Tuscan Rose (13 page)

‘Well, there will only ever be one Nerezza,’ said Baron Derveaux, shrugging his shoulders. ‘That sort of woman comes once a century.’

The Marchesa’s eyes flared. Rosa could only imagine what she was thinking. The guests could not be aware of how much rivalry had existed between the women otherwise they would have been more careful not to insult their hostess. Baroness Derveaux and the Marchese, who was trying to make his way through the guests towards his wife, seemed to be the only two people besides Rosa who had noticed the Marchesa’s agitation. The Baroness took her husband’s arm and ushered him away to the garden.

‘Come and see what they have done with the fountain. It’s truly magnificent,’ she said.

The Marchese indicated for the ensemble to play and entreated his guests to move to the dance floor once again. He then took the Marchesa’s arm. It was the first time Rosa had seen him touch her with any sort of tenderness.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Our guests expect us to dance.’

Once the guests took to the dance floor again, Rosa was able to manoeuvre through them to the kitchen. She sensed that there was a lot riding on the success of the evening for the Marchesa, and that nothing had better ruin it.

Before dessert was served, the Marchese called the guests together and announced that a scavenger hunt had been arranged. A flurry of excitement rushed through the gathering. There was no-one present who was less than twenty years of age, but the guests hopped and skipped into their groups with all the excitement of children at a birthday party. A leader was chosen for each team and Signor Bonizzoni handed them an envelope.

‘You have one hour to return here,’ the Marchese said, indicating an hourglass that Signor Bonizzoni was about to turn. ‘The winners will each get a prize but the losers will have to perform a dare of the winners’ choosing.’

The threat brought bursts of laughter and exclamations from the guests. The men checked their watches while the women patted their flushed faces with handkerchiefs. The atmosphere of the party had shifted from one of refinement to one of gay abandon. Signor Bonizzoni turned the glass and the guests scattered like marbles, running into the garden to count the statues or the number of windows on the upper storey. Rosa had never seen adults behave that way.

Signor Bonizzoni clapped his hands and the servants, including Rosa, hurried about the tables, changing any soiled cloths and napkins or melted candles and resetting the tables for dessert.

‘They’ll be gone an hour,’ said the maid helping Rosa with the cutlery. ‘We should finish this task quickly and then put our feet up for a bit. It’s been non-stop this evening.’

Rosa was about to agree with her when a woman’s scream pierced the air. The cry was one of such terror that people came rushing from all over the villa to see what had happened. Rosa’s first thought was that somebody had got too close to the bear but then she realised the sound had come from the direction of the driveway. The Marchese shouted to Signor Collodi to grab his gun. It was unlikely but possible that a wolf had wandered onto the property. There were wild boars in the region but they tended to avoid human contact. Rosa thought of witches, but then reminded herself that neither Ada nor Suor Maddalena thought witches were evil. The other guests didn’t wait to consider the possibilities; they charged towards the sound, oblivious to any danger.

‘Signorina Bellocchi, come with me,’ said the Marchese, grabbing Rosa’s arm and moving in the direction of the driveway. ‘In case the woman is in need of female assistance.’

The Marchese and Rosa managed to overtake the other guests. Baron Derveaux, whose team had been busy sketching the coat of arms in the foyer, caught up with the Marchese. ‘The women should stay back,’ he said. ‘There may be a ravisher in the woods.’

The Marchese stopped and related what the Baron had said. Reluctantly the women turned back. Signor Collodi appeared with his gun.

‘What was the question in this direction?’ the Marchese asked him.

‘A very simple one. To count the number of lampposts before the lion statues.’

Rosa recalled that the statues were only a short way down the drive, where the wall ended. They turned a bend and found one of the party’s teams gathered around a lamppost, staring at something like people in a trance. A woman was lying in a faint on the ground, with another woman fanning her. An older man was dry-retching into the bushes.

Signor Castelletti, who had been part of the group, rushed towards the Marchese. ‘Tell the others to stay back. It’s horrible! Too horrible!’

The Marchese called to his guests that they had best return to the villa. Some of them did, but many continued on, intrigued by what ghoulish sight might await them. Rosa ran towards the prostrate woman to see if she could be of assistance. But before she reached her, the huddle moved aside to let the Marchese through and she glimpsed something hanging from the lamppost. She moved a step forward then stopped. The purple light had muted the object. What on earth…? Rosa suddenly realised what it was and reeled back. A dead man was dangling from a rope.

