She had seen my discomfort.
‘There is no need to apologize,’ I assured her. ‘Seeing his face simply caught me off guard – I keep no such portraits, nor did I receive one from him.’
Inhaling the rose as we ambled along, she added, ‘I have very few mementos either.’
I sighed, knowing that meant she had many, many keepsakes. ‘You are a gracious, thoughtful hostess, Signora Guiccioli, especially under these circumstances, knowing we both had liaisons with the same man. I loved him first and had his child, and you loved him last …’
‘And had no child.’ Regret threaded through her voice. ‘It seems strange that we are bonded through Byron, especially when neither of us could really possess him. He was too brilliant, too restless to ever commit to one woman, and now he belongs to the ages … the hero who died for Greek independence.’
‘So true. He is worshipped there as his idol George Washington is in America.’ Our shoes crunched the stones underfoot. ‘At least he died fighting for freedom.’
She paused. ‘Do you miss him?’
‘Every day – and you?’
‘Every hour.’
‘But you married again, did you not?’ I queried as we reached the arbor.
‘Ah, yes – it was a late-life marriage to Marquis de Boissy.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘All I can say is that I was lonely, and he offered devotion. A good man.’
‘But not him.’
‘No.’
We said no more about Byron. There was nothing left to say. We had been drawn into his world of passion and love – a heady orbit that took us beyond where ordinary mortals lived. But after his star died out, we came crashing back to earth, left dreaming of those distant skies.
‘I can only hope that Allegra did survive the typhus,’ she said. ‘Even the possibility must give you some comfort.’ She handed me the rose. ‘I must return to my guests, but please stay here until you are ready to join us.’
‘Grazie, Signora.’ Watching her as she moved back toward the palazzo, my lifetime of resentment seemed to dissolve. She was a warm and gentle woman who happened to love the man who broke my heart. If only we had met before this, I might not have wasted so much energy blaming her for my grief and loss. She could not help but love him.
Byron broke all the rules of society, as did we all. Trelawny, Shelley, Mary, Teresa, me. We paid the consequences.
And still, were I to live it all over again, I would do the same.
Except giving up Allegra.
Leaning my head against the arbor, I tucked the rose into my hair, then reached into my pocket to retrieve Byron’s last memoir page that I had tucked in there before we left for Ravenna. Slowly, I unfolded it, ready to read his final entry …
Palazzo Guiccioli, Ravenna
February 20, 1821
The entire country is in turmoil. Word reached us that the Neapolitans have made ready for war as the Austrians advance south. Then the rest of Italia shall follow. A free Italy. Any day now, I will lead my turba into battle.
As if to signal the great change coming, another strong thunderstorm has blown in from the east, lighting the sky and shaking the very foundations of the house. It reminded me of the thunderous squalls in Geneva during summer of 1816, except that I can hear the Adriatic Sea roaring off to the east of Ravenna.
I am alone now, except for Tita and the servants.
Teresa is still at her father’s country villa, and Pietro remains hidden at a remote house deep in the Filetto forest.
Allegra is gone.
After the Austrians skirted Ravenna, I was able to send her to the convent at Bagnacavallo where she will be safe. The Abbess assured me that she would protect her with her own life, and I receive daily reports, but I miss her intensely. Her little face looking up at me as I read her poetry – so dear and trusting …
But this is no place for a child. The entire palazzo is an arsenal, full of weapons and Carbonari fighters who come and go at odd hours.
I was eating dinner in my study, listening to the wind blowing outside, when Pietro appeared under the cover of night. He said two more Austrians had been killed near Dante’s Tomb and the Pope responded by making a declaration against the patriots. It will inflame the situation even more, so we celebrated by drinking Imola wine until the early hours of the morning when he left for his father’s house.
Waiting for the dawn from my bedchamber, I saw the skies clear and knew it heralded a new day for Italy – and me. We would drive the Austrians out of the country, and I would live out the remainder of my days as a retired military hero, writing poetry and watching Allegra grow into a young woman.
