Free The Girl Behind the Mask by Stella Knightley Page A

back into bed, I closed my eyes and pressed my eyelids with my fingers to stop the tears from coming. I was as lonely as I had ever been and somehow the dream of my strange lover in the palazzo garden had only made things worse.

Chapter 13
    I spent the next morning looking at the notes I had made in the library. The white rose I’d plucked from the garden was pressed into my notebook, already a paper-thin ghost of itself. I felt a rush of shame as I admired my stolen bounty and remembered the previous night’s strange dream. Though I had not been given express permission to do so, I’d also taken a few sneaky photographs of the letters with the camera function on my phone. I’d taken some sneaky photographs of the library too. I thought about sharing them with Bea and Nick but decided against it. Not yet. I suddenly felt a strange obligation to keep Palazzo Donato’s secrets.
    At midday, the post-boy came into the office, pushing his little trolley. He had books for Nick and Bea. He had flyers regarding a Martedì Grasso party being organised by the students’ union. And for me he had a single letter.
    I knew at once whom this letter was from. The envelope, made of thick creamy vellum, did not bear a stamp. It had been delivered by hand. My name and the university address were written in extravagant cursive. It was, I thought, exactly the kind of handwriting I would have expected. I could imagine its owner using his expansive script to sign off large cheques and hotel invoices. Maybe even signing the odd autograph. I tucked my thumb underneath the envelope flap and levered it open. Inside was a single sheet of expensively heavy paper.
     
    By all means, you must come back to the palazzo and continue your research. How could I stand in history’s way? My housekeeper will be happy to let you into the library at ten o’clock each weekday. I ask only one thing of you: that you tell me more about your research. I would like to know about the contents of Luciana’s diary and letters and their significance. I have always meant to read them myself, but never seem able to find the time. Also, how does a woman from the United Kingdom come to be so interested in an obscure Venetian merchant’s daughter in any case? I would like to know. You may email your response. Your handwriting gives me a headache.
     
    Oh. I was delighted to receive such a letter but I was shocked by the bluntness of Donato’s last comment. I had to agree, however, that he had a fair point. Handwriting had never been my strong suit. Even with my grandfather’s pen. But he had also said he wanted to know more. That was the real surprise. I had to indulge him, so I emailed my response right away. I confirmed I would be delighted to take Donato up on his offer and would present myself at the library the following day. Then I offered him his due. I told him a little about the diary entries I had read so far and – somewhat shyly – about myself.
    I became interested in history thanks to an enthusiastic teacher at school. A woman who truly made the past come alive for the time I was in her lessons. She encouraged me to study history at university and that is where I met the tutor who brought my attention to eighteenth-century Europe. She was a specialist in ‘self-representation’: history directly recounted by the people who were living through it. Letters and diaries. Novels, too. Back when it wasn’t the done thing for women to have their say about anything but what they would be making for dinner, an anonymous novel was one way for a woman to tell her truth.
    A little later I came across The Lover’s Lessons and was fascinated at once. Not just by the scandalous aspect of the content, but also by how very real the narrator seemed. I knew that for years people had assumed the author was a man, but I found it hard to imagine any man of that period capturing the thoughts and feelings of a young girl quite so delicately and well. The more I read, the