Ariadne’s childhood had been a grueling ordeal.
Her years on the farm were a relentless cycle of beatings and starvation. After she was moved to the grand mansion of San Carlo, her life became a tapestry of mistreatment and betrayal, woven by the cunning schemes of others.
Ariadne had once believed this was simply her lot in life. She was born to a lowly maid, not to the noble Lucrezia De Rossi. Though she was illegitimate, she had clung to the hope that she was, in a broad sense, family—at least half a daughter to Cardinal De Mare. She believed that if she only lived with diligence and kindness, those she served would eventually reward her.
Reality proved the opposite. To remain still was to be exploited and deceived. All the rewards were claimed by the selfish and the loud.
The old woman, Gian Galeazzo, was exactly that kind of person. When Niccolo, the butler from the castle, had first arrived, she had fawned over him, claiming she knew a day like this would come and that it had been her own virtuous effort that raised Lady Ariadne so well. She had even demanded gold coins from Niccolo, threatening to withhold Lady Ariadne unless he paid for the old woman’s supposed years of suffering.
The young Ariadne, who had been beaten with a broom by that very woman just that morning, had felt only bewilderment and rage. At the time, she had foolishly believed that her benevolent father—or perhaps the virtuous society of San Carlo—would eventually root out those who wronged her and exact justice.
What a naive expectation that had been.
*I must protect myself,* she thought. *I will never be taken advantage of again.*
* * *
“Oh my, Butler! What brings you to such a shabby place!”
Niccolo, the butler, remained cold-faced as he stated his business.
“I have come to escort Lady Ariadne to the main estate.”
“Ariadne? That girl… no, Her Ladyship?”
Gian Galeazzo was visibly flustered. She had struck Ariadne with a broom just this morning, leaving fresh welts on her face, and had provided nothing in the way of proper clothing for the girl.
“Lady Ariadne is lazy and is not yet awake at this hour. She will need to wash and dress appropriately if she is to enter the grand mansion.”
“It would be a hassle to prepare here. I will take her immediately.”
Gian Galeazzo’s eyes darted frantically.
Just then, Ariadne appeared before Niccolo.
Her clothes were wretchedly old and thin. Although Niccolo clearly noted her disheveled state, he chose to look away. There was no benefit in taking the side of a disgraced illegitimate girl and souring his relationship with Gian Galeazzo, the power broker of the Bergamo farm—a property under the direct jurisdiction of the Holy See.
“Hmm. Let us head out. Gian Galeazzo, you have worked hard looking after Lady Ariadne all this time.”
“Oh, my! Indeed, indeed! No one could ever doubt the loyalty of this Gian Galeazzo!”
A mischievous glint ignited in Ariadne’s deep turquoise eyes.
“Gian Galeazzo, you truly have worked hard. However, since I will be under Butler Niccolo’s care from now on, why don’t you hand over the remainder of the 2 ducats that Madame Lucrezia sent every month for my upkeep? It would make for a fine service fee for Niccolo.”
Niccolo had intended to ignore the shabby, illegitimate girl, but the mention of money changed the atmosphere instantly.
“2 ducats? My, you were receiving that much, yet the Lady looks like this? Where did all that money go?”
Gian Galeazzo’s face drained of color, turning deathly pale.
“No, it’s a frame-up! Madame Lucrezia never gave me any money. It is because I spent my own private funds to feed, clothe, and house Lady Ariadne that we were so destitute!”
Ariadne smiled broadly, cutting the old woman off.
“Gian Galeazzo, are you now accusing my parents of being so unreasonable that they would entrust their child to a subordinate without any compensation?”
Gian Galeazzo’s pupils shook with terror. Ariadne struck firmly.
“The lies end here, Gian Galeazzo. I know you received money on the first of every month.”
Ariadne turned to the butler, Niccolo. “Butler, if you don’t believe me, search the head of Gian Galeazzo’s bed.”
Two servants followed Niccolo’s lead, forcing the old woman to her knees while two others rushed into her quarters. They returned moments later, clutching a money pouch and a ledger.
“Butler, here!”
A pile of gold coins spilled out. But the amount was laughably small—far less than the two ducats per month she should have received over the last fifteen years.
“Still going to deny it?”
“Oh, please! I was wrong! Madame Lucrezia did give me money every month, but I never received two ducats!” Gian Galeazzo knelt on the floor, groveling and wailing at the top of her lungs. “Madame Lucrezia only gave me fifty florins! After feeding, clothing, and housing Lady Ariadne properly, that was all that remained!”
*That’s it.*
Ariadne suppressed a cold laugh. *Once those words left your mouth, you were finished, Gian Galeazzo.*
The woman should have claimed she spent every cent of the two ducats to raise Ariadne in luxury, leaving nothing behind. With no evidence to prove otherwise, that would have been a safer narrative for Madame Lucrezia.
