Passion Blue (26 page)

“What do you want more than anything in the world, Angela?” Giulia heard her own voice, as if from a great distance.

“To give glory to God through my painting. You know that.”

“What if you found out that your heart’s desire was really something else? And that getting it meant giving up what you always thought you wanted most, and settling for something you never wanted at all? But you weren’t sure you were right, and if you made a mistake, if you made
the wrong choice, you’d never get another chance?”

“Giulia, what are you talking about?” Angela limped toward Giulia, her delicate brows knotted with concern. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Giulia said, but it wasn’t true. The talisman dragged at her neck, a cruel weight. Humilità spoke inside her mind:
For you, there is only here, with me
.

A tide of grief rose up in her. The tears spilled over, and she bowed her face onto Angela’s shoulder and wept as if she would never stop.

A hundred times, in the days that followed, Giulia fought the same battle of decision. She was still not sure she was right about the talisman. She still could not bear to think what it meant for her to stay at Santa Marta. But the truth was settling into her, like mineral pigment settling to the bottom of a beaker of water. No matter which path she chose, there must be sacrifice. She didn’t know if she were strong enough to endure losing Ormanno and the life she had always dreamed of—but she did know, with absolute certainty, that she could not give up painting.

She was aware also that something strange was
happening to her thoughts. More and more, she found herself remembering not Ormanno’s arms or his mouth or his icy-bright eyes, but how appalled he’d seemed by the idea of a woman in his workshop, and how he had lied (she was almost sure of it) when he said he would consider her plan. How he’d asked her to leave with him, but not to marry him. The thoughtless, ridiculously risky thing he had proposed the last time they were together.

It was as if a door had cracked open; a door she had not been able to look behind before. A door she hadn’t even realized she was holding closed.

Friday arrived at last, a chilly day with pouring rain. As the girls lined up for the refectory it was clear that Alessia and Elisabetta were unwell. When the food came out, Alessia closed her eyes.

“Suor Margarita, may I be excused?”

“Indeed you may not, Alessia, as I told you the first time you asked. Exert your will, and your belly will obey.”

Alessia began to reply, but then her eyes widened. She shot up from the bench and bolted from the room. Elisabetta ran after her, hands clapped over her mouth.

“May the saints grant me patience.” Suor Margarita rose. “Nelia, you are in charge till I get back.”

Down at the end of the table, Giulia noticed, Lisa was smiling.

The meal ended, and Giulia set out for the workshop. She’d gone only a little distance when she heard Lisa’s thick voice behind her, calling her name. She stopped and waited as the crippled girl caught up.

“I fixed her for you,” Lisa said softly, or as softly as
her garbled speech allowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Alessia. I got purgative powder from the infirmary and put it in those nuts she’s always eating. She must’ve shared them with Elisabetta.”

Giulia stared at Lisa, shocked. “You made her sick?”

“Yes. Because I hate her.” Lisa’s blue eyes burned in her lopsided face—pretty eyes, Giulia noticed for the first time, with long blond lashes. “And for you. She was going to tell Suor Margarita you sneak out of the dormitory at night.”

Giulia opened her mouth, and found she could not speak.

“I heard her talking to Nelia. She said you go out to your lover, like a whore. She said she followed you and saw. She said the next time she was going to fetch Suor Margarita so you’d be caught and thrown out of Santa Marta. And you were nice to me. So I fixed her.”

It really was Alessia the other night
, Giulia thought. How could she not have noticed she was being followed?

“Don’t worry, Giulia. I won’t betray you. I’ll keep your secret even if they beat me.”

“There won’t be a secret after tonight.”

“Are you running away with him?” Lisa’s lovely eyes opened wide. “With your lover?”

“He’s not my lover. And I’m not going to run away.”

Not until this moment, she realized, had she been completely sure.

A pair of choir nuns came around the corner, turning identical disapproving glances on the two girls. Lisa
waited until they were past, then leaned close.

“I’m glad, Giulia. I’m glad you’ll still be here.”

