The Devil in Music (52 page)

"Milord
knows that," said Tommaso. "He's not a clodhopper.
Anyhow, when my master heard that, he opened up his eyes very wide
and said, "What, while they're singing?" "To be
sure," says his friend. "He can take down music like words
from dictation." My master says, "I must meet this
fellow." "

Bruno
eagerly took up the story. "So he says to me, "Bruno, go
and ask him to wait on me here." I went to the Frenchman's box.
He was still scribbling away, but when he saw me, he stopped and
shut up the notebook he was writing in."

"This
notebook," said Julian. "What was it like?"

Bruno
wrinkled his nose, thinking back. "It was about so big."
He sketched in the air an object of some eight by ten inches. "And
it had a russet leather cover."

Julian's
heart beat quick. He knew he was discovering something of the
greatest importance. "I'm sorry I interrupted you. Go on."

"I
told Monsieur de la Marque that my master, His Excellency Marchese
Malvezzi, requested he come to his box. He didn't show proper
respect for the honour being done him. I think he asked what my
master wanted. "He wants to see you," says I. "He
expects you there before the end of the opera." I added that
last bit myself," Bruno confided. "I wanted him to know my
master wasn't to be trifled with."

"What
happened then?" said Julian.

"He
came," said Bruno. "He wouldn't have dared do anything
else. He sauntered into my master's box in the interval between the
end of the opera and the final ballet. My master made much of him
invited him to sit down and take some wine, and introduced him to all
his friends. He said my master did that he'd never met anyone before
who could take down fioriture while it was being sung. He said, "You
must have captured all manner of fine performances in that notebook
performances even the singers themselves might not remember."
De la Marque was shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head and
being too modest by half for a Frenchman. Then my master said, "I'd
be very grateful if you would let me borrow that notebook for a week
or two, so that I could have the pleasure of studying it." And
what do you think the Frenchman said?" Bruno gaped and
sputtered at the memory.

"He
refused," said Tommaso. "Flouted my master before all his
friends. Oh, he tried to put a good face on it said he was writing a
book on singing and didn't want to lend his notes to anyone before it
was finished." Tommaso set his jaw. "That was no way to
talk to my master. It was an insult. Marchese Lodovico felt it.
And we felt it for him Bruno and me."

Tommaso
paused and shifted his feet. He had clearly come to the part of the
story that worried him. The voluble Bruno stepped into the breach.
"The marchese was in a temper after de la Marque left his box,
and told Tommaso and me to make ourselves scarce. We did. Then we
got to talking. We said to each other: "Are we going to let
that scurvy Frenchman make a fool of our master? We'll serve him
out, or never wear Malvezzi livery again!"

"No
sooner said than done, Milord! We didn't see the Frenchman

in
any of the boxes, so we thought he must have left the theatre. We
tore down the stairs to the vestibule and were just in time to see
him going out into the street. We followed him at a distance. The
neighbourhood was quiet at that hour. The streets and cafes wouldn't
fill up until the ballet was over.

"We
got closer and closer to the Frenchman. Finally Tommaso said, "Now!"
and we grabbed him and pulled him into a little dark alley off
Corsia del Giardino." Bruno leaped forward and seized an
imaginary de la Marque. "We pinned him against a wall, me on
one side, and Tommaso on the other. We says, "You have
something our master wants. Hand it over." He says in his
satirical way, "Does he know you've taken it on yourselves to
persuade me to give it up?" Tommaso says, "No, but he'll
be glad enough to get it. If you're a good boy, he may even give it
back to you when he's done with it."

"The
Frenchman opened his mouth, and I knew he was going to call for help.
I fetched him a plug in the pit of his stomach. That stopped his
breath, I can tell you! We hit him a few more times. We had to,"
Bruno declared in an injured tone. "He wouldn't give in.

"After
we'd knocked him senseless, we found the notebook in a pocket of his
cloak and took it. We left him in the alley. He was breathing
regular, so we knew he'd come to before long. We were back at La
Scala in plenty of time to accompany our master home."

"Did
anyone see this encounter between you and Monsieur de la Marque?"
Julian asked.

"If
they did," said Tommaso, "they kept their distance."

Julian
could well believe this. No bystander would be likely to interfere
with two strapping young bullies who wore some great man's livery.
"What did you do with the notebook?"

"We
looked it over," said Bruno. "There was nothing in it but
musical notes pages and pages of them. It didn't mean anything to
us. When we got home that night, we went to Marchese Lodovico and
told him the Frenchman had dropped the notebook, and we'd found it."

Julian
cocked an eyebrow. "Did he believe you?"

"I
expect he knew what was what," said Tommaso. "After all,
the Frenchman had been mighty unwilling to give up the notebook, and
wasn't very likely to drop it in the street, understand? But we
didn't tell him any more, and he didn't ask. He thanked us and said
he'd take care of the notebook, so we gave it to him."

"What
became of it after that?" asked Julian.

Tommaso
shrugged. "We never saw it again, or the Frenchman,

either
until today. Of course, we didn't spend much time in Milan after
that. We went to the lake with Marchese Lodovico when he took up
with the singer Orfeo, then after he died, we were always off
travelling with Marchese Rinaldo."

"So
this happened not long before Marchese Lodovico's death," Julian
mused.

"It
happened at the end of the autumn season at La Scala," said
Bruno.

