Venetian Mask

by Rosalind Laker

  “Not to starve her to death!”

  “Indeed not! That would be murder.”

  “I saw no food in the room and Elena was too weak even to have put the last of the water to her lips.” Marietta clenched her fists at her sides, her expression agonized. “I never thought I could heap blame on Venice, but I do now. There is something about this marvelous and beautiful city that corrupts the truth and forces deceit and bluff and falsehood on us all. You and I are greatly responsible for that state of affairs, Leonardo.”

  “In what way?”

  “With our mask-making! It’s not enough that Carnival demands constant illusion, but that fiendish bauta mask gives license to all people throughout the rest of the year to evade the consequences of their own actions! Without masks such as ours many infidelities and vengeful acts and infamous crimes would not go undiscovered. Filippo could never have presented that impostor at the Basilica or the opera house without a mask. Then this current dreadful situation would never have arisen.”

  “Well, it has,” Leonardo stated phlegmatically, “and you and I will have to deal with it.”

  She closed her eyes for a second or two and ran her fingers through her hair as she recovered herself before speaking again. “You’re right,” she agreed in level tones, reorganizing her thoughts. “As I told you, the impostor herself is in custody. Minerva is the flaw in any defense Filippo might present.”

  “Be wary, Marietta. The first thing Filippo is likely to do when he comes out of that marble room will be to check whether those two women have slipped away. His best policy would be to have Minerva released immediately.”

  “Not if we get a signed confession first! Would you get that for me?”

  “Gladly, if it can be done. Where is she?”

  “I’ll have you taken to her. At the moment she is being held as a thief and was badly frightened when Bianca threatened her.”

  “What are those papers on the table?”

  Marietta picked up the bundle she had placed there. “Elena had hidden them. She seemed to think they had some connection with Domenico.”

  She spread the papers out and Leonardo moved candlelight closer to read them. But whatever had been written was no longer decipherable. They had been shut up too long behind the heavy mirror without light or air. Damp had blotched the ink and mildewed the paper. Here and there parts of sentences remained, but nothing that made any sense.

  “If these papers were to be of some benefit to Domenico,” Marietta said with a catch in her voice, “that chance has gone. We shall have to wait for Elena to recover before we know their importance.”

  Leonardo gathered up the papers for her, but he knew as she did that if Elena died whatever information had been written there would be lost forever.

  “I’ll show these to Sebastiano,” she said emotionally as she took the bundle from him. “There may be something that can be deciphered.”

  Leonardo’s lack of optimism showed in his failure to endorse her hope. Marietta passed a hand falteringly across her eyes. Then she straightened up and summoned a servant to take him to the impostor.

  ALVISE WAS ABSORBED in a news-sheet when his brother’s steward arrived. France was at war with Austria and fighting was taking place on Italian soil. He read that General Bonaparte was driving all before him while sending back to France all the treasures he could lay his hands on. The Venetian Republic kept meeting his requests for food and other supplies for his army, but he was slow at paying for anything. The Doge must have a stack of unsettled accounts with the Corsican upstart! Alvise was like most Venetians in viewing everything that happened beyond their borders as brash, foolhardy, and at times almost pitiable. These wars were not for Venice. The Bride of the Sea was inviolate.

  When the steward was shown into the room Alvise put down the news-sheet and rose to stand with his back to the ornate marble fireplace, feet apart, hands clasped behind him. He thought he knew the reason for the steward’s coming.

  “Is my sister-in-law dead?”

  “No, signore, although a doctor was called urgently to the palace early this evening and it doesn’t seem as if it will be long. I have come about Signor Celano. According to Signora Torrisi, your brother became locked in the secret room that leads out of his bedchamber.”

  “What!” Alvise’s eyes narrowed incredulously. “Are you telling me a tale I’m expected to believe?”