The Marchesa arrived in her car. She had driven herself and slammed the door when she got out. The glare of the headlights illuminated the victim’s swollen face, which had previously been in the shadows. New cries of horror rose from the onlookers at the sight of the man’s blue tongue and bulging eyes.

‘Who is it?’ Baron Derveaux asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ said the Marchese.

Rosa turned to the Marchesa. The woman’s face was twitching; it was the first time Rosa had seen her genuinely shocked. The Marchesa’s eyes met Rosa’s and she glowered. At that moment Rosa realised who the dead man was. It was the man with the cowlick.

A
fter the disastrous end to the ball, the Villa Scarfiotti went into retreat. Signor Collodi and the estate hands removed the decorations the next day so that by the following evening the house had returned to its daunting atmosphere. The servants spoke in hushed tones, and Ada and Paolina replaced the usual menu with simpler meals. Rosa only managed morning or afternoon lessons with Clementina because the girl was forever being whisked off by her father somewhere. Although he had been concerned about Clementina’s education, it seemed that in this time of crisis the Marchese dreaded being alone. His wife, the cause of his vexations, was of no use to him. She withdrew to her quarters after the body had been identified and stayed there. The scandal was not so much that a jilted lover of the Marchesa’s had hanged himself in the villa’s driveway, but rather that what had promised to be the party of the decade had come to a startlingly grim end. The evening was supposed to finish with a display of fireworks. Not with a death. None of the festivities Nerezza Scarfiotti had presided over had concluded so ignobly. That, Rosa thought, was where the real sting for the Marchesa lay.

Rosa recalled what the man with the cowlick had told the Marchesa that afternoon in the woods:
I left everything for you.
She wondered what he had meant. A wife? Children? His position? She noticed that the lamppost where he had hanged himself retained its purple globe. Perhaps no-one wanted to touch it. Rosa didn’t blame them. She couldn’t pass that section of the driveway without a shiver running down her spine. Or perhaps the purple globe was a tribute from the estate hands to the young man so he wouldn’t be forgotten. Possibly that was what he had wanted? To be imprinted on the Marchesa’s mind forever.

One afternoon, when Clementina was out with the Marchese, Rosa was returning to the schoolroom from the library with a selection of books she had chosen to study. She was halfway up the servants’ staircase when she heard the strains of music. She was surprised because she had never heard music played in the villa, except for the ball and garden party. Signora Guerrini had been definite that music brought on migraines in the Marchesa. Rosa and Clementina only practised their instruments when they were sure the Marchesa was out for the day.

She continued up the stairs and the music grew louder. She recognised the piece. It was the Intermezzo from the opera
Cavalleria Rusticana
by Mascagni. She realised the sound was coming from the fourth floor. Rosa passed Clementina’s room on her way to the schoolroom and gave a start when she saw the Marchesa standing there. A disc was playing on a gramophone and the Marchesa was gazing at the opera sets Nerezza had made. She sensed Rosa’s presence and turned to her. Rosa flinched, expecting a reprimand for sneaking up on her, and instead was shocked to see tears in the Marchesa’s eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

‘When a Sicilian challenges another to a duel,’ she said, fixing her gaze on Rosa, ‘the one who accepts bites his opponent’s ear to draw blood, demonstrating he understands that the fight is to the death. When two opponents meet, there can only be one winner.’

Rosa remained silent. She knew there was a duel in
Cavalleria Rusticana
and that the story was set in Sicily, but she wasn’t sure that was what the Marchesa was talking about. The Marchesa looked almost…bereft. But the impression lasted only a few
seconds before the woman’s face formed into its severe angles again. She took the disc from the gramophone, stared at for a moment, then handed it to Rosa before brushing past her and disappearing down the stairs.

Rosa stood in the doorway of Clementina’s room with the disc in her hand, bemused by the Marchesa’s odd behaviour. She only hoped that the gesture hadn’t meant the Marchesa was challenging her to some sort of duel.

The following afternoon, a van arrived at the villa. Rosa, who had been walking in the garden, saw two men loading the Bösendorfer piano into it. She noticed the Marchese’s car in the garage and hurried towards the house to see if Clementina would like a lesson that afternoon. When she approached the loggia, she caught sight of the Marchese standing in the doorway weeping. Taken aback by his tears, Rosa ducked behind a trellis to avoid being seen. Through the gaps in the jasmine she glimpsed the Marchesa approach her husband.

‘She’s dead, Emilio,’ she said flatly. ‘We have to stop living with her ghost.’

