Chapter 38
To answer your obvious question, gentle reader, yes, Mamma hustled onto the stage in time to stop Papà from skewering Great-uncle Magno.
But it was a close thing, and while she was restraining Papà, I body-slammed Magno off the edge of the stage while shouting my acceptance of his rematch. Take that, Great-uncle Magno!
That settled, Papà ejected Magno from Casa Montague (physically ejected!), then, in a magnificent display of contempt, tossed his baggage and his crimson velvet cloak into the street at him.
Magno picked himself up off the stones and stormed off to find lodging somewhere in the city. We knew not where, nor did we care.
Nurse assembled the entire staff to clean the chamber Magno had occupied—my bedroom, remember—with boiling water and lye soap and vinegar and viciously applied elbow grease.
Then, amid much rejoicing, I moved back into my vestal bower and imagined that with this privacy, I’d soon be welcoming my bridegroom into my arms.
Eternal optimist, that’s me.
As it turned out, Papà took the prince’s command to watch over me and keep me safe until our wedding very seriously.
He organized packs of Montagues and the Capulets to patrol our gardens, so despite Cal holding the key to our hidden gate, not even he could gain access to the house without being apprehended.
Interestingly enough, give the families a common cause—protecting dear little Rosie from an unknown threat—and they got along perfectly well.
There was, as always, a great deal of comparing the lengths and ornamentation on their blades and, as I accidentally saw, some comparison of pee streams, length, and amount, seasoned with a great deal of uproarious laughter.
I discovered it didn’t matter what woke me, Mamma and Papà making love or the combined Montague-Capulet raucous masculine merriment.
Awake was awake, lustful was lustful, and so in a single morning, I earned the nickname of the Bear Bride for my vile temper and was hustled out the door and told go to Friar Laurence’s apothecary shop to work off my angst.
When I stepped outside, I discovered why no one had uttered a word of concern about my unaccompanied trek through Verona’s streets, and no one in Casa Montague shut the door behind me.
A sedan chair awaited me, the finest ever seen, painted royal blue and marked fore and aft with a gilded lion.
Gold ropes held the matching velvet curtains open, and inside I could see the two seats, forward facing and backward facing, were of embossed saddle leather.
The wooden roof had been constructed to shed rain or, as cold as it was, snow, although we hadn’t seen a single flake from the frigid blue sky.
Four sturdy bearers beamed at me as they set the step, also painted blue, while Dion and Holofernes leaned against the shaded side of our house, huddled into their cloaks, waiting, with no attempt to appear patient.
I walked around the sedan chair, inspecting it and proclaiming my joy and pleasure. …
Insooth, I cared not about such luxury. I’d rather walk the streets of Verona, converse with friends and enemies, pretend to be a modest lady so I could listen to gossip.
I hated the stench of the sewer, loved to come into the square and smell the scents of roasting meats and blooming flowers.
When the children recognized me, they shouted my name and wanted me to play, and sometimes, if no adult was watching, I did.
For me now, as princess of Verona, a sedan chair was a necessary evil.
Cal knew that, and so he tried to make the security as agreeable to me as possible.
Also, I was pretty sure he was like Papà and loved his fancy modes of transportation.
Why thus was I loudly proclaiming my joy and pleasure?
Because the neighbors looked out their windows. Some waved and clapped. Others (not to name names … Lady Luce) wore that preserved lemon pucker.
When I wound down with the praises, Dion and Holofernes straightened, bowed, and in tones of absolute boredom, they recited, “Please accept this gift from Prince Escalus to his intended bride, Lady Rosaline, and he hopes you find pleasure in it as you journey through our beloved Verona in honor now and forever more.”
That was the trouble with being so well acquainted with the prince’s guard: any awe they might have at my future exalted station was canceled by the knowledge that I was just Rosie Montague, overly loud and troublesome spinster, who was a pretty good chum when she wasn’t busy with the wedding furbelows.
Behind me, from inside the house, I heard squabbling.
“I want to go with Rosie!”
“No, me first.”
“I’m the oldest daughter now.”
“I’m the youngest daughter forever!”
“You should be so lucky.”
That last was to Emilia from Imogene, our prognosticator, and it made me look twice at Mamma, who shook her head at me.
So there would be more babies, but not yet.
Nurse’s authoritative voice proclaimed, “I’m going with Rosie to Friar Laurence’s.
