Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (44 page)

After covering up the hole, she made it safely back to her own house. The next day, she would buy a rope and make knots into it for easier climbing. With those thoughts she fell asleep.

* * * 

She was back on Faranese’s roof the following night, armed not only with the knotted rope, but also with a candle, a fire making kit, and a tiny flask of olive oil. The four knives that decorated her dress on her visit to Casa Medici a week before were stuck under her belt. A solid piece of wood laid across the hole supported the rope. Once down inside she waited a while to get accustomed to the dark. Slowly a few faint features took shape in the gloom. A small pile of roof tiles — she had almost stepped on them when she came down. A large wicker basket, falling apart. It meant that access to the attic was more than simply a small trap door.

It took several attempts before she managed to light her candle. She studied the attic, looking for a staircase. There was none. Walking on tip toes, she soon found the outlines of a sizeable trap door. Its hinges looked rusty. She poured a bit of oil on each and then used a wood splinter to work it between the metal pieces as best as she could. She tried to raise the door a bit. It did not want to budge and then suddenly gave with a low groan. She held it in place and listened for any noises from below. All seemed quiet, so she carefully opened the door fully, resting it against the wall.

A steep set of steps, more like a ladder, disappeared in the dark below. She held the candle into the opening and lowered her head over the edge. The ladder was in one of the inside corners of a room only about half the size of the one where she had talked to Faranese. She climbed down, keeping to the right edge of the steps in the hope that might prevent them from creaking.

The curtains of the only window toward the street were drawn. Fortunate, she mused. Nobody would be able to see her from across the street. She was in a working room, once used by the woman in the house. A table with three chairs stood in the middle. A tapestry frame sat in one corner. In another she discovered a child’s cradle. Had not one of the neighbors said that he lost his wife and a child in the plague. It must have been his second or third wife that such a small child would have lived here not too long ago. Other things lying on the table hinted that the servant woman occasionally worked up here too. The door in the wooden wall meant that another room occupied the other half of the floor. She tiptoed closer and listened. A faint snoring reached her ears. Faranese asleep.

She went to the floor below. Its curtains were drawn too.
He probably never opens them,
she mused. The oil lamp was still on the table. She lit it with her candle and snuffed out the latter. Then she surveyed the room carefully. Somewhere among these books must be one or several ledgers required by law, listing all the documents Faranese had signed in his capacity as a notary. She searched on the table, careful to disturb things as little as possible. Under a pile of paper she found it. Opening the page marked by the ribbon, she saw the listing of Lady Lucrezia’s marriage contract as the fourth to the last entry. It also showed a code, ‘H1', which she guessed gave to location where the copy was filed. She quickly searched the doors of the closest cabinet, the one Faranese had fleetingly looked at, and discovered the letters G and H engraved on its two doors.

The first of November 1347 was the earliest entry — almost half a year after she had fled Elba. She checked the first few pages, stopping when she reached June 1348. She was certain that by then Casa Sanguanero had already taken possession of her property. So the signing over must be listed in the previous ledger.

It was a fair guess that the older ledgers were stored in one of the cabinets, most likely close to the table since he might have to consult them frequently. She opened the door of the first cabinet to the right of the window and almost jumped out of her skin when a heavy object fell on the floor with a loud bang. She quickly grabbed the oil lamp and her candle and went to the bottom of the staircase below, shielding the lamp, pricking her ears for any noise. She counted to five hundred, but could not hear the slightest sound, no creaking of doors or wooden floors, no footsteps.

After another while she returned upstairs and checked the stairs to the top floor. All remained quiet. The old man must not have woken. She went back to the cabinet, searching for the previous ledger. Her guess was right. The top shelf of the first cabinet she had opened contained a row of more than a dozen books, identical to the one on the table, except for age. She opened the newest, intent on working through it backward. The last two pages were blank, except for two entries at the top of the second to the last page, both dated 30
^th
of October. She almost missed them, already scanning the opposite page when belatedly the name Elba registered in her mind. The contract signing over her land to Casa Sanguanero was the last entry. What a fortunate coincidence! Rather than having to remove a page somewhere in the middle of the ledger with several other listings on it besides the one she wanted, she only needed to cut that last sheet from the book. Nobody was likely to notice that, since the last entry at the bottom of the previous page was also dated 30
^th
of October.

