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

profits were to go here.”
    “Signorina Rossetti, I am sorry to say that never happened. Signor Liberti made many withdrawals, but no deposits. I’m afraid there is very little money left in your account.”
    Her stomach sank. “How little?”
    Cattona turned in his chair. Alessandra saw that it was cleverly fitted with wheels on the bottom so that he might easily navigate the shelves full of ledgers lining the room. He rolled along the back wall until he came to a ledger marked with her name, took it from the shelf, and pressed it open on his desk. He turned a few pages, running his index finger along the columns of figures, then stopped and looked back at Alessandra.
    “Twenty-eight ducats, fourteen soldi, three piccoli, ” he stated solemnly.
    “But that’s impossible.” Twenty-eight ducats was barely enough to feed herself, Nico, and Bianca for two months.
    He turned the open ledger toward her. “My figures are correct.”
    Alessandra looked down the row of entries, withdrawal after withdrawal, each signed by Lorenzo. “I can’t believe this.”
    “I assure you that my accounting practices adhere to the highest standards,” said Cattona, offended. “Every three months, Banco Giro itself audits my books—”
    “I didn’t mean to imply any misconduct,” Alessandra said. “I just don’t understand how Signor Liberti could have done this.” She looked at the dwindling figures in her account with confusion and dismay. Had Lorenzo deceived her, or had this been accidental, brought about by his sudden illness and death? She would probably never know.
    “Signorina Rossetti, have you any other means?”
    “No.”
    “Have you given any thought to what you will do now?”
    “I’ve had no time to think.”
    “I know that your father left you a fine house in Castello, near the lagoon. Perhaps you might consider selling the house to raise the money you’ll need to enter San Sebastiano.”
    Alessandra stared at him, openmouthed. She was appalled by his assumption that her only option was to take holy orders at San Sebastiano, the Venetian convent founded by the poet and courtesan Veronica Franco as a refuge for “fallen” women. Obviously Cattona knew about her relationship with Lorenzo, or had guessed, but his presumption was rude beyond belief. The only thing worse than being a mistress, Alessandra realized, was being a former mistress; no doubt the banker’s disrespectful treatment was what she could expect from now on.
    “I could help find a buyer, if you like,” the banker continued. “In fact, I might be interested in purchasing it myself…”
    So that’s it, Alessandra thought. Not only am I unworthy of respect, but he has no inhibitions about taking advantage of my misfortune. “Did you think you could frighten me into selling my home to you?” she asked. “No doubt you expect to purchase it for much less than its true worth.”
    “I assure you, I can offer a fair price.”
    “I dread to think of how peacefully you would sleep in my house, while I was walled up in a nunnery.” Alessandra stood up. “I’d like my money, please.”
    “Pardon?”
    “My money. I’d like to withdraw my money.”
    The banker was silent for a moment. He looked down at his ledger, perhaps trying to think of a new, more successful approach. But when he looked back at Alessandra, he must have seen that he was defeated. “Very well, then,” he said brusquely. “How much?”
    “All of it.” She untied her purse from her waist and set it on the desk.
    “Our deposits are not kept here,” he replied with an aggravated wave at her purse, “but in the strong rooms of the Palazzo Camerlenghi, the state Treasurer’s Office. It’s the tall white building right next to the Rialto Bridge. Take this chit to the main counter”—he took a small paper from the desk drawer and wrote on it as he spoke—“and they’ll compensate you.” He held out the receipt with a dismissive glance. “Good luck to you,