The Devil in Music (35 page)

"I
don't remember what he told me," she said piteously, "or if
he told me anything."

"We're
nearly finished." Julian knew he ought to have kept her in
suspense about this, so that she would remain tense and anxious and
talk volubly in an effort to end her ordeal though the truth was, the
more a suspect talked, the more questions there were to ask. But as
happened so often, his chivalry trumped his investigator's instincts.
"Do you know whether Signer Valeriano brought a pistol to the
lake?"

"He
always travels with pistols. Everyone here does."

That
was true, Julian acknowledged. The roads were plagued with bandits
and smugglers. "Did you know where he kept his pistols?"

"I
don't think I ever thought about it. I hadn't fired a pistol in
years."

His
brows went up. "How did you come to fire a pistol at all?"

"I
had five brothers." She smiled reminiscently. "We ran a
little wild when I was young. They taught me to ride and row and
climb trees and fire a gun." She heaved a small, resigned sigh.
"Of course none of them will speak to me now."

Julian
regarded her in silent sympathy. Yet at the same time he reflected
that a woman who could row a boat and fire a gun would have been well
able to cross the lake secretly to the belvedere and kill Lodovico.
Her servants could presumably confirm that they had found her out
searching for Valeriano on the night of the murder, but who could say
when she had actually left the house, or how long she had been gone?
True, it was hard to imagine her coldbloodedly shooting anyone. But
she was a woman ruled by her heart swept up by her

passions
like a leaf in a gale. Who knew what she might have been driven to
do to the man who had robbed her of her children?

One
thing was clear, and it complicated Julian's enquiry considerably.
Francesca might be ingenuous and clumsy when it came to defending
herself, but Julian believed she would say anything, tell any lie, to
protect her lover.

Julian
escorted Francesca upstairs after their interview. She seemed
grateful for this attention, which made him feel a little guilty,
since his principal goal was to prevent her from conferring with
Valeriano before Julian questioned him. He walked her to the door of
her front corner room, which had formerly been his. Valeriano at
once emerged from his room next door. He said nothing to Francesca
only took her hand and looked at her intently. She smiled up at him
more cheerfully than Julian would have thought possible after what
she had been through, but Valeriano clearly was not taken in. The
gaze he turned on Julian was cold. "If you'll permit me, Signor
Kestrel, I should like to make sure Signora Argenti is all right
before you and I talk."

"I'm
fine, Pietro," Francesca assured him. "You mustn't worry
about me."

Valeriano
reluctantly parted from her and accompanied Julian down to the
drawing room. Zanetti sat in his corner as before, energetically
sharpening quills. Valeriano was drawn to the elaborately painted
and gilded Malvezzi family tree hanging on the wall. He contemplated
it in silence. Julian wondered what such a display might mean to a
Venetian prostitute's son, who had no known father and could have no
descendants. When he turned to Julian, his eyes were veiled.
"Signor Kestrel, I wait upon your pleasure."

"This
will seem a strange way to begin an interrogation," said Julian,
"but I've never had the privilege of hearing you sing. I'm told
you still perform in private, and I wondered if you would be good
enough to sing for us while you're here."

Valeriano
bowed. "I should be honoured."

"Thank
you. I shall look forward to it eagerly. Please sit down."

Valeriano
disposed his long limbs elegantly in a chair. Julian sat down
opposite, saying, "I should like to ask you about your first
acquaintance with Marchese Lodovico. I've heard he was eager to
cultivate you, but you hung back. Why was that?"

"I
didn't need a patron. I'd been on the stage for fifteen years."

"Surely
the backing of a man like Lodovico Malvezzi could only have benefited
even an established career like yours."

Valeriano's
gaze turned inward. "Singers are superstitious, Signer Kestrel.
This may sound fanciful to you, but I knew somehow that he would
transform my life. He did first by introducing me to Francesca, then
by driving me from the stage. You might say that he gave me my heart
and took away my soul."

"Was
it a fair exchange?"

"Oh,
yes. It's better to be sincerely loved by one person than acclaimed
by countless strangers. My career would have ended soon in any
event. I'm forty years old, and I know that I'm an anachronism. I
have been from the first. At the time I made my debut, it was
already clear that castrati belonged to another era. Only the best
of us would still find work on the operatic stage."

"But
you were one of the best."

Valeriano
inclined his head, acknowledging a fact. "I was very fortunate.
But I can't complain that the inevitable end came a little sooner
than it need have. Signora Argenti has given up far more for me than
I have for her, and received far less in exchange."

"I
don't think she would say so."

"That's
because she's the most generous soul on earth," said Valeriano
quietly, "and has no idea what she means to me."

Julian
could only hope that neither of these lovers was his murderer. He did
not like to think what the guilt and punishment of one would do to
the other.

He
said, "I've heard you take pupils occasionally."

"Yes,"
said Valeriano. "It allows me to keep my hand in
professionally. And I take great pleasure in their success."

"Have
you ever run across an English tenor in his early twenties during the
past, say, half a dozen years?"

"You're
thinking of the young man known as Orfeo. No. My pupils are mostly
women. I'm not best suited to train a tenor or a bass."

