The Devil in Music (60 page)

De
la Marque let out a scornful breath at this innocuous version of
events, but said nothing.

"Do
you deny it?" Grimani persisted. "That you went to
Marchese Rinaldo's room to ask him about your notebook?"

"Deny
it? Only the greatest self-restraint prevents me from laughing it
out of countenance."

Grimani
gave him a withering look. "That reminds me: does any of you
know of any connexion between Orfeo and the Comte d'Au-bret?
Monsieur de la Marque claims the comte had an English protege who
could sing, and who was in Italy at the time of Marchese Lodovico's
murder."

They
all shook their heads. The marchesa regarded de la Marque in
intrigued speculation.

"I'm
finished with you all for the moment," said Grimani. "I
require you not to leave the villa, and not to return to your rooms
until I give you leave. I intend to conduct a search of your rooms
and your belongings."

"That's
a wholly unnecessary intrusion," said Carlo.

"That
is for me to determine, Signer Conte." Grimani turned to
Beatrice. "Marchesa, I must ask you to come with me to your
room and tell me whether any of the spare keys is missing."

The
marchesa inclined her head and went out, Grimani and Zanetti
following.

"Blood
of Diana!" Carlo exploded. "The insolence of that man!
Does he suppose we've littered our rooms with bloodstained garments?"

"Actually,"
mused Julian, "I should be very surprised if he found any
bloodstains at all."

"What
do you mean?" asked Fletcher.

"If
I were going to commit this murder, I know how I should do

it.
I should go to Marchese Rinaldo's room in my nightgown and
dressing-robe. I should lock the door from the inside to prevent
anyone from coming in and taking me unawares. Then I should strip to
the skin. After I'd slit the marchese's throat, I should go to the
wash-stand and clean off the blood from wherever it had splashed on
my body. After that, it would be safe to put on my nightgown and
robe and slip out of the room. Assuming I were black hearted enough
to attempt to pin my crime on Marchesa Francesca, I should have done
that before I washed: taken the bloodstained key from around Marchese
Rinaldo's neck and unlocked the door."

"A
magnificent re-creation!" exclaimed de la Marque. "May I
say, man vieux, if you didn't commit this crime, you ought to have
done so?"

"You're
very kind."

Carlo
was pale. "You make it all seem so terribly real."

"My
son," said Don Cristoforo, laying his hand on Carlo's arm, "we
ought to attend to the body."

"Yes,
of course." Carlo gave himself a little shake and gestured for
Don Cristoforo to precede him. The priest departed with a
benediction and a rustle of black cassock. Carlo followed.

Fletcher
came up to Julian and MacGregor. "What's going to become of
Lucia Landi? Everyone seems to have forgotten all about her."

"I
haven't forgotten about her, Mr. Fletcher," said Julian. "But
if Grimani has, it's just as well."

"He'll
remember her again soon enough," warned Fletcher.

"But
by then she may not matter anymore. Grimani is all but convinced
that Francesca killed Rinaldo. If so, she almost certainly killed
Lodovico as well. If she's arrested, Lucia can reveal Orfeo's
identity without fear that he'll be charged with murder."

"It
didn't look to me as if Grimani had made up his mind to arrest
Marchesa Francesca," said Fletcher. "He certainly pitched
into Beverley and me when he found we'd been out of our room last
night."

"He
was merely being thorough. And he would have liked to build a case
against you or de la Marque, because he believes that one of you is
Orfeo, whom he's loath to let slip through his fingers. But the
evidence against Francesca is overwhelming."

"I
see. Thank you, Mr. Kestrel." Fletcher thrust his hands in
his pockets and went off, somewhat reassured.

"He
seems mightily interested in that young lady," said MacGregor.

"Lucia?"
Julian smiled. "She does seem to have made an impression on
him."

"But
did she make it in the past few days, or four and a half years ago?"

"More
than ever, my dear fellow, I don't think it's of any importance."

"Well,
what do you think is important? Who do you believe killed Rinaldo
and his father?"

Julian
considered. "I'm still disposed to absolve Francesca, though
Grimani may be right that I elevate character above fact. The idea
of her as the murderer simply doesn't ring true to me." He
paused, then went on steadily, "If any woman killed Rinaldo,
it's more likely to be Marchesa Beatrice. He'd insulted her, thrown
her childlessness in her face, threatened to wrest the villa away
from her. It was at her urging that he passed the night here instead
of going on to the castle. She told me that she was afraid Francesca
might do something desperate if she were isolated with him, but that
may have been part of her plan to implicate Francesca in the murder."

MacGregor
stared. "You can accuse her of murder this woman you seem to
have such a regard for?"

"I
do have a regard for her. That's why I work very hard to suspect
her. Otherwise I shouldn't be able to do it at all."

MacGregor
shook his head gravely. "Still, when all's said and done,
there's no evidence against her. And Carlo had at least as good a
motive as she did. As Grimani pointed out, Lodovico and Rinaldo
stood between Carlo and the Malvezzi title and wealth. Of course,
there's still Rinaldo's son to consider."

"Niccolo
is a child, and Carlo will be his natural guardian. And children die
all the time, of a myriad of causes. Carlo would find him by far the
easiest of his victims to dispose of."

"You're
not suggesting he would murder a little boy?"

