Heart of Glass (19 page)

“Look at you!” she gasps. She strokes a hand over my gathered skirts and then touches one of the earrings
hanging from my earlobes, marveling at the gemstones. “Sapphires?” she asks. I nod, smiling. She shakes her head in amazement. “Just look at you. You’re like a lady now.” Again, she laughs. “What am I saying? You
are
a lady!” Her smile suddenly fades and she takes my hands. “But I’ve heard … you know how gossip comes to us, from those we take in and shelter.… Is it true what they say?”

I sigh. “Don’t listen to Venice’s gossip, Annalena. You should know better than that—a good sister like you!”

My friend’s cheeks color with embarrassment. “I’m not so very good,” she says quietly.

Darling girl. Does she have any idea of the corruption that lies outside this convent? But time is pressing. “Annalena, can you take me to the Abbess?”

She looks surprised. “If that’s what you want,” she says, getting to her feet. I stand up too, and we walk past the rose gardens towards the Abbess’s rooms. It was a walk I always dreaded, and some of the old fear creeps over me now. But I straighten my back and shrug it off. She has no power over me any longer. I can walk back into the daylight at any time.

The Abbess is sitting in her usual place, as if she’s never moved in all those months since she dismissed me. Above her head hangs the painting of a lion, the Agliardi Vertova family crest. There is her Bible, the lettering picked out in gold. I clear my throat, and the older woman glances up. I wait for one of her usual chastisements, but instead her face melts into a warm smile. Most disconcerting.

“Laura,” she says, getting up to move from behind her desk. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Her sour mouth suggests it’s anything but.

“Abbess.”

“You’ve changed,” she says as her eyes range over the curls heated and set around my temples. Her forehead creases in a frown of disapproval.

“You haven’t,” I say. The words tip out of me before I can stop them, and we both look at each other for a moment, shocked. Then the Abbess has the good grace to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I know what you mean. Time moves more slowly inside the House of Mary and the Angels. Now, what can I do for a fellow sister?”

She smiles, and it takes me a moment to realize the meaning of her words. For she was never a sister to me here. She can only mean some other kinship that we share.

“You too?” I ask. Somehow—even now—she makes me feel small and foolish.

“That’s right, Laura. I was a member of the Segreta long before you even knew it existed.”

“The society’s range is wide,” I say. “I just didn’t realize how wide.”

“Come, come,” the Abbess says, striding towards the door. “You want to see the girl, I presume.”

Before I can respond, she is already out of the room, her footsteps ringing on the flagstones of the corridor.

We arrive at the doorway of a tiny cell, and I need to duck my head to step inside. A girl sits on the edge of a bed. She looks up at our entrance, the whites of her eyes two unearthly pools in the gloom.

“Call me if you need anything,” the Abbess whispers to me. Then she is gone, closing the door behind her and shutting most of the light from the room.

The girl scrambles back on the bed, bunching her knees up to her chin. Her hair hangs in greasy tresses, and I can see bruises along her arms. Someone has restrained her forcefully. She’s like a terrified animal, ready to run or attack. She watches my face.

I take a tentative step farther into the room, and a moan of fear erupts from the girl.

“Please don’t be afraid,” I tell her. No response. From the girl’s dark skin and eyes, I can see that she is not Venetian. But haven’t I seen a flash of those eyes before?

“Do you understand me?” I ask gently. No response. I try again in different languages—the French I’ve been learning since leaving the convent, and the Latin I knew too well within—asking the girl where she is from. Nothing. Her limbs are shaking. What can I do? I cannot leave here without information. I’m risking all my links with the Segreta just to be standing here now.

“Do you know anything of a woman called Aysim?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

Suddenly, there’s a reaction. Her eyes blaze and she leaps up, standing on the bed, her hands balled into fists as she glares down at me. She looks fierce and proud and absolutely unwilling to tell me any of her secrets.

I push on. “Prince Halim, Aysim’s brother, is distraught. His sister …” I hesitate, then instead ask the question that’s been haunting me ever since I stepped into this room. It may just be enough to get this girl to speak. “I know you, don’t I? I’ve seen you before—that night on Murano, at the glassworks. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Something inside the girl seems to break. Her knees buckle, and she collapses back onto the bed. I rush to stand
over her. Her breathing is shallow, and when she speaks it’s in French.

“Some water?” she asks in a cracked voice. “Please?”

“Of course.”

I step out into the corridor, to the table that carries a jug of water and a pile of wooden tumblers. I pour water into one, and take it back to the girl’s room.

“Here,” I say, holding the glass out as I duck my head beneath the doorway. But my word echoes back at me from the empty room. I rush to the open shutters, but the girl is already at ground level ten feet below, limping along the street. “Come back!” I shout.

She doesn’t even turn around.

26

I race out of the cell and down the walkway, past two panicked-looking nuns in conversation. Heaving open the main door to the convent, I spill out into the street, then follow the perimeter wall to where I guess the cell’s window looks out. Wisteria clings to the wall here, sturdy enough for a slight woman to climb down. I reach the corner where I last saw her and look up and down a street thick with Venetians going about their business.

“Have you seen a girl with dark skin, about this tall?” I ask a passing man.

He sends me a lascivious smile. “I see many girls,” he jokes. “I can see you too, if you like.”

