1 - Interrupted Aria (28 page)

Chapter 31

“I wonder where Grisella will be tonight? No matter what she’s done, I hate to think of her in a country of infidels on Christmas Eve.” Annetta sat before the harpsichord, idly striking the keys.

“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.” Alessandro had pushed the draperies to one side and was gazing through the frosty window with one boot on the ledge. “They haven’t had time to reach Turkish territory. Viviani’s galley sailed ten days ago, so they couldn’t have traveled much further than the Greek coastline, or perhaps the tip of Crete if they’ve found constant winds.”

We had gathered in the sitting room of our little house on the Campo dei Polli: what was left of my family and the friends bound to us by love and concern. Brother Mark crouched on a low stool by the stove in the corner. The glowing coals illuminated his hooded eyes. They were not the icy crystals of the vision that had linked me to his hidden loneliness. That afternoon the firelight turned his gray eyes into pools of shining contentment. Felice was on the floor at his feet, leaning against the monk’s white robes with his ungainly legs crossed in front of him. I smiled. For the first time I could remember, my old friend wore the face of a man who loves and is well-loved in return.

Crivelli and Caterina were chatting across the round table. They had arrived together, arms full of gifts. Caterina brought the traditional fish and mustard. During the Christmas season, the lagoon supplies the Rialto fish market more generously than at any other time of the year. People of the town buy mullets, sole, whiting, even live eels, and present them to their friends and neighbors with a jar of thick, fruity mustard sauce. Annetta had banished the fish to the kitchen, but Crivelli’s offering of a huge box of
mandorlato
nearly covered the small tabletop. I reached for one of the honey-laden treats and let the sweetness of it dissolve on my tongue.

“Here, Tito, let’s have one of those,” Felice said from the corner. I passed the box of candy. The monk shook his head, but Felice took a handful.

“Have some more,” Crivelli encouraged him. “You must eat to get your strength back. We don’t want you becoming an otherworldly ascetic like your friend here.”

A smile played on Brother Mark’s sensitive mouth. “Signore, I assure you that I am quite able to enjoy the honest pleasures of this world without losing sight of the heavenly kingdom. I don’t deny myself out of austerity. I just don’t care for almonds.”

Felice flashed him a grin, then posed a serious question through a mouthful of sticky
mandorlato
. “What will become of Grisella, Tito?”

“Only time can tell us, but I fear the worst. Grisella has no way of knowing that you’ve been freed and must assume that the Tribunal ordered your execution. She’ll be carrying a double load of guilt. She poisoned Adelina in a fit of jealous rage and left you to take the ultimate consequences. If that doesn’t push her into madness I don’t know what would.”

Brother Mark nodded in silent agreement and made the sign of the cross.

Annetta shivered despite the warmth of the room. “Maybe our poor sister was possessed after all.”

“Not possessed by an evil entity from without, but by an unstable temperament within,” the monk intoned gravely.

Felice was not convinced. “I just can’t believe that beautiful child committed cold-blooded murder.”

Alessandro dropped the drapery and turned toward the stove. “We’d all like to believe otherwise, but there is no room for doubt. After Tito and I had cornered Bondini in the inn at Bassano, Viviani’s former henchman recounted Father’s despicable bargain in sickening detail. When Messer Grande and his
sbirri
arrived, Bondini finished breaking our hearts with the story of Grisella’s confession.”

Felice’s questioning eyes begged my brother to continue.

“Perhaps Caterina would rather not hear this,” I put in quickly.

The soprano shook her head and fixed a determined smile on her thin lips. “No, let him go on. I know so little about my mother’s life, I can at least understand how and why she died.”

Alessandro hesitated, then gestured for me to take up the tale. “On the day after Adelina died,” I began, “Bondini came to collect Grisella at the Mendicanti as he so often did. During the gondola ride he noticed she was pale and preoccupied, not her usual self at all. He had barely opened the door of the
casino
when Grisella ran in and threw herself at Viviani’s feet. She was agitated and so convulsed with weeping that they could barely understand her words. Viviani made her take a few swallows of brandy and ordered Bondini to stay in attendance in case he needed any help with the girl, who appeared to be losing her wits.”

