The Devil in Music (40 page)

"I'm
not up to anything, my dear fellow. It's merely that I'm not sleepy,
and there won't be many more nights this mild. Here." He
handed MacGregor the lantern. "I don't need this to walk in the
garden. I know the paths well enough to see by moonlight."

"Well,
don't stay out too long," MacGregor grumbled.

They
descended the terrace steps. Just as they were about to go their
separate ways, MacGregor said, "You know, he really does have a
beautiful voice."

Julian
was taken aback. MacGregor was not given to volunteering opinions
about art or music yet here he was commending Orfeo, of all singers.
"Do you think so?"

"Don't
you?"

"I
wasn't in the best position to hear him. Anyway, I prefer women's
voices."

"Oh,
well, it may have been partly the time and place. Instead of sitting
in a hot, crowded theatre watching people in trumpery costumes strut
about the stage, we were in a garden by night, hearing a singer we
couldn't even see. Come to think of it, Lodovico first heard Orfeo
under those same conditions. No wonder he was so struck by his
voice."

Julian
was silent for a moment. "Tell me, what did Marchesa Malvezzi
do when Orfeo sang?"

"I
don't know." MacGregor knit his brows. "I wasn't paying
attention. Why?"

"I
merely wondered."

"Wondered,
fiddlesticks! What do you suspect?"

"I
don't care to suspect anything more tonight. I want a holiday from
questioning and being questioned. Look around you:

"
"The moon shines bright: in such a night as this .. . Troilus
methinks mounted the Troyan watts, And sigh'd his soul toward the
Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night." "

MacGregor
stared. "What has got into you?"

"Italy
has got into me. If it isn't out by morning, you may extract it with
one of those ghoulish instruments you carry about in your medical
bag. Till then, buona sera, mio signore!"

"Mad
as a hatter," said MacGregor gloomily, "or worse, in love."
He stumped off toward the villa entrance.

Julian
struck out into the garden. The night remained wondrously clear.
The breeze was warm and cajoling, the air thick with scents of ripe
fruit. From the south, the bells of Solaggio chimed: ten, eleven,
twelve. Midnight the feast-day of Santa Pelagia was over. But when
Julian came to the lake shore, near the garden gate, he found that
there were still many boats out, though the revellers were quieter
now, their laughter low, their voices husky, amorous. Their boats
bobbed aimlessly on the water, the oars unattended. Somewhere on the
lake a guitar began to play, and men's and women's voices rose in
songs of enticement and desire.

Julian
wanted to be a part of this night, this country. He had forgotten
for so long had willed himself to forget, perhaps what Italy had
meant to him when he first came here. His senses, starved for
beauty, had been richly, gloriously sated, and he had felt grateful
as he would to a lovely woman who relieved him from a long and
agonizing celibacy. Suddenly he no longer knew what had possessed
him to return to England to forsake this air, this luxuriant growth,
this music, this ardent, artless people, for London's damp and fog
and its population of affected patricians and money-hungry tradesmen.
Ambition: that was what had driven him back that and old loyalties,
old dreams, old grievances. They've shackled you all your life, said
a voice in his head. You were old at ten, worldly-wise at twenty.
When have you ever done anything simply and solely because it made
you happy?

He
walked south along the shore path, not meaning to return to the
villa, but too possessed by music and the night to keep still. All
at once he saw a flicker of light ahead. Eyes straining to penetrate
the

darkness,
he made out the belvedere silhouetted against the sky, its windows
lit from within.

His
thoughts scattered like chaff in the wind. He moved forward slowly
and silently, thankful he had not brought a lantern to betray him.
When he reached the patch of ground in front of the belvedere, he
stepped aside to avoid crunching the gravel and crept up along the
narrow grass verge by the lake. The belvedere doors were dark; their
blinds must be let down. He tiptoed to one of the narrow Moorish
windows and stole a look inside.

The
marchesa sat on one of the marble benches, a lantern beside her. Her
ermine-lined cloak hung loosely on her shoulders and pooled about her
on the floor. Her head was uncovered, and a few diamonds shone in
her dusky hair. Earlier she had been wearing a spray of flowers at
her breast, but now the low neck of her white satin gown was bare,
and there was a carpet of petals around her feet.

Julian
went to the nearest doorway and tapped on the blinds. He heard her
footsteps and the swish of her skirt as she approached. "Who is
it?" she called, a little breathlessly.

"Julian
Kestrel. Am I disturbing you?"

There
was a short pause. Then the blinds at the door began to rise. He
saw her skirt, her waist, her breasts, and finally her face. He
stepped in, and she dropped the blinds again.

"I
saw your light," he said. "Why are you here alone?"

"I
wanted to be alone. I thought this was the place people were least
likely to look for me."

"Shall
I go?" he asked.

"No.
I don't feel the same need for solitude now."

"When
I knocked, and you asked who it was, I almost thought you expected
someone else."

She
smiled. "Are you asking as a jealous lover, or as an
investigator?"

"Both."

"The
only person I expected or rather feared to see was Lo-dovico."

"Are
you superstitious?" he asked in surprise.

"Not
very. But I know that if he were ever to return to earth, it would
be tonight, to hear that voice."

"What
rubbish," he said involuntarily.

She
looked surprised, then shook her head. "You don't understand."

