Lady Charlotte's Christmas Vigil Read online

  She felt like his eyes pierced right through her for a moment, before he looked away and ran a hand through his hair in what she recognized as his habitual gesture of frustration.

  “He is young. Perhaps, yes. Some do.”

  Some. Not all. A tremor took control of her hands; she folded them together to bring herself under control.

  “Others who come in contact may not be so lucky,” the doctor persisted. “You must listen to me. The patient must not leave this house. His caregiver must not, either. Have your landlady or her servants been up here?”

  “No. They wouldn't come near. I doubt if I could pay them enough. Surely I—”

  “Listen to me, Lady Charlotte. If I had my way, I would transfer all cases of putrid fever to an outer island. Alas, Venice no longer boasts a lazaretto, a place of quarantine for the care of infectious patients.”

  He bit his lower lip. “The signora and her servants may come and go from the house for now, but no one is to come in this room, except the man I send.”

  Bloody hell. Signora Rossi will put us out for this. “You will not. I will do it myself.”

  He glared at her; she glared back. He turned on his heels. The click of the closing door gave her a small sense of triumph, that the man had accepted her decision. Still, he left her alone and bereft. When she heard a knock at the door moments later, she tore the door open with her heart in her throat, but no attractive Venetian doctor greeted her. A basin, a ewer of water, and clean rags lay on the floor.

  Of the maid, she saw no sign. She would be alone, and that fool of a doctor left her with little help and less hope.

  Chapter 2

  Salvo pounded on his fever patient's door. It had taken him more than an hour to fetch Giacomo, negotiate an outrageous bonus, over his mother’s objections, and drag the man back.

  He raised his hand to knock again, but the door opened before he could. The flicker of relief he saw in Lady Charlotte’s eyes pleased him. Perhaps she will accept the inevitable. When Giacomo entered behind him, however, her eyes narrowed.

  “We do not need help and are not prepared to pay a nurse,” she insisted.

  Salvo scanned the room, assessed the situation, and ignored her protest. Clean cloths lay in a neat stack on a dresser. Two large ewers of water sat on the floor under the window. The envelopes of willow bark lay next to the cloths.

  Good.

  His assistant responded to a soft knock and carried in blankets and a pallet for the floor.

  “Giacomo is my apprentice,” Salvo told the patient’s sister. “He will be a physician sooner rather than later. Your brother could not have a better caregiver. He will also ensure the contagion is confined.”

  “How is he any safer than I would be?”

  Giacomo gave her the smile one might give to a particularly simple child. “I have lived on the canals all my life. I am never ill, even when epidemics rage. This putrid fever will not come to me.”

  “You, however,” Salvo said, “are a foreigner, a woman, and unlikely to be immune to it.” She must see that.

  Lady Charlotte did not look convinced. She looked like a woman marshaling her arguments, and Salvo had no time for persuasion.

  “Do you have what you need?” he asked Giacomo.

  His assistant hefted his valise and shrugged. “Si,” he replied.

  “What does being a woman have to do with it?” Lady Charlotte demanded. “I’ve nursed—” Her sentence ended in a yelp when Salvo picked her up and deposited her in the hallway.

  Giacomo, bright boy, clicked the lock behind them.

  “I demand to see my brother,” Charlotte cried.

  This presumptuous doctor can’t force me from David’s bedside, can he? She realized she had no idea. What is the law in Venice?

  “Kindly hurry and pack your things. I have other pressing matters.”

  “Pack my bags? Why would I do that?”

  The vile man looked at the wall for a moment as if gathering his patience, glanced over at her, and shook his head, causing a dark curl to fall onto his forehead.

  “You are coming with me,” he said. His tone implied she hadn’t been paying attention.

  “Why on earth? I pay for rooms here. We can’t afford another,” she said. That wasn’t entirely true. They had funds, but Charlotte husbanded them with care.

  If we spend money on another room and David’s illness lingers, we will have no funds to carry us to Rome. Rome! I would miss the crown of this benighted tour. Her heart sank. She would spend what she must on David’s care but she wouldn’t waste money on an extra room.