Julian
thought briefly. "When did you last see Lodovico Malvezzi?"

"I
ran into him at a conversazione given by a friend of his. It would
have been in the autumn of 1819, on a Friday evening, when there

was
no opera. I remember that I was disturbed at meeting him, because
Signora Argenti had already made up her mind to leave his son, and I
had been trying to dissuade her not, I admit, with a very whole
heart."

"Did
you speak with him at all?"

"If
I did, it was inconsequential. He probably asked me if I was going
to sing at the party, and I said I would if I were asked. But I left
almost immediately afterward."

"You
never saw or spoke with him after Signora Argenti placed herself
under your protection?"

"You
will oblige me by not speaking of Signora Argenti as if she were a
courtesan. No, I never saw him. He would have nothing to do with me
directly. He blackened my name to impresarios and exerted all his
influence to see that I obtained no further engagements. But he
didn't deign to notice me personally."

"Did
you ever attempt to see him?" Julian asked.

"No.
If I'd thought I might persuade him to soften toward Signora
Argenti, I would have made my way into his presence somehow. But I
had no hope of that, and feared that seeing me would only make him
more angry with her."

"In
March of 1821 you and Signora Argenti went to the Lake of Como. Did
you know that the villa where you were staying was just across the
lake from the Malvezzi villa and castle?"

"Yes.
But I had a friend who allowed us to borrow that villa on short
notice. That was a great convenience."

Julian
sat back in his chair and surveyed him with lifted brows. "Signora
Argenti says it was Marchese Rinaldo's return from his travels that
prompted her to make another attempt to see her children."

"Yes."

"Yet
you and she went to stay at a villa miles away from Rinaldo's home in
Milan, and only a stone's throw from where you knew Marchese Lodovico
to be staying. Forgive me, Signer Valeriano, but it looks very much
as if at least one of you was more concerned to see Lodovico than
Rinaldo."

"If
you've been to Milan, Signer Kestrel," said Valeriano, wearily,
"you must know that the aristocracy to which Signora Argenti
belongs is small, idle, inquisitive, and ruthless in its ridicule.
If we had gone to stay there, we would have been recognized: she
might have gone about veiled, but I am extremely conspicuous. I
didn't want her mocked or tormented. So we determined to take up
residence some miles from the city."

"Did
you think her approach to Marchese Rinaldo would be of any use?"

Valeriano
steepled his fingers. "I thought, Signer Kestrel, that they
would probably be reconciled. I tried to be glad of that for her
sake. I knew she missed her children a great deal."

Julian
briefly reviewed with him how Francesca had written to Rinaldo, and
how Marchese Lodovico had sent her a stinging rebuff. "Why did
you and Signora Argenti remain at the lake after that?"

"I
didn't think we should give up yet. It was too important to her. So
I persuaded her to remain and try once more to approach Rinaldo or
Lodovico."

"How
did she respond to that?"

"She
had no hope. But she acquiesced because I wished it."

"Would
it surprise you to learn that she says it was she and not you who
wanted to remain?"

He
did look surprised. But he said quite levelly, "Her memory is
playing her false. It was my idea."

They
were a difficult pair of suspects, Julian thought. Francesca
stammered and blushed so much that everything she said appeared to be
a lie, while Valeriano's poise and calmness gave all his statements
the ring of truth. But of course he was a performer by profession.
Many singers were content to stand stock-still on the stage, emitting
beautiful music without regard for the characters they were
portraying. But Valeriano's acting had been known to bring operas to
a halt, because the orchestra could not play through their tears.

Julian
said, "I understand from Signora Argenti that you went out
riding on the night Marchese Lodovico was murdered."

"That's
correct."

"Where
did you go?"

"Anywhere
and nowhere. I only wanted to tire myself."

"Weren't
you afraid you might be lost?"

"One
can't be lost in this neighbourhood as long as one keeps in sight of
the lake."

"Did
you ride north or south along the lake?"

Valeriano
hesitated, but only briefly. "South, I think."

"Sooner
or later you would have rounded the tip of the lake and reached Villa
Malvezzi."

"Perhaps
I would have, Signer Kestrel," said Valeriano politely, "but
I didn't."

"You
had been out riding the previous night as well?"

"Yes.
I was extremely troubled after Marchese Lodovico's letter

came.
It was very hard, knowing I had brought grief and humiliation on the
being I loved most in the world. I knew I wouldn't sleep, and if I
lay awake beside her, she wouldn't, either. And she needed sleep
desperately her eyes were bruised with exhaustion, like a little
girl's. So I went out."

Julian
leaned toward him, saying softly, "The author of her suffering
was just across the lake. How could you resist the temptation to go
and see him to persuade or force him to relent towards her?"

Valeriano's
head went back a little, as if he wished to withdraw his gaze from
Julian's but could not. "It was a temptation," he
whispered. "I did not give in to it."

Julian
waited expectantly, giving him a chance to go on. But the silent
technique did not work on him. So Julian proceeded, "I
understand you'd been to Villa Malvezzi before?"

"Yes.
Marchese Lodovico invited me to sing there during the summer of
1819."

"Did
you go into the Moorish belvedere?"

"I
believe so. I know that I was shown around the gardens."