The Devil in Music (33 page)

Julian
tactfully translated this in milder terms than MacGregor had used.
Grimani said, "I've at least learned there's nothing new to be
discovered here. Now I intend to concentrate on finding Lucia Landi
and Tonio Farese."

"Do
you know anything further of what's become of them?" asked
Julian.

Grimani's
cold, colourless eyes appraised him. Finally he appeared to conclude
that Julian was not worth concealing such matters from. "About
Lucia, we have some leads, which my men are pursuing. Tonio's trail
still ends with his departure from the Nightingale on the morning of
the marchese's murder. We've found no one who's seen or heard
anything of him since."

"Which
suggests that his disappearance was intentional," said Julian,
"although whether the intent was his own or someone else's
remains to be seen."

"He
left the Nightingale of his own accord," said Grimani.
"Marianna and Rosa Frascani were clear on that point."

"They
said he seemed alarmed and in a great hurry to be gone," Julian
recalled. "That suggests he was in danger, and knew it."

"Perhaps
he guessed that Orfeo was a Carbonaro," said Grimani, "and
ran away for fear Orfeo's cohorts would kill him to ensure his
silence. It's also possible that he and Orfeo were fellow Carbonari,
and plotted the marchese's murder together."

"Then
why would they have been fighting tooth and nail?" MacGregor
objected.

"Tonio
needed an excuse to leave the villa so that he could assist in
Orfeo's escape after he killed Marchese Lodovico," Grimani
replied. "So he and Orfeo counterfeited a fight in order to get
him dismissed, and at the same time mask their connexion by appearing
to be enemies. Tonio made preparations for Orfeo's escape for
example, obtaining the horse whose hoofprints were found outside the
gate then gave himself an alibi for the actual killing by shamming
drunkenness all night."

"That's
quite ingenious," Julian admitted. Not for the first time, he
reflected that it would be a great mistake to underestimate Grimani.
There were, on the other hand, advantages to letting Grimani
underestimate him.

Grimani
remained closeted with his police reports for the rest of the day.
Next morning, he departed for Como to see the prefect, which was how
he came to be away from the villa when Francesca and Valeriano
arrived.

They
disembarked at the villa pier at mid-day, under a sky as blue and
clear as the previous day's had been bleak and stormy. Servants
conducted them to the drawing room, where the marchesa, Carlo, and
Julian awaited them. The other guests had taken advantage of the
improved weather to go off on excursions. Zanetti hung about in a
corner, mopping his face with his handkerchief as always, and no
doubt storing up all that was said to report to his chief when he
returned. The marchesa scorned to take sufficient notice of him to
exclude him.

Francesca
came in on Valeriano's arm. She was in her late twenties, of medium
height, round and womanly without being plump. She had green eyes, a
face sweet rather than pretty, and soft brown hair unfashionably
braided and wound about her head.

She
hung back shyly when she saw the marchesa, but Beatrice came forward,
embraced her, and kissed her on either cheek. Carlo followed suit,
then presented Julian, who bowed and kissed her hands. "It's a
great pleasure to meet you, Marchesa Francesca."

"The
pleasure is mine, signer. But please, will you call me by my family
name? Just Signora Argenti."

"If
you wish."

"You
see," she said, blushing a little, "I don't live with my
husband. So it wouldn't be fair to use his title or his name."

Meanwhile,
Valeriano was exchanging greetings with the marchesa. From his
speaking voice alone, it would have been hard to identify him as a
castrate: by keeping it low and a little husky, he was able to
approximate a light tenor rather than a soprano. Like many castrati,
he was long-limbed and extremely tall. It was as if the bodily
energy that should have gone into growing whiskers and begetting
children spent itself in a senseless, slightly grotesque display of
height. He had brown hair, streaked gold here and there by the sun,
but his eyes were dark. His features were beautiful. At first
glance, he appeared to be quite young, yet when Julian exchanged
greetings with him he perceived grey hairs at his temples and the
finest of lines at the corners of his eyes. No doubt his smooth
cheeks contributed to the impression of youth, but there was
something more a childlike wistfulness that

had
nothing to do with innocence. Why grow up, his face seemed to say,
when you can never become a man?

"Beatrice,"
said Francesca, "is is have you heard anything "

Valeriano
spoke for her. "Is Marchese Rinaldo here?"

"No,"
Beatrice assured them. "We've heard nothing from Rinaldo in
weeks."

Francesca
let out a long breath, then cast down her eyes, as if ashamed of her
relief. A woman less suited to be a notorious adulteress, Julian had
never seen.

He
said, "I'm very grateful to you both for coming. As you may
know, Marchesa Malvezzi has asked me to enquire into her husband's
murder, and it will be of great benefit to me to speak with you in
particular about his last days."

Francesca
looked at Valeriano as if for encouragement, then said, "We
would be happy to talk with you, Signer Kestrel. We want to be as
helpful as we can. But at the time Marchese Lodovico was was "

"Murdered,"
supplied the marchesa quietly.

Francesca
coloured. One little hand reached out for Valeriano, who clasped it
in his. As if it were he who had been speaking all along, he
proceeded, "At the time Marchese Lodovico was murdered, we
hadn't seen him for more than a year. And we never saw the singer
known as Orfeo. So I'm afraid we may not be of very much help to
you."

