The Madman of Venice

by Sophie Masson

  ‘Sorry, signorina,’ said Dr Leone’s servant, ‘but the young gentleman left early this morning. He and the other young gentleman, and Dr Leone, they—’

  ‘Which other young gentleman?’ said Celia sharply.

  ‘A friend of Signore Fletcher’s, I believe. Or perhaps

  Dr Leone’s? I am not sure, signorina.’

 

  ‘My father—’ began Celia.

  ‘He too has gone, signorina.’

  Celia stared at him. ‘You mean, they’re all out, at this hour?’

  ‘Yes, signorina.’

  ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘I do not know, signorina. But they took the boat. No boatman, though—Dr Leone was going to row himself.’

  ‘But what direction did they go in?’

  ‘I did not see, signorina. I am sorry.’

  Celia stared crossly at the man’s impassive face, the bubble of delight quite burst inside her now. ‘I’ll wager you know more than you’re saying,’ she snapped. ‘They told you to keep it quiet, didn’t they?’

  The man said nothing.

  ‘Of all the dirty tricks,’ said Celia furiously. ‘They’ve gone off investigating something, I’ll wager my little finger. And they thought it would be too dangerous for me, I suppose! Men!’

  ‘Scusi?’ said the servant, sounding bewildered, and Celia realized that in her agitation she must have spoken in English. Switching quickly to Italian, she said, ‘Well, can you tell them, when they return, that Mistress Quickly and I have also gone out and that we will not be returning till late.’

  The man nodded. ‘Where shall I say you are going, signorina?’

  ‘You can say you don’t know and that you’re sorry,’ said Celia coldly, turning on her heel and walking away. What cheek! What meanness! Father she could understand; he was old and inclined to be fussy. Dr Leone was an overbearing Venetian gallant, used to getting his own way and treating women as if they were glass ornaments that could be smashed.

  But Ned—how could he do this to her, keep her in the dark, if what Aunt Bess said was true? He knew what it meant to her to be part of this investigation. If he really did love her, he’d have thought of her. He’d have told her. Perhaps he’d been persuaded by the others, she thought—but then that meant he was weak. And you didn’t want weakness in a lover. You wanted courage. Strength. Thoughtfulness. And tenderness. None of these Ned had shown by going off like this, betraying her. . . . And it hurt. It hurt like hot needles in her flesh.

  She brushed those thoughts angrily aside. Why should she care what Ned thought, what he felt about her? She felt only exasperation towards him right now, nothing more. Nothing! She wouldn’t think about him. Now, who was the other young man? The servant did not seem to know him.

  An idea struck her. What if he was the man they had been looking for yesterday? Sarah’s friend, who had

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  hidden her? It would explain their sudden departure, if he had come to them and told them who he was-—and that he could take them to Sarah. Or—and here her heart pounded—-what if he was the man she’d talked to yesterday, the wolfish young man in Cannaregio? Perhaps he knew something, or pretended to. Perhaps, she thought— perhaps it's they who are in danger!

  But Dr Leone was no fool, and he knew Venice and Venetians. He’d been angry yesterday because he thought the young man might be an informer. He’d hardly follow someone like that, like a fly blundering into a spider’s web. No, it could not be that young man. It must be someone with real information about Sarah, something they had to check out straight away. They’d had to take the boat—so it must be too far, or too complicated, to walk to.

  Well, Celia thought, defiantly, as she marched back to the Marinetti house, Aunt Bess and I have a boat too—and we're not only going to swan down the Grand Canal, gawking at palaces. The Cannaregio canal is nice and wide and there's lots to see along it. And if we come close to the Ghetto bridge, that will be a good place to stop and moor. I'll think of something to persuade Aunt Bess that we must go and pay our respects to the good Dr Tedeschi. And then we'll see who's ahead!

  But it still rankled, and bitterly, that they should not have involved her in what was obviously an important development. She was a member of this mission just as

  -H- 122-H-

  they were. Certainly just as much as Ned! She was no shrinking violet, no delicate flower. Why should she have to prove herself, just because she was a girl? Why should Ned be trusted to help and not her? It wasn’t fair. Well, she would show them!

