Katerina had that feeling in her stomach which more commonly accompanied a over-sufficiency of sugar- plums. Her stomach . . . well, she just felt sick. She was used to doing dangerous things--alone at night. Going to dark and insalubrious places to meet possibly very unpleasant people.
This was somehow worse. Kat swallowed, looking around at the slow butterfly swirl of the haut monde of Venice socializing. The public masques were events where the people came as much to be seen, as to see the performance. She wished desperately she'd never agreed to do this.
It had not seemed unreasonable when she was sitting talking to Francesca. It was very different here under the glitter of the candelabras. 'Introduce me to your grandfather at the interval at the masque at La Fenice. It's something of a public place, and I have not yet acquired the cachet for exclusive soirees or recitals at private camerata. He's still a man of influence, you know, and highly respected. Creme de la creme, in Venetian society. It will do me a great deal of good just to be seen talking to him.'
Kat understood the logic. In truth, all that visibly set the courtesans at such events apart from the matrons and virgin daughters of Venice was the lower cut to their dresses. And the more well-known and reputable men that a courtesan could draw around her, the more her acceptability grew.
The problem for Kat, however, was that there was a fine social line 'respectable' women did not cross. Men openly talked and flirted with the courtesans at these events. Women didn't. So Kat needed to make the introduction in as discreet and unnoticed a manner a possible.
Unfortunately, this night--when she desperately wanted Alessandra to do her usual disappearing trick--her sister-in-law seemed to be glued to her. Kat had tried to shed Alessandra and stick to her grandfather, which was normally not that difficult. But tonight the swirling crowd had peeled off Lodovico Montescue somewhere along the line, while Alessandra remained by her side at every moment.
There was Francesca. The daring chaperon-hat with the peacock feather made her easy to find. As usual, the courtesan dressed with a flair that separated her from the lesser birds of paradise.
What to do, what to do . . .
At last, Alessandra had caught sight of Lucrezia Brunelli and hastened away from Kat. Kat tried desperately to spot her grandfather. She gritted her teeth. Now or never. She'd find him and drag the old man over to the chaperon-hat she could see bobbing over there by one of the ornamental pillars. And then she'd trip over a flounce or something. She just hoped that Lodovico would not be as scathingly rude as he could be.
First off she must get rid of this prosy bore. 'I'm afraid I have no real interest, signor,' she said cuttingly, to a well-meaning if prosy curti who was attempting to explain the work of the new painter, Robusti. 'Excuse me. I must go and find my grandfather. There is someone I wish him to meet.'
The truth was easy enough when the person you were talking to didn't know just what you were talking about! She walked away, edging her way through the knots of people, quite differently from the way she'd seen Francesca sashay her cleavage through the crowd. Unfortunately she hadn't spotted Lodovico. Her grandfather had a commanding presence, so it was easy to forget he was not actually very tall.
She spent the next while in fruitless search. Well, she'd go over to Francesca and at least show she'd tried. The play would be starting soon. At least Francesca's hat was easily visible.
As Kat came around the ornamental pillar she heard Francesca's laughter. It was a liquid and musical sound. 'Most amusing, Signor Montescue,' she said, and the courtesan rapped Lodovico's knuckles gently with her ivory fan. And he was only one of the cortege she had gathered. Her flirtation with Lodovico done, Francesca turned her head and made a quip of some kind to a couple of priests standing next to her. The little crowd immediately burst into laughter. 'Oh, how very well said,' choked one of the priests, managing even in that short phrase to convey a thick Savoyard accent.
Kat caught her jaw. Most of the men gathered about Francesca were typical of what showed up from the great merchant-houses of Venice at these events. They were old. Middle-aged, at the very least. The youngest of the Venetians was Petro Dorma, who was almost forty--and, with his short stature and bald head, hardly the image of a romantic swain.
The only exception were the two men in clerical garb, who seemed even younger than Dorma. And quite a bit more slender and physically fit. Kat was a little puzzled by their presence in the crowd surrounding Francesca. Not because they were clerics. There were several high-ranked members of the Church present at the masque, and Kat knew that at least one of them, Bishop Capuletti, was notorious for being a libertine. But the clerics who came to these events were generally Case Vecchie themselves--whereas these two, judging from their plain and simple garb, seemed to be nothing more than simple priests. One of them, judging from that heavy Savoyard accent, no more than a villager in his origins.
The sight of those mostly pot-bellied men brought home to Katerina that despite the wealth and comparative liberty they enjoyed . . . there were certain disadvantages to being a courtesan. She slipped her arm into her grandfather's. 'I have been looking for you everywhere, Grandpapa.' Kat smiled at Francesca, who dimpled just slightly in reply--lowering her lashes a touch. 'Won't you introduce me to your fascinating lady-friend?'
'Er.' Lodovico Montescue, not accustomed to being at a loss for words, was caught a bit short this time. 'Signorina Francesca de Chevreuse. This is my granddaughter Katerina.'
Kat bowed and extended a hand. 'I am delighted to make your acquaintance,' she said demurely, almost managing to keep a straight face.
Lodovico's discomfiture was relieved by the ringing of the bell to signal that the masque was about to begin.
