Venom (35 page)

“I’d love to,” she said, a little too eagerly.

Agnese’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I suppose you would. Well, you might as well begin making friends with Donna Domacetti’s circle. They will be your companions very soon.”

Cass tried to keep a straight face. The thought of marrying Luca was bad enough. Was she expected to transform into a boring, petty gossip as well?

At least Donna Domacetti knew everything about everyone. She’d probably go on at length about the murders if Cass prompted her.

Cass excitedly informed Giuseppe and Narissa of her outing, and the old gardener made record time preparing the gondola for travel. Even Giuseppe looked different to her now. Cass was fascinated by his gnarled hands, at the way his bones curled like claws around the long flexible oar. As Cass watched him steer their boat around a larger flat-bottomed vessel, she thought of the traffic jam in the Grand Canal, and the threatening note she had received. She had been so preoccupied, she had not thought of the note in days. But
now, once again, she wondered who could have sent it. Was it merely a warning, or a true threat?

Neither Falco nor Paolo could have known where to find Cass unless they were following her. But someone like Joseph Dubois could afford to pay an entire battalion of men to stalk her if he so desired. Cass thought back to all the times she had felt like she was being watched: on the path to San Domenico village, in the stalled gondola, at Fondamenta delle Tette, in the batèla with Falco. Maybe it hadn’t all been her imagination. Dubois was connected to both of the dead women. But if he had killed them, why would he be offering a reward for information about his maid?

Cass chewed on her lower lip. She was missing something, some crucial piece of the puzzle. For one, the motivation. And she didn’t understand how she fit in—unless the murderer saw her in the graveyard. It was the only explanation. Cass had no connection to Signor Dubois or to either of the dead girls.

Giuseppe hollered to a man on the shore, and Cass realized they were approaching Donna Domacetti’s palazzo. Cass had not forgotten about looking for a way to leave a message for Falco.

“Will you be accompanying me all the way to the palazzo?” She smiled sweetly at Narissa.

Narissa nodded. “Yes, Signorina. After you’re safely received, I plan to continue on to the market.”

Safely received. As if Cass might get snatched stepping from the gondola onto the Domacettis’ private dock. Maybe she could sneak away for a few minutes after she had tea. The Domacettis lived within walking distance of Piazza San Marco, where she had seen Paolo the other day.

Giuseppe moored the boat in front of the Domacettis’ palazzo and helped Cass from the boat.

Don Domacetti was a high-ranking senator, and everything about his home reeked of excessive wealth. The palazzo was twice the size of those on either side and appeared to be freshly painted, its bright white walls a stark contrast to his neighbors’ dingy, water-stained exteriors. The arched main door was overlaid with gold leaf and embellished with tiny golden vines and blossoms. Cass knocked twice on an ornate door knocker made of marble and shaped like an angel taking flight. A servant in the brilliant red and black livery of the Domacettis’ estate opened the door and ushered Cass into the palazzo.

The servant escorted Cass up the stairs into a vast portego lined with dark wood and accented with red and yellow paint. Cass fought the urge to wince. The whole room, even the ceiling, was adorned with elaborate sculptures of angels and winged horses. There must have been forty little flying creatures in there, each painted more garishly than the next. The walls were deep mahogany, with white marble moldings carved in swirling patterns. A giant square mirror hung at the center of each wall, reflecting the swirls and wings from across the room, magnifying the entire effect.

It was hideous.

The floor of the cavernous portego was made of tiny glass tiles arranged as a replica of Bottacelli’s
Birth of Venus.
Cass walked a circuitous route across the room to avoid stepping on the Venus’s uncovered left breast.

A trio of women sat clustered in chairs around one end of a long marble table. At the head of the table, Donna Domacetti sat on a
plush red divan, the farthingale of her crimson skirts easily filling the seat made for two. Her ample breasts and belly seemed in danger of splitting her ivory bodice. The fabric was pulled so taut, it looked sheer in places. Cass counted at least three chins nestled beneath the woman’s dark red lips.

“The future Signora da Peraga, come join us,” the obese woman said, gesturing regally with one hand.

The other women watched Cass as she arranged herself in one of the open chairs. One woman was young and fair, the other older and dark. Both stared at her with narrow, competitive eyes. A servant brought Cass a steaming cup of tea and left a shining silver pitcher in the center of the table.

“Allow me to introduce Donna Hortensa Zanotta and Signora Isabetta da Guda.” Donna Domacetti gestured to each woman in turn.

Cass had never met either of the women before, but had seen Hortensa occasionally at the Frari when she attended Mass with Madalena. Her husband, Don Zanotta, was an unattractive but powerful man, reputed to be one of the feared Council of Ten, an elite group of Venetian senators that controlled most of the government. Hortensa wore a low-cut emerald dress and a necklace of jagged black stones. She had high cheekbones and wide-set hazel eyes. She would have been beautiful were it not for the cluster of deep smallpox scars on her right cheek. She’d tried unsuccessfully to disguise them with putty and pressed powder. Cass felt a rush of sympathy for the girl. It was rumored that Don Zanotta could be violent when he got angry. Unblemished, Hortensa might have found a younger, kinder husband.

Isabetta was older, closer to Donna Domacetti’s age. She wore a high-collared indigo dress with matching starched cuffs and just a hint of scarlet lip stain. Her dark hair was pinned back into a thick coil of braids and mostly obscured by a deep blue veil.