Sweet days lay ahead.
Then I heard a knock at the door – Tita.
After I bade him enter, he strode in and conveyed the most astonishing news: the Neapolitans have backed down and have vowed not to engage the Austrians in open battle, leaving us in the north without military support. Some of the Carbonari have been betrayed and are fleeing the country. So much for unity and revolution.
In that moment, I realized it was over.
The dream of a free Italia.
Stunned, I sank on to the bed, asking Tita to repeat the message verbatim. Instead, he handed me the note.
‘It is settled, then?’ I said after scanning it twice.
‘Si … the Austrians will now have their revenge on the Neapolitans once they take control again, and we must prepare ourselves for whatever retribution they intend to rain down on Ravenna. We are between the two fires, cut off from the north and unable to receive aid from the south, and shall burn if we are not careful.’
‘The Carbonari will need to disband, and we shall have to move out of the province,’ I thought aloud, calculating how best to protect my household. ‘The Shelleys are in Pisa … we shall join them, and I can bring Allegra—’
‘Perhaps that is not a good idea.’
I turned very still. Something in his tone told me she was not out of danger yet.
‘A man broke into her room at the convent intending to do her harm. The Abbess arrived in time to save her life and was able to describe the intruder – it sounded like di Breme’s servant—’
‘Damn it all to hell and back.’ I crumbled the message and threw it aside. ‘By God, I will find him … make him pay for this.’
Tita nodded his massive head. ‘My spies are already making inquiries.’
Rising from my dejected perch, I felt resolve flood through me. The revolution might be over, but the fight to keep Allegra safe would go on. Forever.
Back in Geneva, before she was born, I suspected her life would be a perilous journey, and it was confirmed. Not only because of my involvement with the Carbonari …
Moving to my writing desk, I motioned Tita over. ‘Come, we must plan.’
That was Bryon’s last entry.
As I came back to the present in Teresa’s rose-filled garden, I recalled his words that Allegra’s life would be a ‘perilous journey.’ Why? What had happened during di Breme’s visit in the summer of 1816 that would cause his servant, Stefano, to attack me and then later stalk both Byron and Allegra in Italy?
Byron knew but did not dare to tell anyone – not even Trelawny.
But perhaps Teresa knew something more than she realized; it was worth mentioning to her. After that … perhaps my quest would be finished.
Removing the rose from my hair, I tucked it and the memoir page back in my pocket and took one last glance around the garden before I made my way back to the villa. Such peace and beauty. But it was time to leave. As I strolled along the flower-lined path, I had to acknowledge that Trelawny had brought me a gift when he gave me Byron’s memoir – an opportunity to reconsider the past and learn a few more truths about events that had appeared to be cruel at the time. I would always be grateful to Trelawny for this charity.
I would forgive him, fully and completely – and perhaps he could forgive me for leaving him after that night in Pisa.
Quickening my pace, I entered the French door with a smile that quickly faded as I beheld the scene inside.
A visitor had arrived while I lingered in the garden: Lieutenant Baldini.
He waved me forward. ‘Please, Signora Clairmont, you must join us.’
Paula and Raphael huddled on the settee, clutching each other’s arms. Teresa stood behind them, but Trelawny and Georgiana were nowhere to be seen.
Put on a brave front.
‘It seems you have followed us here for some reason, Lieutenant,’ I said in a calm voice as I stepped inside. ‘We were simply on a pleasant outing to see an old friend.’
His expression was a mask of stone. ‘Please close the door behind you – we have an important matter to settle, and I would like to keep it private.’
A warning voice whispered in my mind as I followed his direction.
Moving toward the chair near the fireplace, I commented, ‘I thought you told me at San Vitale you were an honest man.’
‘He is.’ Matteo stepped from behind him, holding a knife to the lieutenant’s neck. ‘But I am not.’
Matteo – the man who had killed Father Gianni and tried to kill me in the Boboli Gardens in Firenze. The devil. Evil incarnate.
My body stiffened in shock. ‘But you are dead. You committed suicide on the journey to the Rome prison.’
