Chapter 30
Great big baby Uncle Magno made another dramatic pronouncement—really, he excelled at them. “I can stay no longer at the inn. The ghost of that poor boy would haunt me.”
Mamma responded at once. “Of course, dear Magno!”
“Wait … Mamma!” Was she thinking what I thought she was thinking? No, no, no, no!
She seemed not to notice me. “You must stay here, where you’re safe. All our bedchambers are full, but I know Rosie will gladly offer her room.”
“Mother!” I uttered a full-on, vigorous Montague protest.
“I will gladly take it!” Magno didn’t even bother to gloat but leaped to his feet, hurried to the front door, and retrieved the bag he’d stashed under the entrance table.
Not to put too fine of an edge on it, but he’d come expecting to stay.
He headed up the stairs at a speed and with an intent that left his sycophants standing slack-jawed and uncertain, even Niklaus of Denmark.
Prince Escalus stood and exhaled, as if he were weary … when in fact I knew he was frustrated.
Without much hope, I lodged my protest. “Mamma, where am I supposed to sleep?”
“In the girls’ dormitory.” A gesture from Mamma sent Mahaut racing up the stairs after Magno, dragging a bevy of maids behind her to clean out the room and rescue my belongings before he despoiled them.
I looked around at my sisters, my cousins, Princess Isabella, all crowded into one large room filled with cots, snacks, mischief, giggling, and gossip.
“Mamma, I am organizing the wedding—the meals, the music, the housing for our guests—and providing enough entertainment that the families don’t engage in a little merry knife fight. ” I pleaded, “I need my sleep.”
Before she could frame her reply, Magno turned back, changing speed from “man who grabbed at a lifeline” to “cultured man about to delivery an ominous warning.” He passed Mahaut and her crew and returned to the atrium. “Prince Escalus!”
Cal viewed Great-uncle Magno with all the affection he would use to view a horsefly and settled back into his chair. “Speak.”
“I feel I must report to you about another who resides in the inn, one who fills me with unease.”
Papà must have figured Cal had had about enough of Magno, because he said, “Tell us, Magno. What is the name of this fellow?”
“Not a fellow—an impudent female who dares engage the suite of rooms in the attic for her and her companion, leaving me to accept a mere bedchamber with a conjoined living area for the purpose of entertaining the other wine tasters.”
“Ampelographic specialists?” I suggested, tongue in cheek.
“Certainly not!” He stared at me coldly. “Most are mere junior professors or men who hold degrees from lesser schools than Padua University!”
“Ah …” It was the exhale of a great many amused Montague family members.
“Tell us all about this female,” Papà invited. The dimple winked in his cheek, so I knew he had joined me in baiting Great-uncle Magno.
“She speaks in a bold manner. She walks with a long stride. And I have seen her in a most unwomanly way carrying books in Latin and Greek, as if to read them, and carrying a quill and parchment, as if to transcribe what is within.” Magno managed to convey such shock in his tone as to be comical.
“Gasp!” Katherina and Princess Isabella, both well-educated young women, pantomimed fainting.
Magno cast them glares of such intense dislike, they should have withered … if they cared. To Papà, he said, “You know her, I suppose, for she seems to be here for the wedding. She calls herself Fiametta.”
“She calls herself Fiametta because that is her name, and yes, she’s my aunt-in-law, the younger sister of Lady Capulet.” Papà took his time, enjoying the chance to exhibit his own brand of wit. “You’ve met her before, Magno. Is your memory not as praiseworthy as your nostrils?”
The girlish giggling that erupted made Magno flush a ruddy red, and his rabbit-like, hypothetically superior nose quivered.
“I remember. I was trying to give you the chance to explain why, when Fiametta is related to the noble house of Montague, she lives alone without husband, supervision, and unencumbered by the bonds of relation.”
Before I could retort, Mamma rose. “Are you saying my husband should disavow his aunt-in-law?” She looked as beautiful as ever … also as grand and as frightening as a turbulent sea.
To the casual observer, Mamma was the perfect lady of the Renaissance: a beautiful woman involved in a loving relationship with her husband, a mother who placed her children’s feet on the path to an honorably lived life and whose one intent was, as conventional wisdom insisted, to care for her home.
Which she did, a little haphazardly, and with much help from me and, going forward, from Katherina.
That wasn’t a persona. She was family oriented, and she did not allow for anyone, certainly not a tiny codpiece cutpurse with tin coins in his soul (if that was too convoluted, I was speaking of Great-uncle Magno), to destroy her family and the values she’d imbued us with.
Being a man of most excellent politics, Magno didn’t answer the question Mamma presented to him.
“When I spoke to her in the manner of a learned gentleman to a lady whom I recognized, yet who is living without the guidance of a man, she laughed in my face. She dared say that she could read Latin and Greek and comprehend them, too, and that she studies and transcribes medical texts from the ancients. In other words … herbs and potions.”
Above us, in the gallery, Mahaut led her maids out of my room, great bundles of bedding and clothing in their arms, and all stopped to listen.
At his significantly pronounced speech, the sniggering and whispering hushed.
We all stood frozen. As an apprentice apothecary of Friar Laurence, I had suffered the fear of being labeled a witch, a serious charge indeed, and the whiff of woodsmoke and burning flesh hovered around Magno’s not-at-all-subtle accusation.
