17. Florence
17
FLORENCE
CORTONA, 1876
SAPPHIRE: Wisdom, truth, loyalty, fidelity, brings prosperity and gifts, peace of mind
F lorence nodded a greeting to her landlady sweeping the steps of the pensione and sailed past her with a smile set on her face like Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa . Her new gown concealed a secret she longed to shout to the world. Rather than blush at her predicament, Florence’s enceinte condition made her spirits whirl—surely the change inside her was obvious for all to see? Orlando’s love was the key to her happiness.
Far from the reach of Queen Victoria , she had taken residence in Cortona . The walled Etruscan village rose from a maze of serpentine roads and was set like a crown atop a vertiginous hill in the undulating Tuscan terrain. Florence strolled the cobbled stones of the ancient town, greeting the signora from the drogheria . Though the first of the new cherries looked plump and juicy, she rejected an offer to sample them. Florence had developed a liking for the locally produced Fichi Girotti Orlando brought for her— her taste for sweets sated by the candied figs with toasted almonds and cocoa that were pressed into wheel shapes and wrapped like chocolates. She wrinkled her nose at the mix of aromas when the vendor pointed towards baskets of garlic. Another held artichokes, with spiky outer leaves that reminded her of the wild violet thistles grown in Scotland . Florence found the earthy flavour decidedly bland and refused them too, with a firm wave of her hand.
Her body was changing, with all five senses vividly awakened, as though an evening star shone its light upon her and burnt bright. In her heightened state, sounds and sights too appeared more pronounced. The experience of carrying a child was like the precious gold leaf brushed on a Byzantine painting—it accentuated everything around her.
Florence approached a vacant table at the osteria and smiled as the flock of doves gracefully spread their wings and flew heavenwards. After taking a seat, she shifted her gaze to the pages of her book to wait for Orlando . The novel appealed for its realism regarding the place of women in a changing yet patriarchal society. As an unconventional woman herself the author, George Eliot , well-knew the plight,.
Orlando was meeting with weavers nearby. The family’s vibrant jewel-coloured brocades were unique to the Vincenzi mills and their Florentine designs were highly sought after following the success of the Royal Warrant . Orlando was busier than ever. No doubt, he was debating the quality of silk threads imported from China or hues for the latest weaves.
Florence outlined the pattern of her gown with her finger; the pearly threads shone brightly in the sunlight. Orlando had had the bolt delivered by messenger, whereupon she secured the services of a local seamstress to insert the brocade into the inverted pleats in the sleeves. The style of her new gown was inspired by a medieval costume in an early painting by Botticelli at the Uffizi , a true master of the Renaissance .
Orlando had named the design after her, il giglio prezioso , the precious lily. While here, the fleur-de-lis style motif more commonly signified the city of Firenze , it was in fact Orlando’s subtle dedication to his own beloved British Florence . The shade, Vincenzi celeste , perfectly complemented the colour of her eyes.
She stared towards Cortona’s imposing clock tower at the end of the Piazza Signorelli . She must be patient, as she was while waiting for bulbs to blossom in the springtime. Florence drew a deep breath. The garden beds at Balmoral would be ready now. Who would undertake her plantings this season?
She sipped her tea and watched the villagers going about their business. Soon she and Orlando would share their lives completely. They would no longer steal away into small villages to hide their love. She must be patient. Orlando vowed Florence was his one true love, il mio grande amore . They were drawn together as seamlessly as the moon and the stars. Orlando loved Florence , mind, body and soul. She could hardly believe her good fortune.
When the shops began closing for il riposo and the piazza was almost deserted, Florence could no longer remain. Leaving coins on the table, and with a parasol shading her fair skin, she made her way slowly up the steep rise of Via Benedetti to her apartment.
Florence lay on the bed and eased out a sigh; she closed her eyes to the light streaming in through the window. Lethargy hit her with full force. Muslin curtains tapped faintly against the cool stone walls of her bedchamber and billowed and rippled in the breeze. Contemplation faded. Her baby moved inside her, and a tingle of pleasure warmed her. Orlando was the love of her life. Soon —like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis—she would take her position as his wife and become the independent woman she had always dreamed she would be.
An hour later she awoke with her lover’s arms around her, his hand resting on the curve of her hip.
‘ Forgive me, my darling. Negotiations were protracted, but I have it in hand. I shall stay tonight. My father returns to Prato tomorrow.’
