.”
He hesitated for a minute or two, still nervous about his own position. But although he was not a religious man, he did not want it on his conscience that he had condemned an innocent child to the stigma of bastardy. He took the pen that Marietta handed him, dipped it in the ink, and signed.
The next signature she obtained was that of Sebastiano. She was thankful she had a witness who had seen her into the prison and out again. Sebastiano gave her the same sort of warning about danger from the Celanos that Domenico and Adrianna had voiced, but what he said gave it even greater significance as he explained the situation if a son of Domenico came of age.
“The young man could lodge an appeal with the Doge for the return of the Torrisi property and the restoration of the family name in the Golden Book. I have to say such a concession is highly unlikely to be made, for it would revive the vendetta.”
“That is the last thing I would ever want for any son of mine!” Marietta cried. “What an inheritance of bloodshed it would be! If there are any appeals to be made in the future, they should be solely for Domenico’s release.”
Adrianna and Leonardo were the next and last to sign the statement, attesting to their awareness of Marietta’s visit to the prison. With this matter settled, Marietta began to make preparations for the last stages of her pregnancy.
She had a moment of alarm in the middle of one night when she had been soothing Elizabetta, who had had a nightmare. As she was returning to her bedchamber by candlelight she came face to face with Lucretia, who had fetched a drink of water from the kitchen. In silence the girl stared at Marietta’s figure, revealed in her night-shift. Then the girl looked her full in the eyes.
“When I first came here,” Lucretia said without expression, “my father told me I was never to discuss your private affairs with anyone. I shall continue to obey him. Good night, Signora Torrisi.”
“Good night and sleep well, Lucretia,” Marietta answered, full of relief.
When Marietta was only a week away from leaving Venice, it became common knowledge that Elena was suffering from melancholia and keeping to her room. Adrianna went at once to call on her, but was informed that she was receiving no visitors. Marietta met her anxiously upon her return home.
“When I was told I couldn’t see Elena,” Adrianna said, removing her hat and gloves, “I asked for paper and a pen to write her a note. Then I waited while it was taken to her, certain she would send for me. Instead the servant returned to say the Signora regretted she was indisposed and sent her kind regards.”
Marietta’s concern increased. “Oh! Poor Elena. All that strangeness we noticed in her recently must have been the early signs of her illness. How could we not have guessed? We thought we were doing right by letting her take her time coming back to us, but that was a mistake. We should have persisted.”
“I’ll try to see her again before you go away,” Adrianna promised, seeking to calm her friend.
Her second attempt proved no more successful than the first, but Adrianna did gain the information that a doctor from Verona, who specialized in the state of melancholia, had been sent for by Filippo and would be visiting Elena on the morrow. Marietta left for the mainland in the hope that Elena would soon recover. Her journey took her some distance up the River Brenta, past the shuttered Torrisi villa where she had spent so many contented hours. Her gaze lingered on it until trees hid it from sight. Eventually she reached the place where Iseppo’s stepson, Giovanni, was waiting to take her by cart to his village. She had met Giovanni’s wife and children on several occasions when she had called on his parents, but she had not seen him since the day she traveled as a child to Venice when he had let her ride on the barge-horse. They embraced as if they were brother and sister.
“How good to see you again, Marietta!” he exclaimed.
She was very emotional. “Dear Giovanni! It’s so kind of you and your wife to take me in.”
“What are old friends for if they can’t help one another in time of trouble? Francesca is looking forward so much to your being with us. In spite of the three children, she gets lonely at times when I’m away on the barges for days on end.” He took her baggage from the boatman and set it on his cart. Then he shouldered her large traveling box and loaded that too.
“I asked your stepfather and mother first if I could write to you,” Marietta said as he assisted her up into the seat. “I was quite sure Francesca would not refuse me, but you were the one to make the decision.”
“I’m glad they told you to go ahead. I don’t see much of my stepfather since the pains in his joints forced his retirement, but whenever Francesca and the children go with me to Venice I try to spend a night there too. That pleases the old couple.”
“I’m sure it does.”
At Giovanni’s house on the outskirts of a village much like the one where Marietta was born, his wife and children came out to welcome their visitor. Francesca was a kind-hearted, practical woman of thirty-five who was a midwife in her own right. She and Giovanni knew the facts of Marietta’s case and their sympathies were entirely with her. In the weeks that followed, Marietta could not have received better care. Francesca made sure that her guest rested, ate well, and had fresh air and exercise. Marietta enjoyed the simple village fare of her childhood days. The house was periodically filled with the fragrance of new-baked bread, and Francesca made polenta exactly as Marietta remembered her own mother making it.
Marietta’s time came upon her swiftly. The first pain seared when she was drying dishes for Francesca. Immediately the midwife in the woman came to the fore.
“It’s off to bed for you,” Francesca said, wiping the suds from her hands. “I’ll let my neighbor know. She and I always work together and we’ve never yet lost a mother or a baby. It’s a record we intend to maintain.”
