His Last Duchess Read online

  His Last Duchess

  By Amber D. Sistla

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  HIS LAST DUCHESS

  Copyright © 2011 by Amber D. Sistla

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Zephyr Publishing

  www.ambersistla.com

  His Last Duchess

  At the sound of voices in the hall, Nakia shuttered her lantern and accidentally extinguished the flame. She glared in the darkness, an icy expression her husband and maidservants would have been shocked to see on the docile face of their lady. The corridor should have been empty. What would anyone be doing here at this time of night?

  Nakia felt a fluttering movement in her belly and pressed her hand to her stomach. Nothing to worry about, little one. She'd told herself tonight would be a trial run, a practice session of sneaking through the hallways undetected. But really it was more of a morbid curiosity that propelled Nakia here to see the woman whose death had changed her life.

  Foolish, foolish girl, Nakia berated herself. More than foolish. If she were found here, she'd no doubt that the duke would order her killed. The voices receded, and Nakia relaxed. Fool, she called herself again for good measure and to steady her nerves. Quietly setting the useless lantern on the floor, she inched forward with a hand in front of her until she touched the heavy, brocade curtain. Pushing it aside, she squinted at the wall.

  As her eyes adjusted to the wan moonlight that filtered through the high windows, the image of the previous Ferrara duchess painted on the wall emerged from the shadows. Nakia studied the fresco. The painted woman, just a girl really, reminded her of Domitilla--the same guileless, trusting nature.

  Nakia clenched her fists. I did the right thing in switching places with her. Domitilla is safe, and this poor girl will be avenged. Without doubt, Domitilla would have gone as unresistingly and surely to her death as this woman had.

  "Wouldn't the duke be livid if he found out that someone besides him had pulled that curtain?" said a woman's voice.

  Nakia whirled around, heart thumping. The blood drained from her face. The woman she faced was the very image of the dead girl, Lucrezia, painted on the wall.

  The ghost studied Nakia and slowly circled her. "You're the new one aren't you? Alfonso's latest duchess. Count Tyron's daughter. I should be jealous of you, I suppose, but I don't care. Are you trying to decide where you want your painting to be? It's only a matter of time before he kills you too. It'll be nice to have some company. Tell me your name."

  Disconcerted, Nakia almost gave her real name. Be careful, she thought and took a deep breath. "I'm Domitilla." She paused, remembering her mother's warnings about offending ghosts, but could think of no delicate way to phrase her next question. "What are you doing here?"

  Lucrezia shrugged and traced her image on the wall. "I came to haunt the duke, of course." Her face twisted and she clawed at the fresco which, unblemished, seemed to stare back at her mockingly. "I should have known better. He doesn't even see me; he's only got eyes for himself. Always checking the mirrors, fascinated by the tilt of his head, the cut of his clothes, the way he lifts his hand just so, and countless other mannerisms." Her hands reached through the fresco in a semblance of an embrace, and she held her cheek against the wall, as if to get comfort from the girl painted there.

  "Do you hate him?" Nakia asked. The ghost turned to face her, and her breath caught at the menace in Lucrezia's eyes.

  "You don't understand what kind of man the duke is; not yet. They don't teach girls like us to understand, just how to comply. Your father sent you to marry a wife murderer and paid for the privilege. He warned your father; I saw the emissary listen as the duke admitted he'd had me killed."

  Nakia frowned. Knowing the ghost wasn't really talking about her father but was instead referring to Domitilla's father, Count Tyron, she suppressed the urge to defend him, but it still rankled.

  "And for what sin?" the ghost asked. "Because I enjoyed the little things in life that he had nothing to do with, because he wasn't the sun, moon, and stars of my existence. The last thing I told him was that I loved the smell of the cherry blossoms, some fool brought me some, and then..." She gestured at her incorporeal form. "I despise him now more than I ever loved life."

  "Help me punish him."

  The ghost came close and scrutinized Nakia. "Why do you care?"

  The scent of sun-warmed cherries filled her nostrils, and Nakia held herself rigid to keep from flinching; a thousand ghost stories flitted through her mind. "I know what he did to you. I want to stop him from doing it again."