  The steward was offended. “Signore! I’m a responsible servant of the House of Celano! I’m saying only what I have seen or believe to be true. Signora Torrisi came to the palace on the pretense of delivering Savoni masks and then suddenly put herself in charge.”

  “The devil she did!”

  “Do you have another key to that door within a door? Even with a crowbar, we have been unable to break the lock.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Alvise strode away from the fireplace. “Come along. You can tell me the rest on the way.”

  After watching the servants’ futile onslaught with axes on the door, and speaking to the doctor, who fully described to him all that had happened, Alvise went along to the sickroom. At least he could get rid of the Torrisi woman and see that the impostor was set free. Filippo would need his help getting out of this mess. There was also Alessandro to be considered. Alvise knew his brother the Cardinal would abhor any scandal tainting the name of Celano. This was the late eighteenth century, not some earlier time when bloody deeds had done little harm and sometimes even enhanced a family’s reputation.

  Sister Giaccomina opened the sickroom door to Alvise and stepped forward immediately, closing it behind her.

  “The doctor is allowing Elena no visitors,” she said firmly.

  “I’m not here for that. Signora Torrisi must leave immediately.”

  It was then that Sister Giaccomina did battle with him. The only time she could be roused to anger was when she needed to defend the rights of one of her Pietà girls. Now she stated flatly that she was in charge of the patient with Dr. Grassi’s authority and that she needed Marietta, a former Pietà girl experienced in nursing, to assist her. “I’ll not find a better aide anywhere and this is a matter of life and death! Do you wish to finish what your wicked brother started and put Elena in her coffin?”

  He accepted defeat for the time being. This round little nun, bouncing on her heels with indignation, could be a powerful witness against Filippo, and it might be foolhardy to antagonize her still more.

  He left her and went to see the impostor, a sniveling creature of quite comely appearance with beautiful hair as like Elena’s as was possible.

  “I’ve told everything,” she sobbed, terrified by his threats and regretting bitterly the signed confession she had given to that other man, which this new interrogator had yet to mention. “It’s not my fault Signor Celano wanted to murder his wife by such a crazy method. He told us he wanted to punish her without disgracing her name in public and that he would set her free when she had learned to be obedient.”

  “Don’t lie!”

  Her blue eyes flowed with a river of tears. “I’m not. I swear it! Signor Celano said it wouldn’t be for long. Do you think I wanted to be shut up all that time in that apartment as if it were I who was being punished? I nearly went mad with boredom. It wasn’t so bad for Giovanna—she could leave the palace sometimes. I only had two outings and then I was terrified, because I’d been threatened with prison on some trumped-up charge if I gave myself away. Your brother is a very frightening man!”

  He could tell that the stupid creature had been a victim of Filippo’s cunning, but still he persisted. “You must have begun to suspect that something was seriously amiss.”

  Her gaze shifted. “No! I deny I ever did!”

  He had no more patience. She had told him all he needed to know. He opened the door wide for her. “Get out!”

  She blinked for a moment in disbelief and then darted forward. But he grabbed a handful of her domino about her throat and jerked her close, half choking her. “One wo
rd of what you have seen or done in this palace and you’ll be found floating in one of the canals.”

  Then he threw her from him and she staggered for a few steps before she ran with her domino billowing behind her.

  IN THE ROSE marble room Filippo soon moved from where he had fallen. In spite of excruciating pain he had managed to disentangle himself from the folds of the curtain and felt his way along, hauling his broken limbs inch by agonizing inch to the foot of the stairs. He knew his injuries were far from fatal, but was aware that he would be incapacitated for a long while to come. If it had not been for the curtain cradling him as he fell, he would most likely have broken his back.

  He was no stranger to pain, and he had the courage to bear it. His last encounter with Antonio Torrisi had brought agony no less than this. His strength of will, as well as his powerful forearms, enabled him to hoist himself up the stairs at a snail’s pace while his legs dragged helplessly after him, a bone protruding from one that left a trail of blood.

