The Devil in Music (57 page)

"This
is a waste of time," said Grimani. "Come, Signor Kestrel.
I'll get to the bottom of this."

Francesca
did claim to have climbed down from the balcony to the south terrace.
Grimani, unbelieving, took her outside to show him how she had done
it. Julian and MacGregor accompanied them, Julian giving Francesca
his arm. She was pale and walked a little stiffly. Julian supposed
she must still be in shock.

They
went around to the south terrace and stood beneath the balcony of
Rinaldo's room, three stories above. There were no creeping plants
or trellising to aid in climbing down, and the fruit trees were
separated from the house by a gravel walk.

"She
might have managed it with a rope," said MacGregor doubtfully,
"or some sheets knotted together."

Julian
translated this for Francesca. She shook her head timidly. "I
didn't have a rope, and there weren't any extra sheets."

"Then
how did you do it?" Grimani challenged her.

Francesca
swallowed hard. Julian said gently, "Perhaps it would be easier
if you began at the beginning. How did the idea of climbing down
from the balcony first come to you?"

She
looked away. Twin spots of colour kindled in her cheeks. "It
was late. It was dark. The house was quiet. Rinaldo was asleep.
His arm was over me, across my chest. I wanted to get up, but I was
so afraid to wake him " She drew a long, shaky breath. "You
wouldn't understand."

"Be
patient with us," said Julian. "We're trying our best."

Her
eyes softened. "I knew that you were a kind man, Signer
Kestrel."

"Go
on, Marchesa Francesca," said Grimani impatiently.

She
turned her face away again. "I was lying in bed. I felt I was
drowning, dying. I thought of Pietro, how lonely he must be, and how
I would never see him again. "Never' is so long, you can't
grasp it all at once, but I knew that days and weeks and months would
go by, and I wouldn't know if he was well or ill, I wouldn't hear his
voice or hold him in my arms. I felt sure he wouldn't eat. He could
die of despair. And then I thought of Rinaldo of what my life would
be with him. I couldn't bear it. I had to get away. I prayed to
the Madonna to help me. And suddenly " She lifted wide,
wondering eyes. "Rinaldo turned over on his back and took away
his arm. It was like a sign that the Madonna had heard my prayer."

"The
Devil heard your prayer, not the Madonna," said Grimani. "Do
you suppose the Madonna would help a wife to leave her husband?"

"N-no,
I know she wouldn't," she said confusedly. "But all the
same, it felt that way to me. I got out of bed very carefully, so as
not to wake him, and tiptoed to the nearest window that one."
She pointed up to the balcony. "I opened the French doors so
slowly, because I didn't want to make a sound! Rinaldo was sleeping
deeply after all he'd drunk, but I couldn't be sure he wouldn't wake,
and and want me there with him again." Her voice died away.

"Would
you like to sit down, Marchesa Francesca?" Julian asked.

"No,
Signer Kestrel. You are very good. Thank you." She resumed,
"I went out onto the balcony. I wasn't thinking then of
climbing

down.
I only wanted a breath of air. I didn't know what to do how to get
away. You see, Rinaldo had locked the door of our room and hung the
key around his neck, with his crucifix, and I didn't dare try to undo
the chain while he was sleeping.

"It
was raining, but I went to the edge of the balustrade and looked
down. The mist was all lit with moonlight, and I could see the side
of the house very clearly. I looked over to the other balcony."
She indicated the balcony to the left of hers, nearest the back of
the villa. "It it would be yours, I think, Signor Commissario."

"Yes,"
said Grimani. "What of that?"

"Well,
you see, it overhangs that wall." She nodded toward the brick
wall that backed the south terrace. "I thought that, if I could
get to your balcony, I could let myself down from the balustrade to
the walkway at the top of the wall. And then I could get away."
Her eyes travelled down the narrow flight of stone stairs from the
walkway to the south terrace.

"And
how did you mean to get to my balcony?" asked Grimani with a
sneer of disbelief.

"There's
a little ledge, Signor Commissario, between your window and mine."
She pointed hesitantly.

There
was, indeed, a grey-painted ledge along the white wall, just beneath
the windows of the upper floor. Julian pictured the ledge as seen
from the window of Francesca's room, formerly his. "That ledge
can't be more than three inches wide. Do you mean to say that you
walked some thirty feet along it on a rainy night, with nothing to
cling to for support?"

"There
wasn't any other way," she said simply.

"This
is preposterous," said Grimani. "No woman could have done
it. Even a man would be mad to try."

"But
I'm good at climbing, Signor Commissario. I used to climb trees and
fences with my brothers when I was a child."

"So
you told me," Julian recalled.

She
went on with her story. "I dressed as quietly as I could. But
first I blew out the oil lamp that Rinaldo had left burning beside
the bed, so that if he woke he wouldn't see me dressing."

Julian
pricked up his ears. "Did you have any light in the room?"

"Just
a little moonlight from the window. But I knew where to find my
clothes."

"Did
you light a candle at any time?"

"No.
Rinaldo didn't like them in his room at night. He would have been
angry if he'd awakened and seen one.

"I
went out onto the balcony and climbed over the balustrade onto the
ledge. I inched along it, with my hands and cheek pressed flat
against the wall. It seemed to take hours. When I got to the hall
window between the two balconies, I tried to open it, but it was
bolted. So I had to go on.

