“You two!” calls a gentle voice from the hallway. “Stop teasing an old man.”
Emilia steps into the room. She must have fallen asleep in her gown. The silk is crumpled, and there are other creases in her cheek from where it’s been pressed against a pillow. No matter—she still looks beautiful.
“My darling,” Lysander calls with an exaggerated flourish of the hand. “Come to me!”
Emilia ignores him and pads over to plant a kiss on my temple.
“Old man!” Father protests. “I’m not old!”
Emilia must have noticed the look on my face, because her brow furrows with concern. “What is it, sister?”
I feel privileged that Emilia already feels close enough to address me so. The strain of the past night weighs down on me and suddenly I feel my whole body shaking.
Emilia draws me to her. “Shush now, shush …”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lysander reaches across the table to take my hand. Father pours himself another drink.
“It’s nothing. Too much excitement.” I wave a dismissive hand through the air. “I’m tired, that’s all.” I wipe my eyes with the hem of my sleeve.
There’s a loud tutting noise, and Faustina hurries into the dining room, mopping spilt port from the table. “You should all get yourselves to bed,” she chides. “The servants will be up and at their duties soon. Do you want them to see you like this?” She throws me a pointed glance as if to say, What ails you, child? But I cannot answer any more questions and, weak as a lamb, I allow Emilia to lead me up the steps to my room, careful to keep Allegreza’s shawl wrapped tightly round my shoulders, its length covering the stains on my dress. I will have to hide it and dispose of it when I can.
Lost in a deep slumber, I find myself dreaming of Carina. I’m kneeling beside the water’s edge, gazing down at my reflection as it bobs and shifts with gentle waves. I can’t seem to look away, no matter how hard I try. Then the water parts and a hand thrusts up towards me, fingers clawing the air.
“Get away!” I try to yell, but my mouth won’t work. Then the hand’s around my throat, grasping my collar, trying to drag me down into the water. I struggle and fight back, but my body tips over, over.… With a rushed intake of breath I sit up in the bed, pushing the sheets back and scrambling up against the pillows. I gaze around me, failing to recognize my room until sense settles and I understand that it’s all been a bad dream. My nightdress is damp with sweat.
“Just a dream,” I tell myself. “Only a dream.”
I wait for my breathing to calm down; then I ease myself out of bed. I hear voices from the courtyard and quickly dress. I’ve slept late. Then the reality of the previous night hits me like a blow to the stomach. Roberto. The dead girl. It cannot be as it seems.
I wander outside and find our young maidservant Bianca is on the steps, weaving straw into hanging decorations for the garden. Lysander is sitting with Father. They’re both pale, and Lysander’s hair is not as neatly combed as usual. “Drink this,” he says to our father, pressing a tumbler into his hand.
“What is it?” I ask, drawing near.
Lysander smiles up at me. “Good morning, sister!”
“Don’t be so cheerful,” Father grumbles, “it hurts my ears.” He downs the concoction, and grimaces.
“It’s a mixture of milk, honey and lavender,” Lysander explains, crushing more lavender between the palms of his hands for a second drink. “It can soothe the soul of the devil himself.” Father is too busy rubbing his temples to pick up on the joke.
A messenger boy rushes into the courtyard, shielding his eyes against the sunshine. He clearly doesn’t see us grouped beneath the olive tree, for he goes to where Bianca sits on the steps. She puts aside her work and smiles up at him.
“Have you heard?” he asks. Immediately my senses jolt awake and I listen intently. Lysander has fallen silent also.
“What, you silly boy?” Bianca asks. She doesn’t even think to warn him that members of the household are close by.
“Murder!” he says.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and put a hand to my waist. I can hardly bear to hear what comes next. “A woman’s been killed in Venice. They say it was … it was … Roberto, the Doge’s son!”