She had just slipped one of the small knives from her belt when she heard a rasping wheeze. Startled, she whirled around, the blade of the knife in her raised hand briefly flashing in the light of the oil lamp.

The notary was standing at the foot of the stairs to the floor above, about ten feet away, barefoot, a robe wrapped around him, a night cap hiding his hair. His right hand was gripping his chest, his eyes wide open in terror, the irises turning slowly up and almost disappearing under the lids. He teetered a bit, and then a hoarse groan escaped his lips, as he slumped to the floor.

She remained frozen in place, her own heart beat ringing in her ears. She stared at the heap on the floor, thin legs sticking out from the robe, arms lying limp at an unnatural angle, eyes looking at nothing.

Her first impulse was to flee. But he needed help. She overcame her repulsion and went to him. He did not seem to breathe. Her left hand searched for a pulse on his neck. There was nothing.
Dead! I killed him. Frightened him to death.
Her hands trembled.
If I hadn’t come here, he would still be alive.

For a long moment her mind remained paralyzed. Then she slowly regained control over her senses.
Yes, he died of fright, not because I had threatened him, but because of a weak heart, and that was not my fault,
she tried to justify herself.
But he would still be alive if I hadn’t come here,
the other voice in her mind blamed again.
He could have dropped dead anytime
, she tried to reassure herself, but it felt hollow.

Almost without thinking she started to go up the stairs.
You came here with a purpose, reminded another voice. You might as well finish it. Nothing can be done about the poor man anymore.

She went back to the ledger and cut out the last sheet cleanly. The entry code was ‘G3'. She presumed that the ‘3' referred to the shelf. She took out a scroll from the middle and opened it. It dealt with a loan contract for Casa Sanguanero, dated July 1348. The next scroll she opened, more to the left, had the date of September 1347. After a dozen or so more tries she found the scroll of her father’s deed.

Next, she carefully put everything back in its place. She left the oil lamp to burn itself out during the rest of the night. After lighting her candle, she skirted past the dead man — there was no need to tiptoe anymore. Climbing up to the attic, she noticed two dust spots on the ladder and wiped them. As she closed the trap door, she wondered what to do about the foot prints she had made in the dust on the floor. In the end she dragged the wicker basket over them and left it under the hole.

A quarter hour later she was back in her house. The first thing she did was to burn both the scroll and the sheet she had removed, and scattered the ashes in the fire place. The proof was gone. Her throat felt parched. She drank a cup of water. Then she undressed and folded the garments tightly into a small bag. She would take them early next day to the little house in Via delle Cerchia.

Dawn found her still awake. She had been haunted most of the night by the image of the notary sprawled on the floor, wave after wave of reproach tormenting her.

If she ever had seriously considered gaining access to the Casa Sanguanero mansion in Camollia and steal the little book of poems, such thoughts were all but banished. She admitted that it would be foolish, as she had been foolish to go to Faranese. What other scheme could she think of? She could contrive a reason to visit Niccolo in his office and arrange for a diversion, such as a brawl outside his office. While he went out to check what was going on, she could remove the little book. But whom could she hire to create such a brawl? And would it be fair to tempt some poor man with a few florins to do something that almost certainly would land him in jail or worse? She shuddered at the thought, last night’s experience still very much in her bones. Maybe she had no choice except to give up on the little book and on the treasure. The latter seemed to be safe from Casa Sanguanero.

* * * 

She visited Lucia twice during the week. The latter gave her the shocking news that Casa Sanguanero’s notary had suddenly died. The servant woman who cooked and cleaned for him had found him on the floor of his office. It seemed that he died of a weak heart.

