The Second Duchess (17 page)

“
S
he has been taken to the Saint Catherine Tower.” The duke spoke softly, so the people around us could not hear. “One of my physicians is attending her.”

The duke’s majordomo—Count Niccolò Tassoni, who was Paolina’s own grandfather, although from his icy demeanor one never would have known it—had stepped in so quickly most of the people in the salon never realized what had happened. A gesture from Count Niccolò to the duke, a nod from the duke to the musicians, and the music was louder and gayer. Paolina was whisked away. Servitors appeared as if by magic to tidy every trace of disarray. Those who had seen her swoon were assured it was nothing; too much wine perhaps, poor lady. All she needed was a quiet place to recover herself.

“I wish to go to her, my lord,” I said as forcefully as I could while keeping my voice to a whisper. “You know it was not just wine that affected her so terribly. She was—”

“Stop.” His expression was impenetrable. “We will not discuss it now. It is impossible for you to leave the Festival so early—it would only create further talk.”

I looked around the salon. At the house of Taurus, a life-sized gilded bull pawed the ground with a diamond-shod hoof; his head moved up and down, wisps of smoke erupted from his nostrils, and his horns were wreathed in jeweled flowers. The same pretty dark-haired girl in her white dryad’s robes continued to offer wine and confections, just as she had offered the dish of angelica to me.

I could not stop thinking about that dish of candied angelica.

What might she be able to tell me?

If I could take action, any action, I would not feel so helpless.

“May we walk, then, my lord?” I said. “I am intrigued by the mechanical devices, and I would like to examine them more closely.”

He looked surprised, and then, not unexpectedly, pleased. Anything to do with complex mechanisms and clockwork always interested him. “Of course, Madonna.”

I put my hand upon his wrist and we made our way about the room, leaving a swathe of bows and curtsies in our wake. I wanted to go straight to the house of Taurus, but I held my tongue and admired each sign in its turn. At the house of Aquarius the duke stopped. The device consisted of a charming gilded statue of Ganymede with a silver water-pitcher in his arms; the figure would lift the pitcher, pour out a stream of water, then turn its head from side to side as a breeze—Aquarius, despite its name, was one of the air signs—from a hidden source made its golden hair and silken draperies flutter. The mechanism controlling the flow of water through the device had apparently ceased to function properly, and a puddle was beginning to spread on the polished marble floor.

“Fetch Messer Lorenzino at once,” the duke said to one of his gentlemen. Then to me he said, “I wish to see this made right, Madonna. Go on, if you will, and I will rejoin you when I have consulted with Messer Lorenzino.”

“Yes, my lord,” I said, sweeping a curtsy and breathing a prayer of gratitude that the duke was such an admirer of anything mechanical. With my own ladies and several of the duke’s gentlemen attending me, I continued my progress around the room until I reached Taurus.

“
Bentornata, Serenissima
,” the attendant said. She had a soft, musical voice. “May I have the great privilege of offering you wine once again? A pastry or a candied fig, perhaps?”

“Have you no more of the angelica?” I said. “It is my favorite.”

“I am desolated, Serenissima, but no, there was only the one dish.”

I picked up a sugared almond and nibbled it. “That is odd,” I said. “There is so much of everything else. Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes, Serenissima. The angelica was not part of the original arrangement—angelica is an herb of the sun in Leo and has nothing to do with Taurus. But before the entertainment began, a kitchen girl brought it—she said I was to keep it aside and give it to you alone.”

“A kitchen girl,” I repeated. “Did you know her?”

“No, Serenissima.”

“Why did you take the angelica from her, then?”

She looked puzzled. “She wore the duke’s badge, the flaming fire and the
Ardet Aeternum
. She told me it was a special
delicatezza
.”

I cannot describe how I felt just at that moment. Overwarm of a sudden, then chilled, then dizzy as if I had drunk too much wine. I knew what she was going to say next before she said it.

“For you and no one else.” The girl’s dark eyes were clear and earnest. “From the duke himself.”

 

 

I DO NOT know how long I stood there, transfixed as if I had looked into the eyes of Medusa. It must have seemed longer than it was, because no one appeared to find anything amiss. Finally, with great effort, I thanked the girl, gestured to Christine to fill another cup of wine for me, and made my way back to the grotto of Venus.

There common sense reasserted itself. Of course the mysterious kitchen girl had worn the duke’s badge; such a thing could be stolen or fabricated. Of course she said the dish of angelica was from the duke; it was the obvious way to disarm suspicion. There was simply no reason for the duke to wish to poison me. Even if I angered him, I was useful: with his marriage to me came my brother Maximilian’s favor, and although he held Ferrara as a papal fief, he was duke in Modena and Reggio as an imperial vassal. For those cities it was Maximilian alone who could grant him the title of grand duke and the precedence that accompanied it. More than that, I was the potential mother of a half-imperial heir.

