The Devil in Music (21 page)

"He
had no need to arrive," said Grimani. "He was already at
the villa. As to how he departed, the police found hoofprints and
droppings outside the garden gate, suggesting that a horse had been
tethered there. It wasn't the marchese's horse that was stabled at
the

Nightingale.
So Orfeo must have had a horse waiting for him to make his escape."

Carlo's
brows drew together. "Couldn't someone else have come to the
villa on horseback and killed my brother?"

"He
couldn't have got into the garden," said Grimani. "The
gate was kept locked at night."

"Was
it locked on the morning after the murder?" asked Julian.

"No,"
Grimani owned. "Orfeo must have unlocked it so that he could
get out of the garden after the murder."

Julian
mused, "But isn't it more likely the marchese unlocked it the
previous night?"

"Lodovico?"
said the marchesa. "Why?"

"Because
he had a rendezvous at the belvedere with whoever sent the note and
glove. And since there's no reason to believe he suspected the
rendezvous was with Orfeo, he would have assumed his visitor had to
enter the garden from outside."

"I
see!" said the marchesa. "How clever you are, Signer
Kestrel! But perhaps Lodovico was expecting his visitor to arrive by
boat."

"Can
the belvedere be reached by boat?" asked Julian, interested.

"Not
directly," she replied. "It's set on an embankment, some
fifteen feet above the lake. But there are places where the
embankment is crumbling. Someone could have landed a boat on the
shingle and climbed up the loose stones."

"With
all due respect to Your Ladyship," said Grimani, "this
speculation is pointless. It doesn't matter who left the gate
unlocked, or how Marchese Lodovico expected his visitor to arrive at
the villa. The glove and note came from Orfeo, who was already
there, and who used a horse to make his escape after he killed the
marchese."

"But,
Signor Commissario," Donati ventured, "couldn't it be a
coincidence that Orfeo ran away when he did? The marchese had
grievously insulted him after he caught him fighting with Tonio.
Orfeo might have been unwilling to demand satisfaction, in light of
the mar-chese's generosity to him and the difference in their ages,
but at the same time he might have felt he couldn't endure any more."

"Would
he have left without saying anything to you?" Grimani
countered.

Donati's
shoulders slumped. "I own, I find it hard to imagine. I was
fond of him, and thought he returned my feelings. I can't help but
think that, if there were nothing wrong about his departure, he would
have said goodbye."

"Perhaps
he didn't kill Lodovico," suggested Carlo, "but ran away
because he feared to be accused of the murder."

"No,"
said Donati positively, "with respect, Signer Conte, that's
impossible. Orfeo wouldn't have left me alone, knowing there might
be murderers or bandits close by.

"This
murder wasn't committed by a troop of brigands," said Grimani.
"It was a silent, efficient crime. Maestro, did Orfeo ever
receive or send messages while he was at the villa?"

"I
don't know," said Donati. "I have very little idea what he
did when he wasn't with me."

"He
saw to that, no doubt," said Grimani.

"It
isn't a crime for a man to guard his privacy," Carlo declared.

"On
the contrary, Signer Conte," Grimani said sternly, "no one
within the realm of His Imperial Majesty Francis the First of Austria
is entitled to keep his name, activities, or opinions secret."

"But
Signer Commissario," Donati remonstrated, "the secrecy
surrounding Orfeo's identity was the marchese's idea."

Grimani
was unmoved. "While Orfeo was under the protection of a man of
Marchese Lodovico's rank and unquestioned loyalty, he needed no name
of his own. Now his patron is dead, by his hand, and that protection
is gone."

Julian
understood now why Grimani's enmity toward Orfeo was so personal.
The young man was an offence against Grimani's whole political
philosophy. He had had the effrontery to come out of nowhere, veil
his activities in mystery, and disappear without a trace. He had
thumbed his nose at law and authority and for that, as much as for
the murder, Grimani wanted him punished.

"Why
do the police have so little information about what Orfeo looked
like?" Julian asked. "Didn't the gardener and his
daughter describe him?"

"They
were asked for a description," said Grimani, "but it's
clear from the statements they gave that they were being deliberately
obstructive."

"That's
too harsh, Signor Commissario," Donati protested. "They
were peasants. They couldn't read and weren't accustomed to
describing things in words."

"If
they'd been pressed harder, they would have found the words. Conte
Raversi meant well, but his whole enquiry was grossly mishandled.
That's what comes of entrusting criminal investigations to amateurs."

Julian
understood that this was partly directed at him. "Have your
professionals had any luck finding Lucia and Tonio?"

"Not
yet," Grimani admitted. "But the investigation was
officially given into my charge only a few days ago. I expect to
make progress very soon, particularly with Lucia. She's a peasant
she won't have settled far from the hills and lakes she knows."

"Does
she have any family?" Julian asked.

"Not
that I've been able to discover," said Grimani.

"I
never heard of any," Carlo contributed. "Her father was my
gardener originally, when the villa was mine. He was a good man, God
rest his soul. Lodovico did well to keep him on."

Grimani
eyed him narrowly. "Have you seen or heard from Lucia since you
sold the villa?"

"No,"
said Carlo.

"I'm
ready to conclude this interrogation," Grimani announced. "If
I need you to swear out a statement, Maestro, I'll send a clerk. Is
there anything you wish to add?"

