The Devil in Music (65 page)

"You
recant your confession of murder, then?" said Grimani.

"I
have no choice." Valeriano lowered his eyes. "Everything
Signer Kestrel said was true."

"I
ought to have believed in you," said Francesca remorsefully. "I
ought to have known you would never kill anyone."

Valeriano
took her gently but firmly by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
"You must understand, my dear love my confession was convincing
precisely because there was so much truth in it. I drew on my most
ignoble and savage feelings. I did hate my father. I did want to
kill him, when I first learned what he had done to my mother. But
Elena reminded me that it would be a mortal sin. I was trained

as
a singer bred up on the classical myths. I thought of Orestes, and
Oedipus. If I shed a parent's blood, I would be polluted, damned.
That couldn't have been what my mother wanted. She wanted me to
sing. So I tried to avoid Lodovico. But he wouldn't have it so. He
hunted me down, courted me unmercifully. And so I met you,
Francesca.

"I
didn't want to love you. I never dreamed I would love anyone. When
I realized what you meant to me, I was panic-stricken. I tried to
dissuade you from coming to me. I couldn't bear to seem, even to
myself, to be using you as an instrument of revenge. I feared that
if you ever found out I was your husband's brother, you would be
filled with horror at me worse still, at yourself. But in the end "
He lifted his hands helplessly. "I wanted you too much."

Grimani
broke in on their reunion again. "Were you telling the truth
when you said you arrived at the belvedere at about midnight on the
night of Lodovico's murder?"

"Yes.
And as Signor Kestrel guessed, I found him dead." Valeriano
turned back to Francesca. "The strange thing is, I was sorry.
Against my will, against all reason, there must have been something
in me that acknowledged him as my flesh and blood."

"Was
his body cold?" asked Grimani.

"Yes."

"So
he'd probably been dead at least half an hour. That would mean he
was killed between half-past ten and half-past eleven."

Julian
thought this of secondary importance. Far more significant was
Valeriano's revelation that the murderer and the person who lured
Lodovico to the belvedere were not one and the same. How, then, had
the murderer known that he would find Lodovico there? Lodovico had
had a lantern with him perhaps the murderer had seen the light from
somewhere on the lake and come to investigate. But surely it was too
much of a coincidence that someone with both a motive to kill
Lodovico and a weapon had been in the vicinity of the villa that
night. Julian would lay any odds the murderer had known Lodovico
would be all but alone there. Yet how had the murderer found this
out?

Lodovico
had come to the villa that morning and announced he would spend the
night there and would not bring any servants. That meant that
Donati, Orfeo, Tonio, Lucia, and Matteo had known of his plans. Could
one of them have passed this information on to the murderer? Lucia
and Matteo might have talked idly to some stranger or, even more

likely,
some trusted and respected acquaintance And Tonio Tonio had been
sacked that day. Might he not have wagged his tongue indiscreetly
before he fell into the drunken stupor in which he had passed the
night? That might account for why he had run away the next morning:
because he feared he would be blamed for Lodovico's murder

No,
that cock would not fight. It had not been made public that
Lodovico's death was murder. In fact, at the time Tonio fled from
the Nightingale at eight in the morning, it had not even been
discovered that Lodovico was dead. Julian was not sure what to make
of all this, but he began to have a very bad feeling about what had
become of Tonio.

"What's
going to happen now?" Carlo asked Grimani.

"The
murder isn't solved," said Grimani, "so the investigation
will continue. In the meantime, you will all remain here."

"I
was hoping I might go to Milan to see my children," Francesca
faltered.

"Out
of the question," said Grimani. "You are once again the
chief suspect in your husband's murder."

Valeriano
passed a hand across his eyes.

"There's
nothing to link her to Lodovico's murder," Carlo pointed out.

"She
was at the lake when it happened," said Grimani. "But in
fact I don't think she killed Marchese Lodovico herself. That murder
required a degree of calculation and boldness beyond a woman's
capacity. She must have acted through an accomplice."

"Not
Pietro!" Francesca said quickly.

"No,"
said Grimani. "Orfeo."

Julian
sighed. He might have known Grimani would bring the investigation
round to Orfeo again. The idea of Orfeo as Francesca's paid assassin
ran counter to the theory that he was a Carbonaro agent. Yet Grimani
probably would not put it past him to be both.

Francesca
had no thought to spare for Orfeo or for her own danger. "Couldn't
I send for my children to come here?"

"That's
of no consequence to me," said Grimani.

"May
I, Beatrice?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes,
of course," said Beatrice. "I'll send Ernesto for them if
you like."

"Marchesa
Francesca," Julian intervened, "I must advise you not to do
this. Wait until things are more settled."

"You
don't understand, Signer Kestrel," said Francesca. "It
isn't just a matter of my wanting to see them. They'll have heard of
their

father's
murder. They'll be lonely and frightened. If I can't go to them,
they must come to me."

"Forgive
my bluntness, Marchesa Francesca," said Julian gently. "The
last two men to hold the title Marchese Malvezzi have been murdered.
Your son holds it now. Do you really want to bring him into this
house?"

She
stared. "But but he's only a little boy!"

