The Devil in Music (42 page)

There
was a sudden movement on the lake. A boat was cutting swiftly toward
the villa, bearing a young gendarme. He leaped out the moment the
boat touched the pier, ran up the stairs to the terrace, and
presented himself before Grimani. "Signer Commissario, I have
dispatches from my sergeant, who begs you will read them at once and
send me back to him with instructions."

"Come
inside." Grimani turned briefly to the marchesa. "I'll
follow Your Ladyship to mass as soon as I'm at liberty."

He
and the gendarme went inside. Nina brought the marchesa's veil and
parasol, and the marchesa, Carlo, Francesca, Valeriano, Donati, and
Sebastiano prepared to depart for mass. MacGregor went inside to
observe the Sabbath in his own way.

"Are
you coming to mass?" the marchesa asked de la Marque and
Julian.

"I
must beg you to excuse me," said de la Marque. "I'm still
recovering from last night's religious excesses."

"I'll
stay and bear you company," said Julian.

The
marchesa smiled as if she would have liked to witness this
tetea-tete. "Then good morning to you, gentlemen. Monsieur de
la Marque, I shall pray for your recovery."

"Then,
Marchesa, I count myself cured already, since no prayer of yours
could possibly be refused."

The
marchesa smiled a little wryly. She and her party embarked for
Solaggio, and Julian and de la Marque had the terrace to themselves.

De
la Marque looked dolefully into his empty cup. "Mon vieux,
would you be kind enough to ring for more coffee?"

"I
should recommend soda water."

"As
you will." De la Marque leaned back in his chair and closed his
eyes.

At
Julian's bidding, a servant brought a bottle of soda water and two
glasses and set them on a little wicker table before de la Marque.
Julian drew up a chair for himself. "Allow me," he said,
pouring them each a glass.

De
la Marque took an experimental swallow. "Ugh. It's certainly
insipid enough to be wholesome." He glanced in the direction
Grimani and the gendarme had disappeared. "What do you suppose
that's about?"

"To
judge by the state of the gendarme's boots and the way he walks as if
he still felt the saddle under him, he's come a long distance in a
hurry. But why he should have ridden like thunder to see Grimani on
a Sunday morning, the devil only knows."

"If
the devil knows," said de la Marque, "then Grimani will
find a way to make him talk." He began to laugh. "Fancy
his taking me for Orfeo! It's outrageously droll."

"You
aren't alone. He also suspects Fletcher and St. Carr."

"But
not you, my enigmatic friend?"

"No,
not I. You see, I was there when Orfeo sang."

De
la Marque blinked at him. "Mon dieu. How very fortunate for
you."

"Well,
it's convenient. I should have found it a nuisance to be dogged at
every step of the investigation by suspicion of being Grimani's
mysterious singer."

"So
instead it's I who'll have my life plagued out by his persecutions.
Heavens know, I should be delighted to tell him more about that
enchanting little vixen I picked up, but I don't suppose he would be
interested in those sorts of details. He's distressingly
un-Italian."

"Come
Carlo says he strives to be more German than the Austrians he
serves."

"That's
not surprising. It's very common for a prisoner to identify himself
with his captors."

Julian
looked at him more closely. "I wasn't aware you had political
views about Austrian rule in Italy."

"I
don't. But I know something about the effects of being a prisoner. A
cousin of mine was arrested during the Reign of Terror, and fell so
under the sway of his captors that by the time he was released, he
was waving the tricolour and calling everyone "Citizen."
He was a great embarrassment to the family." He shrugged. "The
weak always ape the powerful, as servants in England take their
masters' names and assume their privileges below stairs. Grimani
finds it ill convenient and restrictive to be an Italian, so he
becomes an Austrian in every way he can, and in the end he convinces
himself but he will never quite convince the Austrians."

"If
you're not careful, Monsieur de la Marque, I shall begin to think you
profound."

"Mon
vieux, I am French. My nation's greatest talent is to appear
cleverer than we are."

Julian
smiled. "I've been meaning to ask you something. Did you know
Philippe de Goncourt?"

"La
Beatrice's first husband? No, I never met him. He was an aristocrat
who went over to Bonaparte, which made him persona non grata in my
family's set. I must say, I envy him. Imagine being the man to
introduce the divine Beatrice to the art of love! At least I assume
he was the first. For all the licence granted to married women in
this country, young virgins are very closely guarded."

"No
doubt you've made attempts."

"No
doubt."

Grimani
and the gendarme came out onto the terrace again. "What news,
Signor Commissario?" de la Marque hailed him.

"Nothing
I can discuss at present," Grimani flung at him as he passed. He
and the gendarme descended the stairs to the pier, presumably to
catch what remained of mass.

Julian
and de la Marque exchanged foreboding looks. "This is very
ominous," said de la Marque.

"Yes,"
agreed Julian. "Grimani was smiling."

Soon
after the marchesa and her party returned from mass, half a dozen
soldiers brought Fletcher and St. Carr to the villa for questioning.
Grimani received them in the drawing room, with Zanetti to act as
scribe and interpreter. The marchesa requested that Julian and she
be allowed to attend as well. Grimani acquiesced with a fairly good

grace.
Julian wondered more than ever what was in those dispatches the
gendarme had brought.

