Page 267 - The Grotesque Children's Book

Chapter 32.

The shivers

Winter 1579.

Bianca adapted well to being a grand duchess. Once her marriage to Francesco was made
public, the unforgiving, judgmental looks stopped immediately, and the courtiers all began to
take an active interest in her and her thoughts on fashion, food, culture and especially the theatre.
She knew they were all sycophants, of course, merely wanting to stay in the Duke's good graces,
but, to everyone's happy delight, they all discovered they actually enjoyed each other's company,
and Bianca made quite a number of friends. True, true, they were each of them all receiving
benefactions of varying degrees from the Duke, but Bianca fancied that, were the treasury to dry
up, her friends wouldn't desert her, and that they took an actual interest in her, and she in them.

She felt badly for Joanna of Austria. Poor thing, to have fallen down the stairs, and just
at the height of her prime. Bianca was secretly glad that Joanna's death was due to natural
causes, and not any of the other loathsome options she had once discussed with Francesco.
Thank heavens we didn't follow through on that! That was a foolish conversation on a desperate
afternoon. It’s true that I didn't like her, and she didn't like me, but that alone shouldn't be
enough to have a person killed. Bianca shivered.

Oh, these shivers.

Bianca had first noticed the shivers several months ago. One day she would feel
perfectly fine, but a few days later she'd have these chills, which would pass for a few days, and
then return again. She didn't tell anyone about them, of course, least of all Francesco. First of
all, she didn't want to worry him; he had enough political problems governing Florence and all of
Tuscany, so she didn't want to add to his burden. But, truth be told, she had a deeper fear, and
that was that if she became ill, she would be undesirable to him, and that would be the end for
her. If she became ill, it would be only a matter of time before he started looking askance at
other consorts, high and low.

“You're getting older,” he had teased one night in their bedroom. “And fatter. There's
less room in the bed for me than there used to be.”

“No, no, darling, it's the bed which is shrinking. Cheap moist wood from Denmark, it's
shrinking in our dry Italian air.”

“You misunderstand me, Bianca,” said Francesco. “I like there being more of you.
Buxom --”

“Buxom, buxom, yes I know. But seriously, really, truly, really?”

“You're growing fat and round like a precious pearl. My precious pearl. The bigger the
pearl, the more precious.” He buried his head in her bosom and didn't emerge for ten minutes.
“Hupp!” he said with a snort. “Fell asleep in there.”

She shivered. “You know I don't believe you.”

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