‘Ah, yes,’ Sophia said, ‘That is very beautiful. It is well chosen. Try it on!’

Sophia helped Elizabeth to slip out of her own gown and into the antique costume. As Sophia fastened it, Elizabeth looked at herself in a mirror and was surprised at what she saw.

‘I look quite different,’ she said.

‘Already the transformation, it takes place,’ said Sophia, standing behind her.

The dress was fitted at the waist, showing Elizabeth’s figure, which was usually disguised beneath her high-waisted gowns, and the fuller skirts flowed in folds to the floor. The dress was cut low at the neck with a square neckline, and it was richly embroidered with more gold thread.

Elizabeth was reminded of her childhood, when she and Jane had dressed up in Mrs Bennet’s old clothes for a game of charades. They had loved the rich fabrics and hooped skirts, and they had taken great pleasure in trying on a variety of wigs.

‘And now, you must choose a mask.’ Sophia showed Elizabeth a collection of masks of all shapes and styles, saying, ‘We Venetians, we love our masks. We have worn them always, until Napoleon; he banned them. But they are a part of us, a part of our heritage. We love mystery and the thrill of the unknown. It is a good thing for a nation of explorers! So much do we love it that even at a ball, we must explore: we explore each other.’

She picked up one of the masks.

‘See, here, we have a mask that covers the whole face; the features, they are richly moulded. And see,’ she said, picking up another mask, ‘here we have the flatter masks. This one, it has no fastenings, only a bar at the back to be held between the teeth.’

Elizabeth looked at it curiously, saying, ‘It must be very uncomfortable.’

‘But yes, it is true, that mask is not comfortable at all, and it makes conversation impossible. You will not wear that one. Perhaps you like this one?’

She held up a full face mask which was supported on a stick, but after holding it in front of her face for a few minutes, Elizabeth realised it would soon make her arm ache.

‘I think this one,’ she said, choosing a half mask that was held on by a band passed round the back of the head.

‘Si, that is a good one. It is still possible to eat and talk with the mouth being uncovered, but the nose and eyes are obscured, as well as the cheeks and forehead, so the mystery, it is preserved. You will set the others guessing! Your hair, it must be changed too. The styles of the day were similar but not the same. It must be parted in the middle and smooth over the top, with waves down the side of the face and the fullness pulled back into a—’ She broke off and said something in Italian. ‘No, it is no good, I do not know how to say it in English, but no matter, my maids, they know how to arrange such styles and I will send one of them to help you on the day of the ball. It is very important to make it right,’ she said, ‘otherwise it spoil things.’

At last they went downstairs, to find that dinner was being announced. As they went into the dining room, the talk of the ball became interspersed with other topics of interest, and to the Italians one of the greatest topics of interest was their art. Alfonse declared that Titian was a better artist than Canaletto, and Giuseppe declared that No! No! Canaletto was the better of the two. Darcy’s opinion was sought and, as they ate, a lively discussion ensued.

It was with a light heart that Elizabeth stepped into the gondola at the end of the evening as she and Darcy travelled back to their own palazzo.


***

Elizabeth was so caught up in the novelties of Venice that it was some days before she finished her letter to Jane, but when she found herself with a free hour, she took up her quill and finished the letter she had begun on arriving.

Darcy and I have been all over Venice, to the Doge’s palace and the Arsenale and a dozen more such wonderful places. We have crossed the Rialto bridge and wandered through the square of St Mark’s. The Venetians tell me that the city is not what it was before Napoleon ransacked its treasures, but there are still great beauties everywhere.

Tonight we are going to a masked ball. It is to be held in my honour and I am very much looking forward to it.

Perhaps we could try holding something similar at home, though I think such clothes and masks would look very strange in Hertfordshire! Here in Venice, they seem somehow right. The mask feels surprisingly comfortable, although I cannot see to the side very well when I am wearing it. It is beautiful, a work of art, as everything is in Venice. It is sculpted into the shape of a human face and it is decorated with jewels at the top.

There is time for no more or else this letter will never be sent!

Adieu for now, my dearest Jane,

Your affectionate sister,

Elizabeth

‘Are you writing to Jane?’ came Darcy’s voice as he entered the room.

