Belladonna (12 page)

Cass was given the smaller room on the upper level of the house. Unlike parts of Venice, where first floors were unlivable because of the moisture that seeped up through the rock, the palazzos in Florence had actual cellars, which housed the wine and foodstuffs along with most of the serving staff. The upper level was usually for the senior staff: the butler, the head gardener, and the ladies’ maids.

Cass’s chamber was empty except for a bed, a washing table, a ratty old chair behind the door, and a dusty painting of the Virgin Mary on the wall. The floor was in need of a good sweeping, but otherwise the room was satisfactory, though it lacked an armoire, meaning Cass would have to live out of her trunk. As she perched on the edge of the small bed, she again felt a pang of loneliness for Slipper. Narissa had promised to attend to him while Cass was gone, but he was used to being spoiled, and Narissa would put a stop to that immediately. She had probably already put him to work in the butler’s pantry as a mouser. Cass smiled to herself. If Slipper did manage to catch a mouse, he’d be more likely to play with it than eat it.

Someone knocked loudly at her door and she jumped up, hoping it would be a servant offering her something warm to eat or drink. No such luck. It was the driver of the carriage, with her trunk. He dragged it unceremoniously into her room and left it sitting by the wall.

Cass pulled out her journal and checked to be sure the leather bundle of parchment was still hidden at the very bottom of her trunk, beneath her skirts and stays. It was. She dragged the old chair over to her washing table and pushed the basin for soaking collars and chemises back toward the wall. This would work just fine for writing in her journal. Now to find some ink.

She wandered back down to the
piano nobile,
the main floor of the palazzo, where she saw that the carriage drivers had just finished unloading the servants’ small trunks. Marco’s attendant, Rocco, was offering to carry Feliciana’s to her room for her. Cass raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a smile. Even skinny and bald, Feliciana managed to attract the attention of every man she met. A servant hurried by, and Cass asked for a pot of ink.

Ink in hand, she returned to her small room and sat down at her makeshift desk. She turned to a blank page and began to write.

The tip of her quill punctured the parchment. Cass realized her hands were trembling. She was thinking of the dream again, of being buried alive. It was almost worse than the dream of being attacked by Cristian. She wondered why she was being plagued with nightmares every time she closed her eyes. She laid the quill down on the washing table.

The letter from Falco poked out of the back of her journal. Cass resisted the urge to unfold it and read it for the thousandth time. His soft words would soothe her, but she was here to save Luca. He had led Cass here, to Florence. Now she just had to find the Book of the Eternal Rose, or at least Hortensa. Cass didn’t know if the donna was a member of the Order, but her husband was. Even if Hortensa refused to recant her testimony, she might say something useful. Something that could give Cass a place to start looking for the book.

Hooves thundered just outside her window. Cass peeked out, surprised to see not only a carriage passing by, but also seven or eight men mounted on horseback—servants, from the looks of their simple attire—riding alongside it. Silver bells hung from each horse’s bridle, jangling loudly as the group rode by. The handful of peasants still gathered around the statue in the piazza turned to watch the procession before returning to their conversation.

A boy wearing a leather doublet and a hat pulled low over his face appeared at the far side of the piazza. Cass watched him stumble across the cobblestones, a canteen dangling from one hand and a roll of parchment from the other. He could have been anyone—a student, a messenger—but Cass saw the parchment and could think only of artists, and of Falco. Midway across the piazza, the boy weaved dangerously and nearly bumped into one of the peasants.

Another carriage rolled by, horses whinnying sharply as whips cracked down on their hindquarters. Four men on horseback followed the carriage. One hollered a greeting to the peasants as he rode past.

Cass sat on the windowsill and gathered her skirts around her. She might not get much rest here, but at least Florence was more interesting than being isolated out on San Domenico Island. And the signora was right. The streets might be bare, but the piazza seemed to be full of traffic at all hours of the day.

