Chapter 2

A pproaching the Venezia Santa Lucia train station, Melody had caught glimpses of what she assumed was Venice. In fact, what she was really looking at were the many small islands, such as San Michele and Murano, that dotted the Venetian Lagoon. Just as the train was coming into the station, Melody was able to see the northern edge of the Cannaregio district, one of the city's six sestieri, as the Venetians called them.

Descending from the train, Melody was too impatient to wait for Mary and Rat or to worry about their luggage. Instead, she almost ran down the platform in a very unladylike way and burst out of the station. None of her reading about the city or studying paintings and even photographs of Venice had prepared her to exit the building and find herself confronted by the Grand Canal.

The first thing that struck Melody was how bustling the area surrounding the train station was. It was not so very different from the streets around King's Cross station, with Venetians hurrying about their business, street vendors hawking their wares, and gawking tourists clogging up the Fondamenta Santa Lucia that ran up each side of the Grand Canal.

As far as Melody could see, beautiful, colourful buildings with a distinctive, ornate architectural style lined the canal. Perhaps the most striking thing about the view was the myriad of long, thin boats. They were gondolas, with their gondoliers standing and using a single, long oar to steer and propel the boats. All the gondoliers were dressed in similar outfits: striped shirts, either black and white or blue and white, dark trousers and wide straw hats adorned with colourful ribbons.

Melody thought she could have stared at the view in front of her forever.

"It is glorious, is it not?" a suave, English-accented voice said from slightly behind her.

Startled out of her reverie, Melody turned to see the very handsome stranger from the train just slightly behind her. Up close, he was even more attractive than he had seemed from a distance. Despite his very cultured English accent, with the modulated lilt and rounded vowels that indicated an upper-class upbringing and education, the man had a distinctively foreign look about him. His olive skin tone and jet-black hair were far more indicative of the Mediterranean than of the home counties. Apart from perfectly even features marked by the most patrician of noses, the most striking thing about the man was his startling green eyes, whose colour seemed almost unnatural. In an unfair endowment of natural charms, those eyes were framed by thick, dark, curling lashes. Melody's first thought was what she would give to have similar eyes.

Melody realised that rather than staring at the man with her mouth agape, she should be answering him. "It is, sir," was all she could stammer out.

"The Conte Alessandro Foscari di Villa Foscari, at your service," the man said, executing a neat little bow.

Melody tried to remember what Granny had said about introductions by strange men. She had never paid much attention during the tedious etiquette and deportment lessons. Still, she vaguely remembered something about it being improper for a man to introduce himself directly to a woman without a formal introduction by a family member or close acquaintance. She also remembered thinking at the time how silly such a rule was.

Finally, deciding that any such social rules were from a different century and did not apply to a young, modern woman in 1911, Melody boldly held out her hand and said, "Miss Melody Chesterton. It is very nice to meet you Conte Foscari."

The man took the outstretched hand, raised it to his lips, then held it long past when it was socially acceptable to do so and said in a sultry voice, "Please, call me Alessandro." This was the sight that met Mary and Rat as they hurried out of the station, a porter in tow with their luggage, anxious to find where Melody had disappeared to.

"Melody!" Rat said sternly, "Why did you disappear like that? We had no idea where you had gone to." Then, realising the scene he had interrupted, he said in an almost paternal tone that was belied by his very youthful appearance, "And who is the gentleman holding your hand?"

Realising that Alessandro, as she was already thinking of him, still held her outstretched hand in his, Melody snatched it back and, in a flustered voice, said, "Conte Foscari, I would like to introduce you to my brother, Mr Matthew Sandworth, and my companion, Miss Mary Lark."

"I am sorry, I must have misheard you; I thought that you had introduced yourself as Miss Chesterton."

Rat sighed; he knew this was going to cause much confusion. He and Melody rarely went out in society together in London, so their different last names were seldom an issue.

Melody trilled some notes of laughter that sounded almost flirtatious to her older brother's ear and said, "Oh, that is because I am the ward of the Earl and Countess of Pembroke and my brother of the Earl of Langley."

"Melody, I hardly think that Conte Foscari needs or wants to hear our life stories," Rat snapped. Melody was entirely too open and trusting. How could they even be sure that this so-called conte was who he said he was? Rat thought there was something very cunning about the man, who he immediately distrusted. Rat was very conscious of his small stature, at a little over five foot seven. That this Foscari character was tall, broad-shouldered and exuded an air of great self-confidence did not endear him further to the younger man.

With an amused gleam in his eye, Alessandro Foscari gave another neat little bow, "Miss Lark, Mr Sandworth, my pleasure. May I assist you in hiring a gondola?"

His voice now strained to the very edge of politeness, Rat said, "Thank you, sir. However, we do not need any assistance. We are being met."

"Then I will bid you all farewell." Turning back to Melody, Alessandro said, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Chesterton. I am sure we will see more of each other; Venetian society is quite small."

As soon as Alessandro was out of earshot, Mary said in the exasperated voice that Melody knew all too well, "Miss Melody, you should know better than to talk to strange men. This may not be London, but the same standards apply, or should. It was not proper for him to introduce himself to you."

Melody laughed, "That is a stupid rule in England and just as stupid, no, maybe more stupid in Venice. I do not know a soul here; if I do not allow people to introduce themselves to me, how will I get to know anyone?"

"You will get to know people, the right sort of people, in the same way you do in England: in an appropriate social setting where Lady Bainbridge will make an introduction." Mary said primly. Melody sniffed contemptuously in reply.

Rat shared a look with Mary and tried a different approach. "Melody, no one wants to prevent you from getting to know people and having fun, but you know how reluctant Milady Tabby Cat was to let you come, particularly in the middle of the Season. We do not need to give her any more reason for concern, do we?"

"Tabby Cat will not know what I do unless you and Mary tattle on me, will she?" Melody pointed out.

It was clear that this argument was going nowhere and was entirely inappropriate for a public thoroughfare where anyone might overhear them. This was not the first impression that Rat wished his sister to make on Venetian society. Instead, he turned and looked around for the gondolas that Lady Bainbridge had promised to send. Unfortunately, all the gondolas and gondoliers looked the same to him.

Rat was saved when one of the many dark-haired men in straw hats waved and called out, "Signor Sandworth? Buongiorno."

Rat walked over and asked, "Inglese?"

"Sì I speak the English. I am having the name, Giovanni. Are you the Mr Sandworth?"

"Yes, I am Mr Sandworth." Lord Langley had legally made Rat his ward when the boy was ten, and he had now been using the name Sandworth long enough that it no longer felt jarring to him not to be using his father's family name, Berry. "I assume that Lady Bainbridge sent you to collect us?"

"Sì, sì. The Lady Bainbridge, she sent me and Pietro," at this, Giovanni pointed to the gondola next to his. "Pietro, he not speaks the Inglese so good as I do. He will took all the many, many bags you have, and I will take Mr Sandworth and la signorinas."

At this, Giovanni gestured to the porter and said something very quickly in the Venetian dialect. Rat had been studying Italian since the trip to Venice had first been proposed, but understanding the dialect was beyond his capabilities. The porter passed all the bags into Pietro's gondola and then gestured that he would help hand Rat, Mary and Melody down.

Rat hadn't been on many boats in his twenty-one years, and Mary had been on none. Of course, neither had Melody, but she approached the gondola as she did most new things, as an exciting adventure. Mary was less excited, and while she didn't say as such, her white-knuckled grip on the gondola's side made her fear clear enough.

The gondola was not large, and most of its length was not used for seating. There was a pair of comfortable, well-padded benches facing each other with barely three feet between them, where Mary, Rat and Melody settled themselves. Giovanni stood directly behind the bench that Melody and Mary sat on and used his long oar to push off from the side of the canal.

Melody's delight at Venice only increased as Giovanni rowed them down the Grand Canal. She had never seen architecture like this before. The intricate stonework, ornate windows and numerous balconies were stunning. Even though many buildings had a slightly decrepit feel to them, that somehow only added to the charm. Melody thought it the most beautiful place she had ever been – even though the list of cities she had visited was limited.

Dear Diary, I am trying to write this while also not missing the view; Venice is the most beautiful city, and it is almost overwhelming trying to take it all in. It was a little scary getting into the gondola, but now that we are seated, it feels surprisingly stable. Though you might not be able to tell this by the look of terror on Mary's face. Meanwhile, Rat is sitting in front of me, glowering about that charming Conte Foscari. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the man when he introduced himself? I suppose that Granny might have put him down in the cutting manner she does so well, but that just is not who I am. Certainly, it is not who I wish to be on this trip."

"Oh Mary, look over there," Melody said, pointing to a building that added to its charms with beautiful Gothic windows and elegant pointed arches. "Is that not the most beautiful building?"

"Si, signorina, this is the home of the Lady Bainbridge. Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore. Where I bring you."

Melody clapped her hands together in glee. When their Venice plans had initially been discussed, Melody had not been particularly enthusiastic about being a guest of Lady Bainbridge's. The woman was an acquaintance of Lady Jameson, Tabitha's mother. The very few times that Melody had met Lady Jameson, she had found her cold and supercilious. It was hard to imagine that any friend of hers would be a pleasant person to be around. However, now that Lady Bainbridge's beautiful palazzo was in sight, Melody felt that there was much overbearing condescension she might tolerate to stay in such a home.

As Giovanni pulled the gondola close to the palazzo steps, a very handsome young man dressed as a footman might be in London opened a door above them. Standing just behind him slightly was an older man who, at least by his dress, seemed to be the butler.

The handsome footman held out his hand to help Melody from the gondola. "Grazie," she said shyly.

"Prego," the young man answered with a smile.

As Melody moved into the palazzo to allow Rat and Mary room to disembark, the butler said in excellent, if heavily accented English, "Welcome, Miss Chesterton. It is a pleasure to welcome you to Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore. I am the maggiordomo, what you would call the butler. My name is Rossi. Lady Bainbridge is in the salotto. I know that you have had a long trip. Would you prefer to freshen up first?"

Melody knew that the correct answer was that yes, she would prefer to freshen up. Granny would have been appalled at the idea of greeting one's host with the dust and grime of a trip on one's hands. However, Granny wasn't there, and Rat would hardly be a stickler for such niceties. While Mary might be, she was also too aware of her status as a servant to contradict her mistress in front of other servants. Comfortable in her ability to flout social norms and eager to meet their hostess, Melody indicated that she was happy to be shown through to the salotto immediately.

To Melody's eighteen-year-old eye, anyone older than Rat was old. Sometimes, she might even lump her brother into that group, though that had more to do with his seriousness than anything else. However, in Lady Bainbridge's case, it was a fair judgment; she was old. Very old. In fact, Lady Bainbridge was eighty-five and so almost as old as the dowager countess. The woman had led an interesting life and had moved to Venice forty years earlier. To the extent anyone still gossiped about her in London after so many decades away, they whispered that she became the lover of an Italian aristocrat who left her the palazzo on his death.

While Lady Bainbridge had been described to Melody as Lady Jameson's friend, the truth was that the two women had been introduced to each other many years before and had been only extremely casual correspondents over the years. In reality, Lady Bainbridge might more accurately be referred to as Tabitha's friend. She had only met Lady Bainbridge once as a very young woman, just before her coming out. The older woman visited London very infrequently and, on that occasion, had stayed with Tabitha's family at their estate for some weeks. The young girl and the eccentric, independent woman had formed an immediate and enduring bond which had been maintained through a twenty-year correspondence. When considering Melody's proposed stay in Venice, Tabitha knew that her older friend would appreciate the girl's curiosity and sense of adventure while enforcing suitable boundaries for the headstrong, young heiress.

Melody's first thought on entering the salotto was that it looked more like a museum. She had grown up in a grand house in Mayfair and had been in some beautifully furnished drawing rooms in her eighteen years but never seen anything as ornate as the room she now found herself in. There was a glorious fresco painted on the ceiling, and equally magnificent paintings hung on the walls. Much of the furniture was richly gilded, with intricate gold leaf embellishments that might have seemed excessive in another location. Perhaps the most spectacular part of the room was the view out onto the Grand Canal.

In the middle of this stately room sat an old woman dressed quite bizarrely, at least by the standards of elderly women in England's upper circles. While the dowager countess, Lady Pembroke, insisted on sticking with fashion from the previous century, Lady Bainbridge's dress had a very modern silhouette, from what Melody could tell. However, the dress was in a bright shade of blue that would have been considered quite outrageous, particularly for a woman of her age, in the drawing rooms of Mayfair. As if that were not shocking enough, she had a fuchsia turban sitting atop snow-white hair that was cut in a bob that sat just above her shoulders. The only woman Melody had ever seen who cut her hair into such a style was Granny's odd friend, Tuchinsky, and she also wore men's clothes.

Lady Bainbridge held out both hands to Melody, "Come child, let me see you. I will not apologise for not standing; one of the few perks of old age is that one can remain seated." Melody approached the woman and allowed her to clasp her hands. "My my, but you are a beauty. There is something in your face that reminds me of Tabitha as a young woman." Lady Bainbridge paused, "Of course, I realise that any resemblance must be purely coincidental. Nevertheless, it is there."

This was not the first time that Melody had heard such a statement. Her similarity to Tabitha had been remarked on when Melody started coming out into society. There had been whispers that Melody was Tabitha's illegitimate daughter, given out to a foster mother at birth but then taken back a few years later. Of course, such a story conveniently overlooked the existence of Rat, a brother four years older. However, the most titillating of society gossip rarely needed to be logically defensible. It was only when such rumours first came to the dowager's attention that they were finally put to rest in the most definitive way possible.

Melody curtsied prettily. "It is lovely to meet you, Lady Bainbridge. Tabby Cat, I mean, Tabitha, speaks so highly of you."

"Tabby Cat? Is that your name for Tabitha?" Lady Bainbridge barked out, laughing in a rather unladylike manner. "How charming. I believe you are going to have to call me something similarly charming."

Then, turning towards Rat, who bowed, Lady Bainbridge said, "And you must be Melody's brother, Matthew."

"Indeed, Lady Bainbridge. Thank you so much for allowing us to stay with you in your beautiful home."

Lady Bainbridge waved her hand somewhat dismissively, "Yes, it is rather glorious, even if it is falling down around my ears. Marco was a dear to leave it to me. However, he was also a terror to leave me with such an obligation. Never mind; I will be dead soon enough, and then its upkeep will be someone else's problem."

They sat for a while, chatting with Lady Bainbridge, bringing her up to date on the comings and goings of London's finest. Finally, with the help of an ornate, silver-topped cane, she stood. "You must wish to wash off the grime of your journey and get settled, and I have need of my afternoon nap. I must be at my best for the soiree this evening."

Melody and Rat exchanged looks. What soiree was this? Seeing their confusion, Lady Bainbridge said breezily, "Just a little dinner to welcome you both to Venice. In its way, Venetian society is as rigid as London's. I would like dear Melody here to meet some of the people who can help smooth her entry."

Melody tried her best not to sigh out loud. Had she escaped the Season in London only to be thrown into its equally boring and formal Italian cousin? She wanted to emulate Lucy Honeychurch and wander the city, experiencing the true Venice, not sit around in fancy houses making polite small talk. At home, Melody might have expressed such feelings, but she had been schooled well enough by Tabitha and the dowager that she inclined her head and expressed a forced delight at the evening ahead.

Mary had gone ahead to the large, sunlit bedroom assigned to Melody and had almost finished unpacking by the time the young woman entered. Mary knew Melody perhaps better than anyone did. She knew every pout, sigh, and sulky expression. "What has happened, Miss Melody? You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"There is to be a dinner party tonight in our honour."

Mary stopped arranging the brushes and hair accessories on the dressing table and turned to the young woman who was part mistress, part charge. "And isn't that a good thing? I'm sure that Lady Bainbridge only thought to introduce you into society."

"Exactly! Society! I do not wish to spend my days and evenings having the same boring conversations that I was forced to endure in London."

"Perhaps the conversations will be less boring with an Italian accent," Mary teased. "After all, you seemed quite taken with that handsome young man outside of the station, and wasn't he a count or something? "

Melody blushed. "Who says I was taken with him? He introduced himself, and I merely reciprocated. Nothing more." Mary didn't reply, but her raised eyebrows and pursed mouth clearly indicated, "If you say so."