  Suspicion glinted in the ghost's eyes. "Who are you? Girls of our class are not taught to think of punishment and revenge. Those are things learned as we get older and discover one by one all the lies our parents taught us. Or we figure them out when we die. I learned quite a lot after I died."

  Nakia's heart beat wildly. The ghost came closer to the truth in these few moments than all of the Duke's household had in the last few months. "Will you help or not?"

  "With what?"

  Nakia thought for a moment, deciding which details to reveal. "You know the Duke's cousin Giovanni?" The duke had a bevy of distant relatives, but Giovanni had insinuated himself as indispensable and had considerable support in the duke's household.

  Lucrezia's face scrunched up as if she smelled something repugnant. "Let me guess, he promised to protect you if you were nice to him. What does he have to do with anything?"

  Nakia shared Lucrezia's aversion. She suppressed a shudder, remembering the lecherous look in the man's beady eyes. "Giovanni is the closest thing the duke has to an heir. I need to get him out of the picture for my plan to work."

  "And what is the plan?"

  Nakia hesitated.

  "You don't trust me?" The ghost shrugged. "I wouldn't either, I suppose." She leaned her face, cheek to cheek, against the girl on the wall and spoke in a sad voice. "She would have." Pushing off from the wall, she faced Nakia. "But she wouldn't have helped you either, and I will. Tell me what you want to do to Giovanni."

  Nakia breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been trying to solve the problem of Giovanni. If she could be trusted, the ghost would simplify her plans greatly. She might not even have to involve Domitilla. "Can you make Giovanni, and only Giovanni, see you?" At a nod from the dead girl, Nakia continued. "Do whatever you can to make him react to you. The louder he is and the wilder he moves, the better."

  A knowing light twinkled in the shadows of Lucrezia's eyes. She disappeared, but her laughter filled the room like the sound of breaking glass.

  Nakia picked up the lantern. She pressed her ear against the polished wooden door, straining to hear the slightest noise. Nothing. She took a deep breath and slipped out of the room. She crept in darkness through the corridor and peeked around the corner and came face to face with Giovanni.

  "Milady, what a pleasant surprise. I hadn't expected to see you in the halls so late at night," said Giovanni.

  Nakia closed her eyes and invoked all the gods of her mother to smite him. She opened them and suppressed a sigh. Unharmed, his buggy eyes stared at her so intently that it seemed they would pop out of his face. She inclined her head slightly in his direction. "Indeed, but I find a nighttime walk is so refreshing after the heat of the day."

  He gave a conspiratorial wink. "Tsk, tsk, Domitilla. Does milord duke know about this pastime?" He took her hand in his sweaty palm and pressed his oily lips against it. He straightened, still holding her hand captive, and smiled at her. "Or should it be our little secret?"

  Nakia wanted to yank her hand away and slap the sm
army look off his face. How dare he look at her like that; how dare he speak her name with such familiarity? Yet . . .she couldn't afford to have the duke hear about it, not now, not after all she'd gone through.

  Nakia felt her blood chill, sure of what the story of her wandering the corridors late at night would evoke in the duke's suspicious nature. Duke Ferrara had killed Lucrezia and wouldn't hesitate to do the same to her. Thinking of Lucrezia put Nakia in mind of the attentions Giovanni would soon receive from the ghost, and she managed to give him a lighthearted smile. "Lord Giovanni, how you jest. I'm sure milord duke has more important things to think about than a little nighttime walk."

  "Of course, no doubt you are right. Allow me to escort you to your rooms. I insist. I have a feeling we're going to be great friends, Domitilla." He took her elbow and guided her down the hall.

  Nakia allowed herself to be led, all the while imagining that she would break every bone in his body starting with his hand. She kept a smile on her face. Just wait, Giovanni, just wait.

  ****

  Nakia leaned against the cool marble of an unlit fireplace on the far side of the room from the entryway of the duke's grand salon. She stared at the regal, larger-than-life painting of the duke, positioned prominently over the fireplace. Almost time to get what you deserve.