Someone out there would be able to help her in her quest. Cass was certain of it. Hortensa Zanotta and the Book of the Eternal Rose were both in Florence, and Cass was determined to find them.

The next morning, Cass awoke with the lily necklace tangled in her hair. As she gently unsnarled the tendrils that had wrapped themselves around the clasp, she realized Luca’s execution was less than three weeks away.

After a quick breakfast, she persuaded Madalena to go to the giant square behind Palazzo Alioni with her. Surely in the Piazza del Mercato Vecchio she would find someone who knew Hortensa Zanotta. It wouldn’t be safe to just go asking about the Book of the Eternal Rose, not if the Florentine members were anything like Dubois, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep her eyes open for any sign of the Order.

Cass haunted the piazza all morning, interviewing merchants and scanning the crowds for a glimpse of Hortensa or the six-petaled flower symbol. At first, Madalena didn’t mind accompanying her. There were plenty of shops and stalls for her to frequent, all the while lamenting Marco’s absence.

“He told me he wanted a child. How are we supposed to do that if he doesn’t spend any time with me?” Mada wailed. She waved an onyx fan embellished with amethyst in front of her face.

Behind Madalena, her maidservant, Eva, rolled her eyes.

Cass stifled a smile. “It’s not as if he won’t return to the palazzo later,” she said soothingly.

“Later after I’m fast asleep.” Madalena snapped the fan shut and scrunched her face into a pout. “Why doesn’t he want to be with me? Is it so terrible?”

“Of course not,” Cass said. She was only partially listening. She had just caught sight of a tall blonde woman who reminded her of Hortensa. The woman was crossing in front of a stall selling jewelry from the Orient. “He’s probably just trying to impress your father by working so hard.”

Madalena sighed deeply but let herself get distracted by one of the storefront displays—a string of tiny pearls displayed on a bed of crushed velvet. “Let’s go in here,” she said.

“You go ahead,” Cass said. The blonde woman was nearly to the other side of the piazza. “I’ll be back. I thought I saw someone I know.”

Madalena shrugged but signaled for Eva to follow her into the jewelry store. Siena hurried across the square alongside Cass, expertly weaving her way through the crowded piazza like she was at the Mercato di Rialto. “Was it Hortensa?” she asked eagerly.

“Perhaps.” Cass wasn’t certain which of the shops the woman had gone inside. There was a bakery, a butcher shop, and a tailor all in the same area of the piazza. A donna would send her servants to buy meat or bread, Cass decided. She headed for the tailor. Maybe Hortensa was doing like Madalena and passing her time in Florence by seeing how much of her husband’s gold she could spend.

But the tailor’s shop was empty, except for a boy Cass’s age who looked up from the fabric he was cutting to give her an appraising glance. He had bright green eyes and wheat-colored hair that fell to his shoulders.

“
Scusi,
” Cass said. “I was looking for a blonde woman. Did she come in here?”

“Many blonde women come in here,” the boy said. “Personally, I like dark hair.” He winked and held up a bolt of satin. “Would you like to be fitted for a gown?”

Cass blushed. She stepped backward and nearly knocked a cloth-draped wooden form from its pedestal. Siena had been hovering just inside the door, fingering a display of lace cuffs and collars. She looked up in time to see Cass stumble, and tittered quietly.

“Perhaps another time,” Cass said. She could feel the boy’s eyes on her as she hurried back out to the piazza with Siena in tow.

“I think he liked you,” Siena teased.

Cass gave her a dark look. That was the last thing she needed—another boy to add to the mix. “I think he just liked my gold,” she said.

They tried the bakery next. The walls were painted a soothing pink, and the whole place smelled of olive oil and freshly baked bread. A three-tiered pastry platter sat on the countertop, each level filled with a different flavor of tart. The shop was empty except for the baker, who was wrapping up a purchase, and a woman who was arranging her coins on the counter, her back facing the door. She was tall and blonde, with an elaborately braided hairdo.