The
soldiers marched the two young Englishmen in and brought them to
stand before Grimani's chair. They both looked extremely rattled.
Fletcher rallied first.

"What
the deuce is happening?" he appealed to Julian in English.
"When Beverley and I came back from the festival early this
morning, there were soldiers all around our inn. They let us in, but
they wouldn't let us out. Signora Frascani, the landlady, was in a
ferocious taking, threatening to chuck us out for bringing the
soldiers down on her house. Then we heard that this singer everyone
is looking for turned up here last night, and the police suspect he's
one of us!"

Zanetti
translated this for Grimani. He was a first-rate interpreter, smooth
and swift, and so self-effacing that he seemed a mere appendage
Grimani used for speaking, like a tongue or a larynx.

Grimani
turned to the sergeant in command of the soldiers. "Have you
secured their passports?"

"Yes,
Signor Commissario." The sergeant presented two well-worn
documents stamped with assorted visas.

"That's
another thing," said Fletcher to Grimani. "If you take our
passports, how are we to go anywhere?"

"I
don't wish you to go anywhere," said Grimani. "If and when
I determine that neither of you is the Englishman I am seeking, your
passports will be returned."

"But
you can't do that!" Fletcher expostulated. "We're British
subjects!"

"My
father knows the British consul in Milan," bleated St. Carr.

"Then
I suggest you take this up with the British consul," Grimani
rejoined.

"We
can't," said Fletcher, seething. "We don't have any
passports. We couldn't go one posting stage without being stopped.
But we'll write to him, never fear or do you mean to stop our
correspondence, too?"

"You
have only to satisfy me of your innocence," said Grimani, "and
the police will take no further interest in your affairs."

"What
about Monsieur de la Marque's passport?" the marchesa murmured
to Grimani. "Do you mean to take that as well?"

"Yes,"
said Grimani. "I've obtained warrants from the podesta to
detain all their passports."

Julian
did not suppose this had been very difficult. The obsequious

Ruga
would not oppose any wish of a commissa rio who was rumoured to stand
in high favour with the Director-General of Police.

Grimani
opened one of the passports and perused it. "Hugo Patrick
Fletcher, born July eighth, 1799." He looked up at Fletcher.
"You are precisely the age Orfeo claimed to be."

"I
can't help that," said Fletcher.

"Where
were you from December of 1820 to March of 1821?"

"Oh,
Lord." Fletcher ran a hand through his wiry brown hair. "Let
me think. I'd been helping a natural scientist in Berlin with a book
he was writing. It was finished at the end of 1820, and I knocked
about France and the German states for about six months."

"You
never came to Italy?"

"Not
then, no."

"But
you have been here before?"

"Yes,
afterward. I was living in Berlin, teaching English and studying
natural science. During school holidays I travelled. I came once to
Italy no, twice. I returned to England last December, when my father
died."

"Why
are you in Italy now?"

"Because
Lord and Lady St. Carr, whose steward my father was, asked me to
take their son on the Continent." He added with an edge to his
voice, "They were under the impression that Italy was a
civilised place, and that every gentleman ought to see it."

"You
will find Italy most civilised and hospitable toward those who come
with benign intentions. Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts in the
first months of 1821?"

"I
shouldn't think so. I was mostly on my own. I suppose if I thought
hard, I might remember someone." He spread out his fingers
helplessly. "It was so long ago."

"If
I were you," said Grimani, "I would attempt to remember.
Where were you last night at ten o'clock?"

"At
the festival."

"That
is not sufficiently precise."

"It's
the best I can tell you. I was moving about all the time, looking
for " He broke off.

"Yes?"

"For
all the different things there were to see singing, dancing, and so
on."

"Were
you alone?"

"Yes."
Fletcher grinned. "Sometimes even a tutor has to slip his
leash for a bit."

"Now,
that's too bad, Hugo!" protested St. Carr. "First you
blow me up for going off on my own and making you hunt for me half
the night, and now you say you wanted to be alone anyway!"

"Beverley,"
said Fletcher in a strained voice, "I think you should let me
answer the questions."

Grimani
turned his icy gaze on St. Carr. "When you went off on your
own last night, where did you go?"

"Oh,
anywhere and everywhere. I was getting on quite famously with
everybody, especially the soldiers."

"It's
wonderful what stumping up for a few bottles of wine can accomplish,"
muttered Fletcher.

Grimani's
eyes remained fixed on St. Carr. "Where were you at ten
o'clock last night?"

"Look
here," stammered St. Carr, "I don't think "

"Answer
the question. Where were you at ten o'clock?"

"I
don't know. I never think about what time it is."

"Can
anyone swear to your whereabouts at or about that time?"

"I
don't see how. I was always running into new people, and I don't
know who they were, or where they came from. I say, I don't like
above half what you're implying!"

"Beverley!"
broke in Fletcher. "Think before you speak!"

"But,
Hugo, he's making me out to be a liar! He thinks I was skulking
about here last night, singing to people!"