CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 31

Iwoke with one thought in my mind; what had come of Papà's nocturnal visits to my beloved Lysander and the inexplicable Prince Escalus?

Had Papà been diplomatic?

He could be when he chose.

Had he been abrasive?

His spoken intentions had been worrisome and involved what sounded like breaking and entering.

Had he been dramatic?

That went without saying. Melodrama defined the rhythms of my father's life.

Nurse helped me fling on a simple gown, and I hurried down the gallery to my parents' suite. There I met Mamma tiptoeing out and shutting the door behind her.

I clasped my hands at my bosom. "Is Papà . . . well?"

"Very well. He arrived home two hours ago, bruised, staggering drunk . . . and singing."

I didn't know which to broach first, but—"Singing?"

She took my arm and we walked down the stairs to a table in the atrium where the servants were setting breakfast. "As I understand it, he hammered on the Marckettis' door and shouted until Marcketti himself opened it. Romeo charged inside, laid down the first punch, demanded to speak to Lysander." She sank down in a chair. "I think that's when his nose was broken."

I sat, too, and covered my eyes in dismay. "Oh, but, Mamma! He's so pretty."

"No matter. Women will still swoon when he looks at them." She thanked the footman who delivered a basket of fresh breads, a plate of cheeses, and a variety of fruit jams.

"It's that legend of Romeo and Juliet," I said.

"It's more than that. When your Papà looks at a woman, he really looks at them, as if he appreciates them, likes them, sees their beauty." Beneath the glossy green leaves of the pin oak tree, Mamma looked as beautiful and happy as the Madonna with child. "He's like that with every woman, old and young."

I was much struck. "He is, isn't he?"

"The surprise is that more women haven't fallen in love with him." She tore off a chunk of Cook's dried fruit and nut bread and spread it with soft caprino and apricot preserves. Then she looked at the rich, brown bread in her hand and laughed softly. "Prince Escalus really loved this, didn't he? It's good to know that dour man has at least one enthusiasm."

"At least one."

Perhaps my tone revealed more than I wished, for she looked at me sharply, and a motherly question hovered on her lips.

I shrugged. "About Papà?"

As always, she was easily distracted by the subject of her Romeo. "With your Papà, it's an ongoing challenge to explain to the newly in love that he likes every woman in the world."

I took her hand. "And there's only one who is special in his heart."

"Yes." She wasn't the slightest bit modest or uncertain about her place in Papà's life.

I chose a crusty wheat roll, spread it with butter, and dribbled it with honey gathered from our lemon orchards. Taking a bite, I closed my eyes and savored the flavors of the country, and when I opened them, Mamma was smiling at me. I blurted, "Duke Stephano said if I kept eating, I'd get fat." That wasn't exactly what he'd said, but that was enough.

Mamma threw back her head and laughed. "Rosie, the only time you stop moving is when you're asleep. The day I first felt you kick, and kick, and kick, I knew you'd be busy and a helpmeet to your Mamma." Slowly, she rubbed her belly as if urging quiet on this child.

"Even if I am good at mathematics?" I teased.

"Even so." She glanced up toward the suite of bedrooms that housed the children where the first rumblings of the morning rampage made themselves known. "Let us finish quickly—after the Marckettis and your Papà had thrown a few punches, Lysander arrived at the scene and my dear Romeo demanded he explain how he broke into Casa Montague. More shouting and scuffling ensued, with Marcketti Elder saying Papà had been seized by the goddess of madness. Then Lysander admitted he had breached the walls."

I leaned forward, listening hard, wishing I'd been there.

"Things quickly calmed down. Lysander had apparently designed some kind of ladder out of an odd round wood that arrived in one of the Marcketti merchant ships." Mamma's brow knit. "Papà said it was hollow, but as I said, when he arrived here, he was very drunk."

I chuckled at Mamma's wry tone.

"Your true love Lysander is young in years, but he holds the respect of his family. By the time that visit was over, the men had laid waste to some wines, much inferior to ours, all agreed, and some of the rancor between the houses had been lessened."

"Go, Papà!"

"If I understood all that great slurred burble of words, he believes Lysander will go far in this world."

Pleased, I relaxed back in my seat. "Does he?"

"If my daughter is to wed him, peace between the houses would be obtained."

"Does Papà think an offer will be forthcoming?" Had I sounded too eager?

"Perhaps, but as you know, Rosie, the dowry we can offer with you will be slender, as befits our purse. To the merchant Marckettis, such a lack could be an impediment."

"So I will have a dowry?" That was reassuring.

"Indeed. When Papà declared to Duke Stephano you had nothing, he was simply trying to discourage the match." She sighed. "I still don't know why that didn't work."

I hid my grin in a glass of orange juice.

Mamma rapped my knuckles. "You know what I mean. He is . . . was a most greedy man. I have prayed for his soul, but first I prayed for his death. I'll have to confess that to Friar Laurence, and while he displays a generous attitude toward most of my sins, I suspect that without true contrition, I'll spend a great deal of time in prayer and penance." She looked at me with a smile. "Well worth it, too."

"We'll be on our knees together." Because while stumbling across Duke Stephano's body was gross and knowing an unknown murderer remained at large left me apprehensive and suspicious, I couldn't escape the inexplicable relief I felt at not being another of Duke Stephano's corpse brides. "Papà had wine and comradery with the Marckettis and left after an hour? Two?"

