‘Might I have the honour?’ asked the gentleman who had blocked her view.
He spoke in a disguised voice, but there was no mistaking him.
‘Are you sure it is acceptable to dance with your wife?’ she asked mischievously.
His mask was only a half mask, like hers, and he smiled ruefully.
‘You knew me,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said, thinking, I would know you anywhere, no matter how you were dressed. ‘And you recognised me too.’
He had evidently followed her train of thought for he looked at her lovingly and said, ‘Always. No mask could ever disguise you from me. I know the feel of you, Lizzy, and nothing can ever change that.’
He offered her his hand, but she said, ‘I don’t know the dance. I don’t even know its name. Though I don’t suppose it can be difficult,’ she added with an arch smile.
‘No?’ he asked.
‘No. After all, every savage can dance!’
He laughed.
‘I was in a bad humour that night. How could I have been so rude to Sir William? The poor man was just trying to make me feel welcome.’
‘As he was trying to give consequence to a young woman who had been slighted by other men!’
‘Will I ever be forgiven for such a remark? Probably not, nor do I deserve to be.’
‘Oh, I think, now that you have given me a palace, I might consider it,’ she teased him.
‘Only might?’ he asked.
‘Very well, if you teach me the dance, you may consider yourself absolved. Is it a uniquely Venetian dance?’ she asked, as he gave her his hand and led her onto a quiet corner of the floor.
‘No, the galliard is danced everywhere—or was, a long time ago.’
The dance was a strange one, full of lifts and leaps and twirls, but by watching the other dancers and by listening to Darcy, she was able to catch the steps.
‘And now I lift you,’ he said.
He put his hands on her waist and lifted her from the floor, then turned around whilst lifting her. She leant back against him, feeling the heat of his hands through her gown before he put her down again.
‘You smell wonderful’ he said, inhaling deeply.
‘I should do, I am wearing the finest Venetian perfume!’ she said.
‘No,’ he said intensely, ‘not the perfume. You.’
They had moved into a world of their own, having eyes for no one but each other, wrapped up in the scent and the sight and the feel of each other, and they did not leave it until the music stopped.
Elizabeth felt a sense of loss, and she struggled to regain that world of heightened senses. She resented the other guests for taking her husband away from her, as they exclaimed over his dancing and introduced him to more of the guests. And then she too was claimed, and her hand was sought by one of the gentleman, who begged her to dance with him. He was gay and good humoured and to her delight she recognised him as Giuseppe.
‘Ah! But how did you know?’ he asked.
‘I recognised your voice.’
‘Then I must disguise it if I am not to spoil the surprise for others. Have you recognised Sophia yet?’
‘No,’ said Elizabeth, looking round the ballroom. ‘Is she here?’
‘Yes. You must guess which one she is.’
Elizabeth made two false guesses before finally guessing correctly, for Sophia was wearing a full face mask. In the end, Elizabeth recognised her because she recognised Sophia’s gown as one of those she had seen in the dressing room, when she and Sophia had been choosing their clothes.
‘Are you enjoying yourselves?’ asked Sophia as she crossed the room to join them when the dance ended.
‘Very much,’ said Elizabeth.
‘It is different from your balls at home?’
‘Yes, it is entirely different.’
‘You do not wear masks, I think?’
‘No, we don’t, but it isn’t just the masks,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The clothes, the dances, the music, everything is different.’
‘Ah, yes, you have very stately dances in England,’ said Alfonse, joining them. ‘I know, I have been there. You turn up your noses and you look at no one, then you walk down the ballroom in silence and you turn round at the end.’
Elizabeth laughed at his description of the English dances.
‘In some private balls it may be so, but at an assembly it is very different, with a lot of lively country dances,’ she said. ‘There is a great deal of chatter and laughter, I assure you.’
‘An assembly? I do not believe I have ever been to an assembly.’
‘Then you must go,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Darcy, have you ever been to one of these assemblies?’ asked Giuseppe, as Darcy joined them.
‘I have.’
‘But he disliked it excessively,’ said Elizabeth teasingly.
Darcy raised his eyebrows and the others exclaimed, begging to know more.
‘Not excessively,’ said Darcy.
‘Confess it,’ Elizabeth said, laughing. ‘You thought it was insupportable!’
‘But how is this, if it is full of lively country dances?’ asked Sophia. ‘To me, it sounds fascinating.’
‘I had only just arrived in the neighbourhood and didn’t know anyone there,’ said Darcy.
‘And, of course, no one can ever be introduced in a ballroom!’ said Elizabeth.
Giuseppe laughed.
‘I can just imagine it,’ he said, looking at Darcy. ‘Darcy striding in with his nose in the air. You look horrified, my friend, but it is so! I have seen it.’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘You have married a proud man, Elizabeth, from a noble line. He has ever been thus.’
‘But Elizabeth has made him more human. And now he must dance,’ said Sophia. ‘Darcy, you must partner me.’
‘And the lovely Elizabeth must be my partner,’ said Alfonse, bowing.
