Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Natasha Solomons
- Language: English
- Genre: Renaissance Historical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Where the infectious pestilence did reign
The funeral was held at dawn and little more than an hour after
Madonna Emelia Capulet passed out of this world. Rosaline trailed
behind the bier, disconsolate with loss. Several times, she had to be chided
by her father and brother to stay further back as the corpse – her beloved
mother – was pestilent.
The only porters they’d found who were willing to pull the bier were
filthy and reeking fellows, not much better than beggars, and even they had
to be bribed prodigiously. Rosaline had been forbidden from washing the
body. A priest had come, clutching a nosegay of herbs to his mouth, and
tossed holy water upon the dead woman’s face, before scuttling out again.
There had been no time to find a golden or purple grave cloth to wrap her
in. No one wailed the lament. No relatives gathered at the house or followed
the family to the tomb. The mourning party was pitiful, the other Capulets
and their neighbours cowering behind locked doors, sniffing posies and
oranges studded with cloves to ward off the plague, or offering up frantic
prayers and hasty confessions. Instead, there was only Rosaline, her father,
who wept openly, leaning heavily on Rosaline’s arm and her brother,
Valentio.
‘You deserved more,’ she murmured to her mother.
One of the porters stopped abruptly to scratch at the fleas in his groin,
fumbling and dropping the handle of the bier.
‘You oaf! You wretch!’ roared Masetto Capulet, who would have kicked
out at him if he hadn’t feared that the man would drop the body entirely.
Rosaline hid a smile. Her mother would have found it funny; she’d
delighted in the wicked.
Two stray dogs had started to follow their pathetic
little troop, perhaps in hope of scraps. She’d count them too. Made the
numbers almost respectable, even if the congregants themselves were
peculiar. She would not mind the absent neighbours: hypocrites and liars
all. Mama had sent them birthing gifts and wiped their tears and their arses
when they were babes, but she had not loved them. She loved me. And I am
here. At this thought, Rosaline bit her lip hard to stop from crying, and
tasted blood.
The service in the family tomb was brief. The friar appeared terrified,
eyeing the coffin continually, and rushed through the prayers, stumbling
over his words in his haste. Rosaline observed the slick of sweat trapped in
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