‘Not likely.’ He smiled. ‘Do you think my network is limited only to Firenze? It is far larger than you can imagine – with members who were more than happy to assist me in faking my own death. One of the prison coach drivers slipped me a potion on the road that simulated death. When my “body” arrived in Rome, I was immediately taken to the undertaker where my body was exchanged with a dead man’s and buried quickly. Then I was revived in due course by the doctor who created the potion. An excellent plan, do you not think?’
Raphael spat at him.
‘You are the shadow rider,’ I said. Paula was crying, but I dared not take my eyes off Matteo. The wild look in his eyes told me he was capable of anything right now, including murder. ‘I understand why you would fake your own death, but why follow us?’
‘For the English poets’ letters, of course. They were mine that night at the Boboli Gardens,’ he grated out. ‘I was desperate for money then – and I still am now. You were right, Signora. I did have your apartment vandalized – but you had the letters locked away and my men had no time to break into your desk, so they took only the Cades drawing. A valuable item, though unknown to me the time, and I compliment them on their ingenuity. But I wanted the letters, too. My informants told me you were heading to Ravenna – quite convenient since my buyer lives there as well. So, I sent word of the sketch on to him, then I trailed you, knowing you would bring along the letters; it proved surprisingly easy and enjoyable to toy with you at every step of the way. I followed you to the terme, then Vergato where I ran into the child whom I chose not to harm – then. When I saw you, Signora, on Via Cavour yesterday, I struck you as a final insult. And now the journey is over – and I want those letters. My buyer will pay a huge sum for both.’
‘You monster,’ Paula choked out between sobs.
‘I do not have them with me.’ Technically true – since my bag had slipped behind the chair cushion.
‘You lie.’ He pressed the knife further into Baldini’s neck, causing a bright red spot of blood to appear. Gauging whether the men could overpower Matteo, I spied a pistol tucked into the waist of his pants. They might manage to take the knife from him but could end up shot in the process.
Raphael jumped up, but Matteo yelled at him to sit. Paula seized her lover’s hand and pulled him down next to her again. ‘Aunt Claire, give Matteo the letters. Please.’
I knew she was thinking about Georgiana and what might happen when she returned with Trelawny; it was unlikely that Matteo would just take the letters and quietly depart. He could not leave any witnesses.
Matteo narrowed his eyes – slits of vicious intent. ‘I know you have the letters since I already searched your room at the Al Cappello and found only this.’ He held up the rest of Byron’s memoir. ‘Oh, and I also took back the ivory bookmark left there – you will have no need of it.’
Cold fury rose up inside me at the thought of him rummaging through my things – yet again. ‘Your father did not give it to you, did he?’
‘You are learning about my true nature – no, I stole it.’ One side of his mouth twisted upwards in a mockery of a smile. ‘Now bring the letters to me, Signora Clairmont, or I will kill this man.’
Baldini tried to jerk away, but Matteo tightened his grasp with the strength of a desperately insane man.
‘Do not harm him,’ I finally said, reaching behind the chair cushion to retrieve my bag. I held it out. ‘They are in here.’
‘Walk it over to me,’ he instructed.
Teresa tried to stop me, but I shook my head. ‘My family means more to me than these pieces of paper.’ As I approached him, I saw Byron’s memoir peeping out of his jacket pocket. Bastardo.
‘Give the bag to Baldini.’ Matteo inched them toward the fireplace, still keeping the blade firmly in place.
After I did so, Matteo threw Byron’s memoir on to the fire, and I gasped. ‘No!’
The pages curled into bright yellow and red fire, then crinkled into nothingness. I felt a tear stream down my cheek. ‘Why did you destroy it?’
‘It was meant to be consumed in fire like the other copy,’ he murmured, ‘so there will be no record left.’
But how did he know the other copy had been burned?
‘And none of you will be left either.’ His voice turned low and deep like a rumbling volcano, ready to erupt and envelop us all. ‘I shall burn this villa down, too.’
He was insane.