Giulia had no idea, later, how she got through the day. It took all her concentration to behave normally. Perhaps she wasn’t doing a very good job, for she could feel Angela’s eyes on her as they worked. Fortunately Humilità, immersed in painting, was too distracted to notice anything amiss.

At supper, Alessia and Elisabetta were missing, confined to bed by order of the infirmarian. Giulia could not bring herself to feel any sympathy for them. She endured the meal, then the recreation hour. When at last the candles were blown out, she lay staring at the ceiling, waiting as the distant city bells tolled ten o’clock, then eleven.

How was she going to explain her decision to Ormanno? She wasn’t cruel enough to tell him the truth about the horoscope, but she did not want to lie.
Will he be angry? What will I do if he pleads with me
? Of course, she could avoid the problem simply by staying away—by leaving him, tonight of all their nights, to wait alone by the broken wall. But that was the coward’s path. She owed him at least some explanation.

At last she could not bear it a moment longer. Ormanno had told her not to come until one o’clock, but what difference would it make if she was early?

She climbed out the window, as she had so many times before—though this time was different, for it was the last. The rain had stopped and the full moon peered down through tattered clouds. Her footsteps seemed to beat a refrain:
Last time, last time
. The last time she’d
slip through nightbound corridors. The last time she’d plunge into the darkness of Lucida’s courtyard.

When she reached the orchard she halted to tie on her sandals, her teeth chattering with chill and nerves. Then she began to make her way between the trees, holding her skirts above her knees to keep them out of the wet grass. Moonlight came and went as clouds scudded across the sky, and everywhere was the winey scent of windfall apples.

A light flickered up ahead. Good—Ormanno had come early too.
We can get it over with sooner
. Giulia quickened her pace. The light seemed brighter than usual—had he brought a lantern?

A strange noise broke the stillness, a metallic clanking. Giulia stopped short. Had she imagined it? Just as she was sure she had, there came a different noise: a heavy
thunk
. Then another, and another, accompanied by a splintering sound.

What on earth
…?

Now she heard voices—something spoken, a response, too low to make out the words. One of the voices was Ormanno’s, she was sure of it. But whose was the other?

Why has he brought someone with him
?

She ran toward the light. At the last moment common sense, or some other instinct, made her slow. She crept between the trees and halted behind a twisted trunk.

She’d been right about the lantern. It sat on the ground by the breached wall. By its light she saw Ormanno, kneeling in the rain-damp grass. He wore boots and a leather jerkin, and a large wallet was slung over his shoulder. His features, illuminated from
beneath, were tense. Another man knelt nearby, his back turned so Giulia could not see his face.

“There’s no
time
for this,” Ormanno was saying, his voice tight. “We’re already later than we should be because you couldn’t stick to the plan.”

“I just want to look at it,” said the other man. “Hard to believe it’s worth what you say. Hard to believe anyone would care so much about some bloody paint recipe.”

“We can talk about this later, Didoni. You need to leave.”

“All right, all right. I’m going.”

The man got to his feet, turning as he did—a large man, Giulia saw, with fair hair and features flattened as if he had been in too many fights. She also saw the book he held in his hands.

A big book, with leather binding and a brass clasp.

Humilità’s book of secrets.

Giulia felt as if someone had seized her by the throat. There was a roaring in her ears.

“Take the box too.” Ormanno was on his feet now also.

“Why? It’s no use now I’ve broken it.”

“I want you to get rid of it. I don’t want her to see it.”

“Who, your doxy?”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Well, well. Got tender feelings for the little convent girl, have we?”

“Christ’s wounds! Why can’t you just do as I say? By God, if I hadn’t needed you to pick the locks I’d never have used you.”

Giulia clutched the wet bark of the tree that sheltered
her, as if she hung over the edge of the world and would fall forever if she let go. Understanding tore through her. Ormanno’s interest in the workshop. The things he had gotten her to tell him, under the guise of ordinary conversation, about how it functioned, where it was located. Watching her cross Lucida’s courtyard at the end of their meetings, so he would know his way into the convent building. What he’d asked her to do last Friday night…. And if she had agreed. If she had agreed, what would have happened?

Hard to believe anyone would care so much about some bloody paint recipe
.