  -H- 123-H-

  The she-wolf

  lhe room into which Ned, Henri, and Dr Leone were ushered to wait for the Count was large and spacious, with a gloriously painted ceiling and bright frescoes on the walls. The only bits of furniture were four chairs against one wall.

  It was an ordinary-enough room, yet there was something about it that made Ned feel uneasy. He felt as though unseen eyes were watching him. But there was no one there except themselves, and no obvious spy-holes.

  Suddenly the door at the end of the room opened.

  124-H-

  A guard came out. The Count will see you now,’ he said, and ushered them through.

  This room too had an odd atmosphere. Perhaps because it was so stuffy and heavily decorated—the walls painted in red and gold, with pictures crammed on every square inch of them. There was a good deal of carved, gilded furniture, including an ornate desk and chair. Over the desk hung a striking portrait of a man dressed in the fashion of the previous century. And at the desk, under the painting, sat a man who could almost have been the twin of the man in the portrait. He was about forty-five, tall, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired, and tawny-eyed, with a bony face and a big nose, and wearing the plain dark robes of the high Venetian aristocracy.

  ‘ Buongiorno, signore. 3 The Count’s voice was soft and held little inflection. Ned could see the deep lines etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the threads of silver that ran through the auburn hair, the way his

  fingers drummed nervously on the desk. He looks

  *

  jumpy, haunted , unhappy, thought Ned suddenly. As if there is something weighing on him .

  The Count motioned for them to sit down and for the guard to go away. The man hesitated perceptibly; then he bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  The Count said something to Dr Leone, who took a parchment from his doublet and handed it to the Count. The Count perused it briefly. Ned knew it was the document that Dr Leone had concocted last night,

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  detailing the supposed kidnap of Master Ashby by ‘island pirates.’

  He asked a question. Dr Leone answered. The Count

  frowned and glanced towards Ned and Henri. Dr Leone

  >

  said something rapidly, no doubt explaining their part in it. They’d decided to keep as close to the truth as possible. When the doctor had finished, the Count was silent a moment. Then he spoke quickly to Dr Leone.

  ‘He wants to ask you questions,’ said the doctor, turning to Ned, ‘as you’re Master Ashby’s employee and were on the spot when he was taken. I’ll translate and convey your answers.’

  The Count spoke. Dr Leone said, with a slightly raised eyebrow, ‘He asks if you’ve known Master Ashby long.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ned. ‘He’s my master. I’ve worked for him for years.’

  The Count’s gaze rested on Ned, rather disapprovingly. He said something querulous. Dr Leone hesitated a moment, then said, ‘The Count asks, is your master a spy for Queen Elizabeth?’

  Ned stared. ‘What?’

  Dr Leone repeated the question.

  Ned stammered, ‘Dr Leone, you—you must tell him that’s not true. Master Ashby has never been a spy! He’s a well-respected merchant!’

  ‘Don’t fret, Ned. I know.’

  Dr Leone turned back to the Count. More querulous words from the noble man.


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  ‘The Count says that just because Master Ashby is a merchant doesn’t mean he isn’t also spying,’ Dr Leone reported back. ‘He says there have been one or two English merchants who have been caught doing exactly that. And they paid for it in Venetian prisons.’

  ‘Sir, you must convince him that it isn’t so! We came to ... so he could visit you, and . . . and investigate the pirates,’ cried Ned. How foolish we are to have come here, he thought, shivering. We are well and truly in the wolf's den now. We could end up in a Venetian prison ourselves. Or worse still, on the rack.

  ‘Hush,’ said Dr Leone, and turning back to the Count, he spoke volubly and fluently. The Count listened. His eyes fixed on Ned, he spoke again.

  ‘He asks if your master is working for someone else,’ the doctor translated.

  ‘What? Who could he be working for? Only the group of merchants to which he belongs, back in England.’

  Dr Leone said calmly, ‘I told him that. But he asks if you’ve been paid to snoop on him.’

  Ned swallowed. ‘Dr Leone, I don’t understand. What sorts of questions are these?’

