His Last Duchess by Gabrielle Kimm

perhaps, he thought, the deeper peace he found himself seeking from the heart of the labyrinth might come not from his own death—as he had so often imagined it would—but from the taking of another life. A heavy heat slid down through his guts and the hair rose on his arms. Shame or excitement? Which was it? Were the two distinguishable? Until that moment it had always been his own death he had contemplated from within the maze. But now the occasioning of it in another creature had happened in his hands—and the sensation was, he realised, not unpleasant.
    With a toss of her head, the mare jerked Alfonso’s arm and he dropped the rat. Putting the toe of his boot underneath the body, he flipped it to the side of the road and remounted. Man, horse and dog walked slowly through the streets of Ferrara, unobserved by passers-by, and arrived at the castle just before noon, clattering across the bridge that spanned the moat.
    ***
    â€œThere he is! Quick, Lina, I don’t want him to see me.”
    The Signora slid off the window recess. Catelina saw the Signore, with his big black wolfhound, striding away from his horse. He turned his gaze upwards and she stepped back quickly from the glass.
    â€œWhy not, my lady?” she asked.
    The Signora was fiddling with her hair, and biting colour into her lower lip. “I don’t want him to think I have nothing better to do than to sit and wait for him,” she said. “I want it to seem as though I just happened to be passing downstairs. Do you think—?”
    â€œJust go!” Catelina flapped her hands towards the door, as she had so often shooed the chickens out of the Cafaggiolo kitchens, and then stopped, mid-flap, horrified again by the way she had spoken to her mistress. But the Signora smiled a tight, anxious smile and scurried away towards the stairs.
    Catelina followed more slowly. She was not sure she wanted to see the Signore. If he caught her eye, she was afraid she might betray her suspicions about his morning’s activities. If her face were to redden, he would be sure to guess that she knew. She descended the staircase, deliberately taking her time, pausing by the great bronze statue that stood on a ledge at the corner. A big bearded figure with a muscled chest and a fish’s tail rose out of angry metal ripples, pointing a three-pronged fork at a strange sea creature, his free hand raised above his head. Catelina ran the tip of one finger along the edge of a wave. She was not sure she liked the stern expression on the figure’s face and decided, as she moved on, that she felt rather sorry for the little fish, which seemed to be entirely at the bearded man’s mercy.
    At the foot of the stairs, Catelina found she could see quite clearly into the entrance hall without, she hoped, being noticed. She leaned against the edge of the archway and peered round.
    Her mistress had dropped into a curtsy and was looking up at the Signore, her eyes bright, a smudge of colour in her cheeks. He proffered a hand and smiled as she straightened, though there was something uneasy about his expression, Catelina thought, something forced. Perhaps it was embarrassment. Well, if he had just been in some other woman’s bed, that would be more than well deserved.
    â€œI was not expecting you till later, Alfonso,” her mistress said.
    â€œNothing but the most urgent business could have kept me from you, madam.”
    Urgent business? Catelina almost snorted.
    Footsteps sounded on the stairs above. Standing away from the wall, and hoping that whoever it was had not noticed her eavesdropping, she took a step back. One of the Signore’s men appeared and strode past her at speed. With his shock of white hair and his close-set black eyes, he reminded Catelina fleetingly of a fretful egret. He pecked a perfunctory nod in her direction, then walked out into the entrance hall towards her mistress and the Signore.
    â€œEr…my lord?