They took to the floor again. Elizabeth found herself becoming more used to the galliard, and she could soon dance it without having to watch the other dancers. It was an energetic dance, and the room resounded with the sound of the gentlemen landing on the floor as they leaped and twirled.
Other dances followed, all equally strange, and Elizabeth had to concentrate on the steps of each one in turn so that she was glad when it was finally time for supper.
As she was going into the supper room, she felt a frisson of some strange emotion and her eyes turned, almost against her will, to the shadows in the corner, where she saw the man in the strange mask again.
‘Who is that?’ she asked.
‘Who?’ asked Giuseppe.
Elizabeth turned back to the man in the strange mask, but he had gone.
‘Never mind,’ said Giuseppe, ‘you will see who he is at the unmasking after supper.’
Elizabeth enjoyed the food as she enjoyed the company. There was noise and good humour and laughter. The food was good and plentiful and the wine was very fine. The Italians took it seriously, pronouncing on the flavours and discussing the vineyards and even the grapes from which it was made.
Everyone ate, though those in full face masks found it more difficult than others. They lifted the corners of their masks carefully and ate sparingly, so as not to reveal their faces. There were many guesses as to the identity of the different guests, and by the end of supper, there was a buzz of excitement as it would soon be time for the unmasking.
They moved through into the ballroom, where the musicians played quietly, forming a background to the chatter, until, at the stroke of midnight, there was a loud chord from the violins and Sophia and Giuseppe demanded everyone’s attention.
‘You have all been very patient…’ began Sophia, raising her voice so that she would be heard above the hubbub.
Shushhhing sounds ran round the room and the hubbub quieted.
‘You have all been very patient,’ said Sophia again, speaking more quietly now that she did not have to compete with the general noise, ‘but now the moment has arrived. Si
gnore e Signori, remove your masks!’
There was a rustle as the guests, as one, removed their masks to reveal smiling, excited faces. There were cries of surprise, as well as cries of recognition, with many voices saying they had already guessed the hidden identities, some truthfully, others less so.
Elizabeth was congratulated by those around her, and Darcy moved to her side, saying, ‘Did you enjoy it, your first masked ball?’
‘Yes, very much,’ she said. ‘We might think of holding something similar at Pemberley. It would be fun and I am sure Georgiana would like it.’
‘Whatever you wish,’ he said.
The evening was drawing to a close. Some of the guests were leaving, thanking Sophia and Giuseppe for a marvellous evening, and thanking Elizabeth too, for the ball had been in her honour. Elizabeth and Darcy added their thanks, and once the other guests had left, they too went down to the canal.
It was only as she was stepping into the gondola that Elizabeth realised she had not seen the strange man at the unmasking, but she forgot him as soon as she lay back in Darcy’s arms. The gondolier was singing as he began to ply his oar, moving the boat forward along the Grand Canal, and their way was lit by moonlight.
The romantic atmosphere exerted its charm: once back at the palazzo, when Darcy escorted Elizabeth to her door, and he kissed her on the lips: no tortured token this, but one of deep longing.
‘Good night, Lizzy,’ he said softly, and as he left her there, she shivered with anticipation, thinking: soon, soon.
She undressed slowly for she was tired, and when she had put on her nightgown, she gave a yawn and climbed into bed. She blew out the candle and lay for some time in a hazy state between sleeping and waking as she relived the evening, until at last the sound of the water lapping the stones beneath her window lulled her to sleep.
She moved from the waking world into the sleeping world with scarcely any boundary between them. Memories of Venice, with its exotic clothes, strange masks, narrow streets, dark canals, glittering palaces, and romantic gondolas, all whirled together in the landscape of her dreams. She dreamt she was with Darcy, dancing with him at the ball. Then the scene changed, and she was laughing and talking with him as they walked through St Mark’s Square. There were people all around them, laughing gaily and gesticulating with their hands as they talked in Italian, French, and English, their languages merging into one great murmur. Flocks of birds fluttered into the air as they passed and then settled down again when they had gone. The sun shone above, and from far off came the sound of the gondoliers’ song.
They crossed the square and turned down a narrow street, emerging into a smaller square with a fountain playing, and then entered another narrow street, still noisy, still happy. But as soon as they entered it, something changed. The noise stopped as though it had been cut off with a knife and the light altered, going from the golden light of sunshine to the cold, hard light of moonlight in the blink of an eye. Elizabeth felt a rising tide of panic and had to fight the urge to run. The world was no longer a reassuring place; it was ominous. The buildings towered above her like cliffs, and the narrow street made her feel trapped and shut in. The canals running at the side of the street no longer seemed romantic; they were dark and forbidding, their deep waters hiding dark and deadly secrets.
She reached out for Darcy’s arm but it was not there. She turned towards him and saw to her horror that he had gone. She ran down the street looking for him and calling his name but there was no reply. On she ran, through the maze of streets, until she knew she would have to turn back or become hopelessly lost. She began to retrace her steps, only to find that the streets had changed, and that she had changed with them. She was no longer dressed in her pale blue muslin, instead she was holding onto wide skirts made of scarlet silk which flowed around her like liquid flame.
