Venetian Mask

by Rosalind Laker

  “One moment,” Maria interrupted. “Neither you nor Signora Savoni have questioned the unfairness of my dismissal. How is it you don’t suppose I was at fault in any way?”

  “Because Elena once told us she could trust you implicitly. Apart from us, you were the only one to know of her meetings with Nicolò Contarini.”

  “I could never have betrayed her!” Maria’s eyes were angry. “If you knew only a quarter of what she had to endure at the hands of that brute, Celano! She never complained to me, but I saw the evidence often enough for myself.”

  “My questions center on the last weeks you were with her. What were the signs of her lapsing into her present condition?”

  “She was troubled in her mind. I could always tell. I think she had lost something and couldn’t remember where she had put it. Several times I found her searching in cupboards, and she went into little-used rooms in the palace where to my knowledge she had never been before. I offered to help her find whatever she had mislaid, but she denied she had lost anything and said she was just curious about the contents of the palace. She was downcast during this time. I found her having a few private tears more than once, but that was not entirely unusual. There were times when she was desperately unhappy.”

  “Had she ever searched about like that before?”

  “Not that I ever noticed.” Maria then went on to tell of how her dismissal came about. “Everything was as usual that last evening. My signora was going to the theater and the signor was having some of his friends to dine. She was always happier when he was out of the way and then she would cheer up and be her usual self, at least on the surface. Normally she and her friends would go on to a casino or supper room after the performance, but the signora told me she would be coming straight home and I supposed she was coming near the time of the month when she often felt tired. So when she came home I saw her into bed and bade her good night. She had told me a silk rose was loose on the gown she had worn that evening and I took it away with me to mend in the morning, because she had spoken of wearing it to a private party the following week.”

  On the way to her own room Maria had heard the dining-room doors open and had looked over the banisters in time to see Filippo and his friends making a move as if they had changed their minds about remaining at the table until the early hours. The next morning she was up at her usual time when the steward sent for her.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you, Maria,” he had said when she stood before his desk, “that your services are no longer required by the Signora.” Then, as she stood stricken and unable to believe what she had heard, he added, “The Signor has arranged an immediate replacement, who has already arrived at the palace. You are to go straight to your room and pack.”

  “But I must speak to the Signora first!”

  “No, the Signor has forbidden it. You would only plead for reinstatement and that can’t be allowed.”

  “After so many years—”

  He took up a folded testimonial from his desk and withdrew a bag of money from a drawer, both of which he handed to her. “You will have no difficulty finding another post with the recommendation I have given you, and you have three months’ wages plus a bonus to tide you over.”

  She lost her temper completely. “It’s just one more cruel act of Filippo Celano against my Signora! Just because she has been satisfied with my work all this time she is now to be upset by a change!”

  The steward rose to his feet. “No more of this, Maria. I can’t listen to you.”

  “You know the truth for all that!” she flared out. “May that hateful man rot in hell!”

  In her room she could hardly see to pack for angry tears. It was a long task, for she had made a little home for herself in her own quarters with small items she had collected from market stalls over the years and any number of framed prints as well as paintings, which impoverished artists sold cheaply, on her walls. Eventually the task was done. Fortunately her married sister lived in Venice and she could go there until she secured a new post. But she could not and would not go without saying farewell to her Signora.

  She tapped on Elena’s door and tried to enter, but it was locked. She heard footsteps approaching from within and the new maid, who was dark-haired and about her own age of thirty, opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve come to speak to the Signora.”

  “I can guess who you are. Go away. I’m in charge here now.” When Maria tried to push past into the anteroom, the woman gave her a great thrust back into the corridor. “No, you don’t! Clear off or I’ll ring for help. You were told to stay away.”

  Maria was determined not to give up. “Signora!” she shouted at the top of her voice, certain Elena would come to investigate, but the door into the bedchamber remained closed.

  “I told you,” the maid hissed, and slammed the outer door in Maria’s face.

  Marietta listened attentively to the whole account. Elena’s failure to answer Maria’s cry could have been through fear of Filippo, who had been determined to sever the relationship with her loyal servant at a single stroke. Yet there was something that weighed against this.

  “Can you think of anything else at all that is as strange as what happened to you?” she asked.

  “Only that the Signora’s hairdresser was stopped from attending her on the same day. I went to see him, hoping he would give her a goodwill message from me, but when he arrived at the palace at his usual hour he was told that his services were no longer required. Apparently the new maid is good at dressing hair. His pride was hurt and he was quite furious as he told me about it, fluttering his fan as if he might swoon.”

  “Do you ever see any of the servants from the Palazzo Celano?”

  “I’ve spoken to one of the footmen and two of the maidservants. Nobody is allowed to go near the Signora. When the rooms are cleaned the curtains of her bed are kept closed and the new maid stands guard to see they are not disturbed. She also waits on the Signora with all trays.”

  “How often does the doctor call now?”

  “He’s stopped coming. It appears there is nothing more he can do. A couple more doctors came from away somewhere on the mainland and were of the same opinion. Do you think you’ll be able to save my Signora from this melancholia that is dragging her down?” Maria’s voice quavered. “If you can’t, it will only be a question of time.”