Ridiculous—I would not even think of it.

I had no desire to dance again, nor to look at any more of the duke’s marvels. All I wanted was to see Paolina, reassure myself she would recover, and then undress and curl up in my bed with Tristo and Isa. The music, the heat of the torchères, the rippling colors of the dancers’ costumes, the thick scents of honey and herbs and wine, exotic perfumes and dance-warmed sweat, were becoming almost too much to bear.

At last the duke returned. “I beg your pardon for abandoning you, Madonna,” he said. “Have you seen the rest of the devices?”

“I have, my lord, and it has tired me. I have no more stomach for dancing and celebration—may I retire?”

“We shall both retire.” He lifted one hand and the music stopped. The dancers stumbled on a step or two in the silence, then stopped as well. All eyes sought the dais.

“We wish you a good night.” The duke did not raise his voice, but I was sure every person in the salon heard him. He held out his hand to me; I put my own hand upon his wrist, and we left the Salone dei Giochi. I heard the music begin again behind us, picking up the same bar with which it had left off.

“It would please me,” he said as we walked, “if you would come to my apartments tonight.”

His voice was calm and pleasant, as if he had never threatened me, never beaten me, never forbidden me to leave the palace without his consent. As if one of my ladies-of-honor had not collapsed in convulsions an hour before, after eating a confection meant for me. I wondered what he would say if I refused, although of course I did not dare.

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” I said, making my voice as serene as his. “Allow me a little time, if you please, to undress and prepare myself.”

We reached the door to the Jupiter chamber. He stopped. Christine and Nicoletta stepped forward and pushed the door open.

“I shall expect you shortly,” he said.

 

 

I SLIPPED OUT of my apartments again as soon as the duke’s party had gone, with only Christine to attend me. I found Paolina in the Saint Catherine Tower, in a room less than half the size of my own bedchamber, with four narrow pallets and a single high shuttered window. A lamp flickered on a chest behind the far pallet, throwing misshapen shadows around the figure crouched beside it. The ghastly smells of sickness were unmistakable.

“You there,” I said, “are you the physician?”

The figure turned its head, and to my surprise I recognized Maria Granmammelli, the duke’s old nurse. She straightened, casting even more sinister shadows in the tiny room. “That I am not,
Austriaca
, though this poor child would’ve been better served if her grandfather had called me first instead of that fool of a physicker.”

I crossed myself. “She is not dead?”

“Not yet, though no thanks to the physician. Nor to that grandfather of hers, who poked his head in just long enough to call for a priest.”

I pushed between the chests and coffers, careless of my rich costume, and knelt beside the pallet. Paolina’s face was ghostly pale in the wavering light, her eyes sunken in their sockets; the gleam of holy oil was visible on her forehead, eyelids, and lips. I laid one hand on her cheek and found it cold.

“She’s not regained her wits,” Maria Granmammelli said, “so she couldn’t repent her sins properly, poor poppet. But the priest anointed her and said the prayers, and that’ll have to do.”

I crossed myself again and murmured a prayer of my own.

“She needed plain warm oil right away,” the old woman said. “Lots of it, boiled up with mulberry bark and mixed with water, so she could cast up what she’d taken while she still had the strength. What she got was bleedings and powdered unicorn’s horn in wine and a string of amethyst stones on her belly. Physicians! Useless, the lot of them.”

“I should have come sooner.” I stroked Paolina’s hair; it felt rough and dry under my fingers. My throat felt tight and my eyes blurred. I whispered, more to myself than to Maria Granmammelli, “She is in my household. I should have come no matter what she did. No matter what the duke said.”

The old woman squinted at me. “Candied angelica it was, or so I hear. ’Twouldn’t surprise me if ’twas meant for you,
Austriaca
, not her.”

That was what I was trying not to think of. I felt shocked, shocked to the bone, and sad, and angry, and frightened, but if I were to be honest with myself, what I felt most of all was relief—guilty relief.
Not me, not this time, please God, thank you Holy Virgin, I am still alive and warm and breathing, seeing and feeling and touching . . . .

“It could have been an accident,” I whispered. “Perhaps the angelica itself was tainted, or something noxious was introduced by chance. Or perhaps it was not the angelica at all. She was drinking wine as well.”

“You may be a fool,
Austriaca
, but you’re not that much a fool.”

I stroked Paolina’s hair again, then straightened. “I will return in the morning. Stay with her, do everything you can do for her, and tomorrow you will have five silver
diamanti
.”

Her little eyes glistened. “Even if she dies?”

“Do your best for her. But yes, even if she dies.”

“A bargain,
Austriaca
,” the old woman said. “And if I was you, I’d have my food tasted from now on.”

“An excellent suggestion,” I said. “Good night, Maria Granmammelli.”