The Girl With the Painted Face (40 page)

But where will she go?

What on earth will she do?

She would be unwise to go back into Bologna, and Modena would be no less foolish – it seems to Sofia now that false accusations are beginning to dog her every step, and a sense of anger begins to rise in her. The foul-breathed man in Modena – an accusation of theft; the authorities in Bologna – an accusation of murder, for God’s sake! They thought her a murderer. And now Beppe has accused her of being
trouble
. Perhaps though, she thinks now, he at least is justified in his accusation. Perhaps she
is
trouble, for complications certainly seem to follow her wherever she goes.

It’s like poor Mamma.

The three men walk slowly towards them.
 

‘Leave the brat,’ one of them says. ‘It’s you we want, you murdering bitch.’
 

‘No… I’ve done nothing…’ Mamma says, and her voice is high and thin.
 

‘Nothing? Only poisoned my wife.’
 

Mamma shakes her head. ‘No. No, I didn’t. I tried to make her well.’
 

The man sneers at her. ‘I think not.’
 

‘You have to believe me – I tried my best for her.’
 

For a moment, Mamma presses back against Sofia, crushing her against the wall, then at the last moment, she breaks away and starts to run. Sofia screams. Ignoring her, the men race after Mamma. Mamma runs fast, and reaches the bridge before they do. It is a flimsy wooden bridge – one of the wobbling ones that Sofia is frightened to walk on. And as Mamma runs onto it now, there is a terrible tearing noise of breaking wood and two of the supporting struts collapse. Mamma shrieks. Sofia’s mouth opens and she tries to scream again, but no sound comes out as Mamma falls with the breaking bridge, down onto the stone coping of the canal and into the water.
 

The men are looking at where Mamma is in the water. She is not moving.
 

‘There’s blood in the water.’
 

‘Fuck. Let’s get out now.’
 

‘Roberto, come on! What are you waiting for? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
 

And they run. Heavy-footed, swearing as they stumble in their haste to get away, they run.
 

Mamma doesn’t move. Sofia is on the edge of the canal now, lying on her belly, reaching out to Mamma.
 

‘They’ve gone, Mamma! You can come out now! Mamma!’
 

She touches her mother’s shoulder with the tips of her fingers but Mamma just turns silently and floats a little further away from the bank. She is face down in the water and now Sofia cannot reach her at all.
 

The clatter of hooves startles her.

‘What the —?’

A small and shabby cart has pulled sharply across to avoid her, and the hooves of the two harnessed horses skitter on the loose-stoned ground. Ippo whines and scurries around the back of her skirts.

Gasping, she takes a step back off the path into the shadows. She won’t go back. If Beppe no longer wants her, then to be in their company and to have to see him and be near him every day would be a torture she cannot bear to contemplate.

But it is not the troupe.

‘What the hell are you doing? D’you want to get yourself killed?’ An unknown male voice, sharp with fright.

Sofia cannot see his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters.

Another voice, a woman, says, ‘Giorgio, stop, will you? It’s just a girl. What in heaven’s name is she doing out here in the dark like this?’

Sofia hears the man click his tongue against his teeth. He sounds irritable. ‘No doubt she has her own reasons. Come on, we have to make up time. We’re out in it ourselves, after all, and your father —’

‘No, Giorgio, wait. Signorina, are you in need of assistance? I see that you’re heading away from Castel del Rio and it’s a most dreadfully long way to the next tavern. Are you —?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Maria, leave the girl alone. We can’t afford to delay.’

Sofia does not know how to answer.

The woman – Maria – says, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t believe you’re happy to be out here alone. Can we take you on to the next tavern or town? You could travel up in the cart with Giorgio and me.’

‘Maria, I —’

‘No, Giorgio, we can’t leave her out here. Enrico was robbed only last month, and he’s a man
and
handy with a sword. They took everything he had. Look at her: she can’t be much more than sixteen.’ Maria pauses. ‘There’s more than robbery a girl like her needs to fear. Go on – get down and help her up.’

Giorgio sighs. ‘Very well.’ He puffs a breath. ‘Should you care for a ride to the next tavern, signorina?’

His tone clearly declares his irritation and doubt, but, silently offering a brief prayer of thanks, Sofia nods. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, signore, then yes, I should be most grateful.’