  “I shall do my very best. I thank you for being so helpful. If you hear anything more, will you let me know without delay?”

  “You may count on that.”

  When the woman had gone Marietta took a few quiet minutes to mull everything over before she went into the shop, which was open late on this festival night. She had come to a firm conclusion and nothing would shake her from it. In the morning she would disclose her conviction to Adrianna and Leonardo. She would need their help with what had to be done.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WHEN MARIETTA WENT NEXT DOOR, THE SAVONI FAMILY WAS just finishing breakfast. While Adrianna immediately took a fresh cup to pour her some hot chocolate, Leonardo greeted her with a business question.

  “How did the musical side do yesterday?”

  He had recently agreed to her suggestion that a section of the shop, previously unused, be opened by an archway to a display of musical instruments, which were as much a part of Venice as masks. She had then employed a young man with a pleasing voice to be an assistant. When he played a lute and sang, customers were drawn into the shop; this invariably led to extra sales of masks even if no instrument was purchased.

  “Very well,” Marietta responded. “There was also a run on the music and song sheets. I must order more.”

  “That’s good. If that side continues to be so promising I might consider expanding into music myself if one of the shops next to mine should ever become empty.”

  Marietta nodded. “But I didn’t come to report on business. Something very important has come up and I need to discuss it with you and Adrianna.”r />
  “We’ll go into the salon,” he said.

  There he remained standing and tamped tobacco into the bowl of his long-stemmed pipe. Adrianna did not allow him to smoke in the salon, but it would be ready when he left after hearing what Marietta had to say.

  “I have a theory about Elena to put to you both,” she began. “You may find what I’m about to say difficult to believe, but hear me out.”

  “I hope I can make a fair judgement,” Leonardo remarked amiably, although he glanced at the clock. In twenty minutes he should be opening his shop and Marietta unlocking hers.

  “First of all I’ll tell you everything Maria Fondi told me yesterday evening,” she began. When this was done, she spoke about the day she and Elizabetta had seen Elena near the Basilica. “Filippo could not have taken her to a more public place for prayers. I wondered at the time why they hadn’t gone to the Pietà church, which is so familiar to her.”

  “Has he ever done anything to please her?” Leonardo queried drily.

  Adrianna turned sharply toward him from her chair. “Hush! Let Marietta finish.”

  Marietta inclined her head. “I admit that your remark is apt, Leonardo. Filippo has never considered Elena’s feelings, but neither would I expect him to wish to be seen with a sick woman, even if she is his wife. It seems out of character to me. Then there was Elena’s reaction to Elizabetta, who she loves dearly. The child glimpsed hatred in her eyes, which was as alien as it could be to Elena’s true feelings.”

  Adrianna forgot she had told her husband not to interrupt. “But melancholia can do strange things to people and I’ll remind you that Bianca told us the doctor wanted Elena to emerge again into public life.”

  “With regard to the visit to the Basilica that’s as may be, but nothing could ever make Elena glare viciously at any child, and this was her own.”

  Adrianna allowed the point for the time being. “What else?”

  “The night I saw them at the opera she failed to acknowledge my message in a sign language that she and I have used since our early Pietà days. Suppose it wasn’t because she was ill, but because she didn’t recognize my gestures?”

  “Maybe she was in too poor a state to think clearly,” Adrianna suggested.

  “Yet she was acknowledging nods and bows.”

  “Automatically perhaps.”

  “Perhaps,” Marietta conceded. “But when Elena slipped from her chair to the floor of the box, Filippo ensured the notice of most of the audience by letting a program go fluttering down as he sprang to her assistance. Then, when I ran downstairs in time to see him carry her out, I saw her shoes. They were at least two sizes larger than any Elena could wear with her small feet!”

  Leonardo’s eyes narrowed incredulously and Adrianna threw up her hands. “Are you expecting us to believe that another woman is masquerading as Elena?” she cried.

  Marietta nodded vehemently. “Don’t you see? It all adds up with the immediate dismissal of the maid and the hairdresser, as well as the doctors being called in from far away. They would never have met Elena before.”

  “But if this is the truth,” Adrianna gasped in fear, “it means that Elena may be dead or locked up in some distant place where she could never be found.”

  “No, I don’t think Elena can be dead, because then there would be no point in Filippo’s maintaining an impostor. My terrible fear is that, if we don’t act quickly, sooner or later Elena will be produced in her coffin. Then the other woman and her maid will be whisked away as swiftly as they came, which must have been during the night between the time of Maria’s last seeing Elena and her dismissal in the morning.”

  “Whatever can we do?” Adrianna questioned anxiously. All this time Leonardo had remained silent, with nothing in his expression to indicate whether he supported Marietta’s theory or not.

  “I’m going to make use of a Lion’s Mouth,” Marietta said, “to deposit an accusation against Filippo that he has incarcerated his wife against her will to the point of endangering her life. Will you be my fellow accusers?”

  “Of course we will!” Adrianna answered promptly.

