Later that night, I watched Vivaldi slip away from my palazzo, waiting until he was safely out of sight before stepping into the small hallway. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness before carefully making my way through the sleeping house.
I had reached the first landing on the back stairs and was turning the corner to climb the next flight when I collided with someone. A scream rose to my lips as I stumbled back against the wall. A small choking sound came from my throat as I stifled it, and my heart quadrupled its pace, beating so hard and fast it was almost painful.
I quickly tried to run by the shadowy figure. But before I could get very far, my apprehender reached out and seized my shoulders in a strong grip, preventing me.
“Adriana!” he hissed as I struggled against him as silently as I could. “Adriana! Stop! It is me! Giuseppe!”
I stopped fighting and peered at his face in the darkness. “Giuseppe?” I sagged against him, all the fear immediately draining from my body. “Oh, thank God.”
“I would not relax quite yet,” he growled. “What in the name of heaven and all the saints are you doing? Where have you been? What—”
“Shhh! Not here, for God’s sake.” I grabbed his hand to lead him up the stairs. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my rooms, where do you think? I will tell you everything there, I swear, but please, just follow me before we wake the entire house!”
He acquiesced, and followed me to my rooms. I glanced furtively around the hall outside my door, but there was no one about. I closed and locked the sitting room door behind us, then led the way into the bedchamber, where I did the same. I turned from my task to find Giuseppe staring hard at me, his face white with anger, his lips set in a tight, thin line. He did not speak; he merely faced me, silently, waiting for my explanation.
I removed my cloak and walked past him to the wardrobe to hang it up. I was completely at a loss as to how to begin, to explain what I needed to without making myself seem like … well, a whore. I felt rather like a child squirming before an irate schoolmaster.
I cleared my throat, unable to quite meet his eye. “I—”
Again I was surprised as Giuseppe abruptly cut me off. “Good Christ, Adriana,” he said. “Where on God’s green earth have you been? I saw you leave,” he said, causing my mouth to drop open. I started to speak again, but he held up a hand to silence me, as though he were the master and I the servant. “Yes, I saw you sneaking out the back entrance from the window in my room, and I have waited up all night for you to return. I saw you with him,” he added, his voice hard, accusing. “Whoever he is.” He threw up his hands. “What is the matter with you, Adriana? Was the beating your father gave you not enough to make you more prudent?” His voice rose, in spite of himself. “What can you be thinking? What—”
“First of all,” I interjected, in a much softer tone, “keep your voice down. You will most certainly not help me—which I am interpreting as your true aim, as opposed to insulting me—by alerting the rest of the household to the fact that I left earlier, and have only just now returned.”
Giuseppe had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
“Secondly,” I continued, “I promised that I would tell you all, if only you would give me a chance to explain. And,” I added, “no matter how much you approve or disapprove of my actions, I need not answer to you for anything I do.”
He looked as though he might argue, but he simply nodded and said, “I understand. My apologies, madonna.”
I took a deep breath and thought carefully about how to proceed. Giuseppe might be quite useful when let in on my secret, although getting him to actually agree to help me was another matter entirely.
“I have been with a man, it is true,” I began. “It is not what you think,” I protested as he made a noise of disgust. “I … I love him.”
“Love,” Giuseppe spat. “Yes, I am sure that is what it is.”
“How dare you—”
“Perhaps it is love for you, but it is likely not for him,” Giuseppe said. “How can you be so foolish and naïve?”
“You do not understand!”
“Like hell I do not!” he said, in the loudest whisper I had ever heard. “I am a man. I know the sorts of lies men will tell women in order to get—”
“Please!” I cried. “You told me you would give me a chance to explain, and so far you have not done so.”
He sighed at this, but remained silent.
“I love him,” I repeated, my voice stronger now. “And I believe that he loves me. He cares for me, deeply, that I know. And he is concerned for me. He knows what manner of man my father is, and all that has passed between him and me of late.”
“If he is so concerned,” Giuseppe asked, “then why does he not do the honorable thing and ask for your hand?”
I laughed aloud at this. “He is not the sort of man I could marry. He cannot marry me.”
“He is already married, then?” When I did not reply, Giuseppe sighed. “Who is it, Adriana? I will not tell, I swear—you know I would not do that to you.” He shook his head. “Not even for your own good, which I have no doubt putting a stop to this would be. Just tell me his name.”
I hesitated.
“Who is it?” he asked again, in a whisper this time.
I sighed. “His name is Antonio Vivaldi.”
“Madre di Dio!” Giuseppe all but shouted. “Not the Red Priest?”
“Quiet!” I hissed. “Yes.”
Giuseppe walked around the bed and seized me again by the shoulders, shaking me. “Dio mio, Adriana, the man is a priest!” he cried, shaking me again. “What is the matter with you? Do you have any idea what would happen if the two of you were found out?” Abruptly he released me and stepped back, trembling in consternation. “By the Virgin … the consequences would be catastrophic!”
“Do you think I do not know this?” I demanded. “Do you think he does not? I do not need you to remind me.”
“Apparently you do,” Giuseppe retorted, “for the knowledge alone has not been enough to stop you.”
“It is not that simple!”
“Oh, Adriana,” he said, his shoulders slumping as his large, sturdy body seemed to fold inward on itself. “What have you done this time? How is it that you cannot see the danger of your actions?”
“I can see it,” I said. “Believe me, I can see it. I just do not care.”
“That is even worse.”
“There are some things, Giuseppe, that you risk everything for,” I said. “And I need not—I will not—answer to you, nor do I care what you may think of me.”
He laughed, a short, harsh sound. “But you do,” he said. “You must, for you need me to help you, do you not?”
“I do not need your help,” I said. “I do not deny that this would be easier that way, but even if you refuse, that will not stop me.”
He sank down to sit on the bed. I did not protest the familiarity of the action; we were far past standing on propriety now. “God help us both,” he said finally, after a long pause. “This is madness, you know. Utter madness.”
His words echoed the ones Vivaldi had spoken two nights ago. Yes, yes, we are all aware that sanity is something this venture is altogether lacking, I thought with a tinge of humor. At least everyone is in accord on that count. “So will you help me?” I asked.
He shook his head, disbelieving. “Yes, God forgive me,” he said. “I will. I will, even though I think this will be the ruin of us both, and of your Maestro Vivaldi as well, because I think that whatever slim chance we do have of coming through this lies in my helping you.”
I smiled, allowing my relief to show. “Thank you, my friend,” I said.
“Tell me this,” Giuseppe said, rising to his feet. “Is it to him you have been going, all those times you had me wait for you near the Rialto? Has it been going on that long?”
“I have been going to him all along, yes, but it had not…” I was surprised to find myself blushing. “We were not lovers until last week.”
“Then why…” Suddenly a look of comprehension crossed his face. “The violinist,” he said. “He was the one giving you music lessons. That is how it started.”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “If only Don d’Amato knew what effect his discipline truly had.”
“Let us pray that he never finds out.”
“Oh, I shall,” Giuseppe said, moving toward the door. “Believe me, I shall pray for that above all else. We will likely require divine intervention to come through this in one piece.”
“If God exists as they say He does, then I am the last one He would be willing to help,” I said.
Giuseppe laughed, in spite of himself. “It is better not to remind ourselves of that fact.” He opened the door that led to the sitting room and paused in the doorway. “Good night, then, madonna. We will talk more tomorrow. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Giuseppe,” I said. “And … thank you.”
He shook his head. “Do not thank me for anything just yet. Who knows what may become of us before this is over?” On that ominous note, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.