The Devil in Music (51 page)

"Do
you think he'll find Orfeo?" St. Carr asked Julian.

"I
think someone will," Julian said.

"Do
you mean that you will?" asked Fletcher, alarmed. "Because
if you do, and you turn him over to the police, Grimani will take his
change out of Lucia for not helping him when she had the chance."

"Leave
Grimani to me," said Julian. "If I have Orfeo, I can
bargain with him make him release Lucia in return for my giving Orfeo
up. He wants Orfeo too much to refuse him on those terms."

"I
see!" Fletcher brightened. "Are you likely to find him
soon before Lucia's three days are over?"

Julian
had been translating their conversation for the marchesa.

When
he came to this question, she looked at him intently, awaiting his
answer.

"I
can't say," he said.

"We've
been having the deuce of a time on his account," St. Carr
declared. "First Grimani took our passports, then he dragged us
off to see that girl, and now Signora Frascani wants to chuck us out
of our inn."

"Why
is that?" Julian asked.

"She
doesn't like her guests being such objects of interest to the
police," said Fletcher with a wry grin.

"There
isn't another inn in the village," complained St. Carr, "or
anywhere else hereabouts. We can't leave the neighbourhood, and we
can't stay. Does Grimani expect us to sleep in the piazza?"

"But
this problem is easy to solve," said the marchesa. "My
stepson has arrived unexpectedly, and Signor Valeriano is leaving,
which means I shall have a bedroom free. I should be delighted if
you would accept my hospitality until your passports are restored to
you."

"We
wouldn't dream of imposing on you," said Fletcher.

"It
wouldn't be an imposition," the marchesa assured him. "You've
been caught up against your will in the investigation of my husband's
murder. The least I can do is to give you a roof over your heads
until this tangle is sorted out. Please, Signor Fletcher will you
not let me have my way?"

Her
smile was pure enchantment. Fletcher was not proof against it. He
glanced at St. Carr, who looked apprehensive but eager. Then he
bowed and said in his awkward Milanese, "Thank you, Marchesa.
You're very kind, and we're very grateful."

"I
hope you won't mind sharing," she said. "I have only the
one room."

"Not
at all," said Fletcher.

"I'll
send a servant to the inn for your things," she said. "Have
you dined? We're dining late tonight."

"We've
dined already," said Fletcher, "and we didn't realize you
hadn't. We'll go at once, and return in the evening."

"I
shall look forward to greeting you as my guests." She extended
her hand to each of them, and this time St. Carr, blushing fiery
red, dared to bring it to his lips.

The
villa party dined on the lake fish missoltitt, with truffles from the
mountains and tiny onions grown along the shore. Francesca ate

almost
nothing and looked dazed and unbelieving, as if she still could not
credit that she was with Rinaldo once more, and Valeriano was gone.
He had left quietly by boat, without seeing her again.

Rinaldo
was in high feather, refilling his wineglass so persistently that
Julian hoped that by the end of the evening he would be in no
condition to trouble his wife. Carlo and Beatrice looked on with
increasing distaste. Julian had often observed that, for all the
wine drunk in Italy, outright intoxication was despised.

With
rain threatening, the villa party remained indoors after dinner.
Donati played the piano, and Carlo improvised humorous poems, but no
one was disposed to be very cheerful. Grimani's return hardly helped
to lift the general gloom. He was annoyed to find that Rinaldo had
arrived and been questioned in his absence, but since Rinaldo
appeared to have nothing to say that would aid in identifying Orfeo,
Grimani was in no hurry to interrogate him. This was just as well,
because Rinaldo was now three sheets in the wind, and his
boisterousness contrasted grotesquely with the dejection around him.

The
arrival of Fletcher and St. Carr at least created a distraction. The
marchesa exercised all her powers to make them welcome. It
fascinated Julian to watch her at work. She slowly but surely drew
out St. Carr, delicately flattering his youthful self-love, till she
brought him from shy stupefaction to unabashed enslavement. Fletcher
she knew better than to charm with coquetry. She adopted an attitude
toward him that was friendly without being flirtatious, and listened
seriously to his discourses on botany. All the while she did not
forget de la Marque, but kept up an amorous banter with him that
nettled Julian, though he tried to tell himself that her interest in
all three men was driven by her passionate desire to find Orfeo.

Julian
was taking his turn at the piano when he caught sight of Dipper
peeking in at the music room door. He finished the piece so as not
to attract attention by breaking off abruptly, then strolled out to
join Dipper in the Hall of Marbles. MacGregor went with him.
Zanetti sidled across the music room to a favourable eavesdropping
position by the door.

Dipper
knew a trick worth two of that. He said to Julian, "The
rainbows that come with His Nibs want to cut whids with you, sir, and
tipped me a scudo to work it for 'em."

"What
do they want to put down to me?" Julian asked.

"I
dunno, sir. I tried to smoke it out, but they cutty-eyed me and
stood mum. They'll only whiddle the whole scrap to you."

Julian
thought briefly. "Bing avast to my lib-ken with them. I'll
trans near you."

"Yes,
sir." Dipper went off.

"What
in blue blazes " MacGregor began.

"My
dear fellow," said Julian, taking his arm and drawing him back
into the music room, "did I ever tell you about Rossini's visit
to London last year, when I heard him sing duets with the King?"

He
led MacGregor past Zanetti, who regarded them with a dropped jaw and
a comical look of dismay. Soon after, seeing Zanetti absorbed in
eavesdropping on Fletcher and St. Carr, Julian slipped out with
MacGregor and started upstairs.