  “Then you will come with me. My mother will arrange something.” He looked as unmovable as the bell tower that rose about Saint Mark’s Square.

  Has this man no sense?

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “What is more important, I would be alone away from David.” And he would be at the mercy of these strangers.

  The man’s face darkened. She wondered if she had chosen the wrong arguments. You just told him you have no companion or chaperone. Belatedly, she considered his size and the strength with which he had extracted her from David’s room. Her body quivered at the thought. Can I trust him?

  His fierce look almost cowed her, but she clenched her teeth and reminded herself how gentle his hands looked when he examined her brother.

  “You are without protection in a foreign city, you face desperate illness, and you refuse help. Foolish woman! Pack your bags,” he demanded.

  “I will not.”

  He had her off her feet in a heartbeat. She went down the stairs over his shoulder. When she opened her mouth to shout for help, she caught sight of Signora Rossi’s face and knew there would be none from that quarter.

  The gondola bobbed violently when he dropped her into it. Charlotte’s stomach heaved. but the grinning Paolo steadied the boat. “Home, Signore?” the gondolier asked.

  “Palazzo del Gardesani,” her tormentor barked.

  “Is that your mother’s house?” she asked. Paolo laughed at that.

  “I told you I have other pressing matters,” the doctor reminded her. He clamped his jaw shut. Charlotte turned to face the bow, pulled her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them protectively. She slumped forward as Paolo rowed out into the Grand Canal. Where is this man taking me?

  A long while later, a deep yet gentle voice behind her said, “Signora Rossi will pack your things and send them. I told you my urgent problem would not wait.”

  A hundred questions rushed forward, but Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to ask them. The boat moved up the canal, past the turn-off to the doctor’s premises. Paolo coaxed it into the Rio de Verona. He ducked when they passed under a footbridge and brought the gondola to a smooth stop at the door of a crumbling palazzo.

  A wall of grey stone with chipped mortar loomed above Charlotte, casting her into shadow in the narrow canal. Thick moss and black mold clung to the foundation and up several feet of wall. It’s as if the sea has reached up to reclaim this building. Her shudder of revulsion rocked the boat, but both the gondolier and the doctor ignored it.

  Caresini leapt from the gondola to a narrow ledge and pounded on what was once a magnificent door, now half rotted away. He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he pulled an enormous iron key from his bag, clicked the lock, and pushed the door open.

  “Come, come. I will be a while,” he said. He reached down to lift Charlotte from the gondola by her elbows. She gasped when the boat swayed back and forth, but she landed safely on the narrow quay. Paolo leapt up behind her and followed them into the gloom.

  Charlotte put out a hand to steady herself in the semi-darkness while her eyes adjusted. For one brief moment, she touched the laconic physician’s back, and its warmth and strength gave her a sense of safety. Just as swiftly, a horrific sight made her cry out in terror. A grotesque monster appeared above her, empty eye sockets outlined in gold filigree staring down from a stark, white face. Black wings extended from th
e creature’s head. Muffled sounds emanated from its jutting chin. She saw no mouth.

  Paolo’s laughter did little to calm her panic. Where have these men brought me? What do they plan to do? She turned and tried to run, but someone caught her arm.

  “Easy. You’ll land in the canal and take a fever like your stupido brother,” Dr. Caresini growled. “Come, let me show you.”

  He turned her forcefully. The figure in black had descended a hidden stairway. With her vision newly adjusted, Charlotte could see the creature stood a head shorter than she did, its face covered with a mask. The “raven wings” were, on closer look, merely the sides of a broad tricorn hat, such as her grandfather had worn.

  “May I make known to you Signore Vicente Gardesano, my mother’s uncle? Uncle, this is Lady Charlotte Tyree.”

  She couldn’t understand the muffled response under the mask.

  “Remove the bauta, Uncle, so we can understand you.”

  A trembling hand pushed the mask up to the man’s forehead. “I cannot remove it, Salvo. I am needed; I am needed. A citizen must wear his bauta to—” the old man hesitated, confused. “Where am I going, Salvo. Is it carnevale?”