  The concerto delle donne singers arrived and clustered in small groups at the front of the salon, warming up for their performance. The newly formed group was already popular, and elite guests streamed through the entrance.

  Nakia gestured for Domitilla to join her. Although the singers were officially her maidservants, she rarely had contact with them.

  Domitilla smiled sweetly. She'd lost weight during these last few months adjusting to life as a servant. "Nakia, you look lovely." She touched the rich green silk of Nakia's dress, then fingered her own plain raiment.

  Nakia hissed and her gaze darted around. Would she never learn? When she was sure no one had heard Domitilla's words, she took a deep breath. "Don't ever call me that. How many times must I remind you?"

  Domitilla gave her a stricken look and tears welled up in her eyes. "Sorry Na…milady."

  Nakia sighed. She knew Domitilla's mistake was accidental and that her contrition was heartfelt, but slips like that could kill whether intentional or not. "Calm yourself. No one heard, but don't forget again. We're so close."

  Domitilla pressed her hand to her heart and nodded fervently.

  Nakia heard a burst of laughter and looked to see the sullen-faced Giovanni enter.

  The duke's cousin took his seat without stopping to mingle. He batted his hand at the air next to his ear; sharp, unintelligible words occasionally escaped his clamped lips.

  Nakia watched the other guests watch Giovanni. The men openly chortled while the women hid their laughter behind their fans. She smiled and turned back to Domitilla. "It's time. Don't contact me in the next few days, but make sure you are someplace where other people will notice you." Nakia noticed confusion cloud Domitilla's eyes. "It will be your alibi."

  "Don't you need my help?"

  Luckily, not anymore, thought Nakia. Domitilla didn't have a devious bone in her body. "No, I've got everything under control. Trust me."

  Domitilla nodded fervently. "Of course. I'll do whatever you say."

  The duke entered. Domitilla rejoined the musicians. Nakia rushed to the duke's side, assumed her position two steps behind him, and docilely followed him to his seat.

  Nakia hopped onto the seat, her feet dangling inches above the floor. All the velvet-lined, mahogany chairs had been exquisitely crafted to the exact measurements of the duke's lanky frame. "Milord, may I speak?" she asked, violating the duke's rule of not speaking until spoken to.

  The duke tugged at the chain peeking out of his pocket. With one hand, he grasped the small mirror that dangled from its end and checked his reflection. With the other hand, he motioned for Nakia to speak.

  "I worry about you, milord. Giovanni's actions lately have been most unseemly, yet he has long been your loyal servant, doing nothing without your permission. Will people think his current moods are sanctioned by you?" The duke slowly tucked the mirror back in his pocket. "I fear his behavior may taint your noble name."

  With a frown, the duke gazed at a full-length mirror in the distance. "Don't trouble your pretty little head about it, Domitilla. Let me take care of such matters." He gave the singers the signal to begin. Their complex beautiful melodies in praise of the duke wove their usual spell, and he closed his eyes in contentment.

  Nakia's stomach knotted. Her plan hadn't worked.

  Twitters sounded from the corner of the room, breaking the spell. The duke half-opened his eyes and searched for the cause of the disturbance. His hooded gaze rested on Giovanni who jabbed at empty air while whispering to his neighbors.

  Giovanni writhed; his chair legs squeaked on the polished marble. The duke clenched his fists as laughter punctuated the rest of the song. Nakia suppressed a smile. The plan did work after all.

  When the singers finished, the duke beckoned his chief steward forward. With the servant kneeling at his feet, the duke gave orders, and Giovanni's unseemly behaviors stopped altogether.

  ****

  "Very clever, having the duke order Giovanni's death," said Lucrezia. "Now tell me the rest of the plan. But it better involve suffering, not death. Death is too kind for him. Besides, if you kill the Duke, they'll shunt you back to your father's place and he'll try and marry you off again, probably to someone more despicable than the Duke since you don't have a valuable commodity anymore. And, I'd miss you. "

  Bile filled Nakia's mouth as she remembered the losing of her commodity. "I'm pregnant; they can't send me back to my father when I'm carrying the next Ferrara heir."