I paused, contemplating all the separate events that had led up to that moment: my return to Venice in Viviani’s employ, theater gossip that Felice and I carelessly repeated at home, Father’s idea of sending Grisella to
Juno’
s dress rehearsal, and her insistence that she return for opening night. If only another opera house had hired me away from the
conservatorio
or Father had sent Grisella to bed instead of bringing her to the opera that night.

Felice’s impatient voice interrupted my thoughts. “Tito, what did she tell them?”

“That she hated Adelina from the moment she heard of her affair with Viviani. That she wrote a threatening note intended to scare Adelina away from the nobleman. That she became enraged when she witnessed Viviani giving Adelina a passionate kiss in the hallway outside the dressing rooms.”

“But why blame Adelina?” Caterina asked. “Viviani forced that embrace on her. Adelina was furious with him.”

“Try to see the scene through the eyes of an undisciplined, irrationally possessive young girl. Viviani may have hastened her sexual awakening, but Grisella was still an innocent in the ways of the adult world. Only the day before, she had left the warning note in Adelina’s dressing room. Yet on opening night, Adelina was in his arms. Grisella told Viviani that a towering wave of hatred overtook her when she saw him kissing Adelina. She didn’t stop to think about what she was doing, just slipped through Adelina’s half-open door, took a bottle of her elixir out of her skirt pocket, and poured it into the wine decanter.”

“And no one saw her,” said Caterina wonderingly.

“As I recall, half the people crowding the hallway were fascinated with Viviani and his prima donna and the other half were looking at their shoes in embarrassment,” said Alessandro.

“How did Grisella come to have a bottle of her elixir?” asked Felice.

“That puzzled us for a while,” I answered. “Annetta and Berta each had a bottle, but they kept them under lock and key and dispensed the medication with great care.” I regarded my sister sadly.

Annetta bristled under my gaze. She slammed the cover over the keys of the harpsichord. “You don’t have to look at me that way. How was I supposed to guess that Grisella had wheedled a supply of her elixir out of Berta?”

“I’m not blaming you, Annetta. We all wish we had paid more attention to what was going on in this house.”

Alessandro nodded and explained to the rest of the group. “Berta finally broke down and told us. Grisella kept begging for her own bottle of the elixir. The child said the liquid made her feel all warm and cozy like she did when Berta used to hold her on her lap in front of the stove.”

“Of course, Berta finally gave in,” I added. “She could never say no to Grisella.”

“Where is Berta now?” Caterina asked grimly.

“Lupo has taken her to church,” answered Annetta, calm once more. “Since Grisella was taken away, Berta spends most of her time lighting candles to Our Lady or crying in the kitchen.”

“She’s lucky to have a roof over her head at all,” Alessandro grumbled.

“We can’t turn her out, an old woman like that,” Annetta chided him. “Besides, how could Berta have foreseen what Grisella would do with the elixir?”

Felice uncurled from the floor and crossed to where I stood by the harpsichord. “Was the elixir really strong enough to kill Adelina?”

“You shouldn’t keep worrying yourself on that score,” Brother Mark said. “The monastery herbalist has assured you over and over.”

“He’s right, Felice,” I added. “After Father’s funeral, my first errand was a visit to the apothecary’s shop. He explained how the elixir worked. For Grisella, it was a soothing balm that eased the rigors of her frightening spells. She could tolerate a dose that would fell a coach horse because she had become gradually accustomed to it over a period of months. But if someone who did not have that tolerance took a generous portion, especially with several glasses of wine.…Well, we all know what happened.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “It was the elixir that killed Adelina, not the drops of belladonna you put in the decanter.”

He gulped and nodded his head. Were those tears sparkling in his brown eyes?

Caterina was shedding a few tears of her own. Dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief, she asked, “Do you think Grisella really meant to kill my mother?”

Annetta winced. “Surely she was just trying to scare her.”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure Grisella herself would know the answer to that question.”

We fell silent. A gusty, northern wind rattled the windowpanes. Alessandro held a tightly rolled bit of paper to the fire in the stove and lit the lamps to augment the waning afternoon light.

Crivelli tapped his silver-headed cane on the floor and attempted to lighten the mood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would have given a year’s salary to see Domenico Viviani’s face when he realized he had a pint-sized Lucretia Borgia on his hands.”

