Count
your nights by stars, not shadows ~ Italian Proverb
Winter
in Renaissance Venice
Mia Caiozzi is determined to discover
her destiny by studying the science of astronomy. But her stepmother Giulia
forbids her to engage in this occupation, fearing it will lead her into danger.
The ideas of Galileo are banned by the Inquisition, so Mia must study in secret.
Giulia's real name is Giulia Tofana,
renowned for her poison Aqua Tofana, and she is in hiding from the Duke de
Verdi's family who are intent on revenge for the death of their brother. Giulia
insists Mia should live quietly out of public view. If not, it could threaten
them all. But Mia doesn't understand this, and rebels against Giulia,
determined to go her own way.
When the two secret lives collide, it
has far-reaching and fatal consequences that will change Mia's life forever.
Set amongst opulent palazzos and
shimmering canals, The Fortune Keeper
is the third novel of adventure and romance based on the life and legend of
Giulia Tofana, the famous poisoner.
'Her
characters are so real they linger in the mind long after the book is back on
the shelf' - Historical Novel Society.
This is the third in a series, but it can
stand alone as it features a new protagonist.
Trigger
warnings:
Murder
and violence in keeping with the era.
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EXCERPT
Venice 1643
The day
after meeting Brother Mario, Imbroglio arrived early at his bolt-hole – a
second set of lodgings in the German quarter. The snow had stopped, but the
pale winter sun was out and the place stank. It was above the night-soil
collector, who took the human refuse by boat and dumped it at sea, out of the
reach of men’s noses and away from the tidal flow into Venice. Though these
lodgings lacked luxury, and were devilish damp, this place afforded him the
privacy he wanted. On the top floor, with a sturdy door and a good firm mortise
lock.
He had
a semblance of luxury at the Palazzo Dario, but here the stink would certainly
put off all but the brave-hearted. Imbroglio tried not to inhale. With luck and
a following wind he’d be gone by summer. Thank God, he thought, because it
would be unbearable here then. He thrust the shutter open to get some air, but
banged it shut again as the stench increased.
Here,
he was only Antonio Imbroglio, a poor pilgrim visiting San Marco. A crucifix
was displayed prominently on the wall, for the sole benefit of the daily woman
Signora Cicerone.
He
peered out through the striated light of the shuttered window.
A few
muffled-up street urchins were hanging on the corner hoping for work on the
canal. They’d ignored him as he passed, as not rich enough to bother pestering.
He enjoyed the switch of personalities – that one day he could be the count’s
advisor, Signor Moretti, nobleman and Doctor of Law, parading in his fur-lined
cloak, and another day, Antonio Imbroglio, the man who looked like a beggar.
Now to
check the contents of his trunk, a nondescript looking cask covered in scuffed
leather, of the type a poor traveller might use. All the accoutrements of his
assassin’s trade were here. He heaved open the domed lid and brought out the
contents one by one.
Picklocks,
gloves, razor and whetstone, a pistol with a walnut handle, his good duelling
sword.
He
paused. Beneath lay the souvenirs of those he’d killed. Time was, he could draw
out each object – each precious gold watch, each diamond-fobbed seal, each ’broidered
kerchief – and remember the face.
Now
there were so many it was a mere heap of scrim-shaw.
He ran
a thumb softly over the edge of the razor. It would need to be sharpened. He’d
vowed not to use the damn thing here in Venice; it was there only for
emergency. But things had gone wrong, so now he’d have to re-think.
Curse
Count D’Ambrosi. He shouldn’t have taken him on at cards. He should have
realized the best gamblers in Europe were here in Venice at the Ridotto, and the
stakes high. To his humiliation, Count d’Ambrosi had beat him playing Gillet and emptied him out. It looked
bad, especially if he wanted a stake in the observatory – the biggest waste of
money in Venice.
He
began to sharpen the razor, thinking he’d be better off to sharpen his skills
at cards. Meanwhile, thank God for Brother Mario and his pound of gold lira.
This
time would definitely be the last, he swore to himself, because now, thanks to
that measly monk, he was onto something. Tomorrow, he’d find out if Agnese di
Napoli, formerly Agnese de Verdi, could shed any light on the whereabouts of
Giulia Tofana and her Aqua Tofana. The thought of it quickened his pulse.
He
liked to make people talk— before they were consigned to a place where they
would never speak again. And imminent death was a marvellous incentive to
loosen the tongue.
The
rasp of the whetstone grew rhythmic in the quiet of the room.
Deborah Swift
Deborah Swift is a USA TODAY bestselling author who is passionate about
the past. Deborah used to be a costume designer for the BBC before becoming a
writer. Now she lives in an old English school house in a village full of 17th
Century houses near the glorious Lake District. She divides her time between
writing and teaching. After taking a Masters Degree in Creative Writing, she
enjoys mentoring aspiring novelists and has an award-winning historical fiction
blog at her website www.deborahswift.com
Deborah loves to write about how extraordinary events in history have
transformed the lives of ordinary people and how the events of the past can
live on in her books and still resonate today.
Recent books include The Poison Keeper, about the Renaissance
poisoner Giulia Tofana, which was a winner of the Wishing Shelf Readers Award,
and a Coffee Pot Book Club Gold Medal, and The Cipher Room set in WW2
and due for publication by Harper Collins next Spring.
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