And suddenly the streets were full of people again, running past her wildly, shouting, ‘Incendio! Incendio!’
There was panic in the air and a red glow on the horizon, growing brighter and brighter by the minute, and looking up she saw that the Palazzo Ducale was burning. The wickedly triumphant flames were leaping high into the sky where they crackled and burned across the nightmare black. She ran forward to help but before she could reach the palazzo, everything changed again and she stood still, bewildered and uncertain, not knowing which way to go. Without the fire, she could see nothing save a dark silhouette of buildings.
And then the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She felt her flesh crawl with horror as she knew with all her senses that there was someone—some thing—behind her. It was waiting in the shadows, biding its time, taunting her, playing with her like a cat with a mouse. It was a frightening thing, a glorious thing, a wonderful thing, a terrifying thing. And old. She was drawn to it, but she mustn’t go to it, she mustn’t, she mustn’t…
She resisted its pull and backed away, crying, ‘No!’ as she did so.
She felt it laugh and then grow stronger, exerting more pressure, bending her will.
‘No!’ she cried again.
She picked up her skirts and turned and ran, through the streets, across the canals, pursued by its relentless force, dark and malign.
On she went, past the Doge’s palace, with the ghosts who haunted its bridge clutching at her. She put her hands to her ears in an effort to stop the sound of their sighing, their terrible sighing.
‘No! No! No!’ she cried.
‘Yes,’ came a whisper in the wind. ‘You are mine, my love, my bride, my Serenissima.’
On she ran, with the waters rising all around her, creeping out of the canals, oozing and alive, crawling into the streets, following her, pursuing her, and giving chase.
‘Acque alte!’ she called.
‘Elizabeth!’
‘Acque alte! Acque alte!’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Darcy again, shaking her. ‘Elizabeth, wake up. It’s a dream, my love, it’s nothing but a dream.’
The waters stopped and listened to him, and then slunk back, slithering into the canals like supple snakes, and Darcy was there beside her, a gateway back to the real world. He was bending over her and shaking her gently, his tousled hair falling into his eyes and onto the white fabric of his ruffled nightshirt. As she emerged from the strange dream world, he sank into a chair and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her to him, and she was in her bedroom once more, where the candles blazed and the fire glowed and all was peaceful and secure.
‘Ssshh,’ he said soothingly, his arms around her and his warmth wrapping her round.
‘Oh, it’s you, it’s you!’ she sobbed in relief. ‘I was so frightened! The streets were awash, the Palazzo Ducale was burning, and I had lost you, I had lost you… I looked and looked but I couldn’t find you anywhere.’
‘Hush, my love, it was nothing. Nothing but a dream.’
She put her arms round his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her heart began to slow and to resume its steady beating. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his nightshirt and gave a sigh as the last of the dream flowed out of her, then turned her face up to his. She was surprised to see that he looked troubled.
‘What is it?’ she asked, lifting her hand and stroking its back across his cheek.
Now that she was safe, the dream was receding and she felt foolish for having been so frightened.
‘Nothing,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it, then turning it over and kissing her palm and then her wrist. ‘It is just that I am surprised, that’s all. How did you know about the floods? And how did you know that the Venetians called them the acque alte?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Someone must have told me, Giuseppe perhaps,’ although she could not recall his having done so.
‘And the fire? How did you know about the Palazzo Ducale catching fire?’
‘I didn’t. I thought it was just in the dream. Did it really burn?’
‘Yes, it did, a long time ago. Centuries ago.’
‘Then someone must have told me about it, or perhaps I read about it somewhere.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said, but his mood was sombre.
‘It was nothing, my love,’ she said, and now she was comforting him. ‘A nightmare, that is all.’