His Rags-to-Riches Contessa

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘That was why he had him killed?’ Becky whispered, appalled. ‘Oh, Luca, that’s dreadful.’

  ‘Si.’ He was pale, his eyes dark with pain, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white. ‘Fortunately for me, unfortunately for Don Sarti, my father wrote to me in desperation as soon as he returned home from that fateful interview, urging me to return to Venice as soon as possible.’

  ‘So that’s how you know!’ Becky exclaimed, ‘I did wonder...’

  ‘But no. I didn’t receive the letter. Instead, as I told you yesterday, the summons which reached me was from my mother, informing me that my father had died. He had been dead almost two months by the time I arrived in Venice, in June. As far as I knew, my father had drowned, slipping on the steps of the palazzo in the early hours. He was the worse for wine, so the gondolier claimed, and there was a thick fog when it happened. Though the alarm was raised, help arrived too late to save him. When his body was finally pulled from the canal, he had been dead for some hours.’

  ‘How tragic,’ Becky said, aware of the inadequacy of her words.

  Luca nodded grimly. ‘The summons my father sent finally reached me here in July, having followed in my wake from Venice to London to Plymouth to Glasgow and back. You can imagine how guilty I felt, knowing that I had arrived far too late. He had never asked me for help before, and I had failed him.’

  Becky swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘But even if you had received the letter telling you of Don Sarti’s treachery...’

  ‘Ah, no, that letter contained no details, save to bid my urgent return. My father would not risk his post being intercepted. I was not exaggerating when I said there are spies everywhere. No, there was but one clue in that letter. My father said that he had acquired a new history of the Royal Navy, and looked forward to my thoughts on the volume. It was there, in that book in the library, that he had placed the papers relating the whole sorry affair, exactly as I have told you.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She knew nothing, until I showed her the letter. She was almost as shocked as I. My father had been preoccupied in the weeks before he died, a delicate matter of city business, he told her, but nothing more. She didn’t even know he had summoned me home.’

  Luca wandered over to the window, to gaze out at the narrow canal. Becky joined him. The houses opposite looked almost close enough to touch. ‘It’s a big leap,’ she said, ‘from learning that your father’s been betrayed by his best friend, to assuming the best friend has had him killed.’

  ‘It was only when I questioned the palace gondoliers and discovered that both of them had been suddenly taken ill that day, forcing my father to use a hired gondola, that I began to question events. I can find no trace of the gondolier described by Brunetti. And then there was the timing. It was, according to my major-domo, almost three in the morning when the gondolier roused the palazzo to tell them my father had fallen in, yet my father left the palazzo where he had been dining with friends at just after eleven.’

  ‘So you think that the gondolier waited to make certain that he was drowned?’

  ‘I don’t think he was one of our Venetian gondoliers at all. They are a tight-knit group of men, Becky. Hard-working and honest. If this man who brought my father back had been one of them, they would have known who he was.’

  ‘You think he was actually an assassin hired by Don Sarti and sent to silence your father?’

  ‘My father had threatened to expose him. Don Sarti would have been desperate to avoid that at all costs. Taking account of all the circumstances, I think it is almost certain, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I do. Is there no way you can bring him to justice?’

  ‘If by that you mean getting the authorities involved, then no. I have no tangible proof of murder, and the only evidence that the treasure was hidden is my father’s letter which, if it was made public, would destroy his reputation. I have no option but to find some other way to hold Don Sarti to account. If my father had been less honourable, if he had not tried to prevent Don Sarti from losing everything they had tried to protect, then he would still be alive today.’ Luca took a shuddering breath. ‘If I had received that letter in time, perhaps he would be alive still.’

  ‘You can’t think that way,’ Becky said fervently. ‘Even if you had received the letter earlier, you still wouldn’t have returned to Venice in time to prevent your father’s murder, would you?’ Which was no doubt true, but for Luca, she understood, quite irrelevant. He would continue to torture himself with guilt until he had found a way to atone. Finally, she understood his plan. ‘You can’t bring him back,’ she said, ‘but you can prevent Don Sarti squandering Venice’s money, just as your father wished, is that it? You want me to win it back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Luca let out a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘That is my plan exactly. I want to reclaim the money for my city, and I want to see Don Sarti destroyed in the process. I want to use his vice against him. We will turn the tables on him, quite literally. We will indulge this passion of his until he has returned everything he took from the city. I have to do this, Becky. Per amor del cielo, I have no choice. Until it is done, my life is not my own.’

  That too she could see, in the haunted look in his eyes. ‘How much do I have to win?’ Becky asked, knowing already that she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but I can tell you what my father estimated.’

  He did, and the sum he named made her blanch. ‘It sounds like a king’s ransom.’

  ‘A city’s ransom. It is a dangerous game we will play. If the stakes are too high for you, you can, as The Procurer said, return to England.’

  And face the threat of the gallows? Not likely, Becky thought. ‘We have a saying back home, as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb. One—what do you call it?—scudo, or a thousand or a million, I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference, it’s all the same to me. It’s not my money I’ll be staking, and as for the winnings—what are you planning to do with your winnings, Luca, assuming you’re not going to litter the streets of Venice with gold for people to pick up?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Does this mean that I can rely on you?’