"Now
will you tell me what you and Dipper were jabbering about?"
said MacGregor.

"He
told me that Marchese Rinaldo's footmen want to talk to me, and gave
him a scudo to arrange it. I asked what they wanted to tell me, and
he said they were wary and would only talk to me. I told him to take
them up to my room, and I would follow presently."

"I
didn't realize you'd got to be such a rare hand at speaking Dipper's
slang."

"It's
quite useful sometimes," said Julian, smiling. "I imagine
Zanetti will be up half the night looking up words in his English
dictionary and not finding them."

They
had reached Julian's and MacGregor's room. Dipper was waiting with
the two footmen Julian had seen that afternoon. They had brushed the
dust of travel from their flame-red frock-coats and changed into
spotless white silk stockings and lavishly powdered wigs. They were
both tall and robust, with the broad shoulders and muscular calves so
sought after in footmen. One was in his early twenties, with a ruddy
face and round, bright eyes; the other was perhaps five years older,
sallow and sharp-jawed, his black eyes narrowed appraisingly They
both bowed respectfully to Julian. The younger one opened his mouth
to speak, but the elder checked him with a quick shake of the head.

"You
wished to see me?" said Julian.

The
older footman stepped forward. "Milord, I'm Tommaso Agosti, and
this is Bruno Monti. We're in the service of His Excellency Marchese
Rinaldo, and before him of Marchese Lodovico, God rest his soul."
He crossed himself, and Bruno did likewise.

Julian
was amused to find that they had elevated him to the peerage. He
decided not to disturb this impression; no one respected rank more
than a great man's servants. "Go on."

Tommaso
shot a sidelong glance at MacGregor and Dipper. "With respect,
Milord, we wanted to speak to you alone."

"Dr.
MacGregor and Dipper are in my confidence," said Julian, "and
I can vouch for their discretion." He turned to Dipper. "It
might be best if you stood by the door, so that you'll hear if
Zanetti turns up at the keyhole."

"Leave
me alone for that, sir," Dipper promised.

Tommaso
said cautiously, "Milord, we heard you were helping the police
investigate Marchese Lodovico's murder."

"Yes,"
said Julian.

"We
liked our former master, Milord," Tommaso went on. "He was
good to us stood by us in his way, as we stood by him in ours.
Everybody respected us in those days. No other servants dared cross
us. Peasants took off their hats when they saw us coming.
Shopkeepers courted our favour "

"So
did their daughters!" Bruno's eyes sparkled at the memory.

Tommaso
shot him a quelling look. "Anyhow, we want to do right by our
old master. We'd like to help find the son of a whore who killed him
"

"And
string him up with our own hands!" Bruno exclaimed.

"Shut
your beak," said Tommaso. "As I was saying, Milord, we
want the same thing as you: to bring Marchese Lodovico's murderer to
justice. Well, there's something we know that might help you. We
didn't realize it was important when our old master died, because we
didn't know he'd been murdered, see? By the time we found out, we'd
all but forgot about this, it was so long ago. But then we came here
and " He broke off.

"And
saw Monsieur de la Marque?" Julian supplied.

"What
did I tell you?" Bruno pulled down the bottom lid of one eye,
signifying, Watch out, he's smart!

"That's
right, Milord," said Tommaso reluctantly. "That slimy
Frenchman! Fancy him having the brass to come here! We thought we
ought to tell somebody."

"But
we didn't want to talk to the police," added Bruno, "because
they might "

"Because
we don't like sbirri," said Tommaso shortly.

Julian,
smiled, took a seat, and lounged back, stretching out his legs.
"Might I hazard a guess that this information is of a sort that
might get you into trouble?"

Bruno
laughed. "No use trying to keep anything from this one,
Tommaso! He's no German-head! Milord, you're in the right of it.

Tommaso
and me, we did something the sbirri wouldn't take kindly to. We
weren't afraid of them at the time, because we knew if they arrested
us, we'd only have to deny it, and Marchese Lodovico would get the
charges dropped. He looked after us, just as Tommaso said. But
Marchese Rinaldo's another matter. Not the man his father was not by
half! He might not stand up for us against that stiff-rumped bugger,
Grimani. As for Conte Carlo, he's a liberal," Bruno said this
with a sneer befitting Lodovico's loyal footman "and our old
master didn't trust him. And Marchesa Beatrice, she's the finest
lady as ever breathed, but she's only a woman. Then we heard about
you, Milord how you were a famous English dandy who solved crimes
just for a lark. They told us below stairs that you weren't afraid of
Grimani nor any of the sbirri. So we thought we'd come to you."

"But
we haven't made up our minds yet," warned Tommaso, giving Julian
a hard, assessing look. "Milord, if we tell you what we know,
will you give us your word not to tell Commissario Grimani?"

"I
can't go so far as that," said Julian. "But I swear to you
upon my honour not to tell Grimani unless it proves necessary to the
investigation. And if I must tell him, I shall do all I can to
procure you leniency as informers." He smiled. "Come,
Tommaso, you know that Bruno will tell me sooner or later."

"That's
so," Tommaso admitted. "All right, Milord. This is how it
was. One night we were with our old master in his opera box, pouring
wine for him and his friends, when he saw the Frenchman sitting by
himself in a box up in the fourth tier, scribbling away at something.
My master laughed and said, "What, has he come to write his
letters at the opera?" One of his friends said, "No, he
writes down the singers' fioriture." "

"That's
their ornaments," put in Bruno. "The parts of the songs
that aren't in the score, that they add themselves to show off their
voices."