"Finally
I reached Commissario Grimani's balcony and climbed into it. I just
sat down with my back against the railing and stayed there for a
while. My heart was beating so hard, and all the fear I'd kept at
bay while I was on the ledge seemed to rush at me, so that I couldn't
stop trembling. But finally I made myself get up and climb over the
balustrade. I let myself down slowly, feeling with my feet for the
top of the wall. At last I found it and let go of the balustrade.
And I was free.

"I
came down from the wall and went around to the front terrace,
thinking I would take a boat from the pier and row to Como. I wanted
to follow Pietro back to Venice. But when I got to the pier, I was
suddenly confused. I didn't have any money. I didn't know how I
would hire horses. But what was more, I didn't know if I ought to go
at all. I had been happy at the prospect of seeing my children it was
all that sustained me after Pietro left me. He might even refuse to
take me back, knowing how my heart was divided. I asked myself,
could I endure life with Rinaldo for the sake of Niccolo and Bianca?
Or I could hardly bear the thought of it would I end by hating them
for what they'd done to me?

"I
walked about the garden in the rain. Finally I went to the chapel
and asked the Madonna what to do. But she turned her face away from
me, and I had no answers only the same questions running through my
head. I couldn't bear to go I couldn't bear to stay. Finally I was
so tired, I fell asleep in front of the Madonna's statue. When I
woke, I prayed again. And then the soldiers found me."

"Did
anyone see you climb down from the balcony?" asked Grimani.

"I
don't think so. I suppose anyone who saw me would have tried to stop
me."

"Did
anyone see you in the garden or the chapel?"

"Not
until the soldiers came."

"So
you have no witnesses," said Grimani. "You have no
evidence whatsoever, except that your dress is torn and soiled, which
you might have done deliberately in order to back your story."
Grimani's eyes narrowed. "Were you wearing a nightgown when you
went to bed?"

Her
cheeks crimsoned. "Yes."

"It
wasn't found in your room. What became of it?"

"I
I don't have it anymore."

"What
do you mean, you don't have it? Where is it?"

She
said, so faintly that the others had to strain to hear, "I threw
it in the lake."

"Ah!"
Grimani's eyes lit up. "Because it was stained with blood!"

"Yes,"
she whispered, turning her face away.

"So
there you have it, gentlemen," said Grimani. "Marchesa,
evidently you omitted from your romantic story that you killed your
husband before you made your escape."

"I
didn't!" she said piteously. "He was sleeping. I could
hear him snoring when I left."

"Then
how did your nightgown come to be stained with blood?"

Her
eyes squeezed shut, and tears spilled out. "I don't want to
tell you. Please, I'll tell a woman. I'll tell Beatrice."

Julian
felt sick. He said with the greatest delicacy, "Let me help
you, Marchesa Francesca. Was the blood on your nightgown your own?"

She
nodded, eyes closed. "He Rinaldo he was rough and I wasn't used
to I didn't know I was bleeding until I went to put out the lamp.
And then I looked down and saw the blood on my nightgown, and I I
didn't want to leave it, for everyone to see " She broke into
sobs.

It
was all too clear to Julian now why she had been walking so stiffly
and gingerly. He was angry with himself for not coming to her rescue
last night angry with MacGregor for preaching about the sanctity of
marriage. "Marchesa Francesca, it was for your husband to be
ashamed, not you."

"I'd
left him," she said helplessly. "I'd humiliated him for
years. I suppose he had the right. But all the same, I didn't want
anyone to find my nightgown after I'd gone. I took it with me, and
when I reached the pier I tied it around a stone and threw it in the
lake." She looked timidly at Grimani. "Please, Signer
Commissario, may I wash and change my clothes?"

"Very
well. But you'll have to give me everything you're wearing now as
evidence."

They
returned to the house. Beatrice met them in the Hall of Marbles and
told them that Dr. Curioni had arrived and was in Rinaldo's room
preparing a death certificate. When she learned that Francesca
wished to wash and change her clothes, she offered her own room.
Grimani arranged for two soldiers to stand guard outside and be

handed
every article of clothing she was wearing. They were to remain there
until she emerged, whereupon they were not to let her out of their
sight.

"When
may I see my children?" she asked Grimani.

"That's
impossible. They're in Milan, and you must remain here until I
determine how to proceed."

"But
their father's been murdered! They'll hear of it and be frightened!"

"You
ought to have thought of that sooner, Marchesa Francesca," he
said coldly.

"I
don't understand," she faltered.

"Suffice
to say, it's very probable that you will shortly be arrested for your
husband's murder. I leave you to judge whether it would be fitting
for you to see your children with such a charge hanging over your
head."

"Oh,
no." She put her hands to her face. When she lowered them, her
eyes were glassy. "Will they let me see my children before I
die?"

"I
have no idea," said Grimani. He turned to the soldiers. "Take
her away."

"I'll
go with you," Beatrice told Francesca.

"If
you remain with her while she changes her clothes," warned
Grimani, "it may be necessary to search you when you come out."

"If
any of your soldiers touches me," said Beatrice calmly, "I
shall expect my brother-in-law to kill him. I think he'll oblige me.
He hasn't much love for the Austrian army."

She
linked her arm in Francesca's and went upstairs, the two soldiers
following with disconcerted faces. Grimani looked after them sourly,
then turned to Julian and MacGregor. "Thank you for your
assistance. Now that Dr. Curioni has arrived, I needn't trouble you
to take any further part in this investigation."