Chapter Text
“Well, I, for one, will be glad to leave Mantua,” Figaro said just as soon as the door to their room closed behind him. Susanna raised an eyebrow. There was a smile playing around her face that she couldn’t quite hide as Figaro rolled his eyes, sitting on their borrowed bed and stretching his legs out. The bed was a bit shabby and the sheets were ever-so-slightly too short. It would be nice, Susanna thought offhandedly, to get back to their own.
“What’s happened now?” Susanna said. She was finishing folding the last of their clean clothes – freshly laundered for the journey in a few days – and she placed the shirt into their worn travel chest and closed the lid with a satisfying thunk. There was always, it seemed, something happening in the Duke of Mantua’s court. It was no wonder that the Duke and their own Count were such good friends. Susanna would not be surprised if they swapped tricks with each other, each trying to find a new way to seduce the women around them.
For, to put it more pointedly, there was always something salacious happening at the Duke of Mantua’s court. It was a good thing that neither of the lords were particularly frequent visitors of the other, though it had lead to a sense of making up for lost time between the two of them. Susanna had kept herself mostly to the Countess’ guest rooms, and the Countess kept mostly to the Duchess of Mantua’s wing of the palace, so she did had not been having the eyewitness experiences Figaro had, but Susanna could tell her husband’s patience had been getting thinner and thinner.
“What do you think happened?” Figaro said, leaning back against the wall, eyes still rolled towards heaven. Susanna shook her head, sitting next to her husband and taking his hand.
“I’m sure I won’t be able to guess if you don’t tell me,” she said, equal measures sweetly and teasingly, and it worked – Figaro looked back at her with an amused gaze, some of the exasperation leaching out of his shoulders. Susanna deliberately shifted herself towards him. Automatically Figaro put an arm around her and pulled her to his side. “Is it the Duke again?” Susanna asked.
Figaro shook his head. “No, for once - just his courtiers, but I’m sure he won’t disapprove of their plans,” he said. He’d started to idly trace a design onto the side of Susanna’s shoulder, and she hummed. “Apparently, they’ve gone to kidnap the jester’s mistress,” Figaro said, and Susanna lifted her head from where she’d rested it against Figaro’s shoulder.
“Kidnap?” she said, eyebrows lifted once more. Figaro shrugged, sighing a little.
“Apparently. I am glad that our lord was too busy with the Duke to notice. He’d get ideas!”
Susanna did not disagree. Their lord had reformed some, after the events of her wedding day, but he still was not an entirely faithful husband. And with the atmosphere of this court? Well, the Countess – with their help of course, should she need it – might have to reteach Count Almaviva his lesson.
“Well, that poor girl,” Susanna said. “I hope they don’t find her.” She’d seen the jester – Rigoletto, the Duke’s courtiers called him – only a few times. Sure, he had a hunch in his back and walked with a limp, but Susanna could tell he was not entirely unhandsome, or rather, perhaps he wouldn’t be if his face was ever not mocking. Susanna was still a little surprised to hear he had a mistress of his own, but it was after the fashion of his master, she supposed.
She could tell that Figaro tried to snort, but it came out as more of a sigh. He truly was tired, then. She’d barely seen him today - the Count had been sending him to and fro relentlessly. “For her sake, me neither. They’re all in a hurry, ordering cloaks and masks and tools. What are they going to do, bash her door down?”
“That’s not unheard of,” Susanna said lightly, thinking of their Count threatening to kill Cherbino, locked in the Countess’ closet, and when Figaro laid a kiss in her hair, she knew he’d thought of it too. Then he dropped his cheek onto the crown of her head, letting out a tired breath that tickled her forehead. Susanna reached up to run a hand through his curls. “Hopefully they don’t find her,” Susanna repeated, “and you and I can sleep through the night. Hmm, Figaretto?”
Her husband placed another kiss on the top of her head in response, then one on her lips for good measure. (Susanna was happy to oblige.) “To bed, and if any midnight bells ring, perhaps we can pretend we didn’t hear them!”
