Not giving himself time to think, he sprang for the sill of the second window and scrambled onto it. Then he reached over to the balcony. In an instant he was standing there.
It had all been quite easy. But he had no time to congratulate himself. There was a door leading onto the
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balcony, a wooden door. It was shut. He tried it. In vain. He stared at it, nonplussed. What now? He tried the door again. Still locked. He tried to see through the keyhole, but could make out nothing, for the key was in the way. He put his shoulder to the door. But it was solid, and he did not dare push too hard against it, in case he made a noise which would alert the people inside.
Well, this is a fine to-do, thought Ned. Here I am on the balcony, but I’m no better off than before . In fact, I may be worse off If someone opens that door and comes out here, my goose will be well and truly cooked . Maybe I should just climb down again and wait under the bridge like before . I should not have been so impatient . But if I’d waited till nightfall, it would have been no different, would it? This door would still have been locked and I’d still be here all alone, unable to—
Suddenly, he heard voices. They were from inside the house—from inside the room beyond the balcony! Panicking, he pressed himself against the wall to the side of the door, hoping against hope that if they opened the door they might not see him behind it. Now he could hear footsteps—and the voices grew louder. One of them, at least. It was a man’s voice, and Ned thought he recognized the harsh tones of the scarred man, the supposed captain. The other was a woman’s voice, a mere murmur. His hands sweated, his blood ran cold. It must be the Countess . . . and he was caught like a rat in a trap.
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Please, God, please, don't let them open this door : Don't let them come out here. Don't let them see me. . . . He held his breath, fervently praying and wishing.
The door did not open. They didn’t come out. He could hear them moving around, just beyond the door. They were still talking, low, fast, in Italian. He couldn’t understand what they were saying. Then he heard a door slam, footsteps moving away. They must have gone out of the room.
Thank God, thank God. . . . He took a deep breath, swallowing the fear that had risen in his throat. He tiptoed to the railing and looked down into the street. Still no one. He had to get back down there. It was too dangerous to stay. And at that very moment, the balcony door rattled, creaked, and opened. And Ned, frozen in the act of throwing a leg over the railing, stared at the person who was standing in the doorway, looking as startled as he was.
It was not the Countess, and not the scarred man, and not Master Ashby, but a complete stranger: a girl of about his age or a little younger. A very lovely girl, slim, willowy, with creamy skin, and hair of a rich red-brown, and large, long-lashed dark eyes. She was dressed in a simple pale-brown dress with white trimmings that perfectly set off her beauty.
She stared at him. He stared back at her. He found his voice, first. ‘ Scusi . . . I. . . not... I mean . . .’ He
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trailed off. His mind had gone quite blank. He’d made a stupid mistake. He’d come to the wrong house. But he was sure this was the one the scarred man had gone into.
The girl’s eyes widened. She said slowly, ‘You . . . you not from Venice.’ Her English was halting but understandable.
‘No,’ said Ned blankly. ‘I’m English.’ He thought she reminded him, very vaguely, of someone. Yes, the hair. The Count had hair of that sort of colour. Then he remembered hearing Dr Leone saying that the Monte- moros had a daughter. A girl who didn’t live with them. What was her name? He couldn’t remember. This must be her. But what on earth was she doing here?
He said quickly, ‘Please forgive me, your grace’—er, how did one address a Count’s daughter?—‘I was just. . . just looking for a friend of mine.’ As he spoke, he was looking around the room. It was a small, neat, plain bedroom, with a made bed, a chair, and a table. No sign of Master Ashby.
‘A friend?’ said the girl, frowning.
‘My friend,’ said Ned, taking a little heart from the fact the girl hadn’t screamed, or called for help. ‘My master. His name is Mateo Ashby. Is he here?’
She stared at him. She repeated, ‘You want Signor Ashby?’ She pronounced the name with a charming Italian accent.
‘Yes. Please—he’s here, isn’t he? Please help me. There’s been some mistake, you see, and—’
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Just then, the door at the other end of the room opened and the scarred man came in. He saw Ned at once. With an oath, he sprang across the room at him. He shouted unintelligibly in Ned’s face, his eyes blazing with fury.
