The Devil in Music (61 page)

"We'll
go into the drawing room," said Grimani. "You can attend
to her there. I want her present when I question Signor Valeriano,
to see what she makes of his story."

In
a few minutes they were all settled in the drawing room. Francesca
lay on a sofa, her eyes dull with shock. MacGregor made her sip a
little wine, but it brought no colour back to her face. When he

drew
up his chair before her and took one of her hands to bind the cuts
with sticking plaster, she submitted like a doll.

Valeriano
stood with his back to the fireplace. The four gendarmes still
flanked him, two on either side. Grimani stood before him, surveying
him with cold, assessing eyes. Zanetti perched on an ottoman, his
portable desk on his lap. Beatrice sat in an armchair with her hands
in her lap, quiet and contained, as if she were waiting for the
curtain to rise at La Scala. Carlo, Julian, de la Marque, Fletcher,
and St. Carr were scattered about the room. Even Donati was there,
in his preferred seat in the corner, Sebastiano by his side.

Valeriano
regarded them all, unruffled. After so many years on the stage, he
was not a man to be daunted by an audience. "You will be
wondering who my mother was. She was Giulietta Petroni a name that
may mean something to you, Maestro, if to no one else here."

Carlo
drew in his breath sharply.

Donati
knit his brows. "She was a singer, no? A beautiful girl a
Venetian. I don't believe I ever heard her, but I understood she had
an exquisite voice, only a little too delicate to last. She sang at
the San Carlo in Naples, but not for more than a season or two. And
then " Donati shook his head. "I don't know what became of
her."

Julian
looked at Carlo. "Signer Conte, you seemed shocked just now,
when Signer Valeriano mentioned his mother's name."

"And
well I might be," said Carlo fervently. "I recognized her
name, too. I knew she was a singer in Naples years ago. And I
remembered that Lodovico was sent there when he was eighteen, to
finish his education. So this mad story could be true Valeriano
could indeed be my nephew."

"I
am your nephew," said Valeriano.

"Can
you prove that?" said Grimani.

"I
have abundant proof letters, trinkets, and such things. If my story
doesn't convince you, you may send to Venice for them.

"My
mother was Venetian, as Maestro Donati says, but she studied music in
Naples, where most of the best singers were trained in those days.
She made her debut there, and according to her maid my dear Elena,
who brought me up all the city fell in love with her. They had every
cause. She was young and ardent, her voice was sweet, and even when
I knew her ravaged, wretched as she was she was agonizingly
beautiful."

Beatrice
closed her eyes for a moment. The others hardly breathed as they
waited for more.

"Lodovico
Malvezzi fell in love with her," Valeriano went on. "He

couldn't
have married her, of course. For a man of his ancient name to unite
himself with a gondolier's daughter would mean ostracism indelible
disgrace. If he had only seduced her, I might have forgiven him, and
so might she. But what he did was far worse. He bribed an educated
rascal to masquerade as a priest and marry them in secret. In her
simplicity, my mother succumbed to the trap. She believed she was
his wife, and in that belief, she let him make her his whore.

"She
gave up the stage and went to live in a little house outside the
city, where he visited her in secret. He had told her he didn't dare
reveal their marriage until he was of age. He tired of her soon
enough brought the pretended priest to her and revealed the trick.
He gave her money, as if that could atone for her broken career, her
lost virtue, her shattered heart. My mother had always given herself
unreservedly to whatever passion ruled her. In the spring of her
life, it was music. In the summer, it was Lodovico Malvezzi. In the
autumn and winter, she wanted only to die.

"She
fled to Venice, but she didn't try to see her family. For the rest
of her life and she was destined to drag out another eight years she
lived as a recluse. Her greatest fear was that Lodovico would
discover she was with child. She couldn't bear him to have that
final triumph over her worse, she was terrified he would take the
baby away. She travelled deep into the country to give birth to me
and left me there with her faithful Elena. She herself returned to
Venice and only came to visit us now and then, with the greatest
secrecy. She always believed Lodovico was having her spied on. Once
or twice she failed to come to us as planned, because she thought
there were followers on her heels.

"Elena
pretended that I was her grandson, and so I was given her name,
Brandolin. I knew that Giulietta was my mother, but Elena said she
was too ill to live with us. She also told me my father had died
before I was born, and that was why my mother was always so sad.

"My
mother's only pleasure was in teaching me to sing. Her own voice was
ruined by grief and illness, but she carefully nurtured mine. I
quickly came to love music, but even if I hadn't, I would have
learned or done anything to please her. So I made great progress
from a very early age."

Valeriano
drew a long breath. "When I was eight, my mother's health broke
down completely, and Elena was summoned to her bedside. My mother
had come to two decisions about me. One was that when I was old
enough I should be told who my father was but

only
if I promised never to reveal to him that I was his son. The other "
Valeriano paused, then went on quietly, "My mother had little
money to leave me, and knew I would have to make my way in the world.
My obvious vocation was music. My voice at eight was beautiful and
sweet; when it changed it might be ruined. So she resolved it should
not change.

"Elena
had never been able to deny her anything. She promised all that was
asked of her, and my mother died in her arms. A week later, Elena
had me cut." Valeriano smiled sadly. "Three years after
that, the French invaded Italy, and banned castrati from the operatic
stage. The ban was later lifted, but castrati were on the wane in
any case. My mother had been out of the world a long time, and
probably didn't realize that. She meant the best for me. I don't
blame her for the decision she made." The momentary quaver in
his voice showed how great the temptation to blame her must have
been. "I blame Lodovico Malvezzi. For her death, alone and
almost friendless, and for my life, unnatural thing that it is the
guilt is his."

