Free 2 - Painted Veil by Beverle Graves Myers

something to you, my dear. You know them, I believe.”
    Liya raised an eyebrow. Without prompting, Benito stepped forward and made his apology with all the grace and considerable charm of which he was capable.
    “It’s good of you to come up,” she replied with a smile, “but you needn’t have bothered. I often have to make changes in my creations, for a host of different reasons. So, as I’m working on a mask that must be finished before my mother returns…” She inclined her head toward the doorway.
    I couldn’t let her dismiss us so easily. Spying my helmet, now shorn of its plumes, on the wide worktable in front of the windows, I walked over and plucked it out from a tangle of ribbons and lace.
    A note of irritation crept back into the seamstress’ voice. “You can stop fretting over your headgear. You may have lost your feathers, but I’ll make sure it is decorated with enough trim to satisfy even the most exalted prince.”
    I winced inwardly. Is that how she saw me? As vanity obsessed as Il Florino? I set the helmet down quickly. “I’m not concerned about that. While we’re here, there is something else I need to ask you.”
    I looked around the airy workroom. The old woman had closed her eyes. A bit of forgotten piecework had fallen from her limp hands, and her chin had sunk to her chest. In the opposite corner, a trio of slat-backed chairs fenced an unlit stove.
    “Perhaps we could sit?” I ventured.
    “All right.” Liya glanced toward the stove, but gestured to the nearest window instead. “Here. Papa may need me to point out Fortunata’s doll.”
    Benito retreated to the doorway. He affected an air of unconcern, but I knew his ears would be prickling. Liya and I settled ourselves on the wide windowsill, knees almost touching. The sun had risen high over the ghetto buildings and fell directly on the woman who sat so near but seemed determined to distance herself with an air of dignified reserve.
    She wore a gown of dusky blue with the sleeves pushed up above the elbows. A light apron wrapped her bodice and covered the front of her skirt. Her back was straight, pressing against the window frame as she looked down to the courtyard behind the shop. A healthy glow suffused her finely textured olive skin, and the sunlight caught highlights in the thick braids entwining her head.
    I cleared my throat, and her dark eyes turned to meet mine with a hint of amusement that recalled her expression in Luca’s painting. I cursed myself for not planning what to say. Suddenly, the alluring portrait on Luca’s easel was the only thought in my head.
    “Look, there’s Papa.” Liya waved and pointed. “He won’t be able to reach the doll unless he climbs. He should have sent Isacco.”
    “Isacco?” I asked, glad for the distraction.
    “The son of Papa’s cousin in Livorno. Papa produced a family of women, but his cousin’s family has sons to spare.” Her well-formed mouth worked itself into a sneer. “Papa imported one of them to help with the shop.”
    “A reasonable solution, surely?”
    The black eyes flashed, no longer amused. “Papa has good help right here. I am capable of much more than piecing these scraps together. I could help Papa run the business.”
    “But daughters usually marry away. Where would that leave your father if you went off with a husband?”
    She gave me a withering glance. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk over our family’s business arrangements.”
    “No, of course not. Maestro Torani has sent me on an errand.” Shifting my weight on the window ledge, I took my verbal plunge. “One of the theater staff is missing and he is desperately needed to finish the sets for the new opera. I’ve come to ask if you know where Luca Cavalieri has disappeared to.”
    She stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Signor Cavalieri? I’m sure I have no idea. Why on earth do you ask me? I barely know him.”
    “I’ve been to his rooms.”
    The Jewess stared out the