His Last Duchess (29 page)

Five figures waited silently in the little antechamber, though only four of them breathed.

Giovanni stood tall against the furthest wall, by the door—Jacomo could see little of him in the deeper shadow. Coaxed into helping less than an hour before, Tomaso was sitting on a low stool with his back against a wall, his hands clasped loosely between splayed knees. Giorgio was a silhouette against the window, and a small silent figure sat in a high-backed chair, wrapped in a blanket, sagging at an unnatural angle against the wood.

The pictures that Jacomo's mind conjured up as they waited were horrible. To have Lucrezia so close, going through so unthinkable an experience and to be just
standing
there, letting it happen…it was almost unbearable. But Catelina's extraordinary suggestion had to be the best—possibly the
only—
way to prevent the duke discovering the deception, Jacomo kept telling himself. If the duke knew himself to have been duped, Jacomo was sure he would stop at nothing to exact his revenge for the humiliation he would feel at such a betrayal. The immediate reality of what they were doing, though, was far, far worse than he had imagined when Catelina had suggested how they might try to accomplish the rescue.

He looked at the little figure in the chair and swallowed.

The moon was high now and lit the antechamber with a pewter-grey light. They had no candle—the door had to be left ajar. Giovanni was listening for any sounds from the corridor beyond.

Seconds were minutes; minutes, hours.

Then into the silence came a click.

The iron handle shifted and the door opened.

Jacomo jumped to his feet, his heartbeat wild, as a figure came in, carrying a candle. Distorted shadows leaped up the walls. Giulietta sucked in a shocked breath at the sight of them all, but Giovanni stepped up behind her and put his hand over her mouth before she could do or say anything. She swung the candle wide and the flame went out but, to Jacomo's breathless relief, she did not drop it.

Giovanni stood behind Giulietta, his hand still over her mouth, his cheek against hers. “If you make even a sound, Giulietta,” he whispered into her ear, “Crezzi will probably pay with her life.” He paused. “If I let go of you, do you promise to keep silent?”

Jacomo saw the old woman nod behind Giovanni's fingers.

Giovanni loosened his grip and stood back.

“
Santo
cielo!
What in heaven…?” Giuletta mouthed.

Holding her by both upper arms, still whispering, Giovanni told her as much as he dared.

Mouth open, Giulietta's gaze moved from him to Jacomo, from Jacomo to Tomaso and Giorgio, then to the crumpled creature in the chair. “It is not possible…” she breathed.

“Believe it, Giulietta,” Giovanni said. He stopped abruptly, and stood very still, obviously listening. Flapping a hand at Jacomo, he jerked his head towards the door. Lucrezia's chamber door clicked open, and they heard soft footsteps and a scrabbling of claws. They readied themselves to move.

And then the wolfhound began to howl.

It was a terrible sound, echoing against the stone walls. Everyone stood motionless. It seemed, Jacomo thought, a lament for the dead and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

The howling stopped. Footsteps passed the door and died away.

Waiting until he was certain the duke had left the corridor, Giovanni peered out of the antechamber, then beckoned. Jacomo, Tomaso, Giorgio and Giulietta left the room and walked silently the few yards to Lucrezia's chamber.

Jacomo held his breath.

The duke's dog lay dark and still on the floor of the corridor. Jacomo tentatively pushed its side with his foot, but it did not move. He squatted before the creature and stroked its head; its eye was open and the tongue lolled. Though still warm, there was no doubt that it was dead.

They stepped across the big black body into Lucrezia's chamber.

After having been so reluctant to allow himself to conjure a picture of what they might find in that room, Jacomo was startled to see what appeared to be Lucrezia asleep, tucked under a dark red blanket, a candle burning on the table next to her pillow. The scene was too peaceful, too ordinary, somehow; Jacomo did not know what to think.

He crossed the room and bent over her.

In the wide-windowed apothecary's shop the night before, Alessandro had described in meticulous detail the effects of his terrifying mixture of laudanum, mandrake and valerian as he had deftly prepared and bottled his ingredients. Jacomo knew that he would detect no breath, no sign of life at all. He knew she would be cold to the touch, that her breathing would be imperceptible, and that it would be some hours before she would wake; he had thought himself prepared. But when he saw her face, so slack and vacant, he was nonetheless almost overwhelmed by a cold, hissing panic.