Which
would make it a month before Carnival, thought Julian, when Orfeo
came into his life. "Have you confronted Monsieur de la Marque
about this?"

"We'd
like to, Milord!" said Bruno. "We'd like to take him by
the throat and ask him how he dares show his face here at the
marchesa's villa, and her not knowing there was bad blood between him
and her husband. But with the sbirri so near at hand, we didn't like
to stir up trouble."

"You
were very wise," said Julian. "Will you leave Monsieur de
la Marque to me for the present?"

Bruno
and Tommaso looked at each other. At last Tommaso nodded. "All
right, Milord. We'll keep out of the Frenchman's way for now."

"That
won't be hard tonight," said Bruno. "Marchese Rinaldo's
given us the night off which he doesn't do very often! and we're
going to the village." He winked broadly. "We're both
going to have a try at that Rosa, and may the best man win!"

Dipper
smiled in a way that made Julian wonder if the best man had won
already. But perhaps he was only thinking about how Rosa's mother
would deal with the footmen's project.

After
the footmen had clapped on their gold-braided tricorne hats, made
their bows, and left, MacGregor said, "What was that all about?
I couldn't follow it at all."

"I'm
sorry, my dear fellow," said Julian. "I didn't want to put
the footmen off by translating as they were talking. I'll tell you
all about it now. But first " Julian leaned further back in his
chair, a smile playing around his lips. "Dipper, will you ask
Monsieur de la Marque to have the goodness to join us?"

De
la Marque sauntered into Julian's and MacGregor's room as if he were
making the rounds of the fashionable boxes at La Scala. "Good
evening, mon vieux my dear Doctor. How delightful of you to invite
me for a comfortable coze, as you English say." He lifted his
black brows and looked about. "I don't see any cards not even a
bottle of wine. If anyone comes in, we shall be taken for
Methodists."

"I
have every confidence you'll soon set them right on that score,"
said Julian. "Won't you sit down?"

De
la Marque dropped into a chair opposite Julian and MacGregor. His
eyes travelled to Dipper, who had once again taken up his post by the
door. "Tell me," he enquired conversationally, "have
you stationed your man there to keep me in, or to keep Grimani out?"

"To
keep Grimani out, of course," said Julian. "I've never
observed it was necessary to imprison you in order to make you talk."

"Touche."
De la Marque leaned back in his chair and smiled. "But why
should you wish to exclude our friend the commissa rio from this
important interrogation?"

"Because
I gave my word to the footmen that I would keep Grimani out of it if
I could."

"How
convenient!" De la Marque smiled more than ever.

"What
do you mean by that?" demanded MacGregor.

De
la Marque studied him keenly for a moment or two. "Merely that
I've noticed some friction between Mr. Kestrel and the so-zealous
commissa rio he said mildly.

"Of
course," said Julian, "if you insist on my sending for
Grimani "

"You
are bluffing, mon vieux" laughed de la Marque. "But you do

it
so well that I'll submit with grace. You wish you to interrogate me.
Ask away."

Julian
met his gaze coolly. "As you'll have guessed, the footmen told
us how they thrashed you, stole your notebook, and left you for dead
in the street."

De
la Marque no longer smiled. Julian saw the muscles tighten in his
face and up and down his arms. He had sometimes wondered whether de
la Marque was really related to the noble family with whom he claimed
kinship; since the Revolution, Europe had teemed with counterfeit
French aristocrats. Now his suspicions on that score were laid to
rest. There was no mistaking the feelings that gripped de la Marque
at this reminder of the footmen's assault: humiliation, affronted
honour, cold patrician rage.

De
la Marque said with careful deliberation, "I knew the footmen
would talk, of course. It appears they gave you a fairly complete
account. What do you wish to know from me?"

"Why
didn't you report this robbery to the police?"

"Would
you have done so?" De la Marque gave his characteristic Gallic
shrug. "I had no witnesses, and I knew Marchese Malvezzi would
protect his servants. I also knew he would keep my notebook as long
as he wanted it. He'd been very avid to see it. I hoped he might
return it of his own accord in the end."

"He
couldn't very well do that," Julian pointed out, "since you
went to Turin shortly afterward and stayed there for the next three
months."

"So
I did." De la Marque's black eyes were steely. "You could
hardly expect me to hang about Milan, meekly waiting for him to have
the grace to return my property."

"Did
you ever confront him about the notebook?"

"That
would only have enraged him. By holding my tongue, I might hope he
would unobtrusively send it back when he was finished with it."

"So
you swallowed the insult, and did nothing about it," said
Julian.

"More
readily than I will swallow one from you," said de la Marque
softly, "if you mean to call me a coward, man vieux."

MacGregor
sat up sharply. Julian laid a reassuring hand on his arm, but kept
his eyes on de la Marque. "That was not my intention," he
said equably. "Have you ever told anyone about this robbery?"

"Was
I likely to? As you are fond of pointing out, the story doesn't
exactly rain credit on me."

"It
might have been of interest to the police when the marchese's murder
became public," Julian observed.

"The
police would have attached far too much importance to it. A man
doesn't kill a powerful nobleman over a few notes on singing."

"Not
even if that nobleman's servants stole them, and beat him senseless
in the process?"

De
la Marque settled more deeply into his chair, looked thoughtfully at
the ceiling, stroked his moustache. "It grieves me to say this,
man vieux, but you are singularly unamusing this evening."