The Rossetti Letter (v5) Read Online Free PDF

interest, his uncertainty, his confusion. He doesn’t know what to make of me, she thought. An unmarried girl would wear a veil, but I do not, nor do I wear the neck pearls of a married woman. As for the third possibility, I am too modestly dressed. I am neither maid, nor matron, nor meretrice.
    She followed his advice and soon was beyond the bustle of the markets, in a quiet cobblestone lane lined with shops. The Banco Cattona was considerably less impressive than she had imagined it. A squeaky door opened into a tiny anteroom in which sat a young clerk with ink-stained fingers and a pained, cachectic appearance. Alessandra presented her letter and the clerk led her to the banker’s office, a windowless chamber lined with leather-bound ledgers, each with a gold-engraved name on the spine.
    Bartolomeo Cattona sat behind a desk that took up much of the room, squinting through half glasses at a wide sheet of paper upon which he scratched a row of figures. He looked up distractedly as they entered, and the feathery end of his quill came into contact with one of the tapers on his candelabrum and caught fire. He extinguished the burning feather with a gruff exhalation, and a plume of white, acrid smoke rose in the air.
    “Sit down, sit down,” he said, waving away the smoke and pointing at the only chair in the office aside from his own. “So you’re Rossetti’s daughter? All grown up, I see.”
    “Yes,” Alessandra replied, although it seemed odd to say it.
    “Terrible what happened to your father, just terrible,” he said. “I warned him never to set sail without insurance, truly I did, but he knew better, of course.” He took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his broad nose, grimacing as he put them on again, and regarded her with a thin-lipped smile. “But again, these days there are many like him, the high costs of shipping being what they are, many who are willing to risk it all just like your father did, in the hopes of undercutting the Turks, and the Portuguese, and the English. In better times,” he went on, tucking a silver curl back under his silk cap, “no one would have set foot off the Molo without a long list of underwriters; why, I recall voyages that were complete disasters and still managed to turn a handsome profit! If only he’d taken my advice, your misfortunes would not be so great, my dear.”
    Alessandra suspected that Signor Cattona wouldn’t have dared insult her father like that if he were still alive; he probably wouldn’t have made such a pompous statement even to Lorenzo. She tried to conceal her displeasure at the banker’s patronizing manner. “My father and brother died on that voyage,” she said. “No amount of money could make up for their loss.”
    The banker must have heard the suppressed anger in her voice, for his cheeks brightened with color. “Of course,” he said, coughing uneasily. “Forgive me.”
    “Signor Cattona, perhaps you could tell me your reason for this letter.”
    “Ah, yes. But first, please, allow me to offer my condolences on the passing of Signor Liberti.” He spoke with a formality that should have been reserved for Lorenzo’s widow, not herself, Alessandra thought. Was he aware of the nature of their relationship? “From the flux, was it not?” he asked, regarding her warily.
    “Yes.”
    He leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “Was he stricken here in Venice?”
    “He was in Florence when he became ill.”
    “Ah.” The banker sat back, visibly relieved. “One can never be too careful. You’re too young, of course, but no one who survived it can forget the plague of 1575.” Cattona shivered, and with a seeming effort brought his thoughts back to the present. “Were you aware that as executor of your father’s estate, Signor Liberti made a number of withdrawals from your account?”
    “Yes, of course. He made investments on my behalf.”
    “I see. Did he deposit the returns at another bank?”
    “No, the