The Devil in Music (34 page)

He
did not. As Beatrice had said, Francesca might have easily have gone
on living with Rinaldo, while taking Valeriano as her lover. "You
disliked your husband?"

"It
wasn't that. Rinaldo wasn't kind to me, but I didn't blame him for
that. No one had ever been kind to him except his mother, and even
she didn't dare defend him from Lodovico. He ought to have had a
wife like Beatrice one who would Guido and instruct him, and help him
to make his mark in the world. I didn't know anything about society
or politics or love affairs. I was useless to him, except to give
him children. I don't suppose he missed me at all when I left him it
was only the humiliation he minded."

"Then
why not return to him?"

"Because
it wouldn't have been enough to see Pietro from time to time to drive
with him on the Corso or sit beside him at the opera." She
blushed deeply. "To let him into Casa Malvezzi at night when
Rinaldo was out, and force him from my arms before morning, for fear
we should be caught together. Any woman could do that much for him.
At the time we fell in love, he had never known what it was to have a
home. He just travelled, singing now in one city, now in another.
He was so famous and admired, and yet in all my life I had never
known anyone so alone. I wanted him to know that, wherever he went,
there was always someone who loved him waiting for him someone who
was all his. Do you see?"

"Yes."
He saw a good deal now and never again would he make the mistake of
dismissing this woman as timid or weak. "How did you come to be
at the Lake of Como in March of 1821?"

She
lowered her eyes and plucked at her skirt again. "Rinaldo was
away travelling when Lodovico forbade me to see my children. About a
year later Pietro and I heard that he'd returned to Milan, and that
Lodovico had gone to the lake with a young tenor he was training for

the
opera. I hoped against hope that if I appealed to Rinaldo, he might
be kinder than Lodovico and let me see Niccolo and Bianca, or at
least send me some word of them. They were so young Niccolo was only
four, and Bianca not yet two. If they fell sick, if they hurt
themselves, if they missed me and asked for me, no one would have
told me " Her voice died away.

Julian
half rose. "Would you like me to ring for a glass of water,
some wine "

"No
no, thank you, I'll be all right." She looked at him
apologetically. "It's just that it's hard, having to remember."

"I'm
sorry. If it weren't of the greatest importance, I wouldn't ask you
to relive all this."

"I
believe you, Signer Kestrel." She touched his sleeve
reassuringly. "I know you don't wish to be unkind."

How
the devil had it come about that she was comforting him for his
having to hurt her? "Thank you, Signora Argenti. I wish I
could make your task as easy as you've made mine. Please go on. You
were telling me how you hoped Rinaldo might relent towards you and
allow you to see the children."

"Yes.
It was foolish of me I ought to have known he would never defy his
father. But I wanted it so badly, I persuaded myself it was
possible. I told Pietro I wished to go to Milan and see Rinaldo. He
agreed at once, but he didn't think we should stay in Milan, where I
was so well known, and our elopement had caused such a scandal. He
was afraid I would be shamed and taunted, and I feared the same for
him, so in the end we borrowed a villa on the Lake of Como from one
of his friends."

"Did
you know that villa was just across the lake from Villa Malvezzi?"

"No.
I we didn't know exactly where it was."

"Had
you any thoughts of seeing Marchese Lodovico while you were at the
lake?"

"I
didn't want to see him. And I knew it wouldn't have been any use."

"And
Signer Valeriano did he ever attempt to see him?"

"No."

"Are
you certain?"

"Oh,
yes. He would have told me. He keeps nothing from me. We keep
nothing " She broke off.

"From
each other?" Julian suggested. But Francesca could not say it.

He
asked, "What did you do after you got to the lake?"

"I
sent Rinaldo a letter begging him to let me see the children, and
asking if I might come to Milan to plead with him in person. I was
on thorns every moment, waiting for the answer. Finally it came not
from Rinaldo but from Lodovico. Rinaldo had sent my letter on to
him. He wrote that if I didn't return to Rinaldo, I would never see
my children again. He said they would be as dead to me as if I had
buried them with my own hands."

"Do
you still have that letter?"

"No.
Pietro burned it."

"Why?"

"Why?"
she echoed on a high note of fear. "Because it made me
unhappy. Because it haunted me. Why should he not have burned it?"

"No
reason," said Julian mildly. "I merely wondered. When did
you receive the letter?"

"A
day or two before we heard of Lodovico's death."

"How
did you come to hear of it?"

"I
don't know. Suddenly everyone was talking of it."

"Did
you and Signer Valeriano leave the lake?"

"No,
not for a few weeks." She hung her head. "I tried to be
sorry for Lodovico's death, but to me it meant one thing above all
that Rinaldo might be kinder to me, now that his father wasn't egging
him on to punish me. I wrote to him again, as humbly as I could. I
offered to do anything, short of leaving Pietro, if he would only
give me one glimpse, even from a distance " She shook her head.
"It was all in vain. He rebuffed me just as Lodovico had."

"What
happened then?"

"There
was nothing left to happen. Pietro and I returned to Venice."