Then I’ll hie back to the palace to wait on Lady Capulet.
” She clomped out in a sturdy new forest-green wool cloak with fur trim, slammed the front door on all the family complaints, blatantly grinned and waved at the neighbors, and gave me a boost into the sedan chair.
She climbed in after, sat in the backward-facing chair, and grinned at me.
“Lady Luce looks as if she swallowed a pickled turd. She might have laughed when Cal despoiled you, but she isn’t laughing now. ”
“He did not despoil me,” I said for the thousandth time. “Despite my best attempts, I am absolutely undespoiled.”
“Ohhh.” Nurse nodded sympathetically. “The men figured as peevish as you are, you must be suffering from your monthlies, but I knew it was the wrong time for that.”
No retort for that. Or maybe too many retorts, and Nurse would merely mock me, so I said, “Nice cloak. Cal?”
She smoothed her hand along the fur collar. “Lady Juliet generously gifted the cloak to me in celebration of finally getting you married off—”
“Humph!”
“And Prince Escalus gifted me the furs to keep me warm while traveling the streets to perform my duties for you at the palace.” In an afterthought, she added, “Although it’s Lady Capulet who’s taking all my time.
Still, I’m the envy of my bawcocks, so much so there’s been much backbiting, which I’m nobly ignoring, because it’s all so much fun. ”
I laughed loud and long. Nurse had a perspective I admired and, perhaps, in my present circumstances, should absorb as a guide.
Nurse wanted to keep the curtains open so her friends, if they saw us, would have yet another reason for jealousy, and while I was willing to let her have her fun, after a few moments, I pulled the curtains closed to shut out the biting cold.
She was cheerfully philosophical about that. “Don’t want you to catch the plague, do we? I wish it would warm up and snow and decorate the city for the wedding.”
“And warm the houses with its blanket. Too much of Cal’s time is taken up with providing for the poorest.”
“Too much of your time, too, lambkin. You think I don’t know it?”
I said simply, “I am my mother’s daughter.”
“And thus worthy to be our princess,” Nurse gloated. “Which is part of what sticks in Lady Luce’s craw. Prince Escalus didn’t want her daughter when the girl was offered.”
“I didn’t know that!”
Nurse tapped her ear. “I hear things.”
“I admire that about you.” After all, I had to be smug about something. “Have you heard any word around the palace or in the street about the poisonings?”
Nurse sobered. “Everyone at the palace is worried, in case the poisonings are aimed at you or their prince or at undermining the prince’s authority. Of course, they’re also worried a poisoned cask will arrive for them. The staff drinks cautiously.”
“They’re wise. The first poisoning took place at the palace and killed a man. The second killed a man in the street. The third downed an entire party of my family and friends.”
Nurse tilted her head back toward Casa Montague and its neighbors. “And enemies.”
I flipped a negligent hand. “Lady Luce is not worthy to be called an enemy.”
Nurse laughed. “Moldy between the legs,” she agreed. In a family of poetic Montagues, Nurse knew how to turn an insult.
“Professor Tobias of Valpolicella died for the sin of drinking from Magno’s cup, and according to Magno, he died in the street outside the inn while surrounded by our citizens, who watched in horror.
” Remembering Great-uncle Magno’s chilling description of the scene, I asked, “Are the citizens not afraid?”
“Upon my oath, none would drink with Magno, for ’tis said he’s a man with an obsessed and deadly foe.” Almost as an aside, Nurse added, “Tobias of Valpolicella wasn’t a professor. He made wines.”
I frowned. “He was a vintner? But I know Great-uncle Magno said he was a professor. He called him ‘one of my dear comrades, a fellow professor, if an unhoned wine master …’”
“My Lady Rosaline, I’m a common woman made of salt and clay and elevated merely by my association with your family”—Nurse smiled faintly—“but if I was to speculate about your great-uncle Magno’s shameful habit of lying, I’d say he wishes only to be associated with elevated and educated folks like himself, and not with people who dig in the dirt. ”
I fired up with indignation. “Nonno Montague digs in the dirt!”
“If your uncle could change his background, he’d choose to be delivered from the loins of Dante and Aristotle.”
I released a sharp, surprised laugh, amused by Nurse’s quip and her wicked grin.
“Here we are, Lady Rosaline, at your beloved apothecary shop.” Sweeping back the curtains, Nurse showed me that we had indeed arrived in the narrow alley that housed Friar Laurence’s shop.