Pulling the blanket back from her then, he saw that she was naked. Her shift lay discarded on the floor next to her bed, and wrapped around and around her neck was a long string of dark red, glittering stones.

“Bastard,” Jacomo whispered, hardly able to believe the appalling thought that had come into his mind. “You…you bastard!”

He picked Lucrezia up in his arms and held her close. She was limp and heavy, and her head hung back across his arm. A moment later, trembling, he placed her back down on the pillow.

“Jacomo?” Giovanni was at his side and, though Jacomo quickly pulled the blanket over Lucrezia, he heard a soft little indrawn breath, and knew that Giovanni had seen what he had seen, had deduced what he had deduced.

“But—he believed her truly dead…” Giovanni sounded sickened.

“We have to get her out of here. Take Giorgio and get Chiara.”

Giovanni and Giorgio peered around the door to check that the corridor was still deserted, then left the room.

Jacomo unfastened the string of red stones and took them from Lucrezia's throat. They would have to be put around the unfortunate Chiara's neck, if the substitution were to be credible.

Giulietta laid a hand on Jacomo's arm. Her eyes were big with tears. “Oh, dear God—look at her! How could he do this? How?”

“Please—help me to dress her,” Jacomo said.

He pulled Tomaso's hose and breeches from his bag and, with difficulty, fitted them onto Lucrezia's lifeless legs. Giulietta shook out the shirt, doublet and cap with visibly trembling hands and passed them to him. Within moments, an inanimate echo of the shining-eyed creature he had held in his arms above Alessandro's shop lay silently before him, and it only remained to hide her hair before he carried her from the castle.

He tried hard. Standing behind her that night in Alessandro's storeroom, he had enjoyed winding Lucrezia's hair around his hand, had managed to pull it into a rope and tuck it away into Tomaso's hat, but now, try as he might, with Lucrezia seemingly lifeless and so utterly unresponsive, it refused to comply with his still inexperienced efforts. In the end, frantic to leave, he whispered to Giulietta, “Can you find me some scissors?”

“Oh, no, you cannot—” Giulietta began, but she passed him nevertheless a long-bladed pair from a bag of sewing under the window. Jacomo bunched and twisted the hair and then took the scissors in his free hand. With a slow scrunch, the blades sliced together, the long hank of hair fell away and the cut ends curled and wisped forward around Lucrezia's face. Jacomo picked up Tomaso's red hat and pulled it onto her head with ease, then laid her gently back onto the pillow. Giulietta reached for the already unwinding rope and took it from him.

It was done, Jacomo thought. Time to go.

Giulietta was staring at Lucrezia, tears spilling unchecked onto the front of her dress, blotching the cloth. “Oh, God! This is too—I cannot bear to think I will never see her again. And that poor, poor child in there…”

Tears came to Jacomo's eyes too as a rush of guilt pushed its way up into his throat. Here was this old lady, weeping in anticipation of a loss she could hardly contemplate; back in Mugello, Lucrezia's unwitting parents were still entirely ignorant of the news they would receive in a few days' time, and within minutes he would be leaving it all behind, carrying Crezzi away, for them to begin a joyful future together. The injustice seemed unbearable. But he could see no alternative. He took Giulietta's hand. “I will always take care of her.”

“I know, child.”

“I…I love her, Signora.”

Giulietta's face was inscrutable. She said softly, “Go on—take her now.” She laid the long rope of hair down on the table by the bed, picked out a thick strand and wrapped it around her fingers, then slid the little bundle off and rolled it into a piece of linen pulled from the bag that had contained the scissors. She held it out to Jacomo.

Jacomo smiled his thanks and tucked it into a pocket in his breeches. “Thank you, Signora. We must go now. Giorgio and Giovanni will stay with you—it's not safe for you to be alone. They'll do…well—they'll do what must be done.”

Giovanni and Giorgio appeared, Giorgio carrying Chiara, her blanket-wrapped body no bigger than a child's in his big arms. Tomaso edged past them and crossed to Jacomo.

“Am I coming with you, Jacomo?”