"If
he would shoot his own brother and cut his own nephew's throat, I
hardly think we'd need credit him with any scruples about child
murder But in fact, I don't believe he committed either of those
crimes at all events, not for material gain. The thing makes no
sense. At the time Lodovico was killed, Carlo was head over ears in
debt. He might have been driven to murder his brother if he'd had
something immediate to gain by it. What I can't accept is that he
embarked on a hazardous murder plot that wouldn't bring him profit
until years later if it ever did at all. He couldn't count on having
an opportunity to kill Rinaldo. Any opportunity he did have might
not come for years,

and
in the interval Francesca might have returned to Rinaldo or died
either way, Rinaldo might have had more sons. The Malvezzi are an
impatient race, and though Carlo seems the most temperate and
judicious of the lot, I don't think he would risk so much for such a
remote, uncertain end."

MacGregor
threw up his hands. "Somebody must have committed these
murders!"

Yes,
thought Julian, and the sooner we find out who it was, the better for
us all. This murder, in a house full of people and almost under
Grimani's nose, was extraordinarily reckless. Our murderer is
growing bolder or more desperate. And the Devil only knows what he,
or she, may do next.

Rinaldo's
body was taken to Solaggio in a black-draped boat, with Don
Cristoforo and Dr. Curioni at either end. The villa party, which
had gathered on the terrace to watch it depart, trooped sombrely back
indoors, like prisoners returning from a bout of air and exercise.
It was then that Valeriano arrived.

He
entered the Hall of Marbles flanked by four gendarmes, just as
Francesca was coming downstairs with her two soldiers. She gasped,
"Pietro!" and would have run into his arms, but at a sign
from Grimani, the soldiers barred her way. She looked over their
crossed bayonets with anguished eagerness. "Oh, my love, what
are you doing here? I thought you'd gone away! And why are you
under guard?"

Valeriano's
eyes flickered expressionlessly over her and her escort, then took in
the villa party, standing about like a Greek chorus, and came to rest
on Grimani. "You sent for me, Signer Commissario?"

"Why
are you still in Solaggio?" Grimani fired off. "I thought
you meant to return to Venice."

"I
had unfinished business here, Signor Commissario."

"What
was that?"

"Marchese
Rinaldo was still alive, Signor Commissario."

There
was a shocked silence.

"What
are you saying?" Grimani asked sharply. "Are you implying
you had something to do with his murder?"

"I'm
saying that I killed him, Signor Commissario. I thought you knew
that. Didn't you send these men to arrest me?"

"It
isn't true!" cried Francesca. "He's only saying it for my
sake, to protect me!"

Valeriano
turned his remote, dead eyes on her. "This has nothing to do
with you."

"What
do you mean?" she faltered. "Why do you look like that?"

"I'm
sorry," he said quietly. "There's a great deal I ought to
have told you."

She
lifted trembling hands to her brow. "This isn't happening.
Everyone, everything has gone mad "

"Your
confession is convenient, Signor Valeriano," Grimani cut in,
"but you do have a motive to lie. I don't want a culprit I
can't convict."

"You
don't believe me?" Valeriano started to reach into an inside
pocket of his coat. The gendarmes on either side moved closer.
Valeriano smiled faintly. "It's not a weapon. I'll take it out
very slowly."

Suiting
the action to the word, he drew out an object and held it up for
everyone to see. It was an elbow-length glove of cream-coloured kid,
ornamented with green silk myrtle leaves and a ruby heart pierced by
a diamond shaft.

"Where
did you get that?" Grimani exclaimed.

"It
belongs to me. It's the mate of the one I left for Marchese Lodovico
on the night before he was killed."

"You're
saying that you killed him?"

"Yes,
Signor Commissario."

"No,
Pietro!" Francesca's fingers clenched around the crossed
bayonets that kept them apart. "Don't do this "

"Francesca,"
he said, "let go of those bayonets."

She
did. A few drops of blood fell from her hands to the marble floor.
MacGregor strode to her side, his eyes daring the soldiers to keep
him back. He took her hands, examining the cuts and stemming the
bleeding with his handkerchief.

Francesca
paid him no heed. "I won't let you do this! I won't let you
sacrifice yourself for me!"

"I've
told you," he said wearily, "this has nothing to do with
you. I resolved to kill Lodovico Malvezzi long before you and I ever
met."

"Why?"
said Grimani. "What was Lodovico Malvezzi to you?"

"He
was my greatest enemy," Valeriano said quietly. "He was
also my father."

Your
father!" Carlo broke from the little group of onlookers and
confronted Valeriano in astonishment. "It can't be!"

The
others stared at the two of them juxtaposed. Julian, for one, felt
he was seeing them with new eyes. He had never thought to look for a
resemblance, but it was there in Valeriano's good looks, but above
all in his height. To be sure, castrati were apt to be tall. But in
his elegant figure, his easy grace, the proud set of his head, he was
the mirror image of Carlo who in turn was so like his dead brother.

Grimani
asked Carlo and Beatrice, "Did Marchese Lodovico ever give the
smallest hint that this man was his son?"

"No,
never," said Carlo.

Beatrice
slowly, silently shook her head.

"He
didn't know," said Valeriano calmly.

Francesca
stammered, "But but that would mean that I ran away with with my
husband's "

"Brother,"
supplied Valeriano. "Half-brother. Yes."

She
trembled so violently that MacGregor put an arm around her shoulders
to support her. "This woman needs to lie down," he told
Grimani, "and have the cuts in her hands dressed."