"I
know that if I were Marchese Lodovico, and could struggle back to
earth for a single night, it would be only to see you."

"My
poor Giuliano, you are in a bad way."

He
pulled himself together. She was a suspect. He would treat her as
such. "There's something I should like to ask you."

She
looked at him quickly, hearing the change in his voice. "What
is it?"

"In
Milan, I saw your eyes fill with tears when Maestro Donati spoke of
Orfeo's voice. Now you've heard it for yourself, and I find you
alone in the small hours of the night, your flowers torn to shreds.
What is Orfeo to you?"

"To
me, nothing. But I own, his voice did move me. It was Lodovico's
last love. And it is beautiful pure yet passionate, exactly the sort
of voice Lodovico adored. The voice of an angel and the hand of a
killer unlike Maestro Donati, I don't see why they shouldn't exist in
one man."

"But
we don't know that they do. If Orfeo killed Marchese Lodovico, why
should he have advertised his presence here, when we never would have
known of it?"

She
smiled. "You like to defend him. I understand why. For him to
have killed Lodovico is too simple. You want a dazzlingly difficult
solution a killer no one would ever suspect." Suddenly she grew
serious. She came close, laying her hand on Julian's arm and looking
up into his face. "You're the cleverest of us all. If you
would only concentrate on finding Orfeo, instead of casting your nets
in all directions as you have, I know you would succeed. Find him,
Giuliano." She shook his arm. "Find him!"

"Why?
Why do you want him so badly?"

She
backed away, drawing a long breath. "I want him brought to
justice. Lodovico wasn't a good man, but he was my husband, and he
was kind to me. He trusted Orfeo, and Orfeo betrayed him as only a
singer he loved could."

"I
think you believe what you say," he said slowly, "but it
isn't the truth, or not the whole of it. I wanted an answer, and
you've given me a performance."

She
stood very still, and looked at him. "You think you know me
very well."

"I
think in this instance you're not being candid with me."

"Candid?"
Her slim brows went up derisively. "Candour a subject on which
you are an expert, I know. Signer Kestrel, who gives nothing away
who is as careful of his heart as a singer of his voice.

Shall
I hold up a mirror to you? You are one of the clever cowards, who
see into everyone, and let no one see into you. You can be hurt, but
nobody will ever see it. You only know how to bleed inwardly, though
those wounds take much longer to heal if they ever heal at all."

"When
you held up that mirror," he asked quietly, "which way was
it pointing?"

Her
breath caught. "Both ways, of course." She laughed
unsteadily. "Can you conceive how absurd we should be as lovers?
We should do nothing but play hide-and-seek with one another."

He
said, "I would rather search for you than find any other woman."

"Oh,
Giuliano," she whispered.

He
went to her and took her in his arms.

For
a moment she stiffened. Then he felt her yield, her head tipping
back, her lips opening under his. Her arms went around his neck. He
kissed her lips, her throat, the hollow of her neck. Her soft hair
tickled his face, her pearls got between his teeth, he would have
been in heaven if it had not been for this driving need to have more
of her to crush her to him until there was no longer any knowing
where he ended, and she began

"Giuliano,"
she whispered. "Giuliano, stop."

He
groaned, pulled her to him all the more urgently.

"Giuliano!"
She twisted in his grasp.

He
stepped back. She was flushed in the lamplight, her hair tumbling
over her shoulders, her gown askew. "I'm sorry," she said,
wide-eyed. "I remembered where we were. I thought of Lodovico
stretched out on the floor with a bullet in his heart, and I couldn't
do it."

"No.
No. I understand." He was actually incapable of understanding
much of anything. He picked up her cloak, which had dropped on the
floor, and draped it around her shoulders.

"I've
lost some hairpins," she said.

He
took up the lantern, and they hunted about the floor for them. Since
they were tipped with diamonds, they were easy enough to find. She
twisted her hair up behind her head and thrust the pins through it.
He drew up the blinds at one of the doorways, and they went out.

The
night was chilly now. Julian offered Beatrice his coat, but she said
she was warm enough in her cloak. With the tacit complicity of
lovers, they returned to the villa by a roundabout route through the
garden, avoiding the shore path, which was too exposed to the gazes
of

anyone
still on the lake. The path was dark and secluded. It occurred to
Julian that they might stop, spread his coat on the grass

But
of course he would not propose any such thing. He had been mad, back
in the belvedere, and now he was in his right mind again. If he
became the marchesa's lover, his investigation would be all to
pieces. Honour, which now demanded that he find the truth at all
costs, would clamour even more compellingly for him to protect his
mistress, whatever she might have done. He had to solve the murder,
if only to remove the doubts and secrets between them. Then,
perhaps, if she were innocent, and he were lucky

They
came in sight of the villa. "You had better go in before me,"
he said. "The servants may be back from the festival, and be up
and about."

She
thought a moment. "I think we should pretend this never
happened between us. Until Orfeo is found, and the murder is solved,
everything is uncertain and wrong."

"I
agree," he said with a wry smile. "But somehow I wish you
hadn't thought so."

She
held out her hand. "We never met in the belvedere, and you
never kissed me."

They
shook hands. But when she would have withdrawn hers, he held it
back. "You must know that I am desperately in love with you."