The preparations for the celebrations were in full swing. Lucia told her proudly that the list of guests included most of the leading Sienese families. Chiara probed discreetly if anybody from Casa Salimbeni was invited. Definitely not, since they were the enemies of Casa Tolomei, Casa Sanguanero’s banking house. It took some worries off her not having to face Gaetano Salimbeni.

Since she planned to leave the day after the celebration, she bundled up all things she intended to take along, and shifted them to Via delle Cerchia. She also told her servant couple that their last duty would be to clean the house on the Monday after and return the keys to its proprietor.

On Saturday morning, she took extra care to prepare her Lucrezia look. Her top, vermilion velvet, left her shoulders free and again gave a hint of cleavage. The dark blue skirt, worn over black breeches — a habit since those first days in Pisa — was separate, just clearing the floor, with silver buttons down the front. In fact, it came from the troupe’s chest of costumes. Its side seams were open almost to the hip, revealing what looked like an underskirt, but was simply a triangular piece of vermilion velvet sown in — another of Alda’s inventions. The same belt she wore to see di Bicci, decorated with the four small knives, added an unusual touch of finesse. Her black plaits wound around her head, uncovered. She wore her only two pieces of jewelry, the diamond cross and the diamond ring. It would be a stark contrast to the excess of jewels displayed by most women, but would at the same time subtly emphasize that her beauty had no need for such enhancements. She inspected the result in the mirror, smiling to herself, and murmured: "You did it, for the last time."

Before leaving, she dismissed the servants. A litter, ordered earlier, carried her to Casa Sanguanero. When she was ushered into the upstairs loggia and her name called out, all eyes turned on her. Niccolo was beaming with proprietary pride as he came forward to greet her.

"What a privilege to see you again, Lady Lucrezia. You honor this house with your beauty."

"Signore, you indulge me with compliments. I risk becoming vain."

"It is all deserved," whispered Lucia who had joined them.

"I have a surprise for you," continued Niccolo. "Casa Sanguanero has the good fortune to be honored by a most distinguished guest, but I do not want to spoil this special occasion for you by telling you prematurely who it is. It must be a surprise."

Who could it be?
"Signore, you cannot be so cruel as to leave me unprepared. I might commit a faux pas and embarrass you."

He looked at her puzzled, until Lucrezia whispered into his ear, and his smile returned.

"Signorina, it would be most unlike you to make a blunder."

"It would not be the first time. But I think I should now greet Signor Sanguanero, your father."

The old man seemed to be in his normal sullen mood. After exchanging a few meaningless words, Chiara excused herself, and was quickly surrounded by a score of other guests. Niccolo began introducing her to those she had not met before. Again, she recognized several from performances.

Rose water was sprinkled on the floor, filling the room with a pleasant fragrance. The servants carried in loads of refreshments — squares of muskmelon, wrapped in thin slices of smoked ham, smoked eel, cockles, goat cheese, figs, grapes, honeyed walnuts, and other delicacies.

Chiara had forgotten about Niccolo’s surprise when she heard a familiar trilling laughter on the stairs.
Lady Maria — it couldn’t be, it mustn’t be,
she cried silently, steeling herself at the same time for what she knew would come as certain as that she would die one day, nor did she see a way to extricate herself. She might as well brave the storm, but she was also determined to grab the first opportunity for her exit.

A moment later, the herald loudly announced: "Please welcome the illustrious Lady Maria, Contessa d’Appiano, … and Lady Heloïse."

Everybody turned to the entrance, where the countess with her usual smile, half-mocking, half-solemn, enjoyed the polite applause in her honor. Lady Heloïse, stood at an appropriate distance behind her. She had blossomed into a pretty young woman, already the focus of male attention. Chiara spotted Mercurio behind them. His eyes, puzzled at first, lit up when she acknowledged him with a faint smile.

Niccolo rushed forward, bowed deeply, and kissed the hand the countess offered.