Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,18

her feet, roughly pushing him out of the gate. “Shut up!” she hisses.

“What?” he says. “What is it?”

Father leaps to his feet and grabs a pottery tumbler, throwing it after the boy, who ducks just in time. “Get out of our house with your vile words!” he calls after him. Bianca watches us, tears brimming at her eyes. Servant girls who lose their jobs can starve on the streets of this city.

“And you, Bianca,” Father says stiffly. “Never speak to that boy again.”

“I’m so sorry,” she gabbles. “I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.” She disappears into the gloom of the house, her sobs carrying on the air back to us.

I sink onto the bench that circles the olive tree. So, word is out. But not just any words—evil, twisted stories. I feel the eyes of my brother and father on my face, but I cannot erase the worry that I know must crease my brow.

“It’s all lies,” Father says. “Isn’t it, Laura?”

“Laura?” Lysander asks quietly.

“Of course it is! Roberto could never harm anyone.”

“Rumors always dog Venice,” Father blusters. “Half of them are nonsense.”

My brother sinks to his knees before me and takes my hands. “I don’t mean what that boy just repeated. But Roberto and this dead woman—do you know anything? Last night, you …”

I pull my hands free. “You cannot ask these things,” I whisper.

Father shakes his head in disgust, and turns away. “I cannot afford my family’s reputation to be tainted in this way. Association with a murderer!”

“I’m going to get that boy back here,” Lysander announces, running into the house. “Find out the truth!”

I follow him into the shade, and watch from the main doorway as Lysander races down the drive after the boy. He takes him by the shoulder, and drags him back to stand before me. The boy stares hard at his feet.

“What did you hear?” Lysander asks. “Tell us.”

The boy shakes his head, but Lysander gives his ear a sharp slap.

“Tell us!”

The boy’s started crying, but he tells us his story. As he talks, there is a movement beside me, and a cool hand slips into mine. It’s Emilia. I give her a grateful smile as she places an arm around my shoulders. Together with Lysander, we listen. The boy tells us of the whispers about Roberto’s bloodstained hands, the corpse on his floor, the running feet of the guards and the shouts of horror that emerged from Roberto’s open doorway. Thankfully, there is no detail of a woman escaping from a first-floor window.

As the boy’s words falter to an end, I lean heavily against the doorway. Lysander’s face is serious and even Emilia looks worried. From inside the house, we can hear Father shouting.

Lysander slips a few coins to the boy and sends him on his way.

“He’s just a child,” Emilia says. “He’s probably made the whole thing up.” She tries to make her voice bright, but she doesn’t fool me.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

My brother is shaking his head. “No, it’s impossible. He knows too many details for something he’s made up.”

Father has arrived to stand behind us. “Is my family ruined again?” he asks plaintively.

Lysander shrugs and attempts a smile. “If Roberto is innocent, I’m sure there’ll be an explanation.…”

“But until then, you’ll continue to believe the worst?” I say. “Is that it?”

My brother reaches for my arm, but I pull back and walk on my own into the house.

10

I dress quickly, with Faustina fussing around me and asking question after question.

“What’s happened, my sweet?” she gently inquires as she draws the ribbons on my corset. “The servants are whispering the most scandalous things.” She gives an extra hard tug. “To think of Roberto coming to this!”

“Roberto’s come to nothing,” I say. “These are all silly rumors. I will see Roberto and I will find out what’s at the bottom of this.”

I have grown so much braver since leaving the convent, but this is a new test I never thought to face. I must be strong for Roberto. I have to be.

Only one person can share the truth with me—Roberto. And to get to him, I must be granted an audience by the Doge. A lacquered black-and-gold gondola takes me to his palace. I pay with a few coins and step up onto the wide pavement. It’s the exact spot where once I saw a painter at work. I was fresh out of the convent, still as innocent and naive as any of the girls brought up by nuns. The man