Cass froze for a second. Her heart pounded in double time as she approached the woman.

“Signorina Cass—” Siena had wandered up to the counter to admire the selection of pastries.

Cass held up a hand and Siena fell quiet. “Excuse me.” Cass gently touched the woman’s shoulder.

The woman looked up from the counter. “Yes?” she asked with a curious smile.

Cass’s heart plummeted into her stomach. It wasn’t Hortensa.

“
Mi dispiace
,” Cass murmured. “I thought you were someone else.”

The woman took her purchase from the baker and smiled again as she left the shop. Reluctantly, Siena turned away from the platter of tarts.

Cass pulled a copper coin from her leather pouch. “Let’s get a couple of pastries, shall we?” she said. “Then the morning won’t be a total loss.”

She paid the baker, who unfortunately had not heard of the Zanottas, for two pastries and handed the larger one to Siena. They returned to the square to find Madalena clutching a shiny golden box with a scarlet ribbon. “I bought the pearls,” she gushed. “Marco won’t mind. He’s been saying he wanted to take me shopping. This way I did all the work for him.”

Cass sighed. At least someone was getting something accomplished.

After dinner, Madalena frowned when Cass said she was heading to the piazza. “Again, Cass? I was hoping you might want to come with me to tea,” she said. “Stella’s gotten us an invitation to Palazzo di Alighieri. The signora is descended from the writer Dante.”

Cass had thoroughly enjoyed
La Davina Commedia
and would have loved to go to tea with Signora di Alighieri, but Luca had less than three weeks to live. “I really have to go back, Mada,” Cass said. “Luca is depending on me.”

Madalena frowned, and Cass could tell she wanted to say more. Mada probably thought Cass’s quest to save Luca was insane, and that Cass should just start to accept the reality that her fiancé would be executed.

She wasn’t ready to do that. She would never be ready.

So the two girls went their separate ways. Siena dutifully followed Cass out to the square and walked beside her as she continued going from shop to shop, asking the shopkeepers if they knew of Donna Hortensa Zanotta. Both a jeweler and a weaver were familiar with the name, but neither could tell Cass where she lived.

Feliciana found them at the hottest point of the afternoon. The sun shined down on the dark stones of the piazza, making the heat radiate up through the soles of Cass’s shoes. She fanned herself desperately, almost as warm as she had been the day she visited Luca in the Doge’s prison.

“The mistress and Madalena have returned from tea and want to know if you’ll be joining us for the evening meal,” Feliciana said. Turning to her sister, she added, “Signora Alioni thought maybe we could help her get caught up on washing the linens. Her washwoman is ill.”

Cass was starving, but she’d questioned only three-quarters of the shop owners and wanted to speak with all of them before the sun went down. She felt like if she left the piazza, she’d miss her one chance to find out something that could help Luca. Someone had to have seen the donna. “I’m just going to buy some bread from a vendor,” Cass said. “But go ahead, Siena. I’ll be all right.” She didn’t want to keep Siena from a chance to spend time with her sister.

“But Signorina Cass . . .” Siena flicked her eyes from Feliciana to Cass, her lips twisting into a frown. Finally she followed her sister back toward Palazzo Alioni.

Cass watched her leave and then returned to the bakery, where she bought a fresh loaf of bread and a crock of honey. Spreading her skirts around her, she sat on the low wall that ran around the periphery of the piazza and watched the people pass before her in all directions. Many of the women wore gloves, but Cass checked all the uncovered hands for rings with the flower insignia. When she finished eating, she tossed the remnants of her crust of bread to the cobblestones for the birds to pick at and resumed quizzing anyone who would listen to her about Hortensa. The sun passed across the sky and started to set, and still, Cass had learned nothing.

“The name Zanotta sounds familiar . . .” A tall woman with her hair wrapped into a high cone on her head fiddled with one of her lace cuffs. “A donna, you say? Is she related to the Padua Zanottas?”