The girl ran to him and touched his arm. She said something fast to him. The scarred man turned his head to her. He made an explosive sound. Then, to Ned’s astonished relief, he released him. But he stood glaring at him, his black eyes full of suspicion.
‘Thank you,’ said Ned to the girl. She shook her head.
‘What your name?’ she said carefully.
‘Ned. Ned Fletcher.’ Ned didn’t think anything could be gained from lying now. But he kept a close eye on the scarred man. ‘And Signor Ashby, he’s my master. My boss. What’s the word? Oh, yes. Padrone. Mi padrone .’
The girl’s face cleared. ‘Ah. Yes. You from Londra too.’
‘Londra? Oh, yes, London. Master Ashby, me, his daughter Celia, his sister Mistress Quickly. We are from London. We—’
The scarred man interjected something then, and the girl answered sharply back. All Ned could understand was, ‘No, Claudio.’ But the scarred man subsided.
Ned said, ‘Look, I think your guard—er, Claudio— is making a mistake. He should release my master— my padrone .’ She looked at him, uncomprehending. He tried again. ‘The Countess . . . your mother—er, your
mamma —she has it wrong.’ Pray God he was right, he thought, and these weren’t actually a gang of ruthless pirates, because what would they make of what he was saying? But he was sure now it wasn’t pirates they had to deal with.
She shook her head. ‘My mamma ? I not understand. 1 take you . . . to . . . the signor. You see him. You talk.’
‘Why, thank you,’ said Ned, mighty relieved. ‘Thank you. You are most kind.’
She spoke briefly to Claudio. The man gave a hard look at Ned but did not argue. Clearly, he would do what the girl asked. But he kept close at Ned’s heels as the latter followed the girl out of the room, along the hall, and down some stairs.
They reached a large hall, unusually panelled in different-coloured woods. Then, to his amazement, the girl stopped in front of one of the panels and fumbled with it. It slid open. Beyond was a dim space. She went through and beckoned Ned to do the same.
And there was Matthew Ashby. He was sitting reading on a narrow bed, in a room that smelled a little damp but was otherwise not unpleasant. There was a small window that gave onto the canal, a lamp on a table, a bright coverlet over the bed, and a small rug on the floor.
‘Master Ashby!’ cried Ned. ‘Are you all right? Have they done anything to you?’
Ashby started up from the bed. ‘Why, Ned! Whatever are you doing here! However did you get here?’ He
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turned to Claudio and said something sharp in Italian. The man shrugged.
Ned watched this little scene in some astonishment. He said, ‘Sir, what’s going on? I don’t understand. . . .’
‘Where have you come from? Who’s with you?’ Master Ashby’s voice was sharp, sharper than Ned had ever heard it.
He faltered, ‘No one. I... I came from Venice. Dr Leone wanted to send me to the mainland. He let Henri stay with him, and—’
‘Henri? What are you talking about?’
‘Henri d’Arcy.’ Swiftly, Ned explained.
Matthew Ashby exclaimed, ‘A duel! Of all the stupid—’
‘Well, sir,’ snapped Ned, with some spirit, ‘if we hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t have s
een what happened to you.’
‘That’s just it,’ said his master. ‘It would have been better if you hadn’t.’ As Ned goggled at him, he went on, ‘You see, it’s not quite what you think. Now, tell me, Ned, were you followed?’
‘No. I told you, Dr Leone thought I was going to the mainland. And I’m sure no one followed me.’
‘Why did you choose Murano, then?’
‘I just thought that I would do what I’d sworn to do— leave Venice—but also double back. I thought that way Dr Leone wouldn’t know. There was no way I was going to be kept out of this investigation.’
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‘I see,’ said Master Ashby. He turned to the silent girl and Claudio, and said something to them. They nod- ded. But Claudio’s eyes had not lost their hard glare. He snapped a question.
‘He asks how you tracked him down,’ said the merchant.
‘I didn’t—it was sheer luck.’ Ned explained what had happened and Master Ashby translated.