"And
very likely he's not in danger. But if there's the smallest chance "

"Yes,
yes," she said. "He must remain where he is." She
looked around at the others. "Would one of you go to my
children, to bring them my love and make sure they're all right?"

"I
would go," said Valeriano, "but I'm loath to leave you."

"Oh,
no." She clung to him. "I can't be parted from you now.
But perhaps Carlo or Beatrice "

"They're
implicated in the murders," said Grimani. "I can't allow
them to leave."

"I
take it you don't seriously consider me as a suspect, Signor
Commissario?" Julian asked.

"You?"
Grimani's eyes narrowed. "You want to go to Milan?"

"Just
for the day," said Julian. "I could leave early tomorrow
morning and return by nightfall if Marchesa Francesca will favour me
with her commission."

Francesca
hesitated. "The children don't know you "

"I
give you my word, I shall be as kind to them as I know how."

Her
face softened. She went to him and laid her hand lightly on his
breast. "You believed in Pietro when no one else did when even
I had lost faith in him. You restored us to one another. I would
trust you with my children. I would trust you with my life."

"I'm
honoured, Marchesa Francesca. I shan't give you cause to regret
those words." He turned to Grimani. "Have I your leave to
go to Milan, Signor Commissario?"

"By
all means." Grimani's lip curled contemptuously. Julian had no
difficulty reading his thoughts: If you want to dash off to Milan and
play nursemaid to a pair of children, you may do so with my blessing.
I never wanted you here, anyway. He did not grudge Grimani his
triumph. It was better than his knowing the real reason Julian wanted
to go to Milan.

Dinner
at the villa was short and silent. The household was worn out with
shock and suspense. The knowledge hung heavily over them that the
murder remained unsolved, and the murderer might be among them even
now. If anyone could have forgotten, the soldiers standing guard in
the hallways and patrolling the grounds would have been a constant
reminder.

Francesca
and Valeriano stayed close together and seemed to find a measure of
peace in each other's sight, in spite of the threat to Francesca.
Carlo looked at Valeriano bemusedly from time to time, as if he could
hardly credit that he had lost one nephew and gained another in the
space of four-and-twenty hours. Only de la Marque seemed in spirits.
As the evening wore on, he looked more and more like the cat that
had swallowed the cream. Julian determined to find out what he was
up to.

The
company drifted off to bed early. Grimani had stationed soldiers
outside their rooms, but the marchesa took exception to that. "If
you're concerned about our escaping, you need simply post guards at
the outside doors and under the windows. Unless you were proposing
your men should listen at our keyholes?"

Grimani
grudgingly dispatched the soldiers downstairs, and the company
retired to their rooms. But Julian did not undress. "Aren't
you going to bed?" MacGregor asked.

"Not
yet. I want to talk to Dipper about my trip to Milan tomorrow. There
are a few things I should like him to attend to in my absence."

"You're
not taking him with you?"

"I'm
only going for the day, and I think I can fend for myself for that
amount of time."

"Why
don't you just ring for him? You never go to bed without him fussing
about you, anyway."

"The
servants' quarters are more private. We can speak English there
without fear of being understood by anyone around us. I'll be back
presently, but you needn't sit up. Good night, my dear fellow."

He
went out into the broad, still hallway, lit only by a lamp at either
end. He felt a twinge of conscience at having all but lied to
Mac-Gregor: he did want to talk to Dipper, but that might have to
wait till tomorrow morning. There was something more important he
had to do tonight.

Next
to his and MacGregor's room was a door leading to the servants'
stairs. He slipped silently through it, then opened it a crack to
look out. From here he had a view of the main staircase across the
hall and the two rooms on either side of it: Beatrice's and de la
Marque's. Now there was nothing to do but keep an eye on de la
Marque's door, and wait.

The
minutes ticked by. The church bells chimed eleven, then the half
hour after. Weariness stole on Julian. Perhaps he had only imagined
that de la Marque was engaged in some devilry. But he could not
desert his post yet not before midnight, the time-honoured hour of
trysts and conspiracies. He leaned into a corner of the little
staircase hall, making himself as comfortable as he could without
taking his eye from the crack in the door.

The
church bells counted up to twelve. Nothing happened. Julian
straightened and started to open the door. Then all at once there
was a sound across the hall.

The
door to de la Marque's room opened a little way. De la Marque put
out his head, looked swiftly up and down the hall, and came out,
closing the door soundlessly behind him. He tiptoed toward the main
staircase. Julian held his breath. De la Marque passed the
staircase and moved on to Beatrice's door.

He
tapped softly, three times. The door opened at once. For an
instant, the lamp at the end of the hall revealed Beatrice's face.
Then she stepped aside to let de la Marque in, and the door closed
behind them.

Julian
felt as if he had been kicked very hard in the stomach. How often?
he wondered how many nights had they been together, while he himself
slept so near? Of course she had promised him nothing.

She
had never said she returned his love. But still, she had given him
hope; she had looked at him, touched him in such a way Why? To
induce him to solve the murders? Or to distract and mislead him from
solving them?

And
what the devil was he to do now? His chief desires were to pick a
quarrel with de la Marque and to crawl into a hole neither very
practical. To leave them together was unbearable. Yet how could he
interrupt them? What could be more pointless and ridiculous than to
storm in and say, Aha!