  “Not today, Uncle. Where is Signora Banna?”

  “Who?”

  “Your caregiver, Uncle.”

  “I need no caregiver, Salvo. I have told you this.”

  “Did you run one off again, Uncle?”

  The old man got a devilish grin. “She ran fast, this one.”

  The man looked quite elderly. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his face, what Charlotte could see of it beneath the mask he had pushed up, looked wrinkled and gaunt. The old man’s thoughts jumbled together like Charlotte’s grandfather’s had at the end of his life.

  Caresini managed to silently urge his uncle and Charlotte up the stairs, down a hallway lined with dust-covered portraits and marble figures, into a parlor of sorts. Muted sunlight filtered into the room, giving it a human, if shabby, appearance. The smell of mildew hung in the air.

  The old man removed his mask and hat to reveal a small head covered with a few wisps of white hair. Rheumy eyes looked Charlotte over. Before the old man could speak, his nephew did.

  “When did you eat last, Uncle,” Doctor Caresini asked, his eyes assessing and evaluating the man.

  “This morning,” the old man said. “Or perhaps yesterday. I don’t remember. There is cheese in the larder. Or there was.”

  The doctor cursed silently and glared out the window, gathering himself.

  Charlotte shot a glance at the doctor and back to his uncle. She took the old man’s hand. “Are you not hungry, Sir?”

  “What? Hungry? Of course. I wish vitello scallopine. And bring the good wine; none of that horse piss you served me yesterday,” the old man snapped at Charlotte.

  She flinched at his words.

  “Quickly, woman! Don’t dawdle.” The old man pulled back his hand as if to hit her, but Dr. Caresini got there faster, grabbing the man’s wrist.

  “Don’t hit the servants, Uncle.”

  Charlotte bristled, but quickly remembered that the old fellow had no idea who or what she was.

  “Why is he here alone? He looks like he hasn’t eaten in a while.”

  “My cousin, his grandson, hires people to stay with him. As you can see, he terrorizes them, threatens them, or simply fires them. We find him alone. I come every week, and every week . . .” he shrugged.

  “His family should be here.”

  “When I ask my cousin to visit every few days, he says the old man doesn’t recognize him, so he sees no reason to visit. He sends yet another nurse. Uncle Vicente runs them off as fast as Victor hires them.” The words sounded bitter.

  Charlotte had no response.

  “Life is sweet in the Veneto,” Paolo whispered to her, “Victor Gardesano minds his grapes and stays well out of the lagoon.”

  Dr. Caresini glared at him, but Paolo’s impish smile didn’t falter.

  “Shall I see what is in the pantry this week?” the boatman asked.

  It took Salvo well over an hour to get food into Uncle Vicente and settle him down. Only assurances that “Carnevale is tomorrow, Uncle. You will need your sleep,” soothed the old man into his bed. Paolo scared up a layabout from the Rialto to keep watch overnight, until Salvo’s worthless cousin could hire another keeper. It was the best he could manage; Salvo had responsibilities of his own.

  During all of this, Salvo’s other problem, the English lady, showed remarkable forbearance. She helped coax food into the old man, when he knew she would much prefer to rant at him for his managing ways. Now, she sat straight-backed in the gondola while they made their way to his house. He could feel her anger brewing.

  She could rant all she wanted when they got back to his house. The walls echoed with querulous voices most nights. One more would change nothing. No matter what she said, Salvo would not leave a woman alone to risk putrid fever. Not after he had watched his Catrina die of it. He wouldn’t watch another woman fall ill when it was in his power to prevent it.

  His mother gave Lady Charlotte a baleful look and turned on Salvo.

  “What kept you?” she demanded.

  “Uncle Vicente ran off another care giver,” he told her.

  Mama rolled her eyes. “He is Victor’s problem. You have your own here.” A loud crash above stairs punctuated her statement. Her lips tightened.

  “They should be in bed.” He had prayed they would be. If ever Salvo needed a quiet night, this was it.

  His mother shrugged. “They pay me no mind,” she said.