  She knew she should consider more carefully, but what was the point! Luca desperately needed help for a very good cause. She desperately wanted to earn that fee, her ticket to freedom from a life of trickery, and to dodge the noose. It was risky, extremely risky, but there were always ways of managing risk, always ways of making fortune work in your favour. ‘If there’s a way to pull it off, I’ll find it,’ she said, ‘but you need to understand one golden rule about gambling. Even when the deck is stacked, there are no guarantees.’

  ‘I think I would trust you less if you tried to pretend otherwise.’ He kissed her hand. ‘You come to me under tragic circumstances, but you are a beacon of light at the end of a very dark tunnel.’ He pressed another kiss to her fingertips before releasing her. ‘I don’t know about you, but I am in dire need of some refreshment before we continue. My mother will be home soon, and we still have a great deal to discuss.’

  * * *

  Luca’s idea of refreshment was more strong black coffee. It arrived so promptly when he rang the bell that Becky thought they must have an endless supply on tap in the kitchen. Just a few sips, and she felt her heart begin to race.

  ‘Would you prefer tea?’ he asked, already on to his second cup as she set hers aside.

  ‘No, thank you. This stuff might be mother’s milk to you, but if I have any more I’ll have palpitations.’

  ‘Mother’s milk, that is what they call gin in London, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re thinking of mother’s ruin. And that’s not my cup of tea either. Shall we continue?’

  He nodded. ‘I have been thinking,’ he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, ‘about your role as Cousin R
ebecca. If you are to play it convincingly, it is not only a matter of wearing the right clothes.’

  ‘You mean manners and etiquette? How to behave in polite society. I know I need some help, but I’m a quick learner, I promise.’

  ‘Then you won’t be offended if I ask my mother to give you some pointers?’

  ‘I would be delighted,’ Becky said, heartily relieved. ‘I would have asked you myself, only I didn’t want you to think I’m not up to the role. Are you sure she’ll be willing to help me?’

  ‘Certainly, because by helping you she’ll be helping me.’

  ‘She won’t be used to mingling with the likes of me.’

  Luca smiled faintly. ‘I’ve never met the likes of you. I find you a very intriguing mixture, Miss Becky Wickes.’

  It didn’t sound at all like a compliment, so it was silly of her to be blushing like a school chit. ‘You make me sound like a cake batter.’

  He laughed. ‘My mother will like you, I am sure of it.’

  Since it wasn’t in her interests to contradict him, Becky decided to hold her tongue. ‘It’s not just a matter of how I behave when I’m Cousin Rebecca though,’ she said. ‘It’s about...’

  ‘The cards,’ Luca said, pre-empting her.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘We use different packs here, and we play different games, if that’s what you were going to ask.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘I can teach you. I’m not an expert, I’ll have to rely on you to determine how to—to...’

  ‘Cheat. You might as well call a spade a spade, if you’ll forgive the terrible pun. That’s my particular field of expertise. But there’s more to it than that. This Carnival...’

  ‘There is nothing like it. It is exciting, it is dangerous, it is a time of intrigue and of decadence. The whole city takes part. You don’t know if you are dancing with a countess or a laundry maid, or even,’ Luca said with a wicked smile, ‘a man or a woman.’

  ‘No! You’re teasing me. You’re not telling me you’ve danced with a man?’

  He laughed. ‘No, I’m not. But there are some women who dress as men to gain access to the ridotti.’

  ‘Those are the private gaming hells where I will play?’

  ‘It’s where the Queen of Coins will play.’

  ‘Against Don Sarti?’

  The teasing light faded from his eyes. ‘Eventually. There’s much more to discuss, and details to be ironed out. I have the bones of a plan, but I need you to help me flesh it out.’

  ‘‘If I’m to put my neck on the line, then I’d rather have a say in how I go about it.’

  ‘When it comes to the cards, I will be yours to command.’

  She smiled at that. ‘I’m betting that will be a first, Captain del Pietro.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  For some reason, this brought a lump to her throat. Until Jack, she’d always worked alone. When Jack came along, she’d let him call the shots, not because she thought he was right, but because he thought it was how things should be. Now here was this blue-blooded pirate with his noble cause telling her that he’d defer to her. ‘Grazie,’ Becky said gruffly.

  ‘It is I who should thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.’

  ‘I certainly do now.’ She smiled shyly. ‘And I want to help, Luca, because I understand, not just because you’re paying me, though it would be a lie to say that doesn’t matter. The fee I’ve been promised, it might be a drop in the ocean compared to what you’re wanting me to win, but it’s...’

  ‘Life-changing. That’s what you said.’

  ‘Did I? Well, it is.’

  ‘How will you set about changing your life, Becky?’

  ‘Nothing too dramatic. A roof over my head away from the city. Perhaps in the country. Perhaps abroad. Unlike you, I’ve not travelled to the four corners of the globe. Until I came here, I’d never been further than Brighton.’

