Chapter 39
Dion and Holofernes and the bearers placed the sedan chair and steps on the road, and I descended to find some of Verona’s poorer citizens had followed me, some to thank me for the warming packages I had prepared and had distributed, some to press a petition in my hand for the prince, and some to wish me a happy wedding, with the promise to attend when Cal and I married on the steps of the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore.
When I warned of the bitter cold, they swore to bundle up, pointed out that the crowd would generate its own heat, and wished, as did we all, that it would snow to lessen the sharpness of the frigid air.
It seemed all of Verona wanted to see the vows taken and finalized, and although I was shivering, their kindness warmed me.
Nurse, the big bully, shooed them away with the admonition that if I froze, I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I smiled and waved, then directed the bearers to take Nurse to the palace and return in time to convey me to deal with the next crisis or murder, whatever that might be.
Two hours seemed like a safe wager.
Fiametta and her stepdaughter, Chandrika, were already there.
Chandrika did the work of an apprentice, grinding spices in a mortar and pestle, while Fiametta read to Friar Laurence the Arabic medicinal texts she had translated.
Everyone looked up at me, as if I was hoped for but not anticipated, then went back to whatever task occupied them.
While I knew it was true, nevertheless it was humbling to realize the world I loved, the place where I felt so useful, the room scented with herbs and smoke from the small fire, could go on without me, so I tied on my apron, pulled up a stool, and went to work with Chandrika.
Then, as soon as I spoke, Imogene ripped out of the back room. “Rosie! You’re here!”
She was still gangly, still maturing even as I watched, and yet she looked so at home, so happy, my heart sang with joy.
This was my sister as she was meant to be, learning, training, discovering her own capabilities, even as Friar Laurence guided her into her apprenticeship.
I caught her as she flung herself into my arms, and hugged her, then allowed her to tug me all over the shop and show me the herbs, the preparation table, the color-coded jars and what they held.
All that had taken me years to learn, she’d absorbed in …
well … I didn’t exactly know how long she’d been coming here.
Longer than I knew, certainly, but she had still learned so much in a short time.
I looked at Friar Laurence; his nod told me of his pleasure in her company and his joy at her swift scholarship.
After pushing her hair off her forehead, I kissed it and cupped her cheek. “You’ve discovered yourself!”
“I know!” Imogene beamed. “I’m going to be like you. I’m going to work at the apothecary shop and stay at home until I’m old, and when I’m twenty, I’ll find another adventure and be someone smart and grand!”
“Will you get married, like Rosie?” Fiametta asked.
Imogene wrinkled her nose. “Ew, no. All the boys want adoration and someone to wash their smelly hose. I’m meant for more. I’ll learn languages, and I’ll be a diplomat. Or a traveler, like Fiametta!”
I remembered saying things like that at her age, and now I realized what a chill must have passed through Mamma to hear such sentiments. To imagine a young woman exploring the wide world on her own …
Friar Laurence spoke sternly. “You can be a diplomat or a traveler, young Imogene, but first, you dedicate yourself to learning herbs, or begone from my shop! My teachings take second place to no worldly ambition.”
“Yes, Friar Laurence. I obey, Friar Laurence.” Imogene bobbed her head, tossed me a rueful grin, and returned to the back room, from whence she brought forth the latest shipments delivered from the far reaches of the known world.
As she did, I listened to Fiametta and Friar Laurence, and it didn’t take me long to realize they concentrated on poisons, their origins and their antidotes.
I scrutinized their intent faces and asked, “Why? I thought we believed that Sir Christofolo was the guilty party for all three poisonings and we were now free from worry?”
They both looked up at me as if I had failed a test.
I hated having my lurking suspicions confirmed.
Chandrika smiled sympathetically. In her gentle voice, she said, “All clues point to one, and one alone.”
In a moment of madness, I looked at Fiametta. Apparently, Magno’s accusations had influenced me, after all.
Chandrika laughed. “No, never. In the texts, Fiametta seeks healing, not death. When it was clear he was dying, my father wanted her for me, for my safety, but she fought for him every day, to no avail. Death will have its way, regardless of the cause.”
“I know that. I’d seen that in the death of my grandfather Lord Capulet.
Yet in the right circumstances and with the grace of God, death can be forced to wait for its turn.
” I was smug with the knowledge I’d always hugged to myself.
“Every day I appreciate that in my own life, for I’m the daughter of Romeo and Juliet. ”
“So you are, and what a blessing on Verona your family is.” She indicated Fiametta. “In the case of poisoning, she can save a life. Maybe yours, Lady Rosaline.”
That startled me, although why, I don’t know. Mamma had warned about the possibility that my life was at risk, and obviously, Cal had determined to keep me alive for more and better reasons than mere politics.
“Who is it you believe the clues point to?” I asked. “And what do we do to stop … him? Her? Them?”