Smug with the knowledge he’d silenced us, he continued, “If I recall correctly, Fiametta is a widow whose foreign husband died shortly after their return to the region. A mysterious death. She inherited a fortune. A fortune, I might add, that she manages independently.”
“She cares for her stepdaughter, who was left in her care by the death of her husband.” Mamma’s smooth voice warned her family of her eroding patience.
Magno was not so familiar with Mamma, and he imagined he’d smothered our derision with the power of his threat.
“When I genially suggested your aunt should submit to a man’s guidance, she tossed her head and contemptuously belittled my concern.
A few hours later, my cup is poisoned. Something to consider as you proclaim your affection for Fiametta. ”
Mamma said, “I would hate to think, Magno, that you might make me regret my invitation to you to stay at Casa Montague for your own protection.”
Not even Magno could mistake Mamma’s tone as a request for more monologuing, and he began a strategic retreat toward the stairs.
He appeared to be undisturbed by the cold eyes surveilling him, yet he didn’t turn his back until he reached the top of the steps, when he fled to my room, bumping into Mahaut and her armload of my toiletries.
She dropped some.
He cursed her and raised his hand, but Papà cleared his throat in such a threatening manner that Magno pretended to scratch his cheek, retreated into my room, and slammed the door.
“I wonder if Fiametta tried to rip off his hairy hangers.” Emilia was a fan of punishment for bumptious males.
I assured her, “She wouldn’t try. She would succeed, and he’d be singing a solo in the castrati choir.”
Papà gave a short, pained laugh.
“Children …” Mamma thoughtfully tapped her lower lip. “Do you remember when Aunt Gemma was staying at Casa Montague and her yappy little dog bit Imogene?”
“I remember!” Imogene rubbed one foot against the back of her leg.
Mamma continued, “And you put cockroaches in her bed?”
“You all did that?” Princess Isabella was instantly charmed. “As a family?”
“Not as a family, exactly. It was more of a children’s project, like building the tree house.” Katherina went, “Oof!” because Imogene’s sharp elbow made contact with her ribs.
Mamma supposedly did not know about the tree house.
“Rosie, did you tell Mamma about the roaches?” Emilia asked indignantly.
“I did not!” At the accusation, I was precisely as indignant. “You know she knows all!”
Katherina said, “Mamma, are you suggesting we … fix Great-uncle Magno—”
Mamma interrupted. “I’m not suggesting anything. I was merely reminiscing about past family visits we’ve enjoyed. Did you notice, Rosie, that poor dear Aunt Gemma didn’t even come for the wedding?”
“A few piccoli cockroaches …” Papà mumbled. A grin tugged at his lips.
“It is almost unbelievable that she refused,” I said. “All this free food and she’s not here, holding that wretched dog in her lap and feeding him the best bits from the table.”
“And losing control of him, so he runs up and down, gnawing on the roasted peacock.” Katherina was particularly fond of a well-roasted and finely decorated peacock.
Cal shifted in his chair. Silence fell, and once again, I saw him take command of the gathering.
Leaning forward, he looked Mamma in the eye.
“Lady Juliet, I don’t understand why, if you intend to remove Magno from the premises by whatever means necessary, you extended the invitation in the first place. ”
“Forsooth, Juliet, why such a swift and appalling decision to end our dear family merriment at Casa Montague?” Papà asked.
“Yes! I’m the bride. Mamma, why sacrifice my privacy?” For what Cal and I intended to do, I needed an abundance of privacy, and for that, I would sacrifice sleep. “Why?”
“Let’s go in by the fire.” Mamma led the way to our great hall, and the servants ran ahead to stoke the flames of the great Yule logs. She seated herself in her chair.
Cal held a seat for me, then took a stool and sat at my feet, which caused great interest, for if he intended it as a mere gesture, this was my family, and he needed a broader audience.
I alone understood: I was his bride, and he offered his devotion the only way he could, now that Magno occupied my room.
The rest of the family settled around Mamma, some on cushions, some on the rugs.
“We have a poisoner in our midst with an unknown agenda. Is the motive to kill Magno, as he believes?” Mamma looked around at her small crew of devotees.
“That is not so clear to me. Yes, it was his wine that was poisoned tonight, but not only his wine was poisoned at the palace. One man is dead, and my lord Romeo and Lysander were taken ill. Did the poison twice brush close to Magno because he occupied the wrong place at the wrong time? For all his exalted opinion of himself, he’s naught but a younger son of a great house.
So is the motive perhaps political? The intention to ruin the wedding of the Prince of Verona? ”
“That …” I looked at Cal in consternation. “That never occurred to me.”
“What better way to do so than to poison the groom … or the bride?” Reaching across, Mamma grasped my hand and held it tightly, and her fingers trembled.
Uh-oh.
Cal inclined his head in tribute to my mother. “You are ever wise, Lady Juliet.”
True enough, and like Great-uncle Magno, I should know better than to take her outward appearance as the perfect Renaissance lady as the sum of her parts.
I thought fast, but not even my devious mind could find a way to avert the oncoming disaster.
Cal looked up, met my gaze, and in his dark eyes, I saw deep regret and manly fury. Yet Prince Escalus would do what was right, and he made a princely pronouncement. “Lady Rosaline must not ever remain alone.”