One Knight In Venice. Tori Phillips

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ himself. Jobe decided to remain silent on the matter. Francis had suffered enough shocking family news for one day. The time of this latest reckoning—and its hidden secret—would come soon enough.

      Francis longed to scratch his nose but he did not dare move. Why was it that his nose never itched until he sat for this poxy portrait? He hoped that Belle would appreciate Bassanio’s labors. To distract himself from the annoying tickle, he stared into middle space and listened to the idle chatter of the other apprentices in the chamber. Since he had first sat for Bassanio, he had overheard several interesting tidbits of news that he had passed on to Sir William. This mindless exercise turned out to be well worth the ducats and tedium.

      He tried not to let his mind wander back to his grandfather’s demise. That wound in his heart was still too raw to allow much thought in such a public place. He was deeply grateful that Bassanio had not asked the meaning of the black armband that Francis now wore in Sir Thomas’s memory. Instead, Francis cast furtive glances at Jobe’s serious countenance. He has that look he gets when he sees the future.

      Bassanio clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Per favore, messere,” the painter pleaded. “Do not roll your eyes so. You try me to the quick.”

      “Your pardon,” Francis replied, barely moving his lips.

      He wished he could read Jobe’s inscrutable mind. There was something about the portrait that had surprised the African. Yet he did not seem displeased. Francis prayed that the painter had not given his skin that greenish tinge that appeared on some paintings he had seen during a covert trip he had made to Madrid. It was bad enough that he would be preserved in these gaudy clothes for all time. In any event, Belle would have a good laugh at his expense.

      Bassanio stepped back and cocked his head. “Fine,” he pronounced.

      With relief, Francis got off his stool. “Finished? May I see it now?”

      The painter shook his head. “I only meant that I was finished for today. The good light is gone.” He dropped his cloth over the easel. “You can come next Wednesday?”

      Francis hid his disappointment. Portrait-sitting was indeed a rare form of torture. “Sì,” he agreed. He retrieved his cloak and turned to Jobe who still appeared to be lost in the forest of his own thoughts.

      “Have you seen enough art for the day?” he bantered.

      Blinking, Jobe nodded. He placed a ducat in the hand of the surprised painter. “My thanks, signore, for a most excellent afternoon.”

      Bassanio’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Come again, signore! Come often. Indeed, it would be an honor to paint you! I am your humble servant.” With more drivel of the same sort, Bassanio showed them out into the narrow street.

      Francis drew in a deep breath of the early evening air. Another light mist from the lagoon curled around the house corners. “Tell me, Jobe, what did you see in there?”

      The ebony giant chuckled. “I saw a painted fool.”

      Francis knew there was more. “And what else? Come now, I saw your face. You had another vision. Tell me.”

      Jobe gave him a searching look before he answered. “Very well. I beheld a dangerous secret, one that is bright-shining like the sun in splendor. For many years it has lain hidden deep amid the roots of your family. Soon it will be revealed but how or when, I do not know.”

      Which family, Francis wondered, Bardolph or Cavendish?

      Assuming a lighter mood, Jobe draped his arm over Francis’s shoulder. “Where away? Do we sup with the delectable Donna Cosma?”

      Francis stared up at the chimney pots across the way. He had no desire to see his husband-hunting mistress. “Not I tonight, my friend, though I would not deny you that singular pleasure if you wish it.”

      Jobe stroked his beardless chin. “How now? Surely the wench expects you. Your landlord gave me the impression that you always spent your evenings at her establishment.”

      Francis thought of the sweet, mysterious, fascinating Jessica. “Tis time for a change, methinks. Let us repair to my inn where mine host serves a passable meal, and we shall have a long talk in private. I am anxious to hear all the news of…of home.”

      Jobe nodded with a grin. “Then I am your man. I will purchase a bottle of sweet wine and then I will fill your nighttime hours with so many tales that you will cry ‘enough!”’

      “Good!” Francis savored his pleasant thoughts of Jessica. “The morrow will come more quickly.”

      Jobe’s laughter rumbled up from his throat. “Methinks I scent l’amore!”

      Francis snorted. “When pigs fly.”

      Chapter Five

      The bells of the nearby church chimed ten melodic strokes. Using a pair of wooden tongs, Jessica laid a thick piece of toweling over the pile of hot stones that hissed with clouds of steam when she ladled a dipper of water over them. Sophia rushed into the kitchen and shut the door behind her as if all the demons of hell had arrived by gondola.

      “He’s back!” she told Jessica, her eyes wide with fright.

      Her little companion’s demeanor unnerved Jessica. She swallowed. “I presume you mean the Englishman. He promised to come this morning at ten.” Jessica’s hands trembled. “What is amiss?”

      Sophia glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “Sì, the sad lord is in the antechamber but he is not alone.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “He is accompanied by another who is even taller.”

      Jessica experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “¡Madre del Dio! They have come to drag me before the Inquisition. But I have done nothing wrong, Sophia,” she protested. “Though my parents have returned to their former religion, I have always obeyed the Holy Church of Rome. I have done nothing wrong,” she repeated under her breath like a prayer.

      The little woman did not hear Jessica’s plaintive words. She stared fixedly at the door. “The new one is black as midnight. An Ethiope, I warrant.” She made a face. “And he smiles exceedingly much!”

      Jessica blinked. An African in company with Lord Bardolph? Could such a one also be a member of the Holy Office? She discarded the very notion. She had seen a few blackamoors in the piazza, especially during the Carnevale season, but never one inside a church. And yet—yesterday, the English gentleman had been accompanied by a tall man, one who lingered in the shadows. Like a dark shadow himself.

      She gave herself a shake. She could not hide in her kitchen for the rest of her life. “Come, Sophia! We must not tarry or they will grow restive and knock the house down with their elbows.”

      Sophia crossed her arms over her tight bodice. “This is not the time to jest, child. We must look to our safety. I shall tell Gobbo to be armed with his stiletto as well as his lute.”

      Jessica refrained from pointing out that the little man’s dagger would be as effectual as a mouse’s tooth against a lion. “Prepare a tray of sweetmeats and pastries for the African. Pour him a generous goblet of wine—our best vintage, Sophia, and…do not water it too much. Perchance we can lull him with СКАЧАТЬ