Giovanna was numb. There was no pain even though she wished for it. Of course there wasn't because then at least she'd have something to blame, something to resent, something to consider!
But there was nothing.
She had no grievance with her husband for surviving war because that's what a proper wife should have expected. She had no concern about Matteo seeing her in such a helpless state because he had returned in good faith. And she certainly had no bitterness toward her father for getting sick because the plague was practically unavoidable.
In this case, however, the nothing inside her didn't equal the absence of something, but rather the excess of lacking. And while a whole lot of nothing was something, a lack of something was also nothing. Her head hurt just for thinking about it, yet in spite of this vast emptiness within her, Giovanna persisted.
Ignoring Matteo's departing wishes to rest easy, she worked through the night harder than ever. After several trips to the courtyard well, she'd gotten the stone floors scrubbed, the dirty laundry washed, and several tinctures brewed before sunrise. The physical activity kept her mind off everything else, and after sharing a sparse breakfast of almond biscotti and chamomile tea with her father—who'd awoken long enough to eat, but thankfully had no recollection of the night's events—she set off.
Although Matteo had been curt about the location of their impending reunion, she'd assumed he'd want her to find him at his parents' residence. Yet when she'd tapped the bronze hoop knocker on the door of Palazzo Barozzi, she received unexpected news.
"Signore Matteo has gone to Ca' Calergi," said the boy who'd also been manning the entry on the night she tended to Matteo's upset stomach.
Giovanna was perplexed. Why would Matteo visit a place known for its card games now when he had explicitly instructed her to find him? But because standing on his doorstep would bring her no closer to a revelation, she thanked the boy and departed.
Left to her own devices, Giovanna quickly deducted that she had three choices.
She could go home while hoping that Stefano would be detained long enough for her father to recover. This choice Giovanna discarded immediately. For one thing, her husband's detention was a ruse. In a day or two the true details surrounding the end of his service would surely come to light. Knowing the long period of convalescence needed for people who survived the plague, Agostino would still exhibit symptoms upon Stefano's return.
Giovanna could also act: either move her father out to a safer location or, alternatively, find another place for her and Stefano to live. The former was easier in theory, but definitely not in execution. The only acceptable place for a plague victim was the lazaretto, which in this case was out of the question. Even if she could physically transport Agostino to another location, she couldn't trust anyone to keep his secret.
No, he had to stay in Campo San Polo.
Getting a new apartment for herself and Stefano was the idea she'd briefly toyed with last night before . . .. Giovanna's thoughts trailed off. She didn't want to recall anything that happened after her husband had resurfaced. But renting a private space—even a small room—needed money, which she didn't have ready access to. Luckily, there was one person Giovanna knew who did.
Leaving Piazza San Marco, she backtracked up the Canale Grande to Palazzo Michiel. There, a servant girl greeted her with a now familiar rebuttal.
"Signora Ottavia is not at home," she said, already shutting the door into Giovanna's face.
She put her foot into the gap, forcibly keeping it open. "Do you know where she went? Or when she'll return?"
The girl looked put out for the extra queries from someone barely above her station, but after a frown and a sigh, she answered. "The Rialto market."
Giovanna immediately turned to go look for her friend there, but the servant yelled after her. "You're not the only one asking today, you know. Signore Grimani was here not long ago inquiring about the signora's whereabouts."
Giovanna halted. The man who would soon take Ottavia's hand in marriage was already in pursuit of the girl. There was little chance Giovanna would manage to find her first, as she was likely already in the company of her betrothed. And she couldn't speak candidly with Ottavia in front of Nicco, that much was for certain.
"Thank you. Have a good day," she despondently said to the servant over her shoulder.
No Matteo for advice, no Ottavia for coin, and no way to move her father, Giovanna was quickly running out of options. Her remaining recourse was one that she had up until now ignored. Dread overcame her even as she thought of visiting Stefano in jail, but it was wholly necessary in order to keep up pretenses. Otherwise, he'd be even more cruel to her once he was released.
Returning to San Marco and continuing past the palace, Giovanna turned left along the quay. Only a few gondolas and several smaller sailboats moored in the gentle waters off the central square, the usual congestion diminished by the plague. For this sparseness, Giovanna was glad. At least there would be fewer curios eyes to see her enter the arched doorway of the New Prison.
With a high portico facing the waterfront, the structure was built from familiar Istrian limestone within just the last fifty years, having mostly replaced the infamous jails within the adjacent Palazzo. As opposed to the upper-class inmates, violent offenders, or those still awaiting trial kept locked in the notoriously hard to escape cells in the doge's palace, here petty thieves, debtors, and other common criminals served their sentences.
"State your business, signora," a guard addressed Giovanna, putting his pike in her way before she could even approach the clerk just past the entryway.
"I . . . My husband has been detained, and I wish to see him," she stammered, suddenly losing the little courage she had previously.
The guard peered over his shoulder at the old man behind the desk, bent over an open ledger. Giovanna held her breath until the clerk gave a small nod and waved her over.
"Name," he said without looking up.
"Giovanna Visconti," she whispered, wringing her hands.
The clerk cleared his throat and raised his gaze. "The prisoner's name." He emphasized the second word in clarification.
"Oh," she muttered, feeling her face redden. "Stefano. Stefano Visconti. He is an arquebusier in the Republic's—"
"Irrelevant," the clerk cut her off even as he dragged his ink-stained forefinger down a row of names on the page in front of him. Stopping abruptly, he tapped the parchment. "There. Arrived last night."
Emboldened by the confirmation, Giovanna placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "How long will he be kept here?"
The clerk pulled a large key ring from a drawer as he shook his head. "Now, now. Signore Visconti hasn't even been charged yet. It is up to the magistrate to decide what his punishment will be. If you'd like a few moments—"
"Yes, of course!" Giovanna exclaimed as she jumped back, afraid she would compromise her chance at getting a quick word with her husband through her continued naïveté.
Although he looked less than pleased, the clerk nodded and dangled the keys to another guard standing in the corridor. "Captain, if you can show Signora Visconti to holding cell two-eleven. She may have five minutes, nothing more."
"Thank you." Giovanna respectfully bowed before following the soldier down a hallway.
Significantly smaller than the building next door, the two floors of the New Prison centered around a courtyard that allowed for better ventilation for its greater number of detainees, but it was by no means luxurious. Functionality underscored its strength even as its bold architectural choices exuded a macabre elegance.
Giovanna kept her eyes on her feet as she followed the guard first up a narrow staircase and then down a long hallway, waiting patiently each time he stopped to unlock one of the interior security doors. Yet no matter how much she tried to ignore it, she still couldn't completely block out the pained whimpers, the muddled cries, and the occasional enraged screams of the incarcerated they passed. Her already significant guilt intensified with each step, and she prayed that Stefano could find a way to eventually forget this unfortunate turn of events. Perhaps one day she'd even be brave enough to tell him about her reason for wanting to see him temporarily out of her way. But that certainly wouldn't be today.
After entering a narrow corridor lined with grated windows on one side and barred cells on the other, the guard led her to the only occupied enclosure. "Three minutes," he grunted, gesturing to the prisoner huddled in the far corner before stepping away.
"But the other man said five," Giovanna objected.
The guard smirked a devilish smile. "Well, he's not here, is he? And you've just wasted thirty seconds."
Recognizing her folly, Giovanna stopped arguing and instead grabbed the thick iron bars. Sticking her face in the space between them, she addressed the prisoner. "Husband! It is me, Giovanna. Please tell me that you are unhurt."
Stefano slowly raised his head from its resting position on his drawn-up knees and squinted toward the light. "You?! How dare you show your face here, woman!" he yelled hoarsely while using the wall to help him stand.
Tears flooded Giovanna's vision as she watched him hobble closer, undoubtedly injured while resisting arrest. "I . . . I had no part in placing you here. You must believe me. I swear it," she said, freely emphasizing her earnestness due to the inherent truth in the statement.
Steadying himself against the bars, Stefano shuddered. "I do not know whether the chill is in the air here or if it is coming from the ice within your veins," he said, using one hand to pull his mis-buttoned, crumpled jacket around him.
If he had evidence to her duplicity, he didn't reveal it, so Giovanna countered the accusatory remark with a forced smile. "I will return tomorrow with a blanket to keep you warm," she said, intent on being as an amenable as possible under the circumstances.
"Tomorrow?" Stefano cried, throwing his head back. "You best do everything in your power to have me freed from this unjust imprisonment well before then."
Giovanna's pulse raced, and she shook her head at the request, already fearing the consequences of failure. "I am, but a simple girl. I do not have the capacity for such influence," she said, not revealing that even if she could get him out early, she most certainly wouldn't do so.
Stefano pulled himself closer to the bars, making Giovanna flinch.
"That man," he whispered, while studying her face. "The noble at your father's door last night. Who was he, and what was your business with him?" he asked as an increasingly crazed look flashed across his features.
Giovanna swallowed hard. If Stefano did not know her exact connection to Matteo Barozzi, then he suspected the worst, which in this case was just as bad. Her only choice was to lie, an act that never came naturally to her. Why could she not be like Ottavia who could spin a yarn so elaborate with such little effort that sometimes even she believed her own falsehoods?
The only thing her friend could never hide at least from her was what lurked in her heart. But for that, Giovanna was nothing, if not grateful. Because it was after Ottavia's own admission that she considered if perhaps the intimate companionship of a girl could also make her happy. After a brief internal struggle, Giovanna concluded that she would always like the idea of potentially kissing boys, too. But if she had known then that she'd be stuck with a boy like Stefano Visconti, perhaps she would have come to a different opinion.
"I had no business with him at all," she finally answered even as her voice inadvertently quivered. "He sought my father's elixirs—"
"Lies!" Stefano spat. "There was familiarity there, no matter how adamantly you deny it."
She attempted to step away, but he caught her hands. "No, no, it is not what you think," she denied, her fear gradually replaced with a bubbling anger at how easily he could accuse her of betrayal. Pulling out of his grip, she stumbled backwards just as the guard announced that their time was up.
Giovanna didn't need to be told twice, leaving the prison to the increasingly faint shouts of "whore" behind her.