“First you claimed you never received anything, and now you admit to fifty florins?” Ariadne scanned the woman with an icy composure unbefitting a fifteen-year-old. “To my knowledge, Madame Lucrezia certainly provided two ducats every month.”
Someone had been embezzling one ducat and fifty florins every month. Either Gian Galeazzo or Madame Lucrezia was the thief.
“If we ask Madame Lucrezia herself how much she sent, we’ll know who the liar is. Go to her right now and ask.”
A smile crept across Niccolo’s lips. This was child’s play.
If the old woman were the thief, she would try to bribe him before news reached the Madame. If it were Lucrezia who had skimmed the funds, she would pin the blame on Gian Galeazzo and slide a few coins into Niccolo’s hand to ensure his silence. A minor illegitimate daughter’s words usually carried no weight, but Niccolo was not a man to let a lucrative opportunity slip by.
“Understood. Guards, lock Gian Galeazzo in the storage room.”
“Oh, this is unfair! Have mercy, My Lady!”
Two servants dragged the wailing woman away toward the storage shed, a miserable place that doubled as a pigsty and a tool closet.
If she had only clung to Niccolo’s pant leg then and there, offering every asset she possessed as a bribe, she might have survived. But Gian Galeazzo had missed her last chance.
According to the memories of her past life, the living expenses allotted to Ariadne by her father, Cardinal De Mare, were indeed two ducats. Lucrezia, the Cardinal’s mistress, had begrudged even that, skimming one ducat before passing the remainder to Gian Galeazzo—who then thriftily embezzled another fifty florins for herself. It was a joint crime; neither was innocent.
*Lucrezia is not the type to let Father discover she skimmed money.*
If word of this reached Lucrezia’s ears, it would be a mercy if the old woman were merely kicked out alive. By tonight, at the very latest, Gian Galeazzo would likely be dead, or at the very least, crippled.
“Let’s go, Niccolo.”
Ariadne had already dropped the honorifics. Dressed in rags, she walked toward the main castle with her head held high.
That night, just as she had anticipated, two sturdy, dark figures crept into the pigsty where Gian Galeazzo had been confined. Lucrezia was a cruel woman who lived up to every one of Ariadne’s expectations.
“Argh!”
1.
A faint murmuring stirred within the pigsty, followed by a single, sharp shriek—the guttural sound of a slaughtered animal. Two dark figures emerged, moving with practiced stealth, struggling under the weight of a large, black bundle.
The bundle, weighted down with heavy stones, vanished into the depths of the Tiber River.
The following morning, when Gian Galeazzo’s sons and eldest daughter arrived at the Bergamo farm in a panic, desperate for word of their mother, they found nothing. The old woman had disappeared without a trace.
A grudge born of an old debt had finally been paid in full.
* * *
The Cardinal’s residence within the Palazzo Carlo was a testament to excess. It bore no sign of the austerity that was supposed to be the primary duty of a clergyman; instead, white marble floors and walls were smothered in the finest tapestries and rugs.
Ariadne crossed the grand hall, her frame draped in rags that stood in stark contrast to the surrounding opulence. Housemaids clustered in small groups, their gazes trailing her with blatant disdain. A few of the bolder ones muffled giggles behind their hands.
“What is that? A new maid?”
“Even a maid’s uniform costs more than those rags.”
The rumors were persistent; there was no way they could be ignorant of the fact that Ariadne was the young lady of the house. It meant one of two things: either the discipline of the Cardinal’s staff had collapsed, or in the eyes of the masters, Ariadne was someone who deserved such treatment.
‘It’s the latter, clearly.’
The first floor of the residence was a public stage—drawing rooms, banquet halls, and dining rooms. The second floor housed the private sanctums: the master bedroom, the children’s suites, and the Cardinal’s study.
Niccolo, the butler, led Ariadne past the first floor, past the second, and all the way to the third.
The third floor was a realm of servants’ quarters, cramped attics, and storage rooms.
“This is your room, young lady.”
Ariadne had been relegated to a wing that appeared to have once served as quarters for a tutor.
“Make yourself comfortable. I will send a maid to attend to you shortly.”
As Niccolo pulled the door shut and retreated, Ariadne scanned the room.
It was reasonably tidy, if sparse. Inside the wardrobe hung a handful of modest silk dresses—one for outings, one for indoors, and a single cotton nightgown. A solitary pair of shoes sat on the floor.
It was just enough to maintain the barest facade of propriety.
Ariadne smiled bitterly. These clothes were a mirror of her status in this household—the absolute minimum required to avoid public embarrassment. Even after her return, nothing had changed.
*Knock, knock.*
“I’m coming in, young lady.”
The maid barged through the door without waiting for a reply.
“Hurry up and change. His Eminence is calling for you.”
Her tone was bizarre—or rather, it was dripping with insolence.
“I’ll be waiting outside, so be quick.”
“You. Which department are you assigned to?”
“Why would the young lady need to know that?”
Ariadne’s dark green eyes flickered with sudden, cold fire as she registered the blatant lack of respect.