‘Sir,’ broke in Ned, ‘please, you must explain to me what is going on. You’re a prisoner here, yet you seem on good terms with these people. Why?’
‘Because I’m not a prisoner, Ned,’ said Matthew Ashby calmly. ‘Not now. At first I was, till they realized who I am and why I was asking questions about Sarah,’
Ned felt completely at sea. ‘I—I don’t understand,’ he faltered. ‘Why would the Countess have you kidnapped and then—’
‘The Countess?’ Master Ashby stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why, because that man works for her and that girl’s her daughter, I suppose,’ said Ned rather sarcastically.
Matthew Ashby stared. Then he burst out laughing. ‘My poor Ned! You can put your mind at rest straight away. Claudio most certainly does not work for the Countess. His loyalties are quite elsewhere. I’m not sure by what tortuous route you came to the conclusion that this lovely girl could be that scheming Montemoro woman’s daughter, but let me set your mind at rest.’ He
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jumped up and took the girl’s hand. ‘Allow me to introduce you, Ned, to a most spirited and brave young woman, the person we have come so far to find—only to discover that she found us first. Yes, Ned, this is none other than Signorina Sarah Tedeschi!’
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Mistress Quickly gets mad
Mistress Quickly was shouting. ‘Anything could have happened to you! I thought someone had kidnapped you! I looked up and down these streets and couldn’t see you! I was going to start a search party. . .
‘I’m sorry to have worried you. But as you can see, I’m alive and well,’ said Celia hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry to have left you for so long, but I just went exploring a little and—’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ said her aunt roundly. ‘Tell fibs like that to your father if you like. He’s an innocent
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soul. But I know what you’ve been up to. Snooping, eh? Chasing little hares of your own.’
Celia looked at her and decided that denial wasn’t worth the trouble. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid so, Aunt Bess. I went to call on Dr Tedeschi.’
‘Oh, I knew it was too good to be true that you’d let the men take care of things! Do you mean to say you’ve been in the Ghetto by yourself?’
‘It was perfectly safe. And I learned some very interesting things. Aunt Bess, please listen. We’ve got to get back to Dr Leone’s house straight away. Then I have to find Ned and bring him back to Dr Tedeschi’s with me. Something’s happened, something very important. Can you tell Father where we are and tell him to meet us there as soon as possible?’
‘Why don’t you tell him yourself?’
‘This is around his nap-time, isn’t it? And I can’t wait. Besides, he always asks so many anxious questions. And you’re so good at managing him, Aunt Bess.’
‘I’m not surprised he’s anxious, you’re such a trial,’ grumbled Mistress Quickly, but her colour was subsiding and she didn’t look quite as cross. ‘Very well, get in the boat and let’s be going. But I’m afraid, my dear, that you are going to have to tell me everything before we get to the house. If I am to persuade my brother into more tomfoolery, I am not going to be kept in ignorance by a chit of a girl.’ She settled herself down on the cushions and fixed Celia with a gimlet eye. ‘Begin.’
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It took nearly the entire way back for Celia to tell Mistress Quickly the whole story, including what had happened in Cannaregio and the Ghetto the day before. When Celia finished, she waited cautiously to see how Mistress Quickly would react.
She was silent for quite a few minutes, then said, ‘You take my breath away, Celia Margaret Ashby . 5
Oh dear ; thought Celia, she only calls me by my full name if she's realty annoyed with me .
‘You really do , 5 went on Mistress Quickly. ‘Do you realize just how madly you have behaved? You put yourself into appalling danger—and for what? So you can prove to Ned that you can do as well as he? What kind of ridiculous notion is this? This isn’t a game, Celia. This is about people’s lives. That Sarah, she removed herself from her father because she was afraid for him; she didn’t want to put him in danger while she did her little investigation. But you’ve just thought of yourself. You haven’t thought of us at all—you haven’t even imagined what it might be like for us if something happens to you!’ Her eyes glittered. ‘Have you?’
Celia faltered, ‘You . . . you don’t understand. I didn’t think that—’
‘No, you didn't think, did you? You just acted. You just did whatever you thought was best. You didn’t ask if it was best for others. Now that poor doctor and his sister are stuck with some trussed-up villain and they ’re no closer to their Sarah!’