Valeriano
paused. There was no sound in the room but the ticking of the clock
and the distant murmur of the lake. Francesca had sat up on the sofa
and was gazing at Valeriano in an agony of compassion. Beatrice's
face remained inscrutable. Carlo shuddered and passed a hand across
his eyes.

"With
the little money my mother had saved, Elena sent me to a music school
in Venice. I lived there for some years and worked devotedly at my
music. When I was twelve, I paid a visit to Elena in the country.
There I was set upon by boys who mocked me for being a eunuch and the
chance-born son of a Venetian whore. The first insult was nothing to
me, but the second I could not bear. I wept with rage and tried to
fight them. They beat me savagely before Elena could rescue me. I
urged her to tell me the truth about my mother. I remembered her
infrequent visits and the mystery surrounding her. I was only a
child, but I lived among adults and saw life through their eyes. I
wasn't suffering because I thought the boys were wrong, but because I
feared they were right.

"Elena
told me the truth at last the story as I've just told it to you. The
one fact she held back was my father's name. I begged her to reveal
it. I was all on fire for some wild act of revenge. It maddened me
to think that my mother had borne me out of wedlock, just as the boys
had taunted, but only because the villain, my father, had inveigled
her into believing she was an honourable woman. Elena held true

to
the promise she had made my mother. She wouldn't tell me unless I
pledged myself never to breathe a word to my father of who I was. I
took the oath she demanded. I had to know the truth. And I learned
that my father was Lodovico Malvezzi that, but for his vile trick, my
mother would have been a lady of rank, and I the heir to a
marquisate. Strange, isn't it, Francesca? It would have been I, not
Rinaldo, who would have married you. Your children would have been
mine. Instead, I am a bastard and the murderer of my father, and you
are my brother's wife "

"Oh,
please!" She flung up her hands. "I cannot bear it!"

He
withdrew his gaze from her and went on levelly, "I kept my oath
to Elena. I never told Lodovico of our kinship. I let the scandal
that my mother was a prostitute stick, sooner than reveal anything
that might allow Lodovico to guess the truth. But I never promised
not to take revenge on him for my mother's wrongs, and my own."

"You
waited a very long time to do so," Julian observed.

"Revenge
was my paramount ambition, Signor Kestrel, but not my only one. A
great sacrifice had been exacted of me to make me a singer; I didn't
wish that sacrifice to have been in vain. So I chose to make my name
in music before I committed a crime for which I might have to pay
with my life. And then " Valeriano looked away for a moment,
then went on in the same steady, inexorable voice, "I discovered
that bloodshed wasn't the only form of revenge open to me. In the
case of a proud family like the Malvezzi, it wasn't even the best."

Francesca
looked up slowly. "Oh, no," she whispered.

"I
tore that family apart," Valeriano said with quiet pride. "I
humiliated not only my father but my brother, who occupied the place
that should have been mine."

"And
I, Pietro?" Francesca broke in. "What was I to you?"

He
looked at her, not without compassion. "You were useful."

"Useful!"
Her hands clenched convulsively around the sofa cushions. She was
shaking. "Do you mean that I left my husband, gave up my
children for six long years so that I could be useful to you?"

"I'm
sorry," he said.

Her
voice came from low in her throat, like the growl of an animal.
"Rinaldo was right. You are a monster. Ah, Madonna! when I
think of your kindness, your tenderness all those years! All acting?
All pretense? Of course, why not? You were on the stage for years!
And yet, it must not have been easy for you to keep me happy to
prevent me

from
going back to my children and my home! For a creature like you
without a heart, without a human feeling in your breast truly, Signer
Valeriano, it was the performance of your life!"

She
burst into wild, helpless laughter. MacGregor took her by the
shoulders and gave her a quick, firm shake. Beatrice held a smelling
bottle to her nose and lightly chafed her hands. Gradually she grew
quieter. Valeriano stood very still through it all, saying nothing.

Grimani's
hard voice rose above the confusion. "This is a police
investigation, not an opera stage. Signor Valeriano, I don't want to
hear any more of your grievances against the Malvezzi family. Your
motives for killing Marchese Lodovico are clear enough. What I
require of you now is a plain account of the murder."

"You
shall have it," said Valeriano. "For a year or two after
Marchesa Francesca came to live with me, I was content. I had
triumphed over Lodovico. I had given Rinaldo a taste of the shame
and impotence I had always felt. But Lodovico lashed back at me by
impugning my name and destroying my career. Without music to live
for, I began to feel restless. My victory over him wasn't complete.
When Francesca proposed to return to Lombardy and appeal to Rinaldo
to see her children, I agreed, but my purpose was different from
hers. The better to accomplish it, I borrowed a villa across the
Lake of Como from Marchese Lodovico's. I knew all the musical world
knew that Marchese Lodovico had gone to the lake with a mysterious
English tenor he was grooming for the stage.

"Once
at the lake, I heard that Lodovico was staying at Castello Malvezzi,
while Orfeo and Maestro Donati were at the villa. I had to lure him
out of the castle; he was all but invulnerable there. To lie in wait
for him on the road between castle and villa was too uncertain. I
determined to lure him to some isolated spot after dark. I had my
mother's gloves the gloves he had given her to use as bait. I felt
sure he would remember them. And I was almost equally sure he would
tell no one of the rendezvous. He had always kept his infamous
liaison with my mother a secret. Perhaps even he felt a twinge of
shame where she was concerned.