‘Good.’ Maria sounds pleased. ‘I knew you would. Help her up next to me, Gio. Can you manage, signorina?’

Sofia mutters a yes. Giorgio hands the reins to Maria. Clicking his fingers to summon Sofia over to where Maria’s horse is fidgeting and tossing its head, he bends and places his hands together, making a step. Sofia places one foot onto his palms and feels him shove firmly upwards. Grabbing at Maria’s proffered arm, she slithers one leg over the edge of the rough wooden side of the cart and pulls awkwardly at her skirts, freeing them from where they have caught and crumpled beneath her. She sees the man wipe his muddied hands on his breeches.

Maria shuffles across the seat to give Sofia more space. ‘Is that enough room for you? I’m sorry, it’s not a very pleasant cart, but we had to —’

‘Maria, that’s enough.’ Giorgio’s voice is clipped and irritable. ‘There’s a dog down here. Is it yours, signorina?’

‘Oh yes, yes he is.’

‘Here – take him.’ With an inelegant scrabbling of paws, and a fair amount of frantic grunting, Ippo is handed up to Sofia, who holds him tightly on her lap. He is too big to sit there comfortably, and his claws dig into her legs as she tries to settle herself on the cramped seat; she can feel him trembling as she holds him in close.

Sofia, finding herself pressed against Maria, smells clean wool and freshly washed linen; this woman’s travelling clothes are obviously well made and expensive. She hopes fervently that her own smell, by contrast, is not too unpleasant to her fragrant new companion.

‘What’s your name?’ Maria asks as Giorgio climbs back into the cart, takes the reins and clicks his tongue. With a scrunch of pebbles under the iron rims of the wheels, they move off.

Sofia tells her.

‘Why are you out in the middle of nowhere in the dark?’

‘It’s hard to explain.’

‘Oh, so is our story – you simply
cannot
have as terrible a situation as ours!’ Maria says, sounding far more cheerful about her circumstances than her words would imply. ‘We’re determined to marry, we two, but Papa has refused. He has never cared for anyone in Giorgio’s family and the thought of being joined to them for good if we marry is threatening to send him into a permanent decline… He’s refused to let it go ahead, so we’ve run away. We stole Papa’s woodsman’s cart and horses and left two hours ago. We’re going to travel right through the night. We’re on our way to Ravenna.’

Sofia does not know what to say.

‘They won’t come after us as far as Ravenna, I’m sure, will they, Gio? We’ll be right out of Toscana and I can’t begin to imagine them following us that far. Just a few days – that’s how long we think it’ll take to get there – and then we’ll marry. Won’t we?’

Her companion makes a noise of assent in his nose.

‘What about you, though? What brought you to be out here like this? All on your own. You must be terribly brave…’

‘I’m not,’ Sofia says quietly.

‘Oh, you must be. I’m sure I should never have been able to walk alone like that in the middle of the night…’

‘Let the poor girl be, Maria,’ the young man says with a trace of affectionate amusement in his voice.

‘No, I must ask her all about it. Do tell – why are you out here by yourself?’

Sofia pauses. Trying to explain what has happened in a few words seems impossible, and she has no wish to divulge details. She says, ‘I… I found out that… that I was wrong about how someone felt about… Well, I…’ She cannot finish the sentence. ‘I wanted to get away,’ she ends in a very small voice, feeling tears thickening in her nose.

‘Oh…’ Maria says. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have pried.’

‘No, Maria you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, signorina, she’s as greedy for other people’s gossip as a starving dog for yesterday’s soup bones.’ The young man’s words may be harsh, but the affection still obvious in his tone softens the criticism.

Maria wriggles her fingers up into one sleeve, and pulls from it a small square of lawn, which she hands to Sofia. ‘There – dry your tears. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

The grey dawn light comes upon them slowly, unnoticed by Sofia who has in fact managed to doze briefly a couple of times over the past hour or so, her head drooping onto Maria’s shoulder. Ippo is now sitting at her feet, his head in her lap.

The roads have been steep and winding, though on this more easterly journey Sofia thinks that the various tracks seem to have been less precarious than those taken by the Coraggiosi wagons on the trip down from Bologna.

