The Bride Wore Scarlet Read Online Free PDF

one hand going instinctively to the pearls at her throat as she moved past. But she could still feel his gaze burning into her.
    â€œWot, yer fat, black-eyed bitch?” he shouted after her.
    Signora Vittorio did not look back.
    She made her way through the morass of humanity and horses into St. Katherine’s proper to see that the Sarah Jane was indeed moored in the east basin. And she carried an urgent cargo. Despite the evening hour, crates, sacks, and barrels were being offloaded at a prodigious rate and stacked hither and yon upon the docks, much of it being seized up again by chains and hooks, and hoisted directly into the modern warehouses above.
    Signora Vittorio turned up her nose even higher at the sight. She who had grown up in the lush beauty of Tuscany’s vineyards could never grow accustomed to these grim, teeming docks, or the taverns and warehouses and stevedores that went with them. Indeed, even the smell of the Thames made her stomach turn.
    Some days it seemed perverse to have married into a family destined to make its living by both land and water, for some of the crates—most of them, actually—were marked with the symbol of Castelli’s; a large, elaborate C burnt deep into the wood, and above it a crown of grape leaves. But one glance at the crates told Signora Vittorio this cargo was special.
    This was the latest shipment of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano , the wine on which the foundation of the Castelli empire had been built. And though the company had widely diversified these past forty years, this ancient vintage of which poets and gods had sung was still distributed to Castelli’s international warehouses directly from the docks at Livorno, and transported in special crates, and only in Castelli’s chartered vessels.
    Just then, her young cousin shouted at her through the bustle. “Maria! Maria, up here!”
    Anaïs was standing on the foredeck, waving madly.
    Signora Vittorio lifted her skirts and picked her way through the tumult, swishing gingerly around the crates, cranes, and grubby urchins awaiting an errand to run or a pocket to pick, for the Docklands were not known for their salubrious atmosphere.
    By the time she reached her young cousin, Anaïs was standing on the dock beside a growing pile of baggage, a leather folio tucked under one arm.
    â€œMaria!” she cried, throwing an arm about her neck.
    Signora Vittorio kissed both her cheeks. “Welcome home, cara !”
    â€œThank you for coming down,” said Anaïs. “I didn’t want to hire a cab this time of night, and I have too much baggage to walk.”
    â€œOut of the question!” said Signora Vittorio. “And the Sarah Jane ? Surely, cara , you did not come all this way by ship? You are not nearly green enough to have done so.”
    â€œNo?” Anaïs laughed and kissed her again. “How green am I, then?”
    The signora drew back and studied her. “Merely a sort of gray-green, like that mold one sees on trees.”
    Anaïs laughed again. “It’s lichen , Maria,” she said, settling a hand over her belly. “And actually, I came across France, the last bit by train. But I met Captain Clarke in Le Havre, for I swore to Trumbull I’d see this shipment offloaded. It is precious, you know—and already sold.”
    â€œAnd your brother Armand’s job to deal with,” added Signora Vittorio sourly. “Instead, he’s chasing a new mistress at some country house party.”
    Anaïs shrugged. “In any case, the river was not so bad, and one must cross the channel somehow,” she said, craning her head to look about. “Besides, I haven’t heaved up my innards since Gravesend.”
    â€œDon’t speak so bluntly, cara ,” the signora gently chided. “What would your mother say? Catherine is an elegant lady. And what have you there under your arm?”
    Anaïs extracted the folio.