  Leonardo spoke heavily with a shake of his head. “You’ve presented a good case, Marietta, but the Lions’ Mouths are for accusations of treason and treacherous acts against the state. Suspicion of this kind, however foul the deed that is involved, doesn’t come into that category. You would have to go through the channels of the keepers of the peace, but you’ve no proof to offer, only speculation.”

  “I realize that, which makes the Lion’s Mouth my only chance of an investigation. Murder could be interpreted as an act against the state since it is breaking one of its most stringent laws.”

  Again Leonardo shook his head. “You are a Torrisi by marriage and no charge you present against a Celano will be accepted without proof. It would be taken as a feeble attempt to maintain the vendetta on your imprisoned husband’s behalf.”

  “We can’t let Elena die!” Marietta protested fiercely.

  “Indeed not, but the right path has to be followed. I know the Chief of Police very well. I’ll have a talk with him, putting forward a hypothetical case of incarceration, and we’ll see what advice we receive.”

  Adrianna gave him an order. “See the man today!”

  Giving his word that he would, Leonardo left his wife and Marietta to continue talking over Elena’s plight. “I keep trying to think how I might discover her whereabouts,” Marietta said with a sigh. “Isn’t it tragically ironic that two of the people I care most about should both be shut away where I’m powerless to help them?”

  “But your friend Sebastiano was presenting a petition to the Doge yesterday on the Festival of the Redentore. Some are granted on every feast day in Venice. Domenico has a chance of clemency.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” Marietta confessed, her head dipping desolately, “but there are always so many wanting ducal favors at such times. Domenico has so much stacked against him.”

  “We must hope. It may take a few days before you hear anything.” Adrianna’s thoughts turned again to Elena. “Do you suppose she might be hidden somewhere in the Palazzo Celano?”

  Marietta raised her head, her eyes sharpening. “I’ve wondered that myself. If Filippo is expecting her to die, where could be more convenient than under his own roof?”

  Adrianna considered and then rejected the idea. “No. The servants would have heard or noticed something and we know from Maria that nobody at the Palazzo Celano is suspicious of anything. Even she herself questioned only the unfairness of her dismissal and nothing more.”

  “But suppose there is a secret room somewhere. Domenico told me once that many of the old palaces on the Grand Canal and elsewhere in Venice would have such a place. If only I could gain entrance to the Palazzo Celano, I could look for Elena.”

  “But not for long,” Adrianna stated wisely. “You would soon be discovered, and from what we know of Filippo, he wouldn’t hesitate to have you arrested as an intruder and a thief.”

  Marietta sprang from her chair and went restlessly to the window. “What a black day for hope this is!”

  It grew even blacker as the hours went by. Sebastiano came to tell Marietta that his petition for Domenico’s freedom had been rejected without a glance, the name of Torrisi condemning its chances instantly. Later, when Leonardo came home from his shop, he had nothing good to tell of his meeting with the Chief of Police. Proof of some kind had to be produced before any steps could be taken. There was still more bad news to come the following evening.

  “Filippo Celano came into my shop today,” Leonardo told Marietta. “It was to place his usual order at this time of year for new and splendid masks for the start of Carnival in October. He ordered masks for his sick wife as well in the hope that she will have recovered by then. He said he was about to have her conveyed by boat to his summer villa to get her away from the heat.”

  “That could mean that Elena has been at the villa all along and not at the
Palazzo Celano. She might be close to death! Suppose he plans to return to Venice with her body!”

  Leonardo pitied Marietta’s distress and took her by the shoulders. “We don’t know. The truth is we don’t know anything for sure!”

  She threw up her head angrily. “You might still have doubts, but I don’t. When are they leaving? I’ll get close enough to that impostor to tear the mask from her face and reveal her for all Venice to see!”

  “They left early this evening,” Leonardo replied, dashing her last hope.

  IT WAS DRAWING near summer’s end when Marietta heard in the shop that a Celano had died. She was seized with fear, but it was Maurizio Celano who had finally succumbed to the ill health that had dogged him since childhood.

  This bereavement brought Filippo back to Venice in late August, and once more the impostor was installed in Elena’s rooms. To Marietta it was a sign that Elena was still alive and it confirmed her belief that without doubt she was hidden somewhere within the Palazzo Celano.

  IT WAS STRANGE to Elena that she should have survived so long in this dark, dank mezzanine room where Filippo had confined her, but weakness and a painful cough were catching up with her at last. Soon death would release her and she would welcome the turn of its key. Maybe it would be so silent that she would hear nothing and meet it in her sleep.

  She had been full of fear that night when she had heard Filippo returning along the corridor. To her relief he had gone into his own room and she had believed she would not see him again until morning. But she had been mistaken. There had been an odd creaking sound like a little-used door being opened and then silence for a while. She had not dared to investigate, but had stayed huddled in bed with a candle left burning. Then to her astonishment she had heard women’s voices. Almost at once the communicating door between her room and Filippo’s had opened and he entered still in his outdoor cloak.

  “Get dressed!” he had ordered.