‘Yes.’ She folded the letter and addressed it.

‘Have you told her about the ball?’

‘Yes, or at least, I have told her we are going to the ball. I will write again tomorrow and tell her all about it.’

‘Is your costume ready for tonight?’ asked Darcy.

‘Yes. And yours?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘What are you wearing?’

‘That would spoil the surprise,’ he said. He looked down at her with a smile. ‘I love to see you like this, happy and excited. I knew you would love Venice.’

The clock, an ornate work of art made of ormolu and heavily gilded, struck the hour.

‘It is time to get ready,’ Elizabeth said.

She returned to her room, a large and airy apartment ornamented by frescoes and furnished with gilded marble furniture, and she began the leisurely process of preparing herself for the ball. As she bathed in scented water, she thought of all the times she had dressed for a ball at home, with the noise of the Longbourn household ringing in her ears: Lydia running round the house in search of a missing shoe or ribbon, Mary moralising, and their mother scolding everyone in turn, before complaining about her nerves. She did not miss their noise and chatter, but she did miss Jane. What fun it would have been to dress in her costume with Jane by her side!

But such thoughts did not last for long; there was too much to think about and too much to do.

Sophia had been as good as her word, and she had sent one of her maids to help Elizabeth. Annie had at first been suspicious of the Italian woman, but her suspicions had soon been overcome. Elizabeth sat at her dressing table so that Sophia’s maid could arrange her hair and Annie paid close attention, helping to smooth Elizabeth’s hair over the crown of her head and arrange the waves around her face, then catch the remaining hair up in a chignon pinned at the back of her head.

They helped Elizabeth to put on the heavy, unaccustomed dress, fastening it at the back with deft fingers and then standing back to admire the effect. Elizabeth scarcely recognised herself in the cheval glass, and when she donned her mask, her disguise was complete.

‘Oh, Ma’am, you will fool them all!’ said Annie.

Sophia’s maid let forth a volley of Italian which neither Elizabeth nor Annie understood, but she seemed to be pleased.

‘Is Mr Darcy still here?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘No, Ma’am, he’s already gone,’ said Annie.

‘Then I must go too,’ said Elizabeth.

They had arranged to travel to the ball separately because it was part of the challenge of the ball to see how long it would take them to recognise each other.

Elizabeth put on her cloak, for the nights were cold, and ran downstairs in high spirits, prepared to enjoy herself at the ball. She went through the courtyard and down to the canal, where she stepped lightly into a gondola. She was so used to the gondola that she did not falter, even when it rocked beneath her, but sank gracefully onto the silken cushions that lined it as the gondola moved out into the canal. The waters were dark, shot through with rippling gold as they reflected the many torches that challenged the night. They lapped against the boat and their music mixed with the voice of the gondolier as he began to sing in a rich tenor voice, brimming with passion.

‘What is your song about?’ she asked when he drew breath.

‘About love, Signora. What else is there to sing about? The man and woman in my song, they cannot see a way to be together and so she drowns herself in the canal. It is very tragic and very romantic.’

‘But much more romantic to live,’ said Elizabeth.

‘The beautiful signora is right,’ he said. ‘The living have pleasures the dead know nothing of.’

They came to rest outside Sophia’s palazzo. The gondolier jumped lithely out of the gondola and tied it to one of the gaily coloured mooring posts. Elizabeth stepped out of the gondola as sure-footedly as he and then ascended the steps to the palazzo. It was ablaze with light, which spilled from the windows and illuminated the night.

She went into the courtyard and was greeted by a hubbub of noise and laughter as she climbed the stone steps to the door. As it opened for her, she heard the sound of violins playing and the chatter of many voices.

Guests turned to look at her as she entered, taking an interest in the new arrival, with faces made strange by their masks. Some of them wore half masks like her own, covering only the eyes, cheeks and foreheads, others were full face. Some were sculpted to fit their wearers, with well-shaped holes for eyes and mouth, and some were distorted, so that the wearers’ heads had a strange, animal like appearance. Long noses, hooked up or down like beaks, changed the features and added a touch of the bizarre to the scene. She tried to find some familiar faces, but either the masks were doing their job very well or the people she knew were not near the door.