It was! And this from an idle cow who never did a damn thing in a house that had ten servants too few to maintain it. Who pestered money they could ill afford out of Grandpapa to buy more frippery clothes to add to the cupboards-full she already owned.
Kat was too angry to keep her tongue. “Unlike you, I don’t have to chase everything that wears breeches, Sandi.” Alessandra hated having her name shortened. “I’ve got better things to do.”
Battle was now fairly joined. “I hope so,” said Alessandra loftily. “The way you are ruining your hands with that rough oar! It’s commoners’ work and you’ll never get a man.” Then, forgetting that she’d just said there was no chance of Kat getting a man, she went on. “Maybe he is a commoner. But even you couldn’t sink that low, surely?”
Kat ground her teeth. “What I’m doing has nothing to do with men. Or with you either. I wish you’d stay out of my room. I never invited you in.”
“I’m your sister-in-law,” Alessandra said righteously. “As the married woman of the house I have a duty and responsibility to see to your welfare. I don’t think I should let you go out to tryst with your lover, as if you were some common whore. What if news of this got back to the Brunellis?”
“Try stopping me, sister. Just try. I’ve got Grandpapa’s permission.” She walked purposefully towards the water-door.
“He’s senile. You’ll bring the plague back with you. It’s rife out there.”
Kat stopped. “He’s not senile! He’s just old . . . and, and hurt. Alfredo’s death, Mariana’s death, the baby and Papa . . . not coming back. And Mama and then Grandmama, too. It’s just been a bit too much for him.” Even thinking about it left her with a catch in her voice. And guilt. Alessandra’s baby son had died too, after all.
But Alessandra dealt with the guilt with her next silly statement. “So you’ve got his permission to turn yourself into a courtesan, because of that?”
Kat looked at herself in the mottled full-length mirror. Like many things in the Casa Montescue it was past its prime. The reflection that looked back at her was, at best, merely pretty. She had too wide a mouth and too pert a nose. Carroty-colored slightly curly hair, that Alessandra was always at her to bleach a bit, so that she’d look—at least from behind—more like the glamorous Lucrezia Brunelli. Unlike Alessandra, Katerina didn’t claim cousinship and intimate knowledge of the doings of Venice’s most famous beauty. And after Alessandra’s endless stories, she didn’t want to.
She looked away from the mirror, knowing that its mottled surface was not disguising the truth. Her face, unlike Lucrezia’s, would certainly never garner her any love poems. Neither would a nonexistent dowry. And she’d never have Alessandra’s statuesque figure, either; or Alessandra’s perfect rosebud mouth with the tiny mole accentuating it; or her white skin and raven-black hair.
She sighed. “Sandi, be reasonable. I’m not a beauty, never will be, and that’s all there is to it. Now, excuse me. I’ve got things to do.” She pushed past, heading for the water-door up the passage.
As often happened, Alessandra’s mood underwent an abrupt change. “Oh, Katerina!” she cried, clutching at Kat’s cloak. “Take me with you! I’m dying cooped up in here in this mausoleum. We could go to Barducci’s. I hear it’s all the rage to go . . . slumming there. A lot of the younger crowd are going.”
Kat snorted, and shook off the soft slim white hand. “Saints, Sandi! One minute I’m going to my lover, the next I’m bringing plague. And the next you want to go off looking for thrills with the commoners you despise. Well, sorry. I’ve got other things to deal with. Practical things. Anyway, you go out more often than I do. You go over to Murano at least once a week.”
Curiosity—a source for gossip, a vital feature of Alessandra’s shallow life—took over. “Tell me what things?”
“Can’t.” Somewhere, Montescue was leaking secrets. Telling Alessandra anything that the spying cat didn’t already know would add another leak.