Rosa was shocked. The Marchese had adored his sister. How could his wife expect him to part with Nerezza’s most treasured possession? The Baroness Derveaux could say what she liked, Rosa thought, but the Marchesa was surely the cruellest woman alive, especially to her own husband. Was she still carrying on the rivalry with his sister even though she was dead? Was that what she had been talking about in Clementina’s room the previous day? Was the ‘duel’ still being fought?

On the afternoons when Clementina was out with her father, Rosa visited the bear, whom Ada had named Dono. Rosa learned from the encyclopaedia that the crescent on his chest meant he was a moon bear. Signor Collodi had set up Dono’s cage under some trees at the back of the kitchen garden and fed the bear fruit and bread gingerly through the sliding door at the bottom of the cage. The spot Signor Collodi had chosen was cool and pleasant but the
cage was too small for an animal born to wander mountain ranges and climb trees. The bear paced in the limited space and Rosa realised the injury to his snout was caused by his banging his head against the bars. Despite his ill treatment by humans, the bear was not as aggressive as Rosa expected. When she approached him, he looked at her with melancholy eyes. If the Marchesa was away, Rosa would play her flute near his cage. The music seemed to calm the bear and often lulled him into restful sleep. One day, after he had eaten a pear Rosa had given him, Dono licked his paws and looked at her intently. A wave of warmth washed over her and Rosa realised that the bear had communicated his gratitude for her kindness. She was touched that he had ‘spoken’ to her. Gentleness was not what he was used to from humans; he had no reason to trust them.

She remembered overhearing the Marchese saying that bears liked to eat bark and berries, so she left her flute by Dono’s cage and walked into the woods to see if she could find any juniper or blackberries. It was the height of summer and the woods seemed less eerie than they had in the spring. The heat penetrated through the trees and insects hummed in an incessant chorus. Rosa’s dress stuck to her back and her skin smelled salty. The blackberries she found were not ripe, so she continued along the path to look for some others. She came across a tree with sap dripping down its bark and had stopped to take a piece when a rustling sound caught her attention. Something was moving through the leaf litter. She glimpsed an animal bounding between the trees. Her first thought was that it was a boar or a rabbit, but its movement had a loping action that suggested longer limbs. Rosa lost sight of the animal. She listened then caught a flash of silver-grey fur. It was a dog. No-one at the villa had a dog because the Marchese had forbidden hunting on his property and the Marchesa seemed to prefer snakes to poodles.

The dog rushed towards the driveway and Rosa ran after it. Once they were both clear of the trees she could see it was a Weimaraner. The dog turned its head to her playfully and she
stopped in her tracks. It had a brown splodge on its muzzle. It wasn’t a chubby puppy any more, but it was still young, and Rosa was sure it was the same dog the man with the cowlick had given to Clementina and which the Marchesa had told Signor Taviani to destroy.

‘Come here,’ she called softly.

The dog hesitated then took off again. Rosa was compelled to chase after it.

A man’s gruff voice called in the woods. ‘Marcellino!’

Rosa recognised the voice as belonging to Signor Taviani. She realised she was near the gatekeeper’s house and crouched down in the bushes and watched as the dog ran to Signor Taviani and jumped up against his legs. The gatekeeper affectionately rubbed the dog’s head.

‘Marcellino,’ he said in his sonorous voice, ‘you mustn’t run off again. It is dangerous for you to do that.’

The gatekeeper led the dog back into his house and closed the door. Rosa blinked. Sitting in the window at the back of the house was the tortoiseshell cat with one ear that she had seen on her first morning at the villa. A strange feeling ran through her and she nearly swooned. She wondered if she was becoming heat-dazed.

She inched her way towards the house and crept past the hedge. By standing on a rock, she managed to peep in the window. The cat had moved and was on Signor Taviani’s lap. The gatekeeper was sitting in a chair with his back to Rosa. At his feet was the Weimaraner, chewing on a ball, and another dog, a greyhound with mottled fur on its face that suggested it was old. In a cage hanging from the wall was a parrot with one foot and in another cage a squirrel-like animal was chewing on some lettuce.

The Marchesa had instructed Signor Taviani to kill the puppy. Rosa had heard the shot herself, hadn’t she? Was he collecting the animals the Marchesa told him to destroy, she wondered. The dizziness returned. It felt as though she had been given a piece of a puzzle but didn’t know where it fitted. Signor Taviani was taking a risk, keeping those animals against the Marchesa’s orders, and it
changed Rosa’s view of him. She remembered reading that Leonardo da Vinci had felt compassion for animals and had refused to eat them. Taking life unnecessarily was abhorrent to him. He had been known to buy birds from the market simply to set them free. Perhaps Signor Taviani was someone like that.

