Kat slammed the door on the way out.
* * *
Ugo Boldoni’s poor little church was thinly attended for Lauds. It was not hard for him to spot an extra person in a hooded cloak, who waited until his early morning parishioners had left. He went back into the church where Katerina was waiting.
“And now, Katerina?” he asked the white-faced young woman who was standing chewing her lip, looking at the ground.
Katerina half-mumbled the next words. “Ugo, you’re the only priest that I’ve known since we were both children . . . I need to find something out. I need to find out if someone is getting married.”
Father Boldoni shrugged. “The banns will be read.”
Kat shook her head. “I need to know now. I need to know . . . is . . . Marco Valdosta marrying Angelina Dorma?
“Not in my parish.”
“Oh.” Kat took another deep breath. “Well, can you find out for me? Please. I need to know now. Please.”
Ugo took pity on her. “As it happens, I was at the palace of the Metropolitan only yesterday. Having a meeting about witchcraft—with Senor Eneko Lopez, as it happens, that Basque priest who seems to terrify everyone.” He chuckled dryly. “I’ll admit he somehow manages to be, simultaneously, one of the most frightening and inspiring men I’ve ever met. In the course of it, Lord Petro Dorma did come in to make some enquiries about the marriage of his sister. Soon.”
“To . . . whom? And . . . and they’re getting married in a hurry? W-why?” she faltered.
Ugo shrugged again. “I am the priest of a poor parish. They didn’t confide in me. But I imagine for the usual reasons, Katerina. Is she a friend of yours?” Then the thought struck him. “Or—is he? I thought the Valdosta name was bad word with the Casa Montescue.”
“I hate both of them,” said Kat between clenched teeth and stormed out, not even genuflecting to the altar as she left.
* * *
Before Kat went back to her bed there was one last job to do. She stopped at Giaccomo’s and left a brief note, before going home. Her chin was held high.
Chapter 68
Marco sat, patiently. Well, impatiently. Kat had always been on time. Unlike Angelina. He’d only been a couple of weeks in Casa Dorma, and her attitude to time was already grating him. Almost everything was held up slightly for Angelina. She’d be late for her own funeral. Kat—he got the feeling—wouldn’t ever be late without reason.
So Marco sat and sipped his wine, making it last.
And Kat just never showed. He waited. He had to talk to her. Petro was doing his best not to be impatient, but well, the days of Angelina’s pregnancy were ticking past. You could claim a six-month child but not less than that.
It was quarter to twelve, and Marco was about to abandon hope, when Maria came in. Marco had “dressed down” for the occasion but still his appearance caused Maria to snort—half derision, half admiration. “Mighty smart. Mighty fine,” she said dryly. “Where’s the young girl sitting on your knee, Marco Valdosta?”
Marco blushed. “I was waiting for Kat. But not to sit down on my knee. I . . . I have to talk to her.”
Maria smiled. “Well, she sent you a note. Which is why I’m here instead of in my bed. See. Them—those—reading lessons are paying off. I can manage your name at least. I just picked it up at Giaccomo’s. Figured you’d be here tonight.”
Of course. He’d known he could rely on Kat. And to send him a note to explain was just like her. A world apart from Angelina. Angelina only seemed good at thinking of herself. No worries about that with Kat.
* * *
Maria could see worries were weighing on the boy. But he lightened up with that scroll . . . Kat was good for him. And they were both Case Vecchie now. Funny, it did far more than a year’s living with Caesare had done to convince Maria that nobles were just human too. Because, if she had it right, Marco’s blood ought to be blue. She’d seen it. It was definitely just ordinary red. Maria watched as Marco cracked the wafer. Unrolled the scroll.