those in the corridor, hung scrappily between doorways along with leather shields bearing faded coats of arms. The overall impression was one of indifferent luxury such as I had never encountered. I’d often wondered what lay behind the windows of the nobiles’ houses; what the interior would be like. I’d never imagined it to be so vast, so lush, so colourful and yet, so used. The room whispered to me of antique wealth and manners, of business that was, as yet, beyond my ken. It was breathtaking in its richness and decadent as well. So many empty chairs, so many tables that did nothing but display beautiful objects. The painted faces looking down their aristocratic noses from the walls made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t belong here. But then, I didn’t really belong anywhere, not even in Pillar and Quinn’s dark little house either. Within seconds, I had drunk my fill of the room and yet remained thirsty. I had so many questions.
In the time it took to store these impressions, someone approached obscured by a haze of fragrant smoke. It was Signor Ezzelino Maleovelli. He wasn’t much taller than me and leant to one side. His cane marked the rhythm of his advance. He bowed. I could see his thick silver hair cascading over the crown of his head and curling down his back. As he straightened, his eyes met mine and it was all I could do not to tremble. They were cold eyes – like the fish I used to see displayed on market days. How could a living being have such eyes? He stood in front of me and brazenly studied my form.
‘Bella,’ he said approvingly, and then spoke over his shoulder to the people behind him. ‘What do you think? Don’t stand back there – come and be formally introduced.’ Signor Maleovelli waved them forward, wisps of smoke providing direction.
The light in my eyes meant I could not see them clearly until they stepped into his shadow. The first to be introduced was a corpulent young man who was not only hunched, but rolled as he walked, as if there was something in his shoe. I couldn’t help but glance at his feet, but they were obscured by his togati. He paused before me and bowed. Again, I curtsied.
‘This is my nephew, Jacopo. He lives with us here at Casa Maleovelli and is responsible for maintaining the family history, accounts and general housekeeping. He is, you will discover, quite a scholar.’ Jacopo dropped his eyes modestly, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth revealed something less attractive. ‘Jacopo, this is the newest addition to our household, Signorina Tarlo. From hereon you will not only be helping us instruct her, but you will also manage her affairs.’
‘Sì, Zio Ezzelino. Signorina Tarlo, it’s a pleasure to meet you, finally … cousin.’
I hesitantly raised my eyes, but instead of the usual expression of fear, he was gazing at me the way I used to see Quinn study the soldi collected in her tin. He had a long face and nose with pale skin stained by dark whiskers. He also possessed his zio’s eyes.
‘Prego,’ I said.
‘Cousin, you’re most welcome,’ he murmured in a rather high voice for someone so large, and stepped aside.
‘Grazie.’ I waited.
I finally caught a glimpse of the other man who replaced Jacopo by Signor Maleovelli’s side. He was shorter in stature and wider in girth. I stifled a gasp and had to dissemble quickly. His face was discoloured by livid green and purple contusions. A gash divided his lip and his left cheek was badly swollen. Both eyes were encircled by puffy dark flesh that bled into a sickly yellow at his temples. I knew all too well what those marks signified. Memories I’d managed to all but suppress flooded into my head. He’d suffered a terrible beating. Yet Signor Maleovelli, Jacopo and Giaconda acted as if they did not notice or did not care. I wondered who had administered such pain. My heart contracted. I swallowed and offered him a slight, clumsy curtsy. He returned a surprisingly elegant bow that allowed me to see his broken, cut fingers as one hand rested across his waist.
Despite the wounds he carried and which disfigured his face, there was something disturbingly familiar about him.
He looked first at Signor Maleovelli, then Giaconda, before resting his eyes on me, his head tipped towards his shoulder. A smile played on his ruined lips and a tiny flash