"At
this stage of an investigation," said Julian, "it's
difficult to tell what may be of use. So you may find my questions
ranging rather widely. I beg your pardon in advance if I appear to
pry."

"I
understand," said Valeriano. It was evident to Julian that he
did. He had read between the lines that, however offensive Julian's
questions might appear, Julian would require answers.

"When
do you wish to question us?" Francesca asked.

"I
shall wait upon your convenience. When you've been shown to your
rooms and have quite recovered from the journey, perhaps you'll be
good enough to send me word." He added, to hurry them along a
little, "Of course, if you wish to wait until this evening,
Commissario Grimani will have returned from Como and can be present
as well."

"Oh,
I don't want to see a police officer," said Francesca quickly.
"I would rather just speak to you."

Julian
felt compelled to point out, "Commissario Grimani may wish to
question you as well. But his concern is primarily with Orfeo."

"We
know nothing of him, as I told you," said Valeriano in his

quiet,
level voice. "May I ask why, when the police are content to
look for Orfeo, you feel compelled to extend your search beyond him?"

"My
dear Valeriano," said the marchesa, "I've engaged Signer
Kestrel to investigate Lodovico's murder precisely because he will do
what the police will not."

Julian
looked at her more closely. He knew that tone: she wrapped up her
voice in silk when it would otherwise have an edge to it. She spoke
to Grimani in just this way. But what did she have against
Valeriano? Was it merely that he had come between Rinaldo and
Francesca? Or was there some ill will between them that had nothing
to do with Francesca at all?

Within
half an hour after Francesca and Valeriano had been shown to their
rooms, Valeriano's servant brought Julian word that they were ready
to be questioned. At Julian's behest, they joined him in the drawing
room. Zanetti, who had declared he must be there to take notes for
Grimani, sidled in and sat down in a corner with a battered wooden
secretary, which he opened to reveal a stack of paper, an inkwell,
and a bundle of pens.

"Which
of you would like to be questioned first?" asked Julian.

"Can't
we stay together?" pleaded Francesca.

"I'm
afraid not. It's important that I determine what each of you
remembers, unaided by the other."

"Then
I'll be first," said Valeriano.

Francesca
said nothing, only lowered her eyes ever so slightly. But Valeriano
at once asked, "Or would you rather be first, my love?"

"I
I own I should like to have it over."

Julian
was more firmly resolved than ever to separate them. Two people who
could communicate by such subtle means should not be interrogated
together.

"Then
I'll retire," said Valeriano. "I shall be in my room if
you need me, Francesca. Signer Kestrel, I am at your service
whenever you're ready for me."

He
bowed with the weary, instinctive grace that marked his every
gesture. But of course, he had been on the stage for years. He
would have been cut at an early age, before his voice could change,
and from then on he would have been schooled to stand, walk, and move
for an audience. All that was natural in him after he had lost his
manhood

would
have been slowly but surely refined away. And yet, when he turned to
give one last encouraging look to Francesca, his beautiful eyes
softened, and a man looked out from behind the mask. How did she do
it this timid, unassuming woman, who next to the marchesa was
positively plain? Julian could only judge of her power by its
results.

"Please
sit down." Julian motioned toward a turquoise and white striped
sofa facing away from Zanetti's corner. It was bad enough that the
clerk's pen would be scratching throughout their interview. At least
Francesca need not be intimidated by the sight of him.

She
sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingers laced tightly together.
Julian pulled up a chair opposite and began, "Signer Valeriano
said you and he hadn't seen Marchese Lodovico for more than a year
before his death. Is that your recollection, too?"

"Yes,"
she answered in a small voice.

"When
and where did you last see him?"

"It
was while Pietro and I were still in Milan. So it must have been
early in 1820 perhaps January?" She looked at Julian as if for
confirmation.

"Was
it Carnival?" he suggested.

"Yes,"
she said gratefully. "So it was January."

"Pietro
is Signer Valeriano?"

"Yes.
His real name is Pietro Brandolino Brandolin, in Venetian."

Julian
nodded. Most castrati went by stage names. "Under what
circumstances did you and Marchese Lodovico meet that last time?"

She
looked down, plucking at her skirt. "I'd been trying to see him
for weeks. You see, I came to Casa Malvezzi one day while he was
out, to see Niccolo and Bianca. When he found out, he was furious.
He gave orders that I was never to be admitted again, and any servant
who spoke to me of my children would be turned into the street
without a character. I went to see him, to beg him not to cut me off
from my children, but he wouldn't receive me. I went day after day,
and his servants always turned me away."

Her
lips trembled. "Finally I was admitted to see him. He wasn't
unkind at first. He thought I had come to ask for forgiveness and
return to Rinaldo. When he found I hadn't, he was furious. He
shouted at me. He called me every terrible name a woman can be
called." She lifted the back of her hand to her eyes, as if to
shut out the memory.

"What
happened then?" Julian prompted gently.

"I
pleaded with him not to punish my children by making them motherless.
He said no mother at all was better than a mother like me. I left,
because he threatened to have the servants throw me out if I didn't.
Soon after, Pietro and I went to live in Venice."

"What
did Signer Valeriano make of the quarrel?" Julian asked
curiously.

"He
was very upset. It was an agony to him that I should be separated
from my children on his account. He was always trying to make me
leave him. But I couldn't do that." Her eyes appealed to him
to understand.