Secret of the Song

by Cathie Hartigan

  My quirky, funny daughter. My heart skipped with love for her. Thank God she had not been with me at the river.

  While I’d been sitting in A&E, I thought about telling everyone what had happened but then decided it would be ghastly. Mum and Mollie would be frightened and anxious and I’d feel even worse. There was no reason for Noteworthy to know, although I did think I might let on to Sophie. She was my oldest friend. In my mind I saw her face when I told her and how it would crumple into concern. No, I wouldn’t do it. For the next four weeks I would keep quiet.

  Mollie continued to sing one song to the tune of another all the way to school and I wondered if I’d been asked to go in because they were fed up with this latest expression of her good moods. Mollie worshipped at the shrine of Jon and was a willing player of his musical games. But there was no denying she had talent. I felt a little swell of pride.

  ‘Mrs Barr.’ Miss Price approached me smiling. ‘I’m so glad you could drop in.’

  She was a happy teacher, nothing like the severe, humourless primary school teacher I’d had. ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘Is everything okay? Has Mollie …’

  I must have looked anxious as she waved her hand dismissively. ‘Mollie? Good Heavens no. The thing is,’ she leaned towards me, voice lowered so the children couldn’t hear, ‘Mrs Brown had a teeny accident.’

  Mrs Brown was the school music teacher.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘How teeny?’

  ‘She’s broken her ankle rather badly, so is off for a couple of months at least, and what with Christmas coming …’ Miss Price put her hands together and directed her prayers at me. ‘The best I can do,’ she went on, ‘is Jingle Bells with one finger.’

  It was only October. That anyone could even say the word Christmas so soon gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  ‘Well …’ I said. ‘I expect I could help a little. Did you have anything in mind?’

  She clutched my arm. ‘That would be marvellous. I can’t tell you how … marvellous! Let me show you what’s in the cupboard. We’ve just had a delivery. It’s why I didn’t see you last week. I did so want to show you. Mrs Brown is very keen. Personally,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what to think, but I’m sure someone like you will have lots of ideas.’

  Someone like me have lots of ideas about what? The cupboard contained several mysterious boxes.

  Half an hour later, I walked through town carrying an extra bag.

  ‘Lisa … Lisa!’ A glimpse of Jon before a bus came between us. He reappeared on my side of the road. ‘What’s that?’ he said, nodding at the instrument shaped bag under my arm.

  ‘I don’t think I ought to tell you,’ I said, turning away from him. ‘You’ll only want to play it.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a coffee.’

  ‘So?’ he said, reaching towards the bag that lay between us on one of Costa’s leather sofas. ‘Are you going to let me see?’

  I swapped it to my other side and he moved a little closer. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ He raised his hands in protest. ‘After such a major outlay?’

  ‘Even so.’ I smiled. ‘You have to guess.’

  ‘Oh, excellent,’ he said, enthusiastically. ‘Now let me see…’

  No, it wasn’t a cornet or a quarter-sized violin. It was when he suggested a didgerydoo and a set of tubular bells that I relented and opened the bag. ‘Mollie’s teacher wants me to organise some music for Christmas. They had twenty-five of these delivered yesterday and I think she’d like me to use them.’

  ‘Hah!’ he said, lifting the ukulele out of my hands. ‘If I remember rightly, this is in your top three least favourite instruments, alongside bagpipes and accordions.’ He began tuning it at once, then plinked through a few scales.

  ‘I don’t mind them one at a time, but a whole classful? I’d rather sing stark naked at the last night of the Proms.’

  ‘Oh really?’ He sat up. ‘Perhaps that could be arranged.’

  ‘Don’t even go there! No, I’ve already told Miss Price that I’m going to put all my efforts into the choir.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ he said. ‘Unless it’s a choir of Mollies. That might not be so bad. Does she want to do music? You know, in the future?’

  I thought about Mollie pirouetting round the room with ballet Barbie, but most of all lately, the relentless – but because I’m her mummy, endearing – singing.

  ‘She might,’ I said, ‘if she ever falls out of love with ballet. Her voice is good. I can see her on a stage but I can’t imagine her ever being tragic; she’d probably make a good Valkyrie.’

  ‘I’ll ask her next time I see her. Hello, little girl,’ he said, in a high sing-song voice. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

  ‘She’ll probably stab you with a Barbie, if you call her that.’

  ‘Pity she’s not old enough for Noteworthy,’ he said, twanging the strings. The girl clearing the next table glanced over and Jon caught her eye. Would she have smiled like that if it had been me playing? Unlikely.

  ‘Did people used to ask you what you wanted to be?’ Jon asked. ‘They did me.’ He yawned at the memory.

  ‘And did you tell them you were going to write jingles?’

  ‘Now, now, come on,’ he said, looking hurt. ‘I don’t only write jingles. But no, I didn’t. I used to say I wanted to be the Master of the Queen’s Music. It must be the best paid music job in the land, I thought. Turns out, the money’s rubbish. Not that I’d turn it down.’ He tipped back the rest of his espresso. I tried to imagine what sort of music Jon might have composed for William and Kate’s wedding. I felt sure he could do gravitas. ‘I suppose,’ he went on, ‘you wanted to be an opera singer.’

  ‘Me? An opera singer? No, I wanted to marry Freddie Mercury.’ I laughed at Jon’s surprise. ‘Yes, I know … so wrong and in so many ways.’

