The Rossetti Letter (v5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

and looked up at the lowering sky. April, and yet it still felt like winter. Last night’s scattered clouds had converged into an unbroken canopy of gray, and she half-expected to feel raindrops on her face. Instead, only the chill spring air greeted her, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea and the pungent odors of the bustling fish market on the opposite bank.
    Her gondolier steered the craft to the middle of the great waterway, dodging a fruit-laden barge that sent a shower of frigid water over the bow. I had the dream again last night, Alessandra realized with a shiver. The same dream she’d had too many times in the past year, the one that caused her to wake up gasping and crying, that caused her to snap at her good, loyal Bianca for no reason, that left an emptiness inside her that she feared would never pass. She’d forgotten it as soon as she awoke, but now it came back to her in an instant: her father and Jacopo sinking down into the deep, cold ocean, descending into the murky darkness until only their pale, still faces were visible, their wide eyes blank, mouths open in mute surprise.
    Keep safe from stormy weather, O Lord, all your faithful mariners… Each year on Ascension Day, the Doge repeated this invocation during the Sposalizio del Mar, Venice’s ceremonial Marriage to the Sea. As far back as she could remember, Alessandra had, along with all of Venice, watched proudly as the Bucintoro was rowed across the lagoon and into the Adriatic. The red and gold ship of state was as ornate as a Mandarin dragon, and the Doge rode on its crest in his golden chair surrounded by the six scarlet-robed members of his private counsel, the Signory, and a hundred liveried oarsmen. When he threw the gold ring into the sea, and spoke the words dear to every Venetian’s heart “…keep safe all your faithful mariners, safe from sudden shipwreck and from evil, unsuspected tricks of cunning enemies,” she had recited them along with him.
    What a child she’d been, to believe that gold rings and prayers to the sea would keep her family alive. Alessandra felt bitter tears rising, as they did too often, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. There was no time for that this morning; her father’s banker had summoned her. At last, her father’s legacy, such as it was, would be in her hands. The shipwreck that claimed Salvatore and Jacopo Rossetti had left her nearly destitute; Alessandra’s father had staked everything he owned on his last voyage. During the past year, the executor of her father’s estate, Lorenzo Liberti, had invested what remained. Now that Lorenzo was dead, it would be up to her to manage it. No doubt the banker had some advice for her.
    She disembarked at the Rialto steps. Mornings were the market’s busiest time, and the lanes all around the Erberia and the adjacent church known as San Giacometto were crowded. She slowly made her way through the throngs of shoppers carrying baskets of asparagus from Sant’ Erasmus, artichokes from Sicily, or wriggling burlap sacks filled with live crabs or eels. The last time she’d been here, she’d been fifteen, and on her father’s arm. It wasn’t entirely proper for a well-bred young woman to be in the market unescorted, but then, she thought wryly, she’d given up being entirely proper a year ago when she’d become Lorenzo’s mistress.
    She unfolded the banker’s letter. The top was imprinted:

    Banco Cattona
    at the Rialto
    on the Filled-in Canal of Thoughts

    Below that was a note in a precise hand:

    Signorina Rossetti:
    It is of the utmost importance that you see me at once regarding your account.
    I remain your obedient servant,
Bartolomeo Cattona
    She stopped a young man pushing a tumbrel stacked with bread and asked for directions to the bank.
    “Straight ahead, then left after the goldsmiths,” he said, pointing the way along the Ruga degli Speziali. He took a second look at her before he walked on, and Alessandra saw his