I prayed that Trelawny would not return with Georgiana – she had to survive.
All rational thought evaporated as Matteo moved the knife across Baldini’s throat – he meant to kill him, then probably shoot the rest of us. Paula and I cried out for mercy at the moment Trelawny appeared in the doorway. He slammed his walking stick against Matteo’s head. Matteo tried to block its blunt force with his arm, releasing Baldini who fell to the floor with his neck bleeding profusely.
Matteo flicked his knife and sliced across Trelawny’s shoulder. He staggered slightly but managed to strike Matteo across the face with the back of his hand. Roaring with fury in response, Matteo lunged at Trelawny and they tumbled on to the floor as Raphael moved into the fray. He kicked Matteo’s chest, causing him to wince in pain.
Then Trelawny fell backwards, breathing heavily, to reveal Matteo with the knife in his chest – almost exactly like the stabbing he had inflicted on Father Gianni. As I watched the growing scarlet stain on his jacket, Paula and Teresa attended to Baldini’s wound.
I rushed over to Trelawny and helped him up, careful not to touch his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’
He nodded.
‘Georgiana?’
‘I hid her in the kitchen when I heard Matteo’s voice – she is fine.’
At that point, I slipped my arms around Trelawny. ‘My dear friend … you risked your life for me,’ I whispered in a shaky voice. ‘For all of us.’
‘For love.’
We stood like that for a few moments, then I heard Paula say, ‘The memoir is burned … gone.’
Leaning back in Trelawny’s embrace, I looked over at the fireplace and saw only ashes.
‘But we saved the letters,’ Baldini said in a hoarse tone as he propped himself up on one elbow.
Matteo groaned weakly. ‘Signora Clairmont.’
I heard the death rattle in his throat and, in spite of everything that he had done, I let Trelawny go and knelt down next to the dying man. ‘Pray for God’s leniency, Matteo.’
He gave a laugh that turned into a cough. ‘I deserve damnation … but I will not be alone.’
‘If you atone for your lies and crimes, you may yet find grace.’ I made the sign of the cross
over his face, but he seized my hand.
‘I did not lie about Father Gianni – all I desired was the money, but he wanted everything connected to your daughter destroyed. You never knew his surname … it was Costa. Gianni Costa.’ Matteo’s released my hand as his head dropped to one side and his last breath exhaled in one long, deep sigh.
I stared down at his lifeless form in shock. Costa. The last name of di Breme’s servant. Was Father Gianni somehow related to him? Feeling thwarted once again by Matteo, I wanted to shake the truth out of his still, dead body. But now that he was dead, would I ever know?
Al diavolo!
He had defeated us.
Convent of San Giovanni, Bagnacavallo, Italy
March 1821
Allegra’s story
I felt cold.
As I sat in the convent courtyard, it seemed so barren with its empty spaces and skeletal trees reaching into gray skies.
Weeks have passed and still my papa has not visited me. The nuns were kind – especially the Abbess – but they rarely spoke to me aside from school lessons; they moved silently from room to room, heads bowed, their black dresses trailing like silent waves. The other girls whispered about me, so I avoided them. I was left on my own much of the time and yet I was never allowed to leave the convent’s high, stone walls – ever since the man broke into the convent.
Now the nuns watched me all the time.
I missed my papa.
When I lived with him in Ravenna, he loved to hear me sing, calling me bella Allegrina, from the Italian word allegro. Fast and cheerful. He said I was a child of music and light.
My life was so happy until he sent me here.
It felt like a prison after living with my papa in his palazzo.
Sighing, I pulled my heavy woolen shawl tighter against the winter wind that blew in from the coast, causing me to cough …
I waited for Sister Anna to call me to tea, which she served every afternoon, promising that Papa would come to see me the next day.
But tomorrow never seemed to come.
So I would retreat to my room with its narrow bed and thick white walls and write to Papa, hoping my loving words would melt his heart and he would want to see me. I etched my initials in the window so he would not forget me.
A Shadowed Fate Page 19