  Fear and fury also spurred him on. The damage done to his hip was only made worse by what he was being compelled to do. He planned every kind of revenge against Bianca, who had betrayed him, and against Marietta Torrisi, whose untimely interference was going to cost him a fortune in lawyers’ fees. At least it was unlikely that Elena would survive to give damaging evidence against him.

  With a groan he let his brow rest on his forearm as pain seared up through him like a furnace to swallow his brain and confuse his thoughts. It seemed to him he must have been cut down after hanging by his thumbs between the rose columns of the Doge’s Palace—was it coincidence that much of this salon was in the same hue?—or else maybe he had been stretched on some ancient rack. Periodically, oblivion eased these curious tricks of the mind until he became aware of where he was again. Then he would concentrate once more on the overwhelming task of hoisting himself up one more tread.

  His aim was to reach the top of the stairs, where he could keep up a persistent knocking until eventually a servant would hear him. He never went anywhere without a sheathed dagger in his coat-tail and its handle would make a resounding rap. It was his hope that the steward would send for Alvise. Their father had told each of his sons, with the exception of Pietro, who had been sent away by that time, the secret of the cupboard and where the door behind it led. Since the rose marble salon was mainly for the indulgences of the head of the House of Celano, daughters were never informed. But Marco had once let Lavinia in on the secret when he feared his older brothers might shut him in there as a cruel prank. She could have worked the mechanism if she had been in the palace now, and Filippo regretted, in view of his present circumstances, that he had refused her a home. He closed his eyes on a new shaft of agony.

  The sudden crash of the first crowbar against the door made him think for a few light-headed moments that the walls were collapsing about him. Then it dawned on him what it was. Somehow he must signal to his rescuers to make haste. He was constantly in fear of not keeping close enough to the wall in this inky darkness. Fumbling, he drew his brocade coattail forward to slide out the dagger.

  As he brought his arm back again this extra effort brought on a new wave of agony that drew him again into unconsciousness. The dagger slipped from his fingers and he slithered back down a few treads in the blood that had been pouring from his leg. Then he opened his eyes as he tilted over the side of the stairs once more and knew he was falling. This time the curtain did not break his fall. His head struck the marble floor and he lay still.

  It was as Alvise was returning to Filippo’s bedchamber from the kitchen quarters that the steward met him halfway.

  “We managed to get the door open, signore. I regret to tell you that we found your brother dead!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ALVISE NOTIFIED ALESSANDRO IN ROME AND PIETRO IN Padua of their brother’s demise. Vitale, deep in his cups as usual, blubbered like a baby when told, although he and Filippo had never liked each other. A widow of the family’s acquaintance offered to fetch Lavinia to Venice since she was reluctant to leave the house on her own.

  Having the shortest distance to come, Lavinia was first to arrive for the funeral. She wrung her hands when she saw how ill Elena was after her ordeal. Only once did she and Marietta speak about Filippo.

  “If you hadn’t told me how to get into that hidden room,” Marietta said when they were alone, “Elena would still be there, but no longer alive.”

  “Then I’m thankful I did, although Mother was furious with me.”

  “But she has gone, Lavinia.”

  Lavinia looked down at her nervous hands in her lap. “No. In that house she will always be alive.”

  Alessandro was the next to arrive. Alvise had given him a short account of events in the letter he sent by a fast messenger, but now he wanted to know all the remaining details. When he had heard them, Alessandro left his chair and paced across to the window. “What a catastrophe! How much of it has leaked out?”

  Alvise booted a half-fallen log back into the fire. “Beyond the palace? I would say nothing. The servants know better than to let their tongues wag and the doctor is discreet. I’ve announced Filippo’s death as an unfortunate accident, which indeed it was. The circumstances are nobody else’s business.”

  “What of Signora Torrisi? Is she wanting to cause trouble?”

