Free The Girl With the Painted Face by Gabrielle Kimm Page B

one on top of the other on deep shelves along the narrow back wall. Tawny oranges, vivid blues, wine reds and coral pinks; pristine white lawn and black fustian; a watered damask the colour of a storm cloud. Several yards of a ruby-coloured silk have been pulled from the bolt and lie untidily bundled on a table top, where an elderly man – bent of back and bald of head – is running it appraisingly through his fingers. He looks up as Beppe and Sofia enter the shop.

‘Signore? Signora?’

Beppe clears his throat. ‘Signore, we’re looking for some stiffened buckram strips – might you possibly…?’

The old man smiles widely. ‘Buckram? Indeed, I have just the thing.’ Turning to a tiny door in the far corner of the room, he leans through it and calls. ‘Dario?’ He pauses, then calls again. ‘Dario! We need some buckram. There’s a reel in the painted chest. Bring it, will you?’

A moment passes, and Sofia hears quick, light footsteps on what sounds like a set of wooden steps out behind the shop’s front room; then the tiny door opens and a scrawny young man with untidy fairish hair ducks under the lintel, a narrow roll of cream-coloured stiff fabric in his arms. Much to her surprise, Sofia finds there is something familiar about the new arrival, and she stares at him, wondering where on earth she has seen him before.

He does not notice her straight away, but, muttering something to the elderly proprietor, pushes the pile of red silk to one end of the table to make room for the roll of buckram. Then, glancing across at the newcomers as he turns to leave the shop once more, he stops and his mouth opens a little. His gaze is fixed upon Sofia.

Beppe looks from her to the boy and back, puzzled.

The boy is frowning, clearly trying to place Sofia in his mind, but even as he stares at her, with a jolt of recognition Sofia realizes who he is. She bites her lip. ‘Beppe, have you the purse?’ she says quietly, her gaze on the boy’s face. Without questioning, Beppe pushes a hand into his breeches pocket and pulls out the little drawstring pouch.

Taking it from him, Sofia opens it, rummages and picks out a couple of coins. She holds them out. ‘I think I owe you some money, signore,’ she says. ‘Ten baiocchi , wasn’t it?’

The boy’s face cracks into a wide grin, snapping his fingers in realization. Pointing at her, he says, ‘Yes, signorina, that was it. Exactly! Ten baiocchi .’

‘Dario?’ The old proprietor looks puzzled. ‘What is this? Do you know the lady?’

Sofia says, ‘Your boy was very kind to me some time ago, signore. Back in Bologna. He gave me a pair of crimson ribbons. I had no money but he saw that I loved them and longed to have them and he gave them to me. I promised then that I’d pay him back when I saw him again.’ She shrugs. ‘I’m just keeping my promise.’

‘In Bologna? Dario, when was this?’

Dario pulls his gaze from Sofia’s face and turns to the old man. ‘Few months ago, Tommaso, just before I came to Ferrara.’

‘You were so kind, signore.’

Dario shrugs, his grin wide and happy.

‘I still have the ribbons. I wear them each time I perform. In my hair. I’m an actress now.’

‘An actress?’

‘Yes.’ Sofia reaches for Beppe’s hand. ‘With a troupe: the Coraggiosi.’

Dario frowns. ‘The Coraggiosi? Isn’t that… Tommaso, isn’t that the name of the troupe Bigo Ghisilieri was talking about?’ Not waiting for an answer, he turns to Sofia. ‘Isn’t it your people the duke has invited to play at the castello ?’

Sofia nods. ‘Today. In about two hours, in fact.’

Dario’s eyebrows lift, and his mouth puckers into a silent whistle of admiration. ‘Your troupe is quite something, so my friend Bigo says.’

Beppe puts an arm around Sofia’s shoulders. ‘We do our best,’ he says, smiling.

‘Do you work here all the time now?’ Sofia asks.

Dario nods. He grins at the old man. ‘Better than lugging that great pack around