  ‘And did you bathe in the sea?’

  Becky laughed. ‘I wasn’t there on holiday, I was there to work. London empties in the summer—at least it empties of those who can afford to leave. And they expect to be entertained in Brighton, just as in London.’

  ‘Ah, so it was in your acting days, then?’

  ‘No, after that. I was what you’d call a street performer. Card tricks, sleight of hand. It’s how I earned my corn, after I left the theatre, as I told you, mostly in Covent Garden, which is where The Procurer saw me perform, but I spent a few summers in Brighton.’

  ‘You are full of surprises.’

  ‘I like to think so.’

  ‘You can have no idea, but you’d fit in perfectly with the Carnival, where what you call street performers roam every street and every square. In St Mark’s especially, there are tumblers and rope walkers, puppet shows, fortune tellers and any number of men happy to relieve you of your money with the type of tricks you describe.’

  ‘But no women?’

  ‘I’ve never seen any.’

  ‘I like to think I could best any man.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you at work, but I don’t think I’d like to bet against you.’ Luca frowned. ‘But you have played in gaming hells too, you said? The ridotti will not be alien to you?’

  ‘I played,’ Becky said tersely, ‘after I gave up working the piazza about a year ago. I won’t be sorry if I never have to enter another one of these places again, after I leave here.’

  ‘They would not have permitted you to play, a woman alone, would they? You would have needed a male companion, an accomplice.’

  Becky hesitated. She was extremely reluctant to allow Jack any part of this conversation, but she was even more uncomfortable with Luca imagining her playing the tables aided and abetted by another sharp, just like a common criminal. ‘He wasn’t an accomplice,’ she said belligerently. ‘You could call him my paramour.’ Which is what the press had labelled Jack, making it sound like he was the one in thrall to her. She glowered at Luca. ‘Not any longer. I’m quite unattached, and I’ve no desire to ever be anything else. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘You didn’t.’ Which was patently untrue. She forced a smile. ‘I don’t like to talk about my life back in England. It’s over, that’s all you need to know.’

  ‘And you have a new life waiting at the end of Carnevale, yes? Which will be early February this year, for the celebrations must end at the beginning of Lent. What will you do with your fee?’

  ‘I’ll buy a little cottage and a comfy chair, and I’ll keep my fire burning day and night. Oh, yes, and I’ll have a larder full of food.’

  ‘You have modest ambitions.’

  ‘Modest by your standards, not at all by mine. It’s more than I’ve ever had. What will you do, when this is over and you’ve paid your debt to your father and to Venice?’

  ‘I intend to build ships, as I mentioned,’ Luca said.

  ‘What about your responsibilities as Conte del Pietro? Won’t you be expected to fill your father’s shoes?’

  ‘Probably. There have been overtures, but like you, I have not really considered the practicalities. There, that is another thing we have in common.’

  Becky laughed nervously. ‘We’ve almost nothing in common.’

  He studied her, a half-smile playing on his lips. ‘Are you thinking that is what attracts us? The strangeness?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, taken aback. ‘I was thinking that.’

  ‘And then there is the fact that you are my avenging angel,’ he said. ‘I would be bound to be attracted to my salvation.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Becky said. Her own attempt at a smile died on her lips as her eyes met his, and she could have sworn that the air between them positively crackled. It didn’t matter how attracted he
was to her or how attracted she was to him, she told herself, she could not possibly be thinking about kissing him.

  A soft tap on the door made them both jump guiltily apart just as the servant appeared. ‘My mother has returned,’ Luca translated. ‘She is anxious to meet her niece.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘Now, make your curtsy as if I was the Contessa Albrizzi, Rebecca. No, not so deep. That is better. Now, let me see you take a turn around the room.’

  Contessa Isabel del Pietro retired to her favourite chair in the drawing room, the one by the tall window looking out on to the Grand Canal also favoured by her son, and Becky obediently began to parade in front of her. It was almost two weeks since she had arrived in Venice, almost two weeks of what she called her Cousin Rebecca lessons, and the Contessa was a hard taskmistress with an eagle eye. Becky had had no idea that putting one foot in front of the other could be so complicated. Back straight! Chin up! Shoulders back but still relaxed! There were times when she felt as if she were on a military parade ground, except that she was expected to combine all these things with the ability to glide, which meant walking with slightly bent knees. What was more, even though her head was to be up, her eyes were to be down, and heaven forfend that any bit of her swayed or jiggled or caused her skirts to swish.

  Cousin Rebecca was proving the most taxing role she had ever taken on in her life. She’d never had to rehearse so much and so often. She was surprised there wasn’t a path worn in the rugs in her bedchamber, from her practising over and over in the small hours of the morning. Walking. Sitting. Curtsying. Holding a glass. Holding a knife. Drinking coffee. Sipping Prosecco. So many things to learn in such a short time. The nights weren’t nearly long enough. It was exhausting and tedious, but it was worth it, if she was to avoid giving herself away. Becky ended her perambulation, sinking carefully on to the chair in the prescribed ladylike manner.