  “She could do so if she wished. She has the impostor’s signed confession in her possession, but that is not her intention. Now that Elena is a widow Marietta Torrisi’s only concern is to avoid any scandal because it would only harm Elena, who has been through so much already.” Alvise strolled across to stand by his brother. “What I can’t understand is why Filippo didn’t approach you to help him get an annulment.”

  Alessandro sighed. “He did and I forbade it.”

  “Ah!” Alvise raised an eyebrow and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I’m puzzled as well to know why Filippo let Elena stay alive over such a long period. One of his agents must have kept her supplied with food and water and other things she needed. I went down to the secret salon to look around.”

  The Cardinal made a fist and thumped it against the window frame. “It’s obvious to me! He lacked the stomach to make her end swift.”

  “But why? Filippo was not a man of sensitivity.”

  “That is true, but there was a weakness in him that he never acknowledged,” Alessandro said as he moved away from the window. It was pointless to expound his theory that Filippo had loved Elena in a complicated way. “What of this girl Bianca whom you also wrote about in your letter? Where is she?”

  “Still here and helping to nurse Elena. It was obvious to me that Filippo had made up his mind to marry Bianca as soon as he was free. I saw him with her a couple of times when I called, and he could not take his eyes from her. It’s why he had her moved into the palace.”

  “Did you tell Pietro all this in your message to him?”

  “I did.”

  “It will be up to him how soon she goes. All decisions will be his from the time of his arrival, but how he will tear himself away from Padua to settle in Venice I do not know. It was after the duel with the Torrisi that Filippo had a change of heart about making Pietro his heir in the event of his remaining childless. He had looked death in the face and then our youngest brother healed his wounds. Up until then you were to inherit.”

  “I’m not in the least disappointed. The last thing I want is to be burdened with the headship of the family and all the duties that devolve upon a senator. But Mother must be turning in her grave.”

  Alessandro frowned. “Let us not speak of that. Where is Elena? I want to see her.”

  As they mounted the stairs together, Alessandro spoke with annoyance of the delay he had experienced coming through encampments of the French army not far from the Republic’s border. An officer had checked his papers to make sure he was not a spy. Alessandro’s indignation knew no bounds. Alvise left him at the sickroom door.

  When Alessa
ndro came to Elena’s bedside he scarcely recognized the skeletal woman lying there. For all his pride and ambition he was capable of deep compassion at times.

  “My poor child,” he said sorrowfully, leaning over to place a hand on Elena’s brow.

  She gave him a little smile that still held the sweetness of her nature in it. “I’m getting better,” she whispered.

  He knelt by the bedside and prayed for her while Marietta, who was the only other person in the bedchamber, knelt on the opposite side of the bed. When he rose to his feet again and had blessed Elena, he drew Marietta to one side.

  “I appreciate that your concern for Elena has ruled out any scandalous aftermath. There’s no doubt Elena owes her life to you.”

  “I’m only one of three,” Marietta replied.

  “Nevertheless, it is a fitting end to the vendetta.”

  “That can never be over so long as my husband is unjustly imprisoned.”

  “No Celano had anything to do with that.”

  “I happen to believe otherwise,” Marietta stated implacably.

  “Have you any proof to support that belief?”

  “Unfortunately no.”

  “Then let no more ever be said on the matter.” Alessandro’s face was stern. “I advise you to let that Torrisi aggression you have adopted fade away and devote your thoughts to more womanly matters. You have two daughters, I believe.”

  “What if I had had a son?”

  “It is well for you that is a hypothetical question. At the present time his life would not have been worth a ducat. Filippo never heeded my words of peace and there are Celanos who would not tolerate the resurgence of the House of Torrisi. It is unlikely Pietro will be able to change matters immediately. As the new head of the family, he’ll have much else to think about for a long time to come.”

  His words chilled her through.

  Whenever possible Marietta made visits to see her children in Adrianna’s care. She was not prepared one morning when she found Danilo’s crib empty.