  ‘No, I mean really, when you were at college.’ Jon was looking at me rather intently. Something I found disconcerting. I felt more at ease with the restless, jokey Jon. The one I didn’t have to be serious with.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘perhaps I did back then.’ I remembered my final recital. Elgar’s Sea Pictures and the first alto solo from the St John Passion. Meeting Michael, the charming journalist, at the party afterwards, getting married, being domestic … ‘But then Mollie came along.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course.’ He pushed his cup and saucer around the table while I finished my cappuccino. Without warning the drowned lad was in my head again, swallowing water. I coughed, struggling to clear my throat.

  ‘All right there?’ Jon slapped me on the back.

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ I gasped for air and tried to keep calm. Was I all right? I didn’t know. Should I tell Jon? I felt if I did the whole horrible incident would come back, and there’d be another flood of sympathy and concern. Looking at Jon, the way his expression rested in a smile. Life was a warm, light-hearted thing for him. Could I tell him?

  I very nearly did, but he spoke first.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what did you think of Daniela?’

  ‘Daniela?’ I sounded sharp. Perhaps it was the sudden change of subject.

  ‘Yeah.’ He stroked a non-existent beard. ‘I thought she was rather good.’

  Oh no, no, no, Jon. She wasn’t rather good. She was absolutely bloody brilliant.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘I thought she was rather good too.’

  ‘I wish we didn’t have to sing that sodding Gesualdo.’ He sang the opening phrase of Ite sospiri while plinking an entirely inappropriate accompaniment.

  ‘Oh, please,’ I said, giggling at the ridiculousness. ‘If you’re not careful, Gesualdo’ll be after us.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Jon looked over his shoulder. ‘We’d best watch out for a four-hundred-year old man in tights bearing a lute and horsewhip then. Do you think he could play the lute and whip us at the same time?’

  His impersonation made me laugh even harder.

  ‘Now, stop it,’ I said, ‘or it jus
t might come true.’

  Jon sighed. ‘You’re right. One should never speak ill of the dead. But seeing as how we’re all very alive, I was thinking we ought to do some other five-part stuff as well. We’ll have to put together a whole programme for the museum and it seems a waste not to take advantage of Daniela while we’ve got her.

  ‘Mmm.’ It did. It did seem a waste. Agree with him, woman. ‘Mmm.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’d better go.’ It was a shameless avoidance ploy but Robert did pay me money for being in the shop. I put my hand out for the ukulele and he only let it go after the first verse of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and a stare of death from the woman on the next table when her toddler started to cry.

  We would be going in opposite directions, so we stood for a moment outside the cafe being slightly dithery with our goodbyes. Yes, I’d see him soon. Err … umm … an enquiry about Mollie. How was she? He’d like to see her.

  ‘Do you want to come and have something to eat with us on Friday evening?’

  Yeah, brilliant! He would. A big smile. Not only that, he’d collect her from ballet. Very brilliant.

  We turned away from each other but after two or three steps I looked back. I saw Jon had done the same. But then, almost in slow motion, I saw his arm rising and his expression change. The smile sinking away. That was just before I saw the bus, but it was too late by then and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Chapter Six

  Napoli 1587

  Napoli! I was going to Napoli. My heart beat faster merely at the thought. Laura was to go as well, unfortunately, although her reaction was to start weeping! Signora Carlino would have been my choice of companion, but I knew why she was not to go.

  It perplexed me why all about me were so afraid of the city. After all, we were to stay at the Palazzo San Severo, hardly cheap lodgings. My two years at the castle of Gesualdo had been uneventful, and occasionally almost as tedious as when I was sewing at home. Even then, we went to market once a week.

  The castle only came alive when the master and mistress were there. I worked almost always on Donna Maria’s clothing, her nightwear in particular. It seemed to me that she must twist and turn a lot in her sleep for there were often seams to re-sew even if they were double stitched.

  We had to put up with the discordant voices of the singers that Don Carlo brought in to perform his compositions too, but then, I had no ear for music. That’s not to say I didn’t like singing myself, but only when I was out walking alone, a rare thing since Salvo appeared whenever I took the path home. I have to say, his attention made me a little nervous. I liked him well enough, but at seventeen I couldn’t help feeling there was a bit of world yet to see.

  ‘You will be careful, won’t you, Silvia?’ Salvo said as the carriages and wagons were being loaded.

  Well, perhaps I did have a pang after all. He looked so unhappy at my leaving. As I sat down on the wagon bench I felt the lucky charm in my pouch that always reminded me of the first time I met Salvo. I pulled it out and tossed it high in the air. Salvo saw what it was straight away and caught it cleanly by hand, but I wondered if he would know it was the very same almond.

  ‘I did keep it, Salvo,’ I said.

  ‘And I made this for you,’ he replied, and he clambered up the side of the wagon and put a small object into my hand. In my palm, no bigger than the almond, lay a sleeping cat whose tail curled all round its body so that the fingertips stroked it like a smooth pebble. Only close inspection revealed the little nose and ears. I was reminded of my father’s woodwork but it was crude and rough compared to this. I was amazed.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ I said and my hand closed around it. ‘Thank you, Salvo.’

  I could feel a tear pricking the corner of my eye. The pