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‘Did you see anyone on the way up or down? The Count—anvone ? ’
j *
‘No. But that isn’t surprising.’
‘Dr Tedeschi, who was the patient?’
His face darkened. ‘I have answered this question too.’
‘What for are you repeating and repeating?’ said Rachel. ‘My brother is a busy man and cannot be asked to go over things again and again.’
‘Please, Doctor. There is a good reason for this, I assure you,’ said Celia desperately.
His thoughtful gaze rested on her. ‘Very well. The patient is called Lucia Gardi. She’s a companion of the Countess. A distant relative, I believe. She was very ill, poor soul. Stomach cramps, vomiting.’
‘Is she pretty?’
This time he stared frankly at her. ‘Pretty? What an odd question, signorina. No. She’s not pretty. She’s a good deal older than the Countess. A mousy kind of lady. Meek, you know.’
‘Hag-ridden by the Montemoro woman, I should think,’ said his sister tartly.
‘Rachel, please, be charitable.’
Rachel’s eyes flashed. ‘About that monster? Are you crazy, Jacob?’ She shook her head and said to Celia, ‘My brother—he’s too good to live.’
‘It’s just that nothing is served by insulting her, even in private,’ said the doctor wearily. ‘It is not revenge
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I seek—it is my Sarah back and an end to this matter. I cannot understand why it has happened. The Countess knows my Sarah is no witch.’
‘Of course she does,’ said Celia eagerly. ‘That’s not why she’s hunting her, Doctor, don’t you see? It’s my— my father’s belief that in fact the Countess thinks that your daughter Sarah saw something that night, when you went to treat your patient at the Montemoro house. She thinks that Sarah might have witnessed something.’
‘So that’s why you asked those questions,’ said the doctor. ‘I see. Well, Sarah did talk of a conspiracy in the note she left me when she vanished, but I did not really take heed of it, you understand. I just thought she was afraid and uncomprehending, as I was, and seeking answers, even absurd ones. But now—what you say, it makes sense. Yes.’
‘But what could our Sarah have seen?’ exclaimed Rachel. ‘What dreadful deed, to make this woman accuse her of this wicked thing? And why talk of the Count?’
‘I don’t know. But it must be a clue,’ said Celia, thinking out loud. ‘It must have something to do with the Count, in that room. What did he do?’
‘Looked in at the patient.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Very little, from what I understand. Just small talk. But you see, I never had the chance to discuss it with Sarah before she vanished. It all happened so quickly.’
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‘I see. Do you know how long he was in the room?’
‘Less than two or three minutes; then a guard came in. The Count left, then, before I came back.’
s
‘And in the time he was alone with her, he did not try to touch Sarah or make any—any improper advances to her?’
His eyes flashed. ‘No. Nothing of the sort. I would have understood what was behind the Countess’s accusation, if that was so. But Sarah swore nothing like that had happened.’
‘Oh,’ said Celia. She thought a bit. ‘Did Sarah meet the Countess?’
‘No. She did not look in to see the patient at all.’
‘Did she meet her another day? Perhaps when the Countess accused Sarah?’
‘Do you really think such as she would come here, to the Ghetto, to deliver her message?’ broke in Rachel Tedeschi scornfully. ‘She sent one of her servants.’
‘So the accusation came in a message?’
‘Yes. Not a written message, though,’ said Dr Tedeschi. ‘A verbal one.’ His face darkened. ‘I blame myself. I was not there that morning. I was visiting a patient in the Ghetto and my sister was at the market. Sarah was alone. She did not tell us what had happened. And that night she disappeared, leaving the note in which she explained and said she believed there was a conspiracy and she was an innocent victim of it. Well, I immediately went to see our neighbour and he said that yes, a messenger in the
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Montemoro livery had come and knocked on the door and Sarah had answered it. I did not let on what it was about, because of what Sarah had said in her note, but I let it be known that it was just about a follow-up visit to Signora Gardi. You have to be careful with neighbours gossiping.’
‘Can I see Sarah’s note, Dr Tedeschi?’
‘I destroyed it. Sarah asked me to.’
‘I wish you hadn’t,’ said his sister, snorting a little. ‘It would have been good evidence.’
‘She said it was too dangerous,’ said the doctor. ‘She said I must not worry and that above all I must not try and reason with the Montemoros, that I must pretend to be completely ignorant of what had happened, even of the accusation itself. She also said I must not try and find her or send anyone to look for her. But how could I just sit there and wait for news? I determined that I would seek help—but from far away, where it couldn’t be connected to us.’
‘Ah,’ said Celia. ‘That’s just what I thought. The Countess was trying to frighten Sarah. She didn’t have any real evidence against her. Otherwise why not just take it to the authorities? She was afraid Sarah knew something—had seen or heard something, that day at the palace. ... Dr Tedeschi, I heard the patient recovered.’
‘Yes, she did recover. Though her health is not good, generally.’
Celia’s eyes glittered. ‘Dr Tedeschi, could the patient . . . could Signora Gardi have been poisoned ?’
He looked quickly at her. ‘You mean, because of her
symptoms? I did give her a purgative, but there was no real reason to suspect poison. In any case, why would anyone want to poison this insignificant soul? And if it is this which the Countess was afraid of us suspecting, why wouldn’t she go after me, too? In fact, why call me in, in the first place?’
‘That’s true,’ said Celia, deflated. ‘You’re right. It can’t be anything to do with this Signora Gardi. It must be something else, something Sarah witnessed, something whose importance she perhaps did not realize at the time. Oh! I wish I could speak to her!’
Too late, she realized what she’d said. She went crimson. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Dr Tedeschi, signorina. Please forgive me. I really didn’t mean . . .’
‘I understand,’ the doctor said heavily. ‘You are young, and this is exciting for you, a chase, a mystery. It is different for us.’
‘Yes. Of course. Please forgive me,’ said poor Celia, feeling twice as embarrassed now.
‘Yet you are right. We too, we’d also like to speak to her,’ said the doctor with a gentle smile. ‘We’d like to tell her to get away, run as far as she can from Venice and never come back. For if it is truly a dangerous conspiracy that she has unwittingly stumbled into, then her life is in even more danger than if it were a charge of
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witchcraft, which I think we could disprove.’ He looked at Celia. ‘Tell your father that I think he is right—that Sarah must have witnessed something that night which has put her life in danger.’ His eyes were suddenly bright, as if from unshed tears. ‘My poor girl—she tries to be so brave, to shield us. But she is rash and stubborn. I wish she had not done this. I wish I had known earlier. I could have helped her,’
‘We could have helped her together,’ said Rachel, sniffing. ‘I am a woman. She could have talked to me about it. But Sarah is headstrong.’
‘Almost as much as you, Rachel,’ said her brother, smiling faintly. He took a deep breath. ‘But I am truly glad we have found honest, good people to help us.’ He turned to Celia. ‘Tell your father. Tell him.’
‘I will,’ said Celia a little uncomfortably. ‘Thank you, Dr Tedeschi. You have been most helpful.’
&nbs
p; At that moment, there came a knock on the door.
‘Fuss, fuss, fuss, it never stops,’ said Rachel, and went to answer the door. Celia chose that moment to say goodbye to Dr Tedeschi and promise she’d come back as soon as there was any news. As she crossed the hall to go, however, the Tedeschis’ visitor came in, with a most unhappy-looking Rachel behind him. ‘Forgive me, Jacob,’ she said, ‘I tried to stop him, but he just pushed his way in, unmannerly creature that he is.’
The newcomer was a large man in more ways than one—tall and fat and richly dressed. But he looked
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nothing like the jolly fat man of legend—there was a sharpness in his hazel eyes and a tension in his jowly
face that put Celia in mind rather of a prowling cat. He
said, without preamble, ‘I know your daughter’s run off with her fancy man, Tedeschi. Don’t even try to argue. I have proof of it.’
'Proof ? Proof ? There is no proof of anything. You are not welcome in this house, Solomon Tartuffo, and you can get out of it this minute.’ Dr Tedeschi was like a man transformed, the gentle eyes flashing, the stooped frame straightening.
The merchant snorted. 'Ha! Of course I am not welcome. No good Jew is welcome. Only riffraff and Gentiles.’ His eyes flicked over Celia contemptuously. ‘In some cases, both together.’
‘How dare you insult our guests!’ Jacob Tedeschi advanced on the visitor like an avenging angel. His very hair seemed to crackle with anger. ‘You will leave, this instant.’
‘Not till I tell you what I have come to say. I know who your daughter’s lover is.’ He smiled nastily. ‘And it is not even a rich man she is throwing her religion and customs away for, so you need not think you will get any advantage from it, Jacob. It is riffraff. Pure riffraff. And I have proof of it; living proof.’
At that, Rachel Tedeschi gave a great cry and threw herself at Tartuffo, beating at him with her fists. ‘Liar!
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Liar!’ she yelled. ‘Wicked liar! God will punish you for your wicked, wicked lies!’
‘Rachel! Don’t!’ Dr Tedeschi pulled her back. ‘He’s not worth it.’ Holding her, he said tightly to Tartuffo, ‘If you have proof, Solomon, produce it.’
For answer, Tartuffo gave a whistle. And into the house came a man whom Celia recognized at once. It was the wolfish man from Cannaregio!
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Murano
Dr Leone soon found a boatman who would take Ned to the mainland within half an hour. There wasn’t enough time for Ned to go back to Dr Leone’s house, so the alchemist gave him some money for the boat trip, the horse at the other end, and some food. After making Ned solemnly swear that he’d leave Venice, he rowed away with Henri. It was clear he had thought of some line of enquiry and was determined to go and pursue it at once, unencumbered by Ned.
Left alone, Ned paced around the quay, waiting for the
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boatman to be ready and too annoyed to even think about eating. He wished he hadn’t sworn to go. Every instinct told him he shouldn’t. After all, Master Ashby was his master, Celia’s father, and Mistress Quickly’s brother; Dr Leone was only Master Ashby’s friend. It wasn’t right to run away when his master was in danger. I must think of something—and fast, thought Ned.
The quay was crowded with sailors and porters, who were much too busy to pay any attention to him. He wandered amongst them, trying to think of a plan. Could he perhaps go and come back almost at once? Dr Leone hadn’t said anything about that; he’d just made Ned promise to go. If Ned did that, though, he couldn’t go back to the alchemist’s house, or to Henri’s. He’d have to hide somewhere. And he didn’t have enough money to rent a room. He turned out his pockets and looked at all the money he had, including what Dr Leone had given him. He judged he had enough to survive for a few days, anyway, if he was very careful and slept in doorways or under bridges. His heart raced. He’d never done this before. He’d always had a roof over his head. But it seemed the right thing to do.
Yes, he thought excitedly. That's exactly what I'll do. I'll leave Venice—that is, I'll get the boatman to take me not to the mainland, but to the closest island in the lagoon — Murano, isn't it? You can see it from Cannaregio's northern quays. Then I'll get a Murano boatman to take me back to Cannaregio. That won't cost much. . . . And I can
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hide somewhere in that district, and try to somehow speak to the Count on his own . How ; I don't know . But I have to try, at least .
At first, the boatman was a little surprised that Ned wanted to go to Murano and not the mainland, but when Ned explained, with lots of gestures, that he’d be paid exactly the same, he brightened. It was obviously rather more than a trip to Murano was worth.
They reached Murano very quickly and Ned tipped the boatman an extra coin, putting a finger to his lips as he did so. ‘Ragazza , 3 he said, remembering the word for ‘girl,’ and the stories he’d heard of Venetian gallantry, and hoping the boatman would get the message that he’d sneaked off to meet a girl in Murano.
The boatman laughed and winked. ‘Si, si, signore, 3 he said approvingly. He went off, shaking his head over the antics of the young, and Ned breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Now he could wait here a few minutes and spend a little more money in getting back. But no need for generosity this time. He’d just pay the basic price.
To pass the time, he looked around him. Murano seemed quite as busy as Venice, and as crowded. It was also almost as rich, with magnificent palaces and churches. Its wealth rested on the delicate, expensive product it was famous for: glass. Murano was the greatest glass-producer in the whole of Europe and had been so for centuries. So jealously did it guard that fame that,
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though its glass-makers were well paid and cossetted, they could not leave Murano to found glass-making businesses elsewhere—on pain of death!
Ned was looking in at a glass-blower’s stall, admiring a set of glasses with a good many other gawkers, when suddenly he stiffened. He’d briefly seen someone reflected in the wares of the glass-maker. That stance—it was familiar. Surely it couldn’t be ... He looked again. And at that moment, the man turned his head and Ned saw the other side of his face. It was a hard face, though younger than he’d imagined —and its left cheek was bisected by a long , livid scar.
Ned bent down quickly, as if he’d dropped something. The last thing he wanted was for the man to see him. He’d probably had a better look at Ned than the reverse. It wouldn’t do at all for the man to see him. Unless, thought Ned, with a lurch of the heart, unless he followed me, to deal with me. But he thrust the thought away almost immediately. The man hadn’t seen him. And he might lead Ned to where Dr Ashby was being held. I have to know for sure, thought Ned.
He dared a glance up. The scarred man was talking to the glass-maker. He had his back to Ned. Now was the time to make himself scarce. Ned scuttled away without being challenged and hid around the corner. He stayed there and watched as the glass-maker and the scarred man talked for a few more seconds. Then the scarred man put a hand on the glass-maker’s shoulder
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and left. Waiting an instant longer, Ned sauntered casually after him., taking care not to look as if he was following, but stopping now and then at some other glass-maker’s shop or other such thing. Nobody took any notice of him. Clearly, they were used to gawkers.
The scarred man walked rapidly into the maze of little streets that led into the heart of the city. He crossed a bridge and came to a house on the other side. There he stopped, rapped on the door, was let in, and disappeared through the doorway.
Ned’s heart raced. This must be where they were keeping Master Ashby. He must get in! He looked speculatively up at the house. Like most houses here, it was three storeys high, with a barred window on the bottom floor and two narrow windows and a carved stone balcony on the first floor. If he could climb up to the b
alcony he might be able to get in. But he couldn’t play the monkey in broad daylight; someone might see him and raise the alarm. He’d have to wait till nightfall. It was early afternoon now. He stood indecisively for a moment. Should he wait here and try to get into the house? Or should he go back to Venice and try to get into the Montemoro palace? No, on balance, it seemed more likely he’d get into this place—where nobody knew he was around—than into the palace, where it was quite possible the Countess might be expecting him to try and come back in secret.
16 0 •►>■
So he went slowly back to the bridge. There was a
space just under it, from where he could watch the house
*
without being seen. He was feeling quite hungry now, but he didn’t dare leave his post, in case anything happened at the house—say, if the scarred man reappeared.
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Betrayal
Celia hung back a little. Would the wolfish man recog- nize her as the urchin who had asked him all those questions about Jewish girls the day before? It was unlikely, but she couldn’t be sure. Part of her wanted to flee; part of her wanted to stay, to hear what the man had to say. And she was stricken with pity for the Tedeschis, who looked as though the sky was falling in on them.
Tartuffo was speaking. ‘Tell them, Marco, tell them what you heard.’
The wolfish man licked his lips. He shot a look at
16 2
Celia and smiled. It was not a smile of recognition, but the predatory smile of the habitual woman-hunter. He said, ‘I heard it from the lips of a street urchin, talking about the luck his English friend had with a pretty Jewish girl.’
Celia stiffened and stared at Marco.
This is your proof?’ said Dr Tedeschi coldly. His clenched face relaxed. This man and his hearsay? His vicious gossip? Go, Solomon, go—and take your informer with you. We have heard enough.’
‘You have not heard it all,’ said Tartuffo just as coldly. ‘Go on, Marco. Tell them.’
The boy told me his English friend, who was a young soldier of fortune, had managed to tumble this Jewish girl. Said she was very lovely and that she was the only daughter of a Ghetto doctor, who was blind as a bat and didn’t see what was going on under his nose. He had first clapped eyes on her because . . . er . . . because he and his friends had come to visit the doctor. For treatment, you understand. He implied that it was for the sort of illness that is common amongst those who earn their living by the sword.’ He shuffled his feet, pretending to be shy. ‘Unmentionable diseases.’
The Madman of Venice Page 11