Alessandro answered with a weak smile. “Bondini described his master’s reaction as equal parts of pride and amazement. Viviani never let a useful opportunity slip by, and if he ever had any moral principles, he set them on the shelf a long time ago. It must have fascinated him to find a kindred spirit in the unlikely guise of a thirteen-year-old girl. At first he tried to protect her by having his bravos warn Tito away from investigating. When his own situation became precarious, he simply scooped Grisella up and took her away with him.”

Caterina joined my brother at the window and scanned the gray skies. “The weather is turning nasty. I’ll soon have to set off for home. Just settle my curiosity on one more point, Tito. The people in this room know Grisella was responsible for my mother’s death, but the rest of Venice believes Domenico Viviani was the killer.”

“Yes, Tito. How did you manage to persuade Messer Grande to keep Grisella’s name out of it?” asked Felice.

“That was the easiest part. Shifting the guilt to Viviani suited Messer Grande’s purposes exactly. From the reports of his well-placed spies, he knew that the Albrimani have been gradually turning their interests from trade to politics and have quietly positioned themselves to gain prominent positions in the Republic. By next summer, they will have snared several Senate seats and at least one position on the Tribunal. Mateo Albrimani may well be our next Doge.”

“I see,” said Caterina. “The more crimes Messer Grande can heap on Viviani’s head, the more favor he can curry with the Albrimani.”

“Especially if he can use Bondini’s knowledge of Viviani’s Turkish strongholds to present the Albrimani with the nobleman’s whereabouts,” added Alessandro.

“Exactly,” I said. “Messer Grande never believed that Felice poisoned Adelina, but he was willing to hand him over to the Tribunal if he couldn’t fix the blame on his chosen target. The chief’s theory was similar to our own. He thought Viviani had arranged Adelina’s death because she had found out about his treasonable activities. Holding Felice’s impending execution over my head, he let me, and all of you who helped me.…” I bowed to the assembled company as if acknowledging the Doge’s box at the opera house. “He let us dig for the hidden truths.”

“How did he know you and Alessandro had trailed Bondini to Bassano?” asked Felice.

“I was hoping no one would ask me that.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “After Messer Grande gave me the deadline, he had me followed for several days. Then he found another way to keep tabs on our progress.” I paused, struggling with embarrassment.

Annetta continued for me. “Leonora Veniero. She was making up to Tito to keep Messer Grande informed. We think her notoriously flagrant behavior must have finally attracted the Inquisitors’ interest. Turning
confidente
would have allowed her to avoid any unpleasant consequences.”

Alessandro cleared his throat at the window. “If anyone’s interested, it’s started to snow.”

We crowded in behind him. It had been many years since I had seen a snowfall, and this was Felice’s first, but the others were just as excited as we were. Despite his many winters, Crivelli’s eyes were sparkling like a schoolboy’s as he gathered his cloak and tricorne to assault the descending flakes. He gave his arm to Caterina and offered to see her back to her snug apartment on the Calle Stretta.

Felice lingered in the hallway and resisted Brother Mark’s efforts to get him into his greatcoat so they could get back to the monastery for Christmas Eve services.

“What is it, Felice?” I finally asked.

He gave me a shaky smile, and I had a fleeting image of the gawky boy who had shown me to my place in the San Remo dormitory so many years ago.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me, Tito.”

“You would have done the same for me.”

He squeezed my arm. “Even so, you are a true friend and you have my eternal thanks.”

I walked Felice and the monk as far as the narrow
calle
that connects our square with the nearby canal and watched their tall figures disappear into the wavering curtains of falling snow.

A blanket of white lace was falling on the chimney pots and ironwork balconies of the Campo dei Polli, hiding the stains of everyday life and transforming our humble square into a stage set worthy of the greatest designer. Thoroughly chilled, I returned to our door and let myself into the warm hallway. The clanging of pots and pans told me Annetta was in the kitchen preparing Caterina’s fish. In the sitting room, Alessandro had moved the
mandorlato
and spread a shipping map out on the round table. Inside a ring of yellow lamplight, he was deep in study. I sat down at the harpsichord. I didn’t need a lamp. I simply let my hands rove where they willed, emptying my mind and filling our little house with the music of love and regret.