***
It was early afternoon when Susanna slipped back into a servants’ corridor, away from the raucous sounds of the courtiers celebrating. Their kidnapping had gone off well, apparently, and Susanna felt another wave of pity for the girl they’d stolen away. They had waited for the jester to make an appearance. He had, and Susanna had been able to hear his cries and pleading even in the corridors. It had been – Susanna could think of no other word for it – haunting.
Still. They would be here only through today and tomorrow, and that would hopefully be managed easily enough. Susanna adjusted the basket resting against her hip. The Countess was taking a late breakfast with the Duchess; after Susanna had dressed her, she’d been dismissed for an hour or so. Susanna planned to drop this basket of the Countess’ chemises off to the laundrymaids, and then enjoy this bit of time to herself.
She rounded a corner only to come face-to-face with a wide-eyed girl, who jerked back as if Susanna had ran into her. Susanna took stock. She wasn’t any of the Mantuan maids she’d already met, and in any case, wasn’t dressed like them either. The girl was young, seemingly around Barbarina’s age. Not extravagant enough to be a courtier, not plain enough to be a servant – Susanna had a sneaking thought on who this girl was.
Still, whether she was Rigoletto’s poor abducted daughter or not, this girl was young, and she was trembling. Susanna hitched her basket up onto her hip again, then smiled at her. “Signorina, are you lost?” She kept her voice gentle. Perhaps this was not a girl that needed to be treated like a frightened animal, but it couldn’t be denied that at the moment, she rather looked like one.
The girl looked around her. “Yes… but no,” she said hastily, “but I am trying to be, I think… though I shouldn’t…” She trailed off and her eyes grew bright, and Susanna set down her basket to search for a handkerchief. But the girl composed herself silently. Susanna studied her for a moment, then nodded in sympathy.
“The Duke?” she said. The girl’s eyes flashed, but she remained silent. “Your father?” Susanna said then, and then racked her mind for the name the jester had been crying this morning. “Signorina… Gilda? Yes? If you wish to be away from either one, I certainly will not tell them where to find you,” Susanna said, and at this, the girl’s stoicism cracked.
“I do not wish to hide from them, I simply need a moment,” Gilda said. “My father, he is furious, and the Duke… he is…” The girl wrung her hands.
Susanna felt a wave of sympathy roll over her. How many other girls had she seen starry-eyed at noblemen, then cringing from furious fathers? Familiar territory was the least that could be said about it. “If you need a moment to rest, my room is just down here,” Susanna said, nodding behind her. “No one will think to look in a guest’s servant’s room. Well –” she added quickly, thinking of her own lord Count, “at least, it has been quiet so far.”
Gilda’s relief could not be more palpable if she’d spoken it aloud, and so Susanna led her further down the corridor. Gilda sat herself in one of the two chairs in the room. “If you would like to be alone –” Susanna started to say, but Gilda turned to her immediately.
“Ah, please do not, please. That is, if you can stay, please.” Susanna’s eyebrows had raised in surprise, but she carefully wiped the expression off her face as she looked out the hallway. It was still empty. Susanna closed the door.
Susanna paused before turning around. The girl’s hands were still shaking. “Signorina, are you hurt?” Susanna said, sitting on the bed and setting the laundry basket beside her. She kept her voice careful, soft.
“Please, just Gilda…” the girl murmured, then spoke again, clearly forcing herself to be a little louder. "I think I was -- I mean, I think I am still a little frightened, and… confused. I – did you hear what happened?” Her shoulders had squared, ever-so-slightly, but her gaze was distant. Susanna noted immediately that Gilda had not answered her question. Something in her twisted in sympathy. She felt the sudden urge to put an arm around Gilda and wipe away any tears, but made herself stay put on the bed.