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‘It wasn’t my fault Marco came to Tartuffo—’ began Celia, annoyed, but her aunt cut her off.
‘No, it wasn’t your fault, but you didn’t improve matters, did you, with your babbling to him the day before!’
‘But how was I to know he was an informer? Besides, I did improve matters!’ snapped Celia, incensed. ‘Tartuffo was sent off with his tail between his legs and Marco can’t go running off to the Countess. And I know who the madman is, so they can talk to him and find out where his friend is! I’m sure he’s the one who’s hiding Sarah!’
‘Pish, you know nothing of the kind. Why do you believe the lies of that Marco?’
‘It’s not him, Aunt Bess! It’s the Tedeschis. They think he could be the key to Sarah’s disappearance.’
‘What use will a madman be, anyway?’ said her aunt, changing tack. ‘By their very nature, madmen can’t answer sensible questions.’
‘He may not always be mad,’ said Celia hopefully. ‘Dr Tedeschi said it was the kind of madness that comes and goes with the moon.’
‘Doctors!’ said Mistress Quickly with great scorn.
‘Well, here we are, Aunt Bess. Will you help me, or just read me lectures on my folly?’
‘Tush, the cheek of the child! You really are the limit, Celia Margaret Ashby,’ said her aunt crossly. ‘But I suppose now you have put us all on the line and there is no help for it but to continue as best we can. Yes, I will help you, but you must—’
‘Aunt Bess, you are the dearest person alive!’ said Celia, throwing her arms around Mistress Quickly’s neck and kissing her on the cheek. ‘I really am sorry for worrying you, and I’m sorry I was selfish—I didn’t mean to be— and I think you’re right, I was being too proud . . . but you do understand, this is important and I must do it.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mistress Quickly, pink again, but with pleasure this time. ‘Promise me, though, that you will be more careful in future.’
‘I promise!’ said Celia gaily. She sprang out of the boat and onto the landing-stage and ran up the steps towards Dr Leone’s house, calling, ‘Ned, Ned, where are you?’
‘Child, child, a little more decorum,’ Mistress Quickly called after her as she puffed and panted in an effort to
keep up.
‘What do you mean, Ned’s gone?’ Celia had come into the hall to find Dr Leone hurrying down the stairs towards her, his mane of hair askew, his usually confident manner a little uncertain.
Now he turned to Mistress Quickly. ‘I’m sorry, signora, but there’s trouble. Real trouble. You and the young lady must follow Ned at once and get to safety.’
‘Follow Ned where?’ said Celia, bewildered, while at the same time Mistress Quickly snapped, ‘And I’ll trouble you not to order Celia and me around, Dr Leone. Where is my brother? I want to speak to him at once.’
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‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ said Dr Leone. ‘You see, he—’
‘What do you mean, “not possible”? Nonsense! Is he in his room? I shall go and see him at once.’
Mistress Quickly picked up her skirts and made for the stairs.
‘I mean, he’s gone too,’ said Dr Leone helplessly.
Mistress Quickly stopped. ‘What do you mean, “gone too”?’
‘He . . .’ Dr Leone swallowed. ‘I’m afraid your brother has been kidnapped, signora.’
Mistress Quickly went chalk-white. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Last night he was lured into an assignation with someone, but it was a trap. He was abducted.’
‘What! Why didn’t you tell us?’ cried Mistress Quickly. ‘Last night, you say! But that’s hours ago! How long have you known!’
‘Since . . . since . . . er . . . last night. We ... we are trying to find him.’
‘We? Is that where Ned’s gone, Dr Leone?’ said Celia. ‘To find him?’
‘No ... no ... He .. . Well, he wanted to tell you and Mistress Quickly last night about what happened to Mateo, but I... I persuaded him it wasn’t a good idea. I’ve sent him to the mainland, to my house in Arqua. I thought he’d be safe there. . . . You see,’ said Dr Leone in a rather small voice, as the eyes of the two women fixed
The Madman of Venice Page 13