One of the children was sent with the message and the neighbor arrived soon afterward. Marietta had met her previously and liked her for having the same sensible approach to everything as did Francesca. The labor lasted five hours. At the end of it, at two o’clock in the morning on the first day of February in that year of 1795, Marietta gave birth to twins.
The babies were christened in the village church as Danilo and Melina. It was an insular village, as so many places were within the Venetian Republic, and Giovanni was the only one who ever went any distance from home. There had been local gossip about the mysterious woman who had come away from her home and family for the birth. A natural conclusion had been drawn, so nobody showed any curiosity about the babies’ surname. The villagers cared little about what went on in Venice, the men being primarily concerned with the price of corn and the quality of the grape harvest, while the women kept to domestic matters. Francesca and Giovanni, together with Adrianna and Leonardo, who had traveled to the village for the occasion of the christening, stood as godparents to the twins.
“Well,” Adrianna remarked with emphasis to Marietta when they were all back at Giovanni’s house, “this is a fine kettle of fish. You were going to entrust your baby to Francesca for a while, but is she prepared to foster two?”
“She is, but I’m going to take Melina home with me. Even if the Celanos should suspect the truth, a girl will be no threat to them.”
“I realize that, but are you aware of the scandal and gossip that will revolve around your name? Everybody will think you’ve had a lover.”
Marietta shrugged. “People who matter to me know the truth. Venice thrives on scandal. There will be something new for them to talk about in a week or so.” She leaned forward a
nxiously. “Tell me if you have heard anything more about Elena. She and Domenico are my chief concern.”
“I think it is a little better with her, but I can’t be sure. Although I’ve called regularly at the Palazzo Celano not once has she agreed to see me, but I happened to see her lady’s maid in the Piazzetta and spoke to her.”
“You knew her?”
Adrianna nodded. “I’d seen Maria in attendance on Elena several times but she is no longer employed at the Palazzo Celano. She seemed pleased to talk to me and she bears Elena no malice. She says Signor Celano was responsible for her dismissal because Elena would never have treated her so heartlessly after years of service. Maria had been with Elena since she was a bride.”
“Had she noticed Elena’s melancholia coming on?”
“I had no chance to ask her, because she was with two other women.”
“Do you know her address? I should like to talk to her myself as soon as I return to Venice.”
“No, I don’t, but if I see Maria again I’ll ask her for it.” Adrianna then reverted to the subject of the twins. “You really should reconsider taking Melina home with you. Men have pestered you enough in the past, and the rakes will redouble their efforts when they believe you have stumbled once.”
Marietta scoffed. “I can deal with them.” Then her face became fiercely maternal. “I will know the joy of caring for at least one of my own babies from the moment of birth. Do you suppose I have ever forgotten the little son I lost?”
Adrianna shook her head gently. “I know you haven’t. I do understand. But if you are to take one twin, you should take both.”
Marietta jerked up her head as if she had been struck. “You know why I can’t do that!” she cried in anguish. “It’s tearing me apart to think of leaving Danilo behind.”
“Then bring them both back to Venice. If you have one baby on show and another out of sight, who is to know there are two?”
Marietta’s eyebrows shot up and then she laughed. “I suppose I could get away with that for a few months at least.”
Adrianna laughed with her. “When you come home you’ll have all my help with our little deception. To be honest, I was so sure you wouldn’t be able to part with your baby, boy or girl, that I persuaded Leonardo to have a door knocked through from your place to ours.”
“But there has always been a door from the shop into your hallway.”
“The new door is upstairs and leads from your bedchamber into an upper room in our house that was previously a small store for masks. It will make a fine little nursery for one baby while the other will be in its crib in your room. At least neither you nor the twins will be deprived of your mutual right to be together for the first months of their lives. The Celanos have taken so much from you, Marietta. I vowed to myself they should snatch away no more.”
“Dear Adrianna! What friends you and Leonardo are to me!” Marietta embraced her. Both knew that eventually Danilo would have to be returned to Francesca for fostering, but that was still in the future.
Giovanni returned Marietta with her twins and her two friends to Venice in his own boat. It was dark when he landed them at the steps a short distance from the Calle della Madonna. Both women and Leonardo were bauta-masked, and Marietta and Adrianna each held a baby under her cloak. Not for the first time Marietta thought how unique Venice was in having as common wear a disguise that could be used for anything, from hiding the identity of a murderer to the innocent smuggling of two babies into the safety of their own home.
The mask-shop was full of light and the assistants were busy, for Carnival was in full swing. Leonardo went to check that all was well there while his wife and Marietta entered his house. With the children already in bed there was nobody to delay them as they went swiftly up the stairs and into the new nursery. There Danilo was laid in the crib that all the Savoni babies had used, while Melina was taken next door and placed in the crib that Adrianna had had the foresight to purchase when she learned from Giovanni about the twins. Adrianna had immediately written a letter relating the joyous news and taken it to Captain Zeno, begging that it be delivered to Domenico in lieu of the regular letter Marietta had permission to write.