‘ And will you tell him then? About us?’ She despised the plea in her voice, but soon her condition would be evident to all. There was little time to lose.
‘ Si . I have asked for a meeting with him. All is in hand.’ His kiss on her lips sealed it.
To be Orlando’s wife thrilled her with anticipation—and was worth the wait.
T he following week, Orlando told Florence more about his precarious position. His aberrant sister had read the tarot cards and had predicted his meteoric rise. Naturally , his family rejoiced, recognising that the benefits of his elevation politically would benefit them accordingly with an increase in trade. However , she also warned that his life was under great scrutiny; his movements were sure to be monitored by political enemies who opposed his radical reforms and would welcome his defeat. Orlando insisted on safeguarding Florence and moved her to another city.
At a small hotel in the magnificent Medici city of Firenze , she registered under the name Marchesa di Angelo , certain that, given the exorbitant sum the rooms cost to procure, there would be no cause to answer.
Over the following weeks, while hardly the most comfortable season to visit the continent, the temperature did little to deter Florence from the brisk walks she so enjoyed; encountering a British acquaintance was increasingly unlikely. She was content there with Orlando nearby, close enough to share the experience and eager to welcome their child.
Florence was embarrassed by the stark changes in her appearance; stays were cast aside, and her ripened, pendulous breasts weighed heavily over her stomach. She hid the blossoming of her body beneath loose shifts and tea dresses and cloaked her shoulders with a series of silk-lined Kashmir mantillas.
Orlando visited her rooms daily, with a smile of adoration so wide it could swallow the sun. With an intensity of emotion that surprised her, he showered her with gifts of peaches and plums, cheese and fresh pastries, feeding her body and nourishing her soul with acts of love and kindness. He professed her body a wondrous vessel, one to be proud of. He said she was as magnificent as the Madonna herself and honoured him in bearing their child.
Florence felt treasured, respected and, more heart-warmingly, his equal. She was blessed indeed. Their love was a pure and beautiful gift.
Tucked behind shuttered windows and with embers glowing in the grate, Florence teased that she was like a woodland red squirrel in a drey of moss, twigs and leaves, preparing to birth her kittens. The bed was comfortable and covered in a traditional, web-patterned taranta bedspread of finely woven wool. Hand -loomed shawls had been laundered and set aside, ready for the baby’s arrival.
Together they sat and read or played cards by the fire like a contented married couple. They clasped hands and planned for the future. But as the moon rose each evening, Orlando left Florence with regret and returned to his accommodation under the cover of darkness, to deter his enemies and allay suspicion.
I t had been two long weeks between visits. Orlando blamed a strike at the mill for his absence.
He read to Florence from the newspaper, translating with a melodic inflection in his voice. His face moved from contorted to animated as he explained the problems and the opportunities that Rome presented as the recent capital—and the effects of change on his country. Florence was eager to learn more. If she were to make her home in the Kingdom of Italy , it was important to understand the people and the ways best to help them.
She supported Orlando’s passion for social liberty and equality for the ordinary man while his radical thoughts on women’s emancipation were common and dear to them both. Women were still fighting for liberation, and there was a long way to go. Florence agreed that women’s education was essential and was a perfect start to advance change; no son of theirs should be more advantaged than a daughter.
Orlando stroked the ends of his moustache thoughtfully and balanced the newspaper on his lap. ‘ It says here, General Garibaldi is before the courts on a personal matter. It appears only one of his children was delivered within the legitimacy of marriage?—’
‘ Indeed .’ Florence gave a small cough.
‘ His wife has since admitted the child was not Garibaldi’s .’
‘ What a terrible predicament. For him, and the child.’ Florence caressed her abdomen with a hand. ‘ To learn the child you raised was not yours would be devastating.’
‘ I agree. The general is seeking legitimacy for the children born to him by his lover. The decision will be made once the courts pass a decree of nullity for his marriage from fifteen years ago.’
Florence briefly met his gaze then returned to the tiny matinee jacket she was finishing. ‘ It appears, my love, we are more aligned with our Garibaldi than we might have believed….’
Orlando chuckled and reached for her hands. ‘ I will not fail you, Florence . I give you my word, we will be married soon.’
A knock on the door interrupted them. The message was one Orlando could not ignore. He placed it on the mantel above the fireplace with a frown. ‘ Another problem, cara mia , though I cannot understand why my father cannot manage this. I must travel north and deal with it myself. If not, we face supply difficulties.’