  ‘Those of a man who doesn’t trust people much, I’d say,’ said Dr Leone lightly. To the Count, he spoke soothing words in Italian.

  The Count answered quickly. Dr Leone translated. ‘He says, what was the English merchant looking for, in the alley, at that time of night?’

  ‘An informant arranged to meet him—someone who had something important to tell him, about the pirates we told him about,’ said Ned, trying to sound convincing, and Dr Leone conveyed it to the Count.

  Montemoro shot a hard glance at Ned. Then he said something, to which Dr Leone responded, spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders.

  Henri whispered, ‘The Count wanted to know why Master Ashby didn’t take anyone along for protection on such a dangerous undertaking. Informants are often criminals themselves and not to be trusted. Dr Leone said he was a trusting man. Too trusting.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ned, brightening. ‘He’s a good man. A kind man. Tell him that, Dr Leone. It’s not a crime, to be trusting.’

  Dr Leone turned back to the Count, who nodded and smiled grimly, his eyes resting thoughtfully on Ned. He said nothing for a little while, then murmured something to Dr Leone. The alchemist’s eyes widened briefly; then he recovered himself.

  ‘The Count asks if in fact Master Ashby wasn’t looking for a lost girl.’

  Silence. Three pairs of eyes stared at the Count. But the tawny eyes stared back only into Ned’s eyes, un- blinkingly. Ned didn’t know what to say. The Count murmured something else.

  Dr Leone bit his lip. He whispered, ‘He asks if you might take a commission from him.’

  -M- 128 -H^

  Ned swallowed. ‘A commission? I don’t understand.’ He felt frightened. What was the Count playing at? What should he do? He looked pleadingly at Dr Leone, who nodded imperceptibly. The meaning in his eyes was clear. Don't worry . I'll deal with this.

  The alchemist turned to the Count and spoke. The Count answered briefly. Dr Leone translated. ‘I said you would be honoured, but first you must find your master. He said that he would try and help you. Give him a description of the assailants.’

  Ned stammered, . . . I only really saw the man in the alley, the . . . the one who was pretending to be the Captain. He ... er ... he was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the bearing of a man-at-arms. And he—’

  He broke off suddenly as the door crashed open. A woman stood framed in the doorway, flanked by a grizzled, burly officer of the guard. She was in her late thirties, quite short, and slim as a whippet, with sharp blue eyes, sallow skin, and silky fair hair teased into an unbecoming style. She was dressed in a brown-and-yellow silk gown that for all its splendour did nothing for her. But it was her air of command which made it quite clear who she was. The Countess of Montemoro!

  The Countess spoke. Her first words were in Italian, to the Count. Ned didn’t need to understand a word of the language to know she was berating him in no uncertain terms. The Count visibly shrank in his chair as her tirade went on. Meanwhile, the grizzled officer

  12 9 -H-

  watched with a sardonic curl of the lip. It was plain what he thought of the Count’s meekness.

  Presently the woman stopped. She turned to Ned and

 

  snapped in perfect English, ‘I am the Countess of Mon- temoro. What is the meaning of this intrusion?’

  ‘My . . . my master, my lady,’ stammered Ned. ‘He’s disappeared. Kidnapped by pirates. Dr Leone told us that the Count might be able to help us.’

  ‘Kidnapped by pirates? ’ Her voice was like a whip. ‘On land? I haven’t heard of such an event for years.’ She turned to the officer. ‘Have you, Maffei?’

  ‘No, my lady,’ said the man, his impassive glance watching the visitors’ faces.

  ‘That’s why we came to Venice,’ said Ned. ‘I mean, not to be kidnapped by pirates,’ he hurried on, ‘but to investigate some problems my master’s ships, and those of his fellow London merchants, have been experiencing lately, due to the depredations of pirates off the coast of Venice.’

  The Countess’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really? Has he spoken to the Council of Ten about it?’

  ‘Not yet, my lady, but—’

  ‘But nothing. I have not heard anyone was here on an official investigative mission.’

  ‘He was trying to do it discreetly,’ said Ned.

  ‘I don’t think you’re telling the truth, boy. Why are you really here?’

  ‘My lady,’ said Dr Leone carefully, ‘I can assure you that this is a real situation and we—’

  13 0 -H*-

  ‘Be quiet, alchemist,’ she snapped. ‘I was asking the boy a question. Let him answer.’ Her blue eyes gimlet- ted Ned’s face, as if trying to burrow into his very soul and see the truth there.

  ‘I—I assure you, my lady,’ he faltered, ‘it’s absolutely true. My master has been kidnapped by a gang in Bosco Alley.’

  ‘Why was he in the Bosco Alley?’ said the Countess.

  ‘He was to meet an informant. About the piracy business.’

  She snorted. ‘Then your master is a fool. That area is dangerous. And how could he trust an informant he hadn’t even met—and on such a matter too?’

  ‘I... I don’t know, my lady.’

  ‘Your master must be mad, then. Even if the story you tell is true and you have not come here to spy on us, we cannot help you. You will have to deal with it yourselves.’

  ‘But, my lady, the Count said—’

  ‘You have presumed too much,’ said the Countess, moving to her husband’s side and placing a hand on his shoulder. Ned distinctly saw the man twitch. ‘My husband is not quite himself at present. He should not be bothered with such matters. They should be left to the - proper authorities. Go—and do not return.’

  ‘But, sir,’ said Dr Leone, turning to the Count, ‘you did say you would—’

  Montemoro looked away. He waved a hand in dismissal.

  -H- 13 1-H-

  ‘You see?’ said the Countess, her eyes gleaming. ‘My husband wishes you to go. You have trespassed on his good nature. Too many people do so. I have to con-

  s

  stantly watch put for that.’

  ‘Forgive us, my lady,’ said Dr Leone coolly. ‘We only thought to ask for your husband’s advice. But we see now it was a mistake. We will go elsewhere. To the Duke.’ His eyes met hers.

  She shrugged. ‘Then do so. You’re such a good friend of his, aren’t you, Dr Leone? I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. That’s what you should have done in the first place. Now be off. You have wasted enough of our time.’ She turned to the officer. ‘Maffei, kindly have our visitors escorted off the premises.’

  And there was nothing any of them could do about it.

  As they drew away from the palace, Henri said fiercely, ‘We should have told that harridan what we thought of her!’


  ‘What good would that have done?’ said Dr Leone. ‘She’s obviously the true master in that place.’

  ‘It’s not just that. I think the Count is actually afraid of her,’ said Ned.

  ‘Yes. But why?’

  Ned had been pondering that. ‘Because of the girl. Sarah Tedeschi. You heard what he wanted from me. I think that the commission he wanted to give us was to find her.’

  -H- 1 3 2

  ‘Yes, I think that too,’ said Dr Leone.

  ‘So it must be true, then,’ said Ned slowly. ‘He’s in love with the girl and he’s frightened his wife will find out where she is. But he can’t know where Sarah is either, or he wouldn’t have asked us what he did.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘She spoke almost as though her husband were not competent,’ said Henri. ‘I mean, as if he were mad.’

  ‘She did. But he’s no more mad than you or I, though I’d say he’s at the breaking point over something,’ said Dr Leone. ‘She has some sort of hold over him and he’s too afraid to act openly against her.’

  ‘She was listening at the door,’ said Ned.

  ‘Yes—she or one of her guards,’ said Dr Leone.

  ‘Do you think she heard him talk about the girl and the commission?’ said Ned. ‘He was speaking fairly softly, but. . .’

  ‘I’m afraid we have to assume she did hear,’ said Dr Leone. ‘And she interrupted you just as you were describing the attacker—-before I had time to translate to the Count what you’d said. And of course she understands English well.’ He paused and looked searchingly at Ned. ‘You’re the only witness who can testify to that man. You’re a marked man, Ned. You must leave Venice.’

  Ned stared at him in dismay. ‘Leave Venice! No! I think I should accept the Count’s commission to—’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Ned,’ said Dr Leone sharply. ‘That’s dead in the water, now. You’ll never get near him again,