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“You don’t know how lucky you are, Delfina, to be but
the daughter of a merchant,” she said with a sigh, remind­
ing me about my fictional family. “You can come here to the
city anytime you like, yet I cannot even go to the market­
place alone. And even when I am accompanied by my ser­
vants, it would be thought unseemly for me to bargain with
the shopkeepers. I must wait with the wagon and send a
man to do that for me.”
She shook her head and sighed more dramatically. “In­
deed, some days, I wish I had been born anything other than
a conte’s daughter!”
I was debating whether I should remind her that there
were hungry enough folks living at the fringes of the city
who would gladly trade places with her, when she caught
me by the arm and drew me closer.
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185
“Are you not excited, knowing you will be at the mas­
querade among all the nobles, though you are but a mer­
chant’s child?” she asked in delight. At my nod, she went
on. “You see, I have done a favor for you, have I not? And
now, Delfina, you must do one for me.”
“But, of course, Contessa,” I automatically agreed, though
I suspected from the secretive smile upon her face that this
might be no simple request. “What would you have me
do?”
“It is but a small task. I need you to deliver a message
for me.”
Abruptly, I recalled Esta’s remark about Bellanca, and
how the girl used to deliver messages for the contessa. At
the time, I had been certain that if I could but learn what
the messages contained and who their recipient was, much
would come clearer regarding Bellanca’s death.
Careful not to show any undue anticipation at this turn
of events, I replied, “Of course, Contessa. To whom shall I
carry this message?”
Her expression no longer merry, she glanced behind us to
make certain the driver was well out of earshot.
“First, you must swear that you will never tell anyone
what I have asked you to do,” she urgently whispered. “Nor
can you ever reveal the identity of the person to whom you
bring the message, lest word reach my cousin the duke. It
could prove dangerous for me, for the other person. Now
swear, Delfina!”
I hesitated, knowing that I must reveal all to the Mas­
ter . . . yet knowing, too, that if I gave my word, I could not
break it. But perhaps there would be another way I could
make certain that the Master would learn the truth without
my telling him outright.
Swiftly, I nodded. “I vow that I shall not speak of this to
anyone without your leave, Contessa,” I softly replied, mak­
ing the sign of the cross for good measure.
Seemingly satisfied, she released my arm. Then, with her
186
Diane A. S. Stuckart
free hand—Pio on his leash still tugged at the other—she
pulled a folded handkerchief from her bodice. She lightly
put it to her face, as if to pat away an unseemly bit of mois­
ture from her brow.
“There is a message sewn inside this cloth,” she mur­
mured. “In a moment, I shall drop it, and you must pick it
up. But do not return the handkerchief to me. Put it in your
sleeve, and I shall tell you what to do with it.”
Not waiting for my reply, she leaned away from me as if
to speak to Pio. Then, seemingly unnoticed, the cloth flut­
tered from her hand. I paused and snatched it from the cob­
bles almost before it landed, tucking it into my sleeve as
she’d instructed.
“Very good,” she said with a sidelong glance at me.
“Now, listen to my plan. Before we reach the castle gate, I
shall climb upon the cart again and bid you farewell, as if
you were staying behind in the city. You will wait for several
minutes, until we have had time to pass through the gates.
Do you understand thus far?”
“Yes, Contessa. And then what should I do?”
She lowered her voice so that I had to strain to hear. “Then
you shall go to the gate yourself, but do not pass through. In­
stead, you must tell the guard there that you have an urgent
missive for his captain.”
“For the captain of the guard?” I whispered back. “Do
you mean Gregorio?”
“Yes.” Then, looking back once more to assure we were
not overheard, she gave me an eager smile.
“Is it not exciting?” she softly exclaimed. “I always feared
I would never have a chance to know true love. Indeed, I
was certain I would go to my grave having only endured the
touch of whatever dusty duke that my cousin is bound to
force me into marrying one day.”
Her smile broadened. “But that changed when Gregorio
arrived at the castle a few months ago. He came to speak to
my cousin on some matter, and I happened to be passing by.
I saw him, and he saw me . . . and we have been secretly
Portrait of a Lady
187
sending messages and even meeting each other, on occasion,
ever since.”
“But can this be?” I faintly asked. “After all . . .”
“Oh, do not look so shocked, Delfina,” she went on, wav­
ing away my protests. “It is true we are of different stations,
but that makes it all the more romantic. I have fallen in
love, and he has sworn devotion, as well. Indeed, he has told
me he shall never touch another woman if he cannot have
me. Is that not wonderful?”
I summoned a smile in return, hoping she could not see
my dismay. While I already suspected that her relationship
with the captain might be friendlier than was proper—
especially given their respective roles—hearing this admis­
sion from her still took me by surprise. Of course, were it
but a casual frolic, the relationship might be winked at so
long as she kept such dalliances private. But she seemed to
believe that she was in love, and to believe that Gregorio re­
turned that sentiment.
Despite myself, I felt a sudden surge of pity for her. Was
she the only one who did not know the truth, that he was
rather more inconstant than he claimed? I could not help
but recall all the whispered stories I’d heard about Grego­
rio’s penchant for pretty women, could not forget his own
admission that he knew some better than others.
Neither could I suppress the small jealous voice within
that asked why Caterina should have the dashing captain,
when she would soon be marrying a duke. Sternly rebuking
myself for such unworthy sentiments, I whispered, “But is it
safe to bring him such a message? What if it falls into some­
one else’s hands?”
“Do not worry. He always burns my letters upon receiv­
ing them, so that no one will ever know they existed.”
I would have questioned her further, save that we were
nearing the gate. As planned, she scooped up Pio in her
arms and then turned to signal her driver. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]