An image of Beppe’s face, smiling its tilted smile, looking back at her from his place at the front of the line of wagons, holding the tetchy mare’s bridle, comes into her mind and a pain, sharp as a knife-cut, stabs into her chest. She might never see him again. The thought leaves her almost breathless. A little sound like a sob escapes her.

‘Signorina?’ Maria turns her head, trying to see Sofia more clearly. Sofia feels her companion’s fingers searching for, and holding, her own. ‘Is something distressing you? We’re nearly at… what is the name of the place, Giorgio?’

‘Lugo.’

‘That’s it. Nearly there. You’ll be able to get a much more comfortable ride – perhaps in a decent-sized wagon – from there.’ She shifts position, clearly stiff from sitting still and cramped for so long. ‘And Giorgio and I’ll be in Ravenna within a couple of days, I should think.’

Sofia cannot help it: at the thought of these two lovers running together to find a future, the tears she has been holding back begin to fall. Silently she weeps and, not wanting to draw attention to it by wiping her face, she tips back her head and lets the tears run. They catch in the corners of her mouth – she opens it to breathe as her nose begins to block – and the salt taste is strong on her tongue. Ippo senses her distress and lifts his head, sniffing the air and scrabbling up trying to reach her.

‘Signorina?’ Maria’s voice is thick with fatigue. ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Oh
cielo
, you’re crying again. Giorgio, she’s crying…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sofia says through her tears. ‘Perhaps… perhaps I should walk now. It’s nearly morning and it won’t take long to reach the town – I can see it from here.’

Maria begins to protest, but Giorgio says, ‘No, Ria, let her go. She’s said she wants to walk.’

‘But —’

‘You’ve been so kind, both of you. I’m very happy to be on foot again. Thank you.’

‘But…’

Seemingly keen to be rid of her, Giorgio climbs down from the cart, helps Sofia and the dog down; then, retaking his seat, he clicks his tongue once more, slaps the reins on the horses’ rumps and begins to trot away from her. Maria, however, stares over her shoulder at Sofia for several minutes as the cart picks up speed along the path towards the tiny smudge of darkness up ahead, which Sofia presumes is the outskirts of Lugo, and only as the distance becomes too great does she turn back and put her head on Giorgio’s shoulder.

‘Oh God, I can’t find her anywhere…’ Beppe has been back to each of the three wagons; he has searched twice through all three; he has crawled underneath them, climbed into them, pulled open cupboards – even those he knows are clearly far too small to conceal Sofia; he has stripped back blankets and then, leaving the wagons, has battled his way through nearby undergrowth, shouting for her, fearful that she may have wandered and slipped, injured herself, be unable to answer him. Vico, Lidia, Agostino and Federico have searched too and the air has been thick with their calls. Cosima, however, has remained by the brazier with her arm around Giovanni Battista: the old man’s distress at the news of Sofia’s disappearance has rendered him breathless and light-headed. Other than Angelo (who appears to be drunk and who has flatly refused to join in the search, declaring that if Sofia has taken the wise decision to leave the troupe, that decision should be respected), they have all shouted themselves hoarse and have soaked and muddied their clothes as they have crawled through gaps in hedges, waded along ditches and walked around the perimeters of several fields.

Exhausted and baffled, they sit back down by the now ash-filled brazier. Cosima has taken Giovanni Battista and seen him into the bed in the smallest wagon.

‘Where’s the dog?’ Vico says now as Cosima reappears.

Beppe looks up, realizing that he has not seen Ippo for hours.

‘She must have taken him.’

‘No,’ Beppe says. ‘He must have followed her.’ The cold and hollow space behind his eyes seems to chill further, to push its way deeper into his skull. Breathing fast through an open mouth, as though fighting physical pain, he winces as unwanted images pour into his mind: of Ippo pawing at Sofia’s inert body in a ditch; of the dog barking as Sofia is bundled into a wagon by a faceless stranger; of her face, tear-streaked and frightened – and worse, of her face being flushed with relief at having left.

He is at a loss.

He cannot imagine why she is not here.

‘We’ll start searching properly at first light.’ Agostino puts an arm around Beppe’s shoulders and shakes him gently. ‘We might be able to see footprints – it’s been raining and there should be something.’

‘I just don’t understand why.’