The stone Rosa was standing on wobbled under her feet. She lost her balance and fell to the ground. The greyhound barked. Before Signor Taviani could catch sight of her, Rosa ran as fast as she could into the woods.

When she neared the house, she saw the Marchese’s car drive past and come to a stop outside the villa. Clementina jumped out. Rosa knew the girl would head straight to the schoolroom, eager for a lesson, so she quickened her pace. She picked up her flute before entering the house via the kitchen and straightened her dress and hair, which had become dishevelled in her rush through the woods.

Ada walked out of the storeroom, a string of garlic dangling from her hand, and smiled at Rosa. ‘Will you want lunch in the schoolroom today?’ she asked. ‘I can make you—’ She stopped and gave a cry, staring at something on Rosa’s collarbone.

Rosa grabbed for her chest, thinking she had picked up a spider in the woods. She had seen black ones living in the garden walls. She looked down and saw there was nothing there. Her chain with the cross and silver key had simply fallen out of her neckline.

Ada pointed to the silver key. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, stepping closer and examining it. Her face was as white as a sheet and she was shaking from head to foot.

‘It was in my wrappings when a stranger brought me to the convent as an infant.’

Rosa wanted to add what Suor Maddalena had said about witches, but she was perturbed by Ada’s stricken expression. The cook’s lips were trembling and beads of sweat rose up on her forehead. Rosa thought she was in danger of fainting and helped her into a chair. Ada rubbed her face.

‘When was that?’ she asked.

‘December 1914. Before Italy joined the Great War.’

Ada swallowed and stared at Rosa as if she was searching for something in her face. Finally she shook her head. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘I sensed it. All those signs of fate and destiny since you arrived. But I was sure the babe had…’ Her eyes suddenly grew wide and her fists clenched. She stood up and grabbed Rosa’s shoulders. ‘There is something I must tell you,’ she said.

The dizziness that had struck Rosa in the woods when she saw Signor Taviani with the dog returned to her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw flecks of dust swirling in a sunbeam. She was sure they formed into a woman’s face.

‘What?’ she asked Ada.

‘Signorina Bellocchi! Signorina Bellocchi!’ Clementina’s voice called from the corridor.

‘You had better go,’ Ada told Rosa. ‘But come to me tonight. I will tell you everything. You are in great danger here.’

Clementina and Rosa had been studying geography in their sporadic lessons together and Clementina’s choice of country to concentrate on was China. Rosa was pleased with her selection. Suor Grazia had been fascinated by the work of Christian missionaries in Asia so Rosa was well read on Chinese culture and history. Clementina had meticulously pasted the newspaper articles that Rosa had collected for her into a scrapbook and sketched detailed drawings of sampans and women in straw hats working in rice fields. This afternoon, Rosa tried to listen with enthusiasm while Clementina read out loud about the Manchurian Chinese Eastern Railway and the conflicts Chiang Kai-shek had had with Russia, but her mind kept wandering to the conversation with Ada. What did the cook have to tell her? Why was she in danger?

‘What’s feng shoo-ee?’ asked Clementina.

‘Pardon?’ Rosa’s attention came back to her student. She realised she hadn’t heard anything Clementina had read in the past five minutes.

Clementina pointed to the photograph of a Buddhist temple that accompanied the article she was reading. ‘This journalist says the Chinese in Harbin built the Temple of Bliss because they were concerned that buildings erected by the Russians were negatively affecting the feng shoo-ee of the city.’

Rosa corrected Clementina’s pronunciation.
‘Feng shui
—you say it
fung schway.’
She pulled out the chair next to Clementina and sat down. ‘The Chinese believe in
chi,’
she explained. ‘A vital energy that exists everywhere and in everything. Certain elements in the design of a city or building can block its flow.’

Clementina was satisfied with Rosa’s answer and turned to the next article, which was on Chinese opera. Rosa thought about the strange feelings and visions she had experienced at the Villa Scarfiotti. Maybe there was something to the Chinese belief that there was an omnipresent energy contained in all things. She thought about Signor Taviani and his animals and the heart she had seen in the Marchesa’s quarters. She felt as though energy was somehow trapped in the villa and was building up, ready to blow at any moment.