“I think we’ve been a little mad,” Marietta admitted cheerfully as she and Adrianna removed masks, mantillas, and mantles, “but I’m so glad to have the twins here.”
“We shall deal with each problem as it comes,” Adrianna answered with equal confidence.
There were many crises and alarms, but by making a game of it all with the younger children, one particular difficulty was overcome. The older Savoni boys and their sister were able to keep what they had been told to themselves. Lucretia also promised to do so when she returned to live at the apartment after staying at her own home during Marietta’s absence.
Once again Captain Zeno was persuaded to grant a small favor, much against his better judgement. He could not deny the compassion he felt for Marietta, even though he knew it was enhanced by the attraction he felt for her. As a result, at dawn one day when the twins were four weeks old, Marietta carried Danilo and Adrianna took Melina to the Paglia Bridge. There Marietta turned to face the notorious bridge of many sighs that linked the Doge’s Palace to the prison. She gazed steadily at the ornamental stonework of the two apertures, wondering to which one Domenico would be brought to look out. The sky grew lighter and the canal below shone pale as shells. Suddenly she saw the flicker of his hand at the first aperture and then he pressed as close as he could to the small gaps in the stonework.
He saw Marietta raise his son high in triumph. His heir! The future of his house! The purpose of his having lived at all! In tears, he yearned to embrace his wife and his children. Marietta then handed the boy to Adrianna and held up Melina to be seen. He thought his daughter was beautiful.
Sadly Marietta watched Domenico’s fingers draw away from the stonework. He was having to leave. Breaking the rule of silence that Captain Zeno had imposed on both of them she cried out.
“We are waiting for you!”
He heard her, but the swoop of shrieking gulls caused her cry to be carried across the water away from the hearing of others.
WHEN THE TWINS lost their birth hair Danilo’s new growth was dark and Melina’s became a light brown. Neither did they remain alike, and even their temperaments differed. Danilo was a difficult baby while Melina was placid. While he awoke constantly during the night, Melina slept until awakened. As a result she was always in the neighboring nursery, and in order that the Savonis not be disturbed, Marietta spent many a broken night herself with Danilo in her room. Yet she dreaded the time when she would have to part with him. Already he had such a look of Domenico about him that an independent observer would have had no difficulty guessing his parenthood. But Danilo saw the outside world much less than did Melina. At first in his bonnet and shawl he had been too much like his sister for the difference to be noticed, but now Marietta carried him out of doors only when she was bauta-masked so that neither her identity nor his could be guessed.
Elizabetta loved both babies equally, but she showed favoritism to Danilo, cuddling and rocking him more than Melina simply because she knew that before he could walk and talk he would have to go to a foster home. She was old enough to understand the basic reason for her father’s imprisonment and trusted in her mother’s firm belief that one day the truth would be revealed.
Elizabetta was always reluctant to leave her baby brother when she went out with Marietta, who followed the custom set by Leonardo of delivering masks personally to valued patrons. To ward off unwanted advances, an all too frequent occurrence that had increased considerably as Adrianna had warned, Marietta had stopped making any deliveries alone. She took Elizabetta with her or else Lucretia, who assisted in carrying the handsome satin-striped boxes with ribbon bows in which the masks were packed. To certain palaces where husbands liked to receive her at times when their wives were invariably absent, one of the young men from the workshop carried the boxes for h
er.
Marietta was on her way across St. Mark’s Square with a mask-box, Elizabetta dancing along at her side, when a couple emerging from the Basilica caught her immediate attention.
“Look, Elizabetta!” she exclaimed. “There’s Elena with her husband! Let’s go nearer.”
Although Elena was veiled in lace, there was no mistaking the bright gleam of her golden hair, but it was clear that she was far from well. Her head drooped sideways and she walked slowly, leaning on Filippo’s arm as if it were an effort to put one foot in front of the other. Impatiently Marietta noticed how Filippo was looking at Elena with solicitous concern. It could only be for the benefit of onlookers. She found it impossible to believe he was capable of remorse for having brought Elena to such a state. When some acquaintances tried to approach, Filippo smiled his apologies and one of the two Celano servants in attendance blocked the way, saying the Signora was not well enough to talk to anyone on her first outing.
Marietta moved swiftly with Elizabetta to a point in the Piazzetta where the couple would pass on their way to their gondola. She wanted Elena to see her and communicate in their sign language. At the right moment, when Filippo’s head was turned to bow to a friend, she signed a brief message imploring Elena to receive Adrianna on her next visit. There was no response. Elena’s hands remained motionless.
Elizabetta, who had Elena’s own quick compassion for the sick and the unfortunate, was distressed to see the lady she knew so well in such a poor state. Elena had never hugged or kissed her as Adrianna and other good friends of her mama did, but there had been a certain warmth in Elena’s look and smile that Elizabetta had always known instinctively was special for her alone. Now, forgetting all else, she darted forward before Marietta could stop her and rushed to take Elena’s hand, which was hanging weakly at her side.
Venetian Mask Page 36
