“Maddalena, come,” Lucrezia hissed when I stumbled into her room in the early dawn. The sun had scarcely commenced rising. “You must help me.”
I blinked, trying to banish sleep from my eyes. Pantasilea had shaken me awake moments ago, saying Madonna Lucrezia needed my help at once. “And keep quiet, whatever you do,” she admonished in a whisper, casting her eyes to where Isabella slumbered on.
Pantasilea had disappeared as I dressed and went to present myself to my mistress. “What do you need, Madonna Lucrezia?” I asked, trying to stifle a yawn.
Lucrezia was pulling linens and gowns out of her wardrobe and out of drawers, tossing them onto the bed. “Help me pack these,” she said, gesturing to three trunks at the side of the room. Pantasilea was already packing some of Lucrezia’s jewels and placing them in one of the trunks.
I rushed to obey, taking up the things she had flung onto the bed, and began folding them as neatly as I could. “Where are you going, Madonna? Do I need to send to the stables to—”
“No,” she cut me off. “You are not to say a word. Pantasilea has already made arrangements for a litter. No one is to know I have gone until after I’ve left.”
I looked up at her, my hands ceasing their folding. She was agitated, pacing the room—much like her brother did when he was distressed—opening and closing drawers without seeing what she was looking at. I was overstepping, but still I softly asked, “What is wrong, Madonna? Are you quite well?”
She crossed the room to me, taking my hands in hers. “I am with child,” she whispered.
I gasped. “No! You are? But…” I thought back; it had been over three months since her husband had fled. “Surely … is it your husband’s?”
“Of course not,” she said. “How could it be? I have only just found out.”
“Who…” I began, before realizing how inappropriate such a question was.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Honestly, Maddalena. I am surprised you do not know. In any case, I am taking myself off to the convent at San Sisto. I will remain there until the child is born.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I have to. I have no choice. If I can keep Father from finding out, all the better.”
I did not think she was likely to keep a secret like this from her father—to say nothing of her brother—but I did not say so. “Where will you say you have gone, Madonna? What should I—and the other servants—say if we are asked?”
“You may tell anyone who asks where I have gone. I will not be able to keep that a secret. Only say I am deep in mourning for Juan and I wished to seek solitude and seclusion.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “It is not untrue, at that.”
“Did you wish me to accompany you, Madonna?” I asked, returning to folding her garments. Much as I loved Lucrezia, I prayed she would say no, for how was I to go to Cesare if I was shut away in a convent with her?
“Thank you, but no. Only Pantasilea will accompany me,” she said. “The fewer people who know, the better.” She took my arm, forcing me to look at her. “You must not tell anyone what I have told you, Maddalena. For my sake and your own. It can be … dangerous in Rome to know too much.”
This chilled me. Did she truly think I would betray her? Or someone might harm me, for knowing what I should not? Oh, if only she knew all the things that I knew and should not. “I will keep your secret, Madonna.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Good.” She released my arm and resumed her pacing. “Pantasilea, if you are done with the jewelry, come help me dress,” she said. “I shall not need too many jewels where I am going, after all.”
Pantasilea did as she was told. I continued folding and packing the clothes Madonna Lucrezia had chosen, as well as some personal effects. The three trunks quickly filled up, and soon they were shut and ready for transport to the convent.
Not two hours after Pantasilea had roused me from my bed, Lucrezia was gone.