He hadn’t wanted her. He’d never wanted her. He had wanted Humilità’s book. He had wanted Passion blue.

“
Used
me?” Didoni’s voice had gone flat.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I? I remember the oaths we swore as boys, when all the world was against us. I’m starting to wonder if you do.”

“You know damned well I do. Didoni, we cannot be at odds now. We must hold fast, or neither of us will get anything.”

“Bloody hell,” Didoni said. “Take the cursed book, then, and put it in the cursed box yourself. You can put it in the boat too. I’ve got my hands full with the rest.”

He handed Ormanno the book, then dragged a bulging sack out of the shadows. Giulia realized where the clanking noise she’d heard earlier had come from.

“You always were a greedy sod,” Ormanno said, kneeling again to place the book in the box and prop
the lid, which had been shattered off its hinges, on top. “We will get hundreds for this book, but still you had to have the candlesticks.”

“That’s paper and ink,” said Didoni. “This is silver. I know what silver’s worth.”

Ormanno sighed. He rose, the box in his arms. “So. The three o’clock bell, you know where. I’ll meet you in the street, and we’ll go to the client together.”

“Yes,
Maestro
.” Didoni’s tone was mocking. “You’ve only told me a hundred times.”

He picked up the lantern. They were leaving, with Humilità’s book. That could not happen. Giulia had no plan; she had no idea how to stop them, knew it was mad even to think that she might try. But there was no time to run for help. There was no one to call on. No one but herself.

She stepped from behind the tree, into the light of the lantern. “Stop.” It was a whisper. She tried again. “Stop!”

As one, the two men sprang around, Didoni’s hand going to the knife at his belt. There was an instant of frozen silence. Then Didoni dropped his hand and smiled an ugly smile.

“Well, well. Your doxy’s early, Manno.”

“Giulia.” Ormanno moved toward her. “Why are you here? I told you one o’clock.”

“Yes, because you wanted to be sure you’d be gone before I arrived.” Giulia was shocked, and she was terrified. But she was also angry—a high clear rage that built in her as she spoke.

“No. No, I was going to take you with me. I
am
going to take you with me.”

“Oh, really? And I was never to know that you’re a liar? That you never stopped being a thief? That you used me to get inside Santa Marta so you could steal my Maestra’s secrets? So you could break into her workshop and take her book?”

“Giulia, I swear I was going to tell you. Just later on, when we were away from here.”

“When it was too late for me to do anything about it, you mean. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?
This
was why you came up to the balcony that day.
This
was why you climbed over the wall all those nights. Oh, you were so clever, getting me to tell you so many things, and I was such a fool. I believed everything you said.”

“Giulia…” There was something like distress in Ormanno’s face, but she knew it was false, like everything else about him.

“The joke’s on you, Ormanno. Passion blue is in cipher.”

“What?”

“That’s right. All the important recipes are. Only the Maestra can read them. You took the book for nothing.”

“Manno.” Didoni set down the lantern and the sack. “What’s she saying?”

“It’s a lie. She’s lying.”

“I’m not. It’s the truth.”

“Speak to me, Manno.” Didoni stepped forward, laid a heavy hand on Ormanno’s shoulder. “Is she lying or not?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Ormanno shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as Passion blue is in the book, the client gets what he wants. It’s not our fault if he can’t read it.”

“He’ll say we cheated him. Maybe cut our fee.”

“How is it a cheat? He wanted the book, we got him the book. Yes. This can still work. We won’t wait—we’ll go to him now. We’ll give him the book. We’ll say nothing about a cipher. We’ll get our money and be out of Padua before dawn.”

“You can’t do this,” Giulia said, in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. “I won’t let you.”

Didoni laughed. “And how do you plan to stop us, little girl?”

Giulia charged at Ormanno. He staggered, surprised, and lost his grip on the box. It fell, the broken lid spinning off, the book flying out. Giulia threw herself after it, scrabbling for it. Her hands closed on its heavy leather. Then she was up, clutching the book to her chest, tripping over the hem of her gown, staggering toward the trees, one step, another step, another—