I turn my back on him, walking a few more paces. But it’s no good. The roads and alleys are labyrinthine here, and she could have taken any of them. I turn and march back into the convent. What a fool I’ve been! I lied in order to meet this girl, and now she has fled. I’ve scared her away, and when news gets back to Allegreza … I dread to think.

“Put a message out!” I say as I enter the Abbess’s rooms. “Our bird has flown.” The Abbess’s glance darts towards me from the pages of her Bible.

“I don’t take orders from you,” she says.

“This isn’t about rank,” I snap. “You are one of us. Help, or suffer the consequences. A missionary post in the Far East, perhaps? A woman of your experience would surely be able to work wonders out there.” I hate myself for the satisfaction I feel in seeing that my bluff has worked—a flicker of horror passes over the Abbess’s features.

“Of course I’ll help,” she says, lowering her voice.

My muscles relax. “Tell all the convents in Venice. If that girl turns up, I want to hear about it. Bring a message to me specifically. The convents are not to give her sanctuary. Understood?”

The Abbess bows her head. “Happy now?”

“This isn’t personal.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Her face twists in a smile full of bitterness. “It never was.”

As I leave the convent, I hear a scuffle behind me and then I feel a hand tugging at the sleeve of my dress. It’s Annalena.

“Weren’t you going to say goodbye?” she asks.

I pull her to me in an embrace. I had again forgotten my old friend. I kiss her eyes and brush a hand down a cheek. My insides twist with guilt. I have been dancing, sword-fighting, dressing in fine robes. And all the time, my lay sister has been locked inside these four walls. I should have thought about her before now.

She walks me to the main doors and kisses my hands. “It has been good to see you again,” she tells me.

“And you will see more of me,” I reassure her, though I wonder if I am deceiving us both.

Annalena smiles sadly. “We’ll see.”

It hasn’t been a happy visit, and all the sugared almonds in the world won’t make up for the wretchedness of my friend’s fate.

I head straight back to Allegreza’s apartments. I must be the first to tell her, and I can feel my heart palpitating as though it wants to jump out of my chest. I can hardly think.

So there were two girls that night on Murano. Of course Aysim wouldn’t travel alone. This stray must be her servant, or her friend. She must have answers.

At Allegreza’s house, the old servant lets me in again, and my skin prickles with anxiety.

“They’re in the parlor,” she says.

And then I’m at the doors, and my thumping heart almost stops. For it isn’t only Allegreza in the room. Others from the Segreta, at least ten, including Grazia, are ranged about. To anyone else, it would look like a gathering of well-to-do ladies taking tea. But my eyes travel among the aging faces, and see they all wear the silver rings on their middle fingers. These are the most senior of our number.

“Well?” Allegreza says. “What brings you here?”

I bite my lip. “I went to the convent.”

Women exchange startled glances. The temperature of the room seems to drop. “What?” Allegreza’s fury is not far from the surface of her face.

“Forgive me, please. I wanted to find out her secret! Roberto, his reputation—his life!—depend on it. I was just trying to do the right thing.”

Allegreza nods to her servant, who closes the doors.

“She wouldn’t speak to me at first,” I continue, “but when I mentioned Aysim she became angry and defensive. I told her about Halim’s distress and I also told her that … that I knew her.” Several of the women frown in confusion. “When I was disturbed at the meeting on Murano … it was her, I’m sure of it. I’m sorry I went against your orders, but …”

Allegreza’s lips are pale, her eyes dark and deadly. “And what did you learn, Laura?”

And so we come to it. In a halting voice, I tell her of the escape, and with each word my shame grows. The glares I receive tell the same story. None of these women would have made the same foolish mistake.

Our leader turns her back on me and addresses the other women in a trembling voice. “You’ve heard what happened. It is of primary importance that this woman be found again. I ask you all to do what you can. You have contacts, you know the city’s secrets. Talk, persuade, bribe—whatever it takes. But find out where this girl is!”

The women nod and begin to filter from the room, leaving me with Allegreza. She still has her face turned away from me.

“I specifically forbade you to go to that place,” she says, her voice cold. I don’t know what to say in response. Finally, she turns and the curl of disgust at her mouth makes the blood drain from my face. “You can go now.”

I think about speaking once more, but what can I offer but pleading and excuses? I leave, back into the harsh daylight of a city that no longer seems to be my friend.

I’ve failed Allegreza, and I’ve failed the Segreta.

But worst of all, I’ve failed Roberto.

27

“Chaos,” Father grumbles. His eyes dart over to see if I’m listening—clearly he has something on his mind. “Nothing but chaos.”

We’re dining, just the two of us, as Lysander and Emilia are visiting friends. The food turns to mush in my mouth, and I struggle to swallow. I cannot stop thinking about how badly I performed today. But I must humor my father.

“What do you mean?”

He pours himself a glass of wine and drinks it down greedily, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he shrugs. “People are talking.”

“People are always talking in Venice,” I say.

He watches my face carefully. “Yes, but this is different. There are men who …” He allows his words to hang in the air.

“Men who what?” My nerves are suddenly alert. “Is this about the Grand Council? What have they been saying?”

Father twists a napkin round and round between his knuckles. He hangs his head to one side, as though unsure about what to share with a simple woman.