Outside, a late summer Moon rose and its ethereal light illuminated the bedchamber. Luna clambered into bed and when Maria slipped through the door she pretended to be asleep. She listened to her sister disrobe, humming a tune softly, happily, to herself, but it burned in Luna’s ears. When she climbed into bed, she rolled against the wall. Even when her sister’s arms reached round her she didn’t stir but felt the pull of that embrace like a silken rope tethering her to this life.

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Vincenzio opened the flask of wine and poured two glasses, passing one across to Friar Bartolomeo and drinking his own swiftly, then refilling it before the friar had even put his lips to the cup. The chair in the friar’s cell afforded him a view of the cloister garden. He watched a bird nesting in the orange tree and marvelled at how tall and broad the tree had grown.

‘We need this, my friend; it’s been a fearsome summer.’ Vincenzio raised his glass, thinking of Roberto’s fated end and Filippo’s fortunate escape. He’d delivered the proceeds from the sale of Signore Palagio’s wedding gifts to his bank, and even after he’d deducted the reparation fee for Luna’s misdemeanour, it had still amounted to two hundred florins. That had been a sweet moment indeed. He had ample time to replace the headdress and strands of pearls before the marriage took place. At least the gossip would now be centred on the future pairing of the Fusili and Palagio families and not on his wayward daughter. He’d soon enough be in a position to pay off his warehouse debt and collect the bolts of wool that sat gathering dust. Now, he just needed to move the shop stock, though there was a drought of customers of late. He regretted closing his shop in Prato—no bonfires there to impact sales—but he was not a soothsayer. He must be resolute and acquit himself in public with equanimity, and feed the gossip-mongers whom his wife listened to with a new story, one of the resurrection of his fortunes.

‘God bless you,’ Friar Bartolomeo said, savouring the drink. He pulled a letter from the pocket of his habit. ‘This is from the Mother Abbess at the Convent of San Matteo in Arcetri. She is pleased to welcome Leonarda as a sister of St Clare. She suggests the child join them in the autumn, before the stark cold of winter sets in.’

Vincenzio sat back and let out a long, slow hiss. Here was news indeed. ‘So it is settled.’ He raised his glass again in salute; the wine went down smoothly. He’d expected to feel some relief at Luna’s future being secured, but blast it if he didn’t want to rip the letter into pieces.