Mamma shrugged. "Something like that. I do believe there was some discussion about who Duke Stephano's murderer might be, and whether it's the same person who poisoned Porcia. No conclusions were reached, but worry expressed. A knife in the dark, and poison in the candy. Could one killer be so versatile? Or is there more than one?"

"I wish that issue didn't matter so much to me."

"I wish I believed the issue would never bother us again."

We both smeared bread in soft goat cheese, but we had lost our appetites.

I tossed my bread on my plate. "What did Papà do after the Marckettis?"

"Next my dear Romeo went to the palace to pay Prince Escalus a visit." Mamma glanced up.

The morning stampede above us increased.

"Same routine as at Casa Marcketti?"

Loud fighting mingled with cheery Good mornings and a loud, rhythmic thumping indicated that someone was jumping on the bed.

"Not quite," Mamma said. "He pounded on the door and shouted. The prince's guards arrested him and escorted him to the dungeon."

I was speechless for a long moment. Then I choked, "That could not have gone well."

"It's a good thing he has only one nose to break."

I dropped my face into my hands.

"Thankfully, one of the prince's trio of friends was awake, heard the shouting, and woke the prince, who came down and verified that the bruised, drunk, and bloody man was indeed Romeo Montague."

I saw no reason to raise my head. I just nodded.

"Prince Escalus took Papà into the dining room, served him cake—"

"And more wine." I wasn't really guessing.

"And they had a lively discussion about whether the prince wanted a face that looked like your Papà's, or whether he wanted to lose the wherewithal to father children."

Now I cupped my chin in my palm. "That choice seems a lose-lose."

"I believe whatever warm glow Romeo had acquired at the Marckettis dissipated in the podestà's dungeon."

"I'll bet."

Footsteps thudded on the stairs, accompanied by a loud outburst of weeping.

Mamma and I glanced in alarm toward the gallery.

Hurriedly I asked, "Which choice did Prince Escalus make?"

"He apologized profusely for interrupting your daydreams and assured my Romeo that your virtue is a rare gem, that you'd go to your marriage bed a virgin, and he is ever a friend of the Montagues."

"He appeased Papà. Very wise." I never doubted it. Prince Escalus was wise indeed. Except when he was . . . inexplicable.

"And he said . . ." Mamma took a breath as if she didn't quite know whether to repeat this.

"What, Mamma?" I asked urgently.

My siblings surged into the atrium. The girls were chattering excitedly. Cesario was the one weeping, and he fell down and skinned his knee and his hands.

Mamma held out her arms. "Come, little man. Tell your mommy what's wrong."

He ran to her, climbed on her lap, hid his face on her shoulder. "She said . . . Katherina said . . ."

"I told everybody we were going to have a baby!" Katherina burst out in exasperation. "And he started crying!"

"How did you know, dear?" Mamma asked her.

Katherina widened her eyes and scrunched her mouth.

"It's hard to keep a secret in this household," I advised.

"Exactly." Katherina folded her arms across her chest. "Everybody else is happy! Why isn't Cesario? He's such a baby."

Cesario lifted his head and bellowed, "I am. I am the baby!"

Everyone stared at his tear-stained, snot-nosed face.

Mamma took a napkin and wiped at him, and had him blow. Then she set him up straighter. "Are you afraid you won't be our special little boy anymore?"

His eyes filled with tears again and he nodded.

"Oh, honey." She wrapped her arms around him and rocked. "You're our Cesario! You're not our last baby, because you're our first son. You'll be seven by the time this child is born, old enough to blow on its belly and make it laugh, teach it to walk, swing it on the swing—"

"You're going to be the big brother," I told him, emphasis on big.

Katherina had it figured out now, and Imogene and Emilia. They sat down around the table.

Katherina said, "I'm the big sister for all of you, and all the stuff we do—it's fun! Isn't it?"

He reluctantly nodded.

"You can hold the baby," Emilia said.

"And burp it," Imogene said.

"Can I teach it to burp real loud?" Cesario asked.

"I don't imagine I'll be able to stop you," Mamma said in resignation. "Here, eat this." She shoved her bread and cheese in his hand. Mamma was a great believer that well-fed children were happy children.

She was, of course, right. After Cesario had consumed that bread, he moved to his own chair and everyone enthusiastically broke their fast. There was much chatter about the new infant, and exchanging of stories like the time baby Emilia ate the snail and when we found baby Imogene talking to a "hoppy-hoppy". . . which was actually a mouse.

When the most of the giggling was over, Cesario announced, "Mamma, we have enough girls. I'd like a boy."

"We'll take what God sends us," Mamma said, "and be thankful."

"What were you two talking about when we came down?" Imogene had the abilities of a small terrier dog when it came to sniffing out a story.

"Papà went out last night full of strange oaths and came in this morning looking as if . . ." Mamma struggled to articulate his state.

"As if he had been jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel," I finished.

Cesario was bewildered. "What?"

Emilia translated, "He got drunk and into a fight."

"Cool," Cesario said.

"He won't think so when he wakes, bruised and hungover," Mamma answered. "Talk about mewling and puking!"

I stood. "I have much to tend to, but, Mamma, you were going to tell me what final message Papà conveyed about Prince Escalus."

Mamma rose from the table and started toward the stairs. "I can't remember what—"

I hurried after her, more curious and a little concerned. "Mamma, you must tell me what the prince said."

She stopped, sighed, faced me, and said, "He said he wished you'd stop looking at him like a stallion to be led to the proper mare for breeding."