A nod. “I need you to come as far as the drawbridge. And, please, will you give this to the reverend brother in the morning?” He held out the long letter he had written—a mixture of apologies, heartfelt thanks and detailed instructions. And a plea for a blessing. In the knowledge of his mentor's distress at the slow failing of his skills, Jacomo had found his letter all but impossible to write. Tomaso tucked the paper inside his doublet.

Jacomo bent forward, slid one arm under Lucrezia's knees and pushed the other behind her shoulders. Her head sagged into the crook of his elbow and his fingers gripped beneath her armpit. With an effort, he stood upright and shifted her weight so that she lay more comfortably in his arms. Her head was heavy on his shoulder and the newly cut hair wisped across his cheek.

Giorgio laid Chiara in Lucrezia's place.

Giovanni crossed to Jacomo, bent and kissed his cousin's forehead tenderly. “Look after her,” he said.

It was, Jacomo knew, an order as much as a plea.

He said, “I promise. We'll write. Tell you where to find us.”

Giovanni wiped his eyes and nose with the heel of his hand. “I'll come straight away. Tell her.” His voice shook.

Jacomo looked from Giovanni to Giorgio. “Will you manage…manage the rest of this?”

They nodded. Jacomo told them briefly about the string of red stones.

“Wait!” Giulietta leaned towards Lucrezia, held the lifeless face in both her hands and kissed her. Then Giovanni put his arm around her shoulders. Giulietta turned to him. He held her close, then looked at Jacomo and jerked his head towards the door. Jacomo nodded. Giorgio opened it and peered out into the corridor. Then, with Lucrezia in his arms, Jacomo stepped over the lifeless body of the dog in the doorway. With Tomaso at his side, he began to make his way—for the last time—through the lightless Castello.

***

Giulietta picked a tiny carved box from a shelf, opened it and drew out a rosary. Giovanni recognized the coral beads and silver chain—it had been Aunt Eleanora's and she had given it to Crezzi when she had left for Ferrara. Giulietta wound the rosary around the dead girl's thin fingers, tucking the silver cross so that it was held firmly between her two thumbs. “What will happen tomorrow,” she said, “when the Signore sees that Lucrezia has gone and this child is here in her place?”

Giovanni swallowed and said, “He won't know. He'll never know. Giorgio and I will make sure of it. You're not going to like it, Giulietta, but we must do it if
Il
Duca
is to believe Crezzi dead when he returns.”

“What do you mean, child?”

Giovanni glanced at Giorgio, and drew in an uncomfortable breath. He explained their plan.

Giulietta gasped. “Oh no! Giovanni, no—the poor child…”

“Look, Giulietta, this girl—Chiara—is already dead. We can harm her no further. If we don't do this, Crezzi's life will always be vulnerable. She'll be waiting for him to catch up with her—always looking over her shoulder, never knowing. Please, go and wait in the studio for now. You won't want to watch what we're doing.”

He turned to Giorgio. “Ready?”

His face ashen, Giorgio nodded. He pulled a waxed-cloth bag from where it was tied to the belt around his waist and followed Giovanni back towards Lucrezia's bed. Giovanni drew back the covers, then stopped at the sight of the little body in its white shift. He and Giorgio exchanged glances, then Giovanni crossed himself and silently begged forgiveness for what they were about to do; Giorgio pulled his cap from his head and closed his eyes.

Giovanni picked up the long string of red stones and wound them around Chiara's thin neck. The great mass of red looked like a slit throat, and Giovanni wondered why Lucrezia had been wearing it: he could not imagine her liking such ostentatious jewellery. They had to have been
his
choice, he thought with a surge of loathing. He tucked the blanket back around the body, and rewrapped the rosary around one hand, folding the thin fingers around the crucifix and the jumble of dark pink and silver beads.

Now Giorgio took from his bag a large lump of glistening white fat, badly wrapped in greasy sacking.

“Bring it here!” Giovanni hissed, pointing to the pillows. Giorgio held the lump in both hands; he placed it on the bedside table and pulled a knife from his belt. Holding the block firm with one hand, he began to chip nut-sized pieces from it, handing them to Giovanni. Giovanni placed them carefully around the stark hair, across the girl's collar-bones, neck and chest, and along the length of her arm. There was a faint smell of roast sheep. Giovanni lifted his fingers to his nose.