  "Ah." The ghost smiled. "But, I still don't want him to die, not right away."

  "I promised suffering, didn't I? I'm not going to kill him, because then someone else would just try to take his place. I want him alive, but powerless. I'm going to announce my pregnancy and that I'm going to the castle chapel to pray all night for a strong heir for milord duke.

  "If anyone suspects foul play, I don't want their suspicions to turn to me. Meet me in the chapel. I need your help to go from there to the Duke's room and back again without being noticed." The little chapel was on the opposing end of the castle as the duke's room; the duke didn't believe in worshiping a being other than himself.

  Lucrezia tilted her head and studied Nakia. "You want me to scout for you? Tell me something. You had this planned long before you met me. Why?"

  Nakia paused for long moments. "Because I refuse to allow your fate to befall a girl who is my sister in everything but name."

  Lucrezia nodded slowly. "This girl you are protecting, is she the real Domitilla? Who are you really?"

  Goosebumps tingled up and down Nakia's arms. The words came out in a barely audible whisper. "Nakia."

  "The truth at last. You must truly be desperate." Lucrezia nodded. "I'll do what you want. Now tell me. What will you do to him?"

  Nakia chaffed her arms, banishing the goosebumps. "I've got a special surprise to congratulate him on his impending fatherhood."

  ****

  Nakia tiptoed behind Lucrezia. She struggled to listen beyond the pounding of her heart. What? A noise? "Lucrezia. Surely you heard that? Where is it coming from?" She pressed against the wall; her gaze darted up and down the hallway. "I need to hide."

  Lucrezia frowned and held a finger to her lips.

  Nakia clenched her teeth together. Why did I let myself trust a ghost?

  The ghost slipped in and out of the doorways that lined the hall.

  The sound of voices got louder. Nakia cursed herself for trusting the ghost. Ghosts don't have the same motivations as living people. Perhaps Lucrezia wants me dead, just like her. Her chest tightened. The ghost still hadn't returned. Nakia made a quick decision and went to the nearest door; she couldn't allow herself to be caught in the corridor s
o close to the duke's rooms.

  Lucrezia appeared next to her. "Get away from there, you fool. Go to that one. Hurry." She pointed at the door across the hall.

  Nakia crossed the hall to the other door, then hesitated. She heard voices on the other side. Spinning, she glared at Lucrezia, imagining the ghost watching her with a triumphant expression.

  Lucrezia glanced up and down the hallway, clearly agitated. When she looked toward Nakia still standing in the hall, she started. "Inside. Hurry."

  Nakia pushed the door open and slipped inside. A quick glanced showed that the room was empty. Laughter from outside spilled through an open balcony window. She leaned her ear against the closed door and heard the nighttime patrol clank down the hallway. The ghost had saved her. Lucrezia was looking after her; after all these months, someone was finally looking after her. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the thought, and she clasped her hands across her mouth to stifle it.

  Lucrezia poked her head through the door. "That was a close one. The rest of the way to the duke's room is clear if you hurry."

  Nakia left her hiding spot, sprinted down the hall, and turned the corner. Without hesitation, she pushed the duke's door open. She closed the door, leaning against it momentarily. She took a few deep breaths, then scurried to the duke's nightstand. There were only a few minutes before the duke would retire for the night and take his habitual bedtime drink.

  Nakia held the two vials that her mother had given her and closed her eyes. She thanked all the gods she'd ever heard her mother invoke.

  With a steady hand, she dropped three colorless drops from one vial and one grey drop from another vial into the duke's crystal goblet. She swirled the drops around until they formed an undetectable coating. The glass went back to the exact location where she'd picked it up, and Nakia went under the bed.

  The duke arrived and poured a burgundy drink from his decanter. He threw his head back and finished it in one draught then, as usual, flung the goblet into the blazing fire. Arranging himself on a chair, he stretched, admiring himself in a mirror hung from the ceiling.