"Only
that I can't believe Orfeo was a murderer. He might not have been
candid, but he was fundamentally good. Surely an evil soul couldn't
sing with such sweetness, ardour, and beauty. He might have lied in
his words, but could he lie in his art? My heart always answers:
No."

The
marchesa lowered her eyes but not before Julian saw, to his
astonishment, the glitter of tears.

"When
I asked if you had anything to add," said Grimani, "I meant
anything useful. Good day to you all. Marchesa, I'll join you on
Friday morning to depart for the lake."

The
marchesa lifted her eyes amused, serene, a little too bright. "I
shall strive to endure your absence until then, dear Commissario."

Grimani
bowed stiffly and went out.

"Well,
Signer Kestrel," said the marchesa, "what do you think of
our commissa rio

"I
think he has a good mind, and would have a first-rate one if only he
were willing to open it a little." Julian turned to Donati. "I
hope we haven't tired you, Maestro."

"I
am a little tired," Donati confessed. "It isn't the long
conversation, but the subject. The more I think on the murder, the
less I know what to believe, or even what to wish for. I want it to
be solved, yet dread to know the solution."

"A
little wine will restore you," said the marchesa.

Carlo
rang for a footman. The marchesa told him to bring them some
refreshment.

Julian
brought his handkerchief to his nose and sneezed. "What's
become of Conte Raversi?"

"He's
here in Milan," said the marchesa, "crusading against the
Carbonari, as always. He was very active in the arrests and trials a
few years ago. The government think him a little mad, but useful."

"I
should like to speak with him," said Julian.

"I'll
try to arrange an interview before we go to the lake," she
promised. "I think he'll see you if I ask it. He feels very
guilty about having concealed Lodovico's murder from me. He's told
me he never expected the secrecy to last so long. I believe that,
but even so I find it hard to forgive him." She broke off,
studying Julian's face. "You look pensive."

"I
was thinking, Marchesa, that you seemed very moved when Maestro
Donati spoke of Orfeo's voice."

"Why
should I not have been moved?" she asked easily. "Did you
think I was made of stone?"

"Of
nothing so earthly, Marchesa." Yet he did not believe she was a
woman to weep lightly she was clearly ruled by her head rather than
her heart. What was Orfeo to her, that he should be honoured with
her tears?

Julian
spent the evening indoors as a concession to his catarrh. Dipper gave
him a report of all he had learned below stairs at Casa Malvezzi. He
had quickly made friends with the Malvezzi servants, and found that
they took a keen interest in their late master's murder. Some of them
had been with him at his castle on the lake before he died, but none
had got a look at Orfeo. The marchese had ordered them to keep away
from the villa, and they dared not disobey him. Strange to say, they
had been afraid of Lodovico, but they had liked him. He would brook
no insubordination, but he was generous to those who served him well.
His power could hurt them, but it protected them, too. Whoever wore
his livery could do more or less as they liked in Milan; even the
Austrian soldiers respected it. The servants obviously did not have
the same regard for their new master. Julian was a little sorry for
Rinaldo. How could he hope to fill Lo-dovico's shoes?

The
following day Julian received a note from the marchesa, telling him
that Conte Raversi was expecting him at four o'clock. He duly
presented himself at Raversi's palazz in the Contrada di San
Maurillo. It proved to be a smaller, more modest residence than Casa
Malvezzi. Its outer walls were painted a dull yellow ochre, with
long, doleful grey shutters. Inside, the house was ravaged by
neglect: the paint peeling, the gilding chipped, the family portraits
sinister with soot. The servant who ushered Julian into Raversi's
private parlour was hard put to find a chair that retained all four
legs and a smattering of upholstery.

Raversi
himself might have stepped from a painting by El Greco. He was very
pale, with long, gaunt hands and fevered dark eyes. His straight
black hair fell about his face in heavy, untidy locks. He sat at a
writing-table scored with scratches and strewn with official looking
papers. Above his head was a grisly, blood-daubed crucifix.

"It's
easy now to talk of what might have been done to investigate the
murder," he said. "No one seems to understand the position
I was in the danger we all faced. Lombardy was honeycombed with
traitors eager to plunge us into anarchy and ruin. The ensuing
arrests showed how widely the contagion had spread. Carbonari were
found in all ranks of life: the nobility, the peasantry, even the
clergy. I am sorry, with all my heart, that Orfeo escaped, but I
cannot regret the measures I took to prevent his crime from serving
as a clarion call to revolution. If people must blame someone, they
may blame me. I know in my heart that I've done right. Sometimes a
man has nothing else."

He
lifted his eyes to the crucifix, with a trusting gaze that Julian
found oddly moving. Raversi's enthusiasm for the recent persecutions
was repellent, yet there was an ardour and sincerity about him that
were worthy of a better cause.

"Do
you believe Orfeo was a Carbonaro?" Julian asked.

"It's
beyond question. What other reason could he have had for killing my
poor friend? He stole nothing gained no advantage from his crime.
His concealed name, his clandestine movements, his choosing the time
of the Piedmontese revolt to kill Lodovico all mark him as a radical
incendiary."

"But
he was a foreigner."

"The
Carbonari are everywhere, Signer Kestrel. They have lodges in Paris
and London followers in Spain, Greece, Russia, and the German states.
There's a miscreant named Buonarotti who lives abroad and recruits
young men like Orfeo from all over Europe. He leads a sect called
the Sublime Perfect Masters impious wretches who plot to overthrow
governments and abolish religion and private property."