From the back of the room, where he had been sitting uneasily in a chair—he was not accustomed to such society—Father Mascoli spoke up for the first time. His words were soft, but firm for all that. “There were many witnesses, milords, who saw the lion leave and return to the pillar. I have spoken to several of them.”
Petro swiveled in his chair and examined the priest. It was at his insistence that Father Mascoli had come. “You have spoken to Sister Evangelina?”
Mascoli nodded. “Yes, Lord Dorma. And she has agreed—provided Angelina is not coerced in any way.”
Petro nodded and turned back. “I have not coerced her. In fact, it was Angelina who first made the suggestion herself.”
His round face took on an expression which was partly one of chagrin, partly one of fondness. “My sister’s moods swing back and forth, rather unpredictably. At her best—” He straightened in his chair. “Her marriage to Marco was a fiction, as all here are well aware. Angelina, in her way, has grown very fond of Marco. And seems now to have become determined not to be an impediment to his happiness.”
He raised a fist to his mouth and coughed into it. “She proposed, in fact, a simple annulment on the grounds that the marriage was never consummated. Which, as it happens, is quite true in this case. But—”
He broke off, his expression clearly showing his unease.
Enrico immediately understood the quandary, and slid into it with all the grace of an expert swordsman in a fencing match.
“Petro. Naturally you would like to avoid the public embarrassment of admitting that the child is not Marco’s.” Dell’este saw no reason to add the obvious: even if no one in Venice except halfwits believes it anyway—and even the halfwits don’t believe it once they see the bastard’s hair. As always, for Case Vecchie, formalities and appearance were as important as the reality.
“I see no problem, Petro,” he continued easily. He glanced at Father Mascoli. “If Angelina has agreed to take Holy Orders, that gives another ground for annulling the marriage. One which is much less awkward, for all concerned.”
“What about the baby?” asked Lodovico. “Angelina can’t very well take her with her to a nunnery. And if you give her up, you undermine the whole purpose of the subterfuge.”
Dorma smiled; again, the expression conveyed that odd mix of fondness and chagrin. “I’ve spoken to Marco. He immediately offered to raise the child as his own. Truth to tell, he already spends more time with the girl than does my sister.”
Dorma hesitated. Then, his innate honesty forced him to keep speaking. Dell’este was quite delighted. Venice would need an honest Doge, in the time to come.
“I must point out the possible problem,” said Petro. “An annulment due to my sister joining a religious order will take quite some time. The Grand Metropolitan will agree to the annulment readily enough, I’m quite sure. But he will insist on following the established procedures.” Dorma half-turned his head, looking back toward Mascoli. “The Hypatian Order requires a one year novitiate, before the final vows can be taken. Until that time passes, the annulment will not be final. In the meantime . . .”
His words trailed off into silence. Most of the people in the room shifted uneasily in their chairs. A year . . . And it took no great perceptiveness—certainly not for anyone who had seen Marco and Kat in each other’s company over the past few days—to realize that the two youngsters were hardly likely to wait . . .
“Can’t afford another scandal,” gruffed Lodovico. “Certainly not,” echoed Dell’este. “We’ll have to insist that they see each other rarely, and then only with a proper chaperone in—”
“Oh, for the love of God!” snapped Petro Dorma’s mother Rosanna. Since the discussion began, the old woman had been sitting against the wall tending to her point-vice embroidery. “Men! Katerina is a sensible Case Vecchie girl. She’ll understand the precautions needed—and where to find them.”
The faces of all the men in the room grew pinched. Except that of Eneko.
“Hah!” barked the Basque priest. “Of course she’ll know where to find them. She’s been trafficking them, I don’t doubt.” The faces of the other men grew very pinched. Lodovico’s expression was downright vinegary.