How would she bear the separation?
With regret in his kisses and tears in his eyes, he returned to his business, inconsolable at likely not witnessing the birth of his child. But Orlando insisted his il giglio prezioso was strong and brave, and they would not be parted for long.
They had agreed on a path for the future. After Florence gave birth, she would move again to the outskirts of the city until their marriage was sanctioned. Orlando promised they would unite as a family. And as always, Florence had faith in his words.
A few days later, a dove settled on the balcony, and the sound of flapping wings outside the window gained Florence’s attention. Her back ached terribly when she eased from the armchair for a closer look. Relieved it was not in distress, she followed the dove’s flight in the direction of the Duomo —the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiori . The feat of architectural beauty was a sight to behold, with tiled walls the colour of moss and ivory that glittered under the reflection of the morning light. How could anyone fail to be astonished by the ingenuity, the way the terracotta cupola curved atop the cathedral just so?
When she turned and took a few steps, the tightening she had become accustomed to held fast in her abdomen and then released. It was made more bearable with gentle movement—in the preceding days, her pacing back and forth might well have worn a path through the Turkish rug covering the terrazzo floor.
A large gasp escaped her lips, and Florence paced once again, unable to discern whether the increase in discomfort signalled her time was near.
Tears moistened her eyes as she recalled Orlando’s smiling face, his love for her evident in his gentle manner and lyrical voice. She longed for the caress of his tender fingers spanning her stomach and holding her tight. How she needed him here with her now.
‘ I suggest you bring clean towels, Cinzia , and then alert Dr Giovanni .’ She braced and then held the back of the armchair to catch her breath. ‘ I insist you intercept him before passeggiata , for I fear his services may soon be needed.’
‘ Si , Marchesa .’ Cinzia effected a curtsey and withdrew from the room with tight lips, leaving Florence to bear the concern alone. If the dottore strayed across the Ponte Vecchio and wandered deep into Oltrarno , it would be a step too far to summon him. More concerning was that he would partake of copious amounts of vin santo , and lose the cognisance required for the important task ahead.
Any reputable physician might have had cause to further question a woman in Florence’s position. Instead , the dottore , as a man of dubious character, commanded coin for his secrecy, in exchange for her silence concerning his social habits. Florence’s sole concern was for the safe and healthy delivery of her child.
Rising over the rooftops, a rainbow wavered in the distance and gave comfort. Florence adhered to the superstitious belief in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It would be auspicious if her child were born today.
Her brow furrowed, remembering the eyes that glistened like luminous dewdrops when Orlando cradled the cherished life growing and shifting beneath his hands. Would he return with his family’s blessing? Neither wished to cause their family humiliation. Orlando would not be forgiven for fathering an illegitimate child—by his family or hers. But he had promised they would unite as a family soon. She held faith in his words, as always.
A short time later Florence startled at the sound of the opening parlour door, and a strong gush of fluid burst between her legs and pooled beneath her.
‘ Scusa —mi dispiace, Marchesa . I cannot find the dottore .’ It was hard to distinguish whether Cinzia’s face had paled from concern or the cold.
Florence rested against the arm of the chair. Her legs felt weak and quivered like a summer flummery. With her stomach grinding in pain, she held out a hand. ‘ If that is the case, I am indeed fortunate to have hired the services of a nursemaid.’
‘ Per favore, Marchesa , but I have not before birthed a bambino .’
Florence gritted her teeth. ‘ Then it will be a first for both of us. I suggest you bring the towels and assist me to my bed. It appears we must proceed without the wretched man.’
While the night sky darkened over the bell tower, the cries Florence tried to muffle grew louder, and her pain increased. Her exhaustion was such that she barely knew the hour of the day, let alone what day it was. Shards of clarity flickered in and out of her thoughts, urging her to push through the darkness while Cinzia mopped her brow. Hours later when she thought all strength had abandoned her, Florence remembered Orlando’s loving words: ‘ Il mio grande amore .’
When the child nurtured inside her was released from her body, and she cradled a healthy baby safely in her arms, Florence’s heart filled with more love and joy than she had imagined possible. It was time to forge a new beginning.
She watched the sun rise and shine through the clouds and thanked the heavens above as she kissed her daughter’s downy head. Morning light settled on the terracotta rooftops as it had the day before.
But a new life had been created, part of Florence and Orlando , forevermore.