“Some of it,” Susanna said, frankly and honestly. “I heard about the plot to abduct you. And I heard your father trying to find you.” Gilda nodded, biting her lip. “I think that the whole house has,” Susanna added, an apology in the note of her voice. Gilda took a deep breath, but stayed quiet. “Gilda,” Susanna said, feeling both like she was about to overstep and yet like she couldn’t simply stay silent, “is there anything you’d like me to do to help? Either as myself, or I could speak to my mistress, who could speak to the Duchess, if you like.”
There was a tiny frown working its way in between Gilda’s eyebrows, but she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. But thank you…?”
“Susanna,” Susanna supplied, and Gilda nodded, briefly catching her gaze before it flitted back down to her lap. Gilda worried at her skirts. There was, Susanna noticed, a thread loose.
“Thank you, Susanna,” Gilda said. There was a noise in the hall and Gilda’s head shot up, looking towards the door, but Susanna knew those steps. She stood from the bed as they grew closer, and jumped to the door to open it before he could, revealing her surprised husband.
Figaro’s eyes swept inside the room, landed on Gilda, then flicked back to Susanna with a question in his eyes. Susanna squeezed his hand. Later, she mouthed at him, and he nodded. Instead Figaro bent slightly before following Susanna inside. He checked the hallway, just as she did, then shut the door.
“Gilda, this is Figaro, my husband,” Susanna said, and Gilda nodded nervously towards him. Figaro settled himself on the bed next to Susanna, though Susanna noticed that he’d sat himself closer to the door, and therefore just a bit further away from Gilda. She felt a rush of affection for his consideration, and squeezed his hand once more in gratitude. “Both of us are willing to help, if we may.”
Figaro nodded, having picked up on what the two of them must have been discussing. “It must have been frightening,” he said. “If you’d like an escort home, I certainly won’t tell any of the Duke’s men. Or Signor Conte,” he said, and Susanna guessed he’d said the Italian so that Gilda would know who he was referring to.
“I am not sure I want to return home,” Gilda said slowly. Susanna shared a look with Figaro, and Gilda finally looked up at them both, her eyes wide. “My father is so angry,” she said, and Susanna felt Figaro’s grasp on her hand tighten. “Not with me,” Gilda said, “But he has declared revenge, and I have never seen him like this. The joy in his eyes, mixed with the anger – it is a fey fury, and it frightens me. I asked him to forgive and he will not listen to me. I… I must return home,” she said, half to herself, “I must. But I would not see either of them suffer.”
“Either of them?” Susanna said, but Figaro spoke before Gilda could answer.
“Signorina Gilda, do you want to stay?” Figaro said. Gilda hesitated, and Figaro continued. “If you wish to hide from the Duke, no one will tell him you’re here. And if you don’t want us to, certainly we won’t tell your father!” Figaro glanced at Susanna for a beat, and Susanna nodded. The tremor in Gilda’s voice when she spoke about her father had made something in Susanna prickle in warning, had made her loath to force Gilda to return to her home, Clearly Figaro felt the same way. “If you don’t want to jump from the pan to the fire, you don’t have to.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Gilda said helplessly, but then she rose from the chair, and her shoulders squared again. “I couldn’t,” she repeated, more firmly. There was still a tremble in her voice, but her jaw was set, and something shone in her eyes. She made a small curtsey to them both. “Thank you, Signor Figaro, Signora Susanna. You’ve been very kind to me, even though we are strangers… but my father will be expecting me at home.”
Susanna stood, Figaro with her, as Gilda crossed to the door and opened it. Right before she’d passed through completely, Susanna stepped forward. “Gilda, we are leaving tomorrow, with our Count and Countess.” Gilda turned to her, her young eyes wide and still lit with that strange brightness. “But before we leave, if we may do anything for you, you only need to ask. I have been – in a similar place,” Susanna said, and now it was surprise shining through Gilda’s gaze. “Not the same, but I want you to know that you have help, if you like it.”
“Thank you,” Gilda said quietly, biting her lip, and then she passed down the hallway and was gone.