She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. “Exactly. She and I were very close. Good-bye aunt. ’ She shook her head.
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