Hortensa gave Cass a curt nod and then turned back to Donna Domacetti. “Have you met him, then? Don Ernesto of Rome? Rumor has it he can be quite a handful.”

“As well as a mouthful, no doubt.” The fat woman threw her head back and cackled. “Bit of an odd one, though. He likes his women cold.”

“I could be cold,” Hortensa said. She looked around the group, as if daring anyone to challenge this assertion.

“So your husband tells us.” Donna Domacetti cackled again. “But I don’t mean cold as in cruel, Hortensa. I mean
physically
cold. Apparently he makes his favorite courtesan bathe in ice water before he lies with her.”

“How unusual,” the dark-haired woman murmured. Cass had already forgotten her name. Isabella? No, Isabetta. “Does he not have to worry about the cold affecting his…size?” Isabetta asked.

Cass almost choked on her tea. Her face turned bright red. This wasn’t what she imagined socializing with Donna Domacetti’s circle would be like. What if Agnese had come with her? Surely they wouldn’t have spoken so crassly in front of her aunt.

Donna Domacetti chuckled. “Careful, ladies. An innocent sits among us.”

Cass forced her lips into a small, closed-mouth smile. She wondered what these women would think of her if they knew of her trysts with Falco. Cass thought of the moment they had shared only last
night. What might have happened if the world were only her and Falco, if he could have laid her back on one of her aunt’s marble benches and kissed her until sunrise?

“It’s hard to imagine the niece of Agnese Querini being
too
innocent,” Isabetta said. She sipped her tea and then set the pale pink cup back on its saucer, a smear of blood-red lip stain marring the golden rim.

Cass raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired woman. “What does that mean?”

Donna Domacetti rubbed her chins with the back of her hand. “Nothing, my dear. Simply that your aunt is very wise in the ways of the world.”

Cass decided she might as well put the hour she would suffer here to good use. “My aunt wondered if there had been any new developments in catching that maid’s killer,” she said.

“I heard the body was discovered by a priest on his way to service,” Hortensa said, crossing herself.

Donna Domacetti waved a hand in front of her face. “Likely strangled by some drunken sailor in the throes of passion.”

“I heard she was carved up.” Hortensa said this with a dreamy look, like the idea of a mutilated servant was very pleasing.

“Old news, either way,” Donna Domacetti said. “Today I heard my lady’s maid gossiping about a second servant gone missing from Joseph Dubois’s estate. Since when did the comings and goings of servants become a matter of national importance?” she asked, with a sniff.

Cass’s heart jumped into her throat. Another servant missing from Joseph Dubois’s estate? After the first two deaths linked back to him? It had to be more than just a coincidence. “Do they think she
was taken, just like the first?” Cass fiddled with the handle of her teacup.

“Who knows, dear? Dubois is apparently so distraught, he’s been unable to speak to the rettori yet. Seems this girl was one of his favorites—blonde, big eyes, one of those maids who struts around in her servants’ garb like she’s a courtesan.” She snorted. “No wonder he’s distraught. The French and their women. At least he likes them warm.” Donna Domacetti drained her cup of tea and then let out a satisfied belch. “If you ask me, she probably ran off with some performer. Palazzo Dubois is always crawling with them—poets, jugglers, conjurers. I don’t know how the signora puts up with the constant noise and drama. Maybe she’s also being entertained after hours.” The other women snickered.

So. Another favorite of Signor Dubois gone missing. It seemed increasingly likely that Dubois was to blame for the murders, or was at least connected to them in some way. Perhaps after Agnese allowed Cass to leave the villa again, she and Siena could make a visit to Feliciana. If anything shady was going on at Palazzo Dubois, Siena’s gorgeous older sister would likely know of it.

The image of her former lady’s maid flashed in her head.
Blonde. Big eyes.
No, it couldn’t be. Signor Dubois employed dozens of girls. The chance that Feliciana was the girl who had gone missing was slim. Still, Cass felt her blood racing beneath her skin. She remembered the swollen corpse emerging from the waters of the Grand Canal, the ring of bruises around her neck. That couldn’t happen to Feliciana. Or to any other woman. It went against God and nature, against everything.

“You look a bit pale, dear. Let me freshen up your tea.” Donna Domacetti reached across Cass for the pitcher of tea the servant
had left in the middle of the table. Cass stared at the large ring on her middle finger. It was a bright red oval stone set in silver, with a flower engraved in its middle.

Six petals inscribed in a circle, just like the ring Falco had found in Liviana’s tomb.

Just like the symbol on the outside of de Gradi’s workshop.

Cass nearly knocked over her teacup. “Your ring,” she burst out, clumsily catching the cup before more than a drop had spilled. “It’s…lovely.”

“Oh, this? Thank you, dear. I received it as a gift from a local abbot in exchange for some charitable donations I made. I do patronize a good many churches. It’s important to keep in touch with the masses, don’t you agree?”

Cass faked a smile and looked down at her lap, trying to control the trembling of her hands. She watched Donna Domacetti out of the corner of her eye. She had almost forgotten about the ring Falco had found in Livi’s tomb, but she would swear it looked just like the one Donna Domacetti was now wearing. Could she be involved in the murders somehow? The donna was crass, but seemed harmless. Much too self-absorbed to be caught up in any plot that didn’t involve eating, gossiping, or ogling attractive men.

Then again, if Cass had learned one thing in the past week, it was that no one was who they seemed to be.