‘Darcy?’ she called, afraid, but her voice dropped into the silence with the deadness of a stone. ‘Darcy!’ she called again.
But there was no reply.
And then, just as she was longing for the sound of another human voice, she heard something. It was at the very edge of her hearing and at first she could not tell what it was, but then she recognised it as music. Its faint strains were coming from somewhere in front of her. Violins were playing a jaunty tune.
It sounded strange in that dark and gloomy place, but she began to run towards it. As she drew closer, she could hear voices too, faint but unmistakable, and she followed them, running over the bridges and down the narrow passageways with her skirts flowing out behind her.
She saw light ahead, the brightness of many torches. She could see people in the square, dressed in brilliant costumes and friendly masks. She felt a rush of relief and began to run more quickly, seeing them turn towards her in surprise as she ran over the final bridge—and then they disappeared, the lights blinking out in a heartbeat, the voices abruptly silenced in mid-sentence, and with a feeling of horror, she found herself in the dark square and it was empty and she was alone.
She sped across the square, looking for the revellers, but they had gone. She looked down every narrow street, hoping to see some sign of them, but there was nothing—except, at the end of the last one, a man in costume, wearing a mask that was shaped into a curiously distorted grin. He turned to face her and she felt the power slipping out of her, as though her will was leaking out through holes in her side and flowing into him.
He beckoned and she moved forward, like a puppet with no control. She felt a brief stirring of her will as the last dregs of it resisted, and for a moment, she remained motionless, fighting his pull. But then he beckoned again and her legs began to move of their own accord.
‘No,’ she said, and then, ruthlessly,’ No.’
And suddenly the streets were full of people again, running past her wildly, shouting, ‘Incendio! Incendio!’
There was panic in the air and a red glow on the horizon, growing brighter and brighter by the minute, and looking up she saw that the Palazzo Ducale was burning. The wickedly triumphant flames were leaping high into the sky where they crackled and burned across the nightmare black. She ran forward to help but before she could reach the palazzo, everything changed again and she stood still, bewildered and uncertain, not knowing which way to go. Without the fire, she could see nothing save a dark silhouette of buildings.
And then the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She felt her flesh crawl with horror as she knew with all her senses that there was someone—some thing—behind her. It was waiting in the shadows, biding its time, taunting her, playing with her like a cat with a mouse. It was a frightening thing, a glorious thing, a wonderful thing, a terrifying thing. And old. She was drawn to it, but she mustn’t go to it, she mustn’t, she mustn’t…
She resisted its pull and backed away, crying, ‘No!’ as she did so.
She felt it laugh and then grow stronger, exerting more pressure, bending her will.
‘No!’ she cried again.
She picked up her skirts and turned and ran, through the streets, across the canals, pursued by its relentless force, dark and malign.
On she went, past the Doge’s palace, with the ghosts who haunted its bridge clutching at her. She put her hands to her ears in an effort to stop the sound of their sighing, their terrible sighing.
‘No! No! No!’ she cried.
‘Yes,’ came a whisper in the wind. ‘You are mine, my love, my bride, my Serenissima.’
On she ran, with the waters rising all around her, creeping out of the canals, oozing and alive, crawling into the streets, following her, pursuing her, and giving chase.
‘Acque alte!’ she called.
‘Elizabeth!’
‘Acque alte! Acque alte!’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Darcy again, shaking her. ‘Elizabeth, wake up. It’s a dream, my love, it’s nothing but a dream.’
The waters stopped and listened to him, and then slunk back, slithering into the canals like supple snakes, and Darcy was there beside he
r, a gateway back to the real world. He was bending over her and shaking her gently, his tousled hair falling into his eyes and onto the white fabric of his ruffled nightshirt. As she emerged from the strange dream world, he sank into a chair and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her to him, and she was in her bedroom once more, where the candles blazed and the fire glowed and all was peaceful and secure.
‘Ssshh,’ he said soothingly, his arms around her and his warmth wrapping her round.
‘Oh, it’s you, it’s you!’ she sobbed in relief. ‘I was so frightened! The streets were awash, the Palazzo Ducale was burning, and I had lost you, I had lost you… I looked and looked but I couldn’t find you anywhere.’
‘Hush, my love, it was nothing. Nothing but a dream.’
She put her arms round his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her heart began to slow and to resume its steady beating. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his nightshirt and gave a sigh as the last of the dream flowed out of her, then turned her face up to his. She was surprised to see that he looked troubled.
‘What is it?’ she asked, lifting her hand and stroking its back across his cheek.
Now that she was safe, the dream was receding and she felt foolish for having been so frightened.
‘Nothing,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it, then turning it over and kissing her palm and then her wrist. ‘It is just that I am surprised, that’s all. How did you know about the floods? And how did you know that the Venetians called them the acque alte?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Someone must have told me, Giuseppe perhaps,’ although she could not recall his having done so.