  “Papa!” a shrill voice called. “Carlo tore my book, and Toto is jumping on my bed like a monkey. Make them leave me alone.” His daughter thundered down the stairs, but skidded to a stop at the sight of Lady Charlotte. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, in imitation of an aristocratic lady. At eleven, she already put on airs.

  “Who is this?” she demanded glaring at Lady Charlotte

  Before Salvo could answer , two small boys, identical in size, and topped with identical black curls, barreled into the girl.

  “Stop it!” she shrieked. “Leave me alone.” She began to cry.

  Toto and Carlo pushed her aside. “We want pudding before bed, Papa. Nonna said no.”

  “They broke Nonna’s vase!” his daughter announced. “Don’t listen to them.”

  “It was Juliana’s fault,” Carlo spat.

  “She pushed me,” Toto added.

  “Did not,” the girl cried, her voice still thick with tears.

  “Enough, enough. What must Lady Charlotte think of us?” he shouted. Whether his tone of voice or the sight of a stranger quieted them, Salvo felt grateful something did. Three pairs of dark eyes turned to their guest.

  He took a deep breath and tried a soothing tone. “Lady Charlotte, may I present my daughter, Juliana, and my sons, Salvatore—”

  “I am Toto,” his son insisted.

  “Yes, Toto and Carlo,” Salvo continued. “Children, this is Lady Charlotte Tyree. She will be our guest for a while.”

  “Why?” Carlo demanded.

  “She can’t have pudding if we can’t,” Toto said at the same time.

  “She can’t have my room,” his daughter announced. “I plan to lock my door.” She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

  “Not if we get there first,” the boys said in unison, running after her.

  Salvo watched his guest’s eyes grow larger and larger during his children’s antics. His shoulders stiffened and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Lady Charlotte claimed she had no funds for other lodging; he hadn’t the energy to dispute it.

  But what on earth am I to do with this woman?

  He sagged against the wall and looked helplessly at his mother. “Lady Charlotte needs a place to stay,” he told her with an attempt at firmness.

  “How long?” his mother demanded. She didn’t try to pretend welcome.

  “We shall see. Pe
rhaps until her brother’s illness runs its course—unless we can find another solution. In the meantime, make her welcome.” He hoped his tone sounded like a command. He suspected she knew he was begging.

  “Send me back,” Lady Charlotte demanded. “I don’t wish to burden your family.”

  He hated the weariness creasing her face and the sadness in her eyes, but he couldn’t send her back. He shook his head.

  Lady Charlotte groaned and spoke to his mother. “I asked to stay with my brother, but this man would not permit it. He removed me from the room and forced me to follow him.”

  At “this man” both women glared at him with identical expressions of disapproval.

  “Putrid fever, Mama,” Salvo explained. “She will not escape it if she stays to nurse him.”

  His mother shook her head sadly, and took Lady Charlotte’s hands in hers. “We will talk tomorrow. For now, I will show you to a guest room. It is small, but clean. I will send a tray up. You must be starving.”

  The English lady opened her mouth to argue, looked at Salvo, and closed it quickly. Her shoulders slumped when she followed his mother to the stairs. After two hours with Uncle Vicente and the display my family put on, she must feel like she has wandered into a tribe of madmen.

  Chapter 3

  Dr. Caresini’s mother’s promised “talk” never materialized. “I thought you were wealthy,” the old woman complained as she set out ample platters of food. “Have you come here like the French and the Austrians to take what little we have?”

  Charlotte’s mouth gaped at the outrageous accusation, her consternation pushing aside her hunger and the tantalizing smell of cinnamon buns and ham. Before she could respond to the woman, however, the children invaded and their grandmother disappeared.

  Charlotte had awoken with a headache, crusty eyes, and a longing for home—one of those rare occasions when she missed Ambler Manor. When she followed David on his Grand Tour, she had embraced the freedom. It more than made up for what she left behind: a plethora of servants, plenty of luxury, and the stuffy predictability of London society. This one morning, though, she wished for fine linens, chocolate delivered on a tray, and the comfort of control.