Julian
pondered. "There's one thing I don't understand. You said you
received Lodovico's letter a day or two before his death. Why didn't
you return to Venice then and there?"

Francesca
avoided his eyes. "I didn't want to leave yet. I hoped Rinaldo
might be kinder than his father, or Lodovico might soften towards
me."

"That
wasn't very likely, surely?"

"I
was desperate. I went on hoping."

"And
Signer Valeriano? What did he think?"

"He
didn't try to persuade me to leave. He knew how much it meant to me
in those days to see my children."

"In
those days?" said Julian. "Not now?"

"Now
a great deal of time has gone by," she said carefully. "I've
come to accept that I shall never, never see my children again.
They're part of a life so distant from me that it's as if another
woman had lived it."

"It
must be a relief to you," he said, "not to miss them
anymore."

She
looked at him swiftly, with such anguish in her eyes that his heart
smote him. "I'm sorry." He laid his hand on hers. "I
wished to know your true feelings. Why did you try to hide them?"

"I
always hide them now. It has nothing to do with you. I don't want
Pietro to know how much it still matters. It's taken me years to
convince him I've recovered from the loss. Please don't betray me.
I don't know what he would do if he realized how I grieve for my
darlings how I always will."

"I
shall say nothing to anyone, unless the investigation demands it. And
I can't at present see why it should."

"Are
we finished?" she asked hopefully.

"Not
quite. I should like to ask you about the night of March fourteenth
the night Lodovico Malvezzi was murdered. Where were you?"

"At
home at the villa where Pietro and I were staying."

She
held her breath, braced for the next question. But Julian only
regarded her expectantly, brows raised. He had learned from
experience that this was often more effective in provoking a flow of
speech than interrogation. Sure enough, she plunged nervously on.

"I
went to bed I don't remember when, but it was probably before
midnight. Pietro he had gone out riding. He has trouble sleeping.
When he sang in the opera, he was accustomed to be up most of the
night first on the stage, and then at cafes or parties. Some nights
he can't fall asleep as early as I do, and then he goes walking or
riding or plays music softly so as not to disturb me. The night
Lodovico died was one of those nights." She brightened. "But
I remember he was out the night before, too, so there was nothing
strange or special about the night of the murder."

Now
this was extremely interesting, Julian thought. Because it was
likely that whoever had killed Lodovico had been to Castello Malvezzi
the previous night in order to leave the package containing the glove
and the note appointing the belvedere rendezvous. Yet if Valeriano
had been gone on each of those significant nights, this begged
another question. "While he was out riding, were you left
alone?"

"Of
course." She was as ruffled as any wife whose modesty was
called in question. "Who should have been in my room if Pietro
wasn't?"

"I
didn't mean to imply anything improper. I only wondered if perhaps
you kept your maid with you."

"No,
she slept upstairs."

"Have
you ever seen a lady's elbow-length glove sewn with green myrtle
leaves and a ruby heart pierced by a diamond shaft?"

"No."
She looked bewildered.

"Do
you know of anyone who ever had such a glove?"

"No.
Why do you ask?"

"Someone
delivered a glove of that description to Marchese Lo-dovico on the
night before the murder, along with a note threatening to reveal some
truth about the glove's owner unless he came to the belvedere on the
following night."

"How
strange."

"Yes.
On the night of Marchese Lodovico's murder, did you go out at all?"

Her
face flamed. "I yes I I did. It was quite late after midnight
close to two o'clock. I woke up and found that Pietro hadn't come
back. I was worried. I put on my shawl and went up and down the
halls looking for him. He wasn't in the villa. I dressed, took a
lantern and went outside, calling his name and looking for him in the
grounds."

"Didn't
you wake any of the servants to assist you?"

"No.
I was silly. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just got into a fright
and wanted to find him. They did wake up when they heard me calling
for him, and came out to see what was the matter."

"Why
were you so afraid for him? You say he often went out at night."

"But
he didn't usually stay out so late. And he didn't know the
neighbourhood very well. He might have been thrown from his horse,
or I don't know what."

"Had
he ever been thrown from his horse before?"

"I
don't think so," she whispered.

"Did
it cross your mind he might have gone to see Marchese Lodovico, in
the hope of persuading him to relent towards you?"

"No!
Why should he have done so? Lodovico hated him as he did me. Why
should he have listened to anything he could say?"

"Then
perhaps Signer Valeriano might have quarrelled with him, challenged
him "

"He
didn't kill him! He would never do such a thing. He's gentle, and
honourable. That singer must have done it."

"Apropos
of Orfeo, have you any idea at all who he might be?"

"I
know nothing about him. I know Lodovico often made friends with
singers. That's how Pietro and I met."

"Let's
go back to the night of the murder. Did Signer Valeriano eventually
return?"

"Yes,
quite soon after I went out looking for him. He was very upset to
find me outside I suppose he thought I would take cold. It was damp
and windy, and my gown was sodden, and my shoes were all over mud."

"Did
he say where he had been?"

"I
don't think he had been anywhere, particularly just riding."

"Is
that what he told you?"