The Devil in Music (67 page)

"The
weeks wore on. Lodovico wrote me blithe letters about Orfeo's
progress. I lay awake at night with my head on fire, thinking of
Lodovico happy and fulfilled without me hating him, hating Orfeo.
Then the revolt broke out in Turin, and in my wretchedness, I made
use of it. Can you guess how?"

"You
deliberately went missing on the road between Turin and Novara, so
that Lodovico would leave Orfeo and come looking for you."

She
inclined her head. "It was quite easy, actually. I travelled
in a simple hired chaise, with only a few servants out of livery. I
didn't give my name at the inns where we changed horses and forbade
my servants to address me by my title. But I didn't tell the courier
I sent on ahead that I was travelling incognito, so that he and the
others searching for me wasted a great deal of time asking after
Marchesa Malvezzi, and of course hearing nothing. The countryside
was in confusion, anyway. The King of Piedmont had abdicated, and
the people were caught between the rebels in Turin and the loyalist
troops in Novara. In all the upheaval, I could count on passing
unnoticed.

"Of
course my plans went hideously awry, as such idiotic plans deserve
to. Rinaldo was too terrified of his father to send him word I'd
disappeared. He traced me to Belgirate and fetched me home to Milan
like a piece of stray baggage. I arrived only to find that Lodovico
was dead. All I cared for in the world died with him. I didn't know
yet that he'd been murdered, but I blamed Orfeo for his death. And
whatever the solution to the murders, I always will."

Julian
felt as if a cold hand had gripped his heart. He knew she had no
idea what she had revealed. And he could not tell her, because she
wowld stop him going to Milan tomorrow and dragging the truth about
the murders into the light. He had lost all stomach for the task,
but it must be finished.

He
asked, "Why were you so convinced that de la Marque could lead
you to Orfeo?"

"First,
because I think that he's more likely than either Signer

Fletcher
or Signer St. Carr to be Orfeo himself. The night you and I met at
La Scala, you told me his English was so good, he could pass for a
native. Soon after, Maestro Donati mentioned that Orfeo's accent
sounded more French than English. Gaston was the right age and knew
a great deal about singing, for all that he affected to regard it as
a science rather than an art. On top of everything else, he was
terribly interested in you and your investigation. He came to my box
at La Scala the night before we left Milan, and asked me all manner
of questions about you. That he could be Orfeo here, at our mercy
seemed too much to hope. But all the same I invited him to come here
with us, to find out.

"From
the beginning, he taunted us with hints that he knew more of Orfeo
than he was saying. I felt absolutely certain that either he was
Orfeo himself, or he knew who Orfeo was. But I could never penetrate
his secret. I watched him, flirted with him flirted with you in
order to make him jealous. Nothing was of any avail."

Julian
looked away. She paused, then came to him and hesitantly laid her
hand on his arm. "Giuliano, that wasn't all there was between
us. That night in the belvedere Gaston wasn't with us. I was
thinking only of you and me."

"And
Orfeo. Even then, you pleaded with me to find him."

"So
that I could be free of him! So that I could give you a heart that
wasn't twisted up with hatred! I wanted to love you. I I could love
you it terrifies me to say so." She added in a low voice, "But
I suppose that after tonight you could never love me."

"I
do love you. That is my misfortune. Please finish your story. What
prompted you to try such desperate measures to make de la Marque
speak?"

"After
Valeriano confessed to the murders, I felt desolate, knowing that
Orfeo would never be caught, because it was no longer worth the
authorities' while to pursue him. I had no love for Valeriano he was
one of Lodovico's singers, too, and now it turns out he's Lodovico's
son by another woman. But I wanted Orfeo to be the murderer, or at
least to be exposed, and it seemed he never would be. Then you told
me you wanted to try climbing up to the balcony, and I realized that
you, at least, doubted Valeriano's guilt. I have great respect for
your intellects, Giuliano. I felt sure you would be proved right in
the end. But in the meantime, perhaps Gaston could be cajoled into
betraying Orfeo, in the belief that it was safe now, because the
murders were solved.

"I
sought out Gaston. You can imagine the conversation. I said the
investigation had left me unsatisfied that it seemed only half
finished

as
long as Orfeo remained unknown. He said he was desolate that I
should lack for anything I desired. And so on. The end of it was,
we agreed he should come to my room tonight to speak of it further.
Then you demolished Valeriano's confession, and so put Orfeo in
danger once more. But I'd gone too far to draw back. I received
Gas-ton, and offered him what I knew he wanted in exchange for what I
believed he had. I failed. And now you know all my story. I told
you once that we should only play hide-and-seek with one another.
You can see now that it's true."

"Yes,
Marchesa."

"Marchesa,"
she repeated. "Not even Beatrice now."

"I've
disturbed you long enough," he said. "You must wish to go
to bed, and I'm leaving for Milan early in the morning. Good night."

He
went to the door. She followed. As he grasped the knob, she covered
his hand with hers and looked up into his face. "Stay with me."

His
heart jerked in his breast. One night, he thought what can it
matter? One night then let it all come crashing down around our
ears! His heart hammered wildly; his face and hands were hot

"I
can't," he said bleakly.

She
slowly took her hand from his. Her wide eyes searched his face. "It
must be that you suspect me of the murders. You think that, in my
madness over Orfeo, I came here secretly from Belgirate and killed
Lodovico."

He
did not answer.

"I
see." She walked a little away. "Then good night, Signor
Kestrel. Don't you think it rather funny that such a famous beauty
should be rejected by two gentlemen in one night?"

"De
la Marque wasn't willing to pay your price."

"And
you?"

"I
doubt very much, Marchesa," he said quietly, "that you
would be willing to pay mine."

He
went out, crossed the hall, and entered his own room. Mac-Gregor had
gone to sleep, leaving a lamp burning on a table by the door. When
Julian came in, he started up. "Everything all right?"

"Yes,"
said Julian briefly and untruthfully.

MacGregor
nodded and fell asleep again.

Julian
did not bother to ring for Dipper, but undressed, washed, cleaned his
teeth, and blew out the lamp. He got into bed beside MacGregor, and
lay for a long time gazing up into the darkness, waiting for a dawn
that could only bring him sorrow and regret.

Julian
awoke the next morning resolved to proceed in a businesslike manner
with his trip to Milan and its aftermath. He tried to think of
himself as an actor in a play the lines already written, the ending
already resolved, and his own task merely to perform his part as well
as he could, and to see that no one made any untoward entrances or
exits. He dressed and breakfasted early, intending to leave by eight
o'clock. Just before he departed, he and Dipper went up to Dipper's
room on the attic floor for the confidential talk that Julian had
been planning last night.

The
other servants had long since left their rooms to go about their
work, but all the same Dipper had a look up and down the hall and in
the rooms on either side before he and Julian closeted themselves in
his room. It was simply but comfortably furnished, with a boxlike
oak wardrobe, a small iron washstand, two cane chairs, and a bed
large enough for half-a-dozen people, although only Dipper and two
other menservants slept there. A murky painting of Madonna and Child
hung on the wall; the wood floor beneath was worn away by servants'
knees.

Julian
said, "You know that this trip to Milan may be decisive. If
Palmieri confirms my theory, we shall be in a fair way of solving
these murders. I want you to keep a close watch while I'm away. I
don't think our fox will break covert, but if it does, I should like
to know which way it ran. But don't on any account go in pursuit:
this fox is deadly enough without being cornered."

"Yes,
sir."

Julian
frowned and took a turn about the room. "The risk is that I may
not be able to see Palmieri in time. We know he was in Milan a

few
days ago, because Rinaldo said he'd consulted him about his effort to
wrest the villa from the marchesa. Actually, it's a mercy he made
that threat otherwise we shouldn't have known who the family lawyer
was. But I can't be certain of finding him today. And I can't stay
the night, because the three days' respite Grimani gave Lucia will be
over this evening, and devil only knows what he'll do to her."
Julian stopped walking abruptly and looked at Dipper. "If for
any reason I don't return in time, you must protect her."
Dipper stared back, wide-eyed. "What do you want me to do,
sir?" "Whatever you must." Julian took up his hat,
gloves, and walking-stick, and they left the room in silence.

The
door to the wardrobe slowly opened. Nina put out her head, looked
around to see if the coast was clear, and darted out. She paused
before the Madonna, crossed herself, and whispered a quick prayer.
Then she was gone.

Julian
left the villa without seeing Beatrice. He heard she had a headache
and was passing the morning in her room. He told himself he was
fortunate to have avoided a meeting. But all the same he felt an
ache of regret.

One
of the servants rowed him from the villa pier as far as Como. There
he hired a post-chaise to take him to Milan. His progress was slower
than he had hoped. The roads were clogged with waggons bearing tubs
of grapes to the wine-press. Each waggon was drawn by six or eight
grey oxen, their horns tipped with steel, their girths bedecked with
flowers. The grapes were secured with such a mass of iron rings and
chains that the oxen could only move at a funeral pace. Julian's
postillions cursed ferociously and passed them when they could.

It
was one o'clock by the time the post-chaise reached Milan. Julian
proceeded to Casa Malvezzi. Much as he wanted to see Palmieri, he
felt a duty to Francesca to call on her children first. He had
letters from her and from Carlo, the children's presumptive guardian,
authorizing their tutor, Abbe Morosi, to admit him.

Merosi
proved to be an earnest young cleric in spectacles. He told Julian
he had already broken the news of Rinaldo's death to Niccolo and
Bianca. "Of course they are very distressed," he said
gravely. "They adored their father."

Julian
found this hard to imagine. But perhaps Rinaldo had looked different
through his children's eyes. "May I see them?"

Morosi
conducted him to the nursery and presented him to the nine year-old
marchese and his sister. Bianca was a slight child with eyes too big
for her face and soft brown hair like her mother's. Niccolo had
nothing of either parent about him. He was tall for his age, with
black hair, hazel-gold eyes, and a slightly beaked nose the youthful
image of Lodovico.

Both
children seemed in good health, though pale and in need of sleep.
Bianca was unabashedly frightened and distressed, but Niccolo held up
his head and tried to speak like a man. "Have the police found
out yet who killed Papa, Signor Kestrel?"

"No,
Signor Marchese. But I think they may be very close." Julian
took a seat, so that his eyes were on a level with theirs. "I
have a message for you from your mother."

"From
Mamma?" Bianca clasped her hands. "Is she better?"

Julian
was not sure how to answer this.

Morosi
interceded hastily, "It's been a great grief to the children
that their mother is too ill to live with them."

"She
lives with the nuns," said Bianca shyly. "She's been with
them for years. But Papa always said she would come home when she
was well enough."

"Will
she be coming home?" Niccolo asked.

"She's
much better," said Julian. "She hopes to come home very
soon. In the meantime, she asked me to give you her love, and to tell
you that she never ceases to think of you and counts the moments till
she sees you again."