Belladonna (8 page)

Footsteps sounded on the main staircase. Siena burst into the portego with Cass’s chopines dangling from one hand. She froze when she saw Dubois. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she backed quickly against the wall.

“And what man is that?” Cass asked, raising her chin and meeting Dubois’s stare. What other poor unfortunate soul had crossed the Frenchman and ended up sentenced to death?

“Signor Carmino, the estate butler. I was very surprised to find out he had been . . . harassing several female members of my staff. I assume he was trying to court Signorina Garzolo.” Dubois examined his nails. “Things must not have gone his way.”

Cass fought a feeling of revulsion. She did not believe a single word that came out of Dubois’s mouth. “And did this man explain why he took the time to carve an X in the poor girl’s chest?” she challenged. If Dubois was going to send another innocent man to die, Cass wanted him to understand that she knew it.

Dubois raised his shoulders slightly. He managed to make even a shrug look regal. “Who can understand the mind of a criminal?” He sipped from his teacup. “The important thing is that Signor Carmino is going to hang for his crime. Justice will be served.” He set his cup down onto the gold-rimmed saucer with a delicate clink.

“Speaking of justice,” Cass said, her voice turning to acid, “perhaps you can explain to me why my fiancé was carted off to the Doge’s prisons the day after seeking an audience with you.”

Signor Dubois tilted his head just slightly. “Signorina Caravello,” he said piteously, reaching out toward her, “I can assure you I was as stunned to hear about his arrest as you were.”

Cass pulled her hand out of Dubois’s reach. “And are you also stunned to hear of his impending execution, just a month from today? Certainly you must not have known or you wouldn’t have been so cruel as to pay us a visit and speak so cavalierly of a hanging.”

“I apologize. I was unaware a sentence had already been handed down.” Dubois’s eyes flicked around the room. They landed on Siena, who was still pressed against the corner. She appeared to be growing paler with each breath. Soon she would fade completely into the white marble. “But actually I came here because I heard rumor that you or your lady’s maid might have heard from Feliciana Minorita, my missing servant.” Signor Dubois’s eyes went dark for a second; his voice dropped in pitch. “You see, I would do almost anything to have her back.”

Anything, including lie or kill,
Cass thought.

“Cassandra, is this true?” Agnese asked. “Has Feliciana been found?”

Cass shook her head quickly, praying that Siena wouldn’t collapse on the floor in a heap. “No, Aunt Agnese. Most likely, someone saw me talking to Siena and mistook her for her sister.”

The sisters looked alike from the back, or had anyway, before Feliciana’s hair had been shorn from her scalp. It was a plausible story, and Agnese seemed convinced. But Dubois was staring hard at Siena, as if he thought she might shatter under his gaze.

“Is there anything else we can help you with, Signor Dubois?” Cass asked quickly.

Dubois stood up, running a hand through his gray-streaked hair. “It is I who should be offering my assistance to you in this time of crisis,” he murmured. “Do contact me if you hear from Signorina Minorita. And of course, I am at your disposal if you think of anything I can do for you.”

Cass could think of several things she’d like Dubois to do, like stick his head in a canal and leave it there, but she kept quiet. After he left, she quickly filled her aunt in on what she had learned at Palazzo Ducale, leaving out the part about bribing Giovanni and the jailer. Agnese gave Cass a soft look. “Try not to worry. Truth is a pesky rodent. No matter how deeply it is buried, it will dig its way to the surface eventually.”

Cass sighed. Truth. No one seemed to care much about that.

She couldn’t bear the thought of Luca in prison. Who knew what might happen to him there? They could starve him or worse: torture him. She tried not to think of the table laden with coils of rope and blood-smeared daggers.

Instead, she forced down a quick supper and then returned to her bedroom, where she sat at her dressing table, staring at the tomb key. She had strung it onto the silver chain with her pendant, worried that it might simply vanish otherwise. Her fingers traced the outline of the lion figure, the swirls of its mane, the sharp points at the tip of each paw.

She flicked her eyes toward her bedroom window. Only blackness peeked back at her through the broken shutter. What she ought to do was just wait until tomorrow, to find the pages in the light of day. But Cass couldn’t stop thinking about them. Was there a side to her mother that she didn’t know about? Secrets hidden within the folds of parchment? Cass had to know.

The wall clock said it was almost nine. Was it late enough to sneak out of the villa undetected? She got up from the dressing table and went to the doorway. A soft glow of light came from the direction of the portego. Agnese didn’t spend much time out of her bedroom after dinner. It was probably Narissa or one of the other servants, doing some mending.

Cass decided to pay a visit to Feliciana before venturing out into the graveyard. If anyone caught her sneaking out, Agnese would have her head. Besides, Feliciana was probably hungry.

Concealing a small bundle of meat and cheese she had saved from dinner, Cass lit a candle and made her way to the portego. Sure enough, Narissa sat in a chair by the window, her knobby fingers working a needle and thread through one of Agnese’s fraying chemises.

“I’m just going down to the kitchen for a snack.” Cass held her arm tightly to her side, hoping Narissa would assume she was carrying her journal, as always. That would be a difficult trick to pull off if the napkin decided to unfold and spill food scraps all over the floor.

In the bobbing candlelight, Narissa’s face was a mix of sharp angles and deep lines. “All right, but stay inside.” Her voice softened. “I understand why you can’t sleep, Signorina Cass, but remember your aunt doesn’t like you wandering by yourself at night.”

Finally: something Cass and Agnese could agree on. Just the thought of venturing out into the quiet blackness made her heart start thrumming in her chest. She couldn’t believe some of the wild adventures she’d had with Falco. Traipsing around the Rialto in the dead of night unarmed—they were lucky they hadn’t ended up stabbed or worse.

It occurred to her that in only a few short weeks she’d become someone different, someone who wouldn’t even walk the grounds of her family’s private estate after sunset anymore. What would Falco think of the Cass who jumped at shadows and was afraid to venture beyond her villa door?

She reminded herself that he wasn’t there, to witness or to judge—he had chosen to leave. She knew it was selfish, almost outrageously so, for her to wish Falco had stayed in Venice to fight for her. Still, wasn’t love about sacrifice? Luca had put his studies on hold to spend time with her, after all.

Did that mean Luca loved her more than Falco did? It didn’t matter. Falco made her come alive in a way she didn’t think Luca ever would. But there was that moment at the Palazzo Ducale, when she had felt compelled to kiss Luca. It was just the drama, she decided. The clandestine meeting. The swell of emotions. Plus, Luca had risked his life for her, repeatedly. Even as he sat in prison awaiting his execution, his main concern was still for Cass’s safety and happiness. She loved him for that, but not in the way she loved Falco. Still, Luca had saved her, and now she had to save him. Everything else would come later, in time.

Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Narissa wasn’t eyeing her, Cass crept down the shadowy first-floor hallway that led to the storage area where Feliciana was hiding.

She knocked twice, so softly that she figured it was unlikely that Feliciana even heard her, but the door creaked open and Siena’s sister peeked out warily. She’d been at the villa for only two days, but already her face seemed less hollow, her eyes less sunken, as though she were a corpse that Cass and Siena were slowly bringing back from the dead.

“I brought you dinner.” Cass slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She handed the wrapped bundle of food to Feliciana, who unfolded it carefully.

“Thank you, Signorina Cass.” Feliciana crossed the damp stone floor and sat on her makeshift bed. “I didn’t know if I’d see you or Siena tonight.”

“We spent all day in the city.” Cass quickly relayed the story of Luca’s imprisonment and the trip to the Palazzo Ducale to speak on his behalf. Finally there was someone she could tell everything to. Feliciana wouldn’t lecture her about bribery. She’d be impressed.

And she was. Feliciana’s eyes got wider and wider as Cass spoke. “Luca da Peraga? A heretic? It’s laughable.” She ran a hand over the fuzz of blonde hair on her scalp. “Next they’ll be saying he’s the one who killed Sophia.”

Cass couldn’t help but notice how when Feliciana spoke Luca’s name, it felt completely different from when Siena did. She wondered whether Feliciana knew of her sister’s feelings for Cass’s fiancé. “Actually, a Signor Carmino has been found guilty of Sophia’s murder. Dubois took great pleasure in informing me of his execution.”

“What?” Feliciana practically screeched. “Signor Carmino may have been a flirt, but he was no murderer.”

Cass put a finger to her lips. “I know he didn’t do it. It was Dubois and his henchmen. And Dubois is also the reason Luca ended up in prison.”

Feliciana’s eyes narrowed. “How does your fiancé even know Joseph? Hasn’t Luca been living abroad for years?”

“He’s met with Dubois several times since he returned to town,” Cass said. “Including the day before he was arrested.”

“But why?” Feliciana asked. “Why would Luca meet with him? What aren’t you telling me?” She patted the crate next to her.

Cass lowered herself to the blanket-covered wood, wincing slightly. She hated the thought that Feliciana was forced to sleep on the rough crate, but she supposed it was better than directly on the damp floor, as nuns often did.

“It’s a long story.” Cass took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “A few weeks ago, my friend Liviana passed away. Do you remember her?”

Feliciana nodded. “She was always such a frail girl.”

“She was interred in the graveyard right outside the villa,” Cass continued. “When I went to visit her tomb, I noticed the door was open. I went inside and saw that the cover to her coffin was askew.” Cass looked down at her hands. She could feel her throat constricting, her voice tightening as she thought about Mariabella. “As I struggled to replace the lid, I couldn’t keep from glancing down at the body. It wasn’t Livi. It was a girl I’d never seen before, a girl with an X carved over her heart.” Slowly, the rest of the story spilled out. Cass running into Falco in the graveyard. Their murder investigation. How it led them to Angelo de Gradi’s workshop full of body parts in neatly arranged tin basins and Sophia’s body floating in the Grand Canal.

Cass’s throat grew dry as she spoke. “Falco and I, we—” She blushed.

Feliciana’s eyebrows shot up. “Signorina Cassandra! You’re telling me . . .” She trailed off, but the implication was obvious.

“No,” Cass said quickly. “But we kissed, and sometimes I think . . . I think I love him.
Loved
him,” she corrected. She continued her story before Feliciana could press for the intimate details. “At Madalena’s wedding I was lured into the wine room by a friend of Signor Rambaldo’s. His name is Cristian, and I believe he is the same Frenchman you saw at Palazzo Dubois. I didn’t know it at the time, but he’s actually Luca’s half brother. He tried to—” Cass swallowed hard. “I think he meant to kill me.” She finished by telling Feliciana about the deal Luca had struck with Dubois.

“The Order of the Eternal Rose. I may have heard that name mentioned by visitors to Palazzo Dubois.” Feliciana frowned. “How much does your aunt know?”

“Very little.”

Feliciana arched an eyebrow.

“Almost nothing,” Cass admitted. “She knows I was attacked at Madalena’s wedding, but she believes it was by a random thief. She knows nothing of the Order or Dubois’s involvement in the murders.”

“It’s quite a sordid tale.” Feliciana struggled to conceal a yawn.

“You’re tired,” Cass said, straightening up. Her knees ached, and her hands were covered with dust. “I should let you rest.” It was getting to be late enough that she could safely sneak outside. She could no longer put off venturing out into the graveyard in search of the sheaf of papers.

“I am tired,” Feliciana said. She blinked hard. After a moment she added, “Thank you for saving me. You and my sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“We’re glad you’re here.” Grabbing her lantern, Cass slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Cass passed back through the portego, noting with satisfaction that Narissa had retired for the night. The crypt key hung around Cass’s neck, cold against her flushed skin. All she needed was her cloak, she decided, heading for her bedroom.
That and a little courage.

Just as she slipped back into her chamber, something slammed against the glass of her window. Cass’s heart leapt into her throat. Was someone prowling the grounds of the villa? Falco had thrown rocks at her window once, but the pebbles had sounded like fingers snapping, rattling the panes ever so slightly. This was more like someone pounding on the glass with a fist.

Cass approached the window from an angle, as if she thought something might reach straight through it and grab her. She squinted at the grainy glass. Could a bird have flown straight into the windowpane? Or a bat?

She could just barely make out the fence of the graveyard and the rows of crypts behind. A chill crept up her spine. She hadn’t been to the graveyard since before Madalena’s wedding. Just the thought of the mist-shrouded air, the looming crypts, filled her head with horrible images. Cristian and the dead Mariabella sharing a deep kiss beneath the sliver of moon while Cass watched, terrified, unable to look away.