Signora Da Vinci by Robin Maxwell Read Free Book Online

his trust, stolen away from our “camp” to Piero’s, and nothing I had known would ever be the same again.
     
    The moment the sun rose I was up. I bathed carefully, even washing my hair and brushing it till it fell in dark silken curls around my shoulders. I could hear Magdalena at her housework on the second floor, and my father’s footsteps on the stairs going down to the apothecary.
    In my daze I remembered only belatedly about the alchemical fire and raced upstairs to the laboratory to pile hardwood into the furnace, hurriedly stoking it with the bellows.
    Down again, a kiss on Magdalena’s forehead, ignoring her admonition to eat something, and quickly down to the shop.
    Piero had promised to arrive just after opening, and I wanted to be there for every moment of the revelation, the argument—if there was to be one—and the inevitable grant of Papa’s blessings.
    There were two customers waiting when father opened the door. Signora Malatesta, looking ashamed, needed a new poultice, as she had allowed the dog to run away with the one she’d been given for her husband yesterday. A young man came in and showed my father some ugly boils on his back.
    I became impatient almost immediately, trying not to grimace when Father instructed me to get on the ladder in the storeroom and fetch down the most aged nettle.
    I thought I would scream as I mashed the unpleasant leaves for Signora Malatesta’s poultice, and I actually did let out a yelp when, in my nervousness, I knocked a bottle of horsetail tincture all over my chest.
    I raced back up to my room, terrified I would miss Piero’s entrance, but by the time I had changed into a fresh bodice and reentered the shop, my love had still not arrived.
    More customers came and more time passed. I was annoyed that Piero had not come at the time he said he would. As morning became afternoon I became angry, and when Magdalena called us up for our midday meal I barked at my father that I had no appetite. He looked baffled at my outburst and said that if I was not eating I could watch the shop while he did.
    My whole body was trembling with anticipation. Where was Piero? Something must have happened to him! Perhaps he was hurt, ill. That must be the case, for he was never ever late for our meetings. I should go to him. He needed me. Might need the services of my father.
    I was half out the door when I realized I could not just leave without my father’s permission. And what reason would I give? I had not today—as on all the other days of the secret trysts—given him fair warning of my journeying out to the hills, necessitated by a lack of mullein, or our only jarful of woad salve turning rancid and needing replacement.
    It would seem odd for me to suddenly rush out. And what if I did, and missed Piero’s visit altogether? There were several ways through the streets of Vinci from his house to ours. He might be stopping along the way to bring us a small gift. What if he was even now in a field picking some pretty flowers? Oh, why could he have not come when he said he would?
    My father had returned from his dinner, his usual good-natured self, though eyeing me suspiciously, for I was not prone to such outbursts as I’d made that morning.
    I silently decided that my only course was to wait for Piero’s arrival, whatever time that was, at least until closing.
    The rest of the afternoon moved with the speed of a lethargic snail, my nerves fraying with every passing minute. When Father had closed the door on the last customer I could bear it no longer.
    “I’m going out!” I fairly shouted.
    “Out?” he said mildly. “Out where? To do what?”
    I had not prepared an answer and instead stood spluttering helplessly in the doorway. “I’m just going, Papa!”
    “Caterina . . .”
    I slammed out and began a fast walk toward the old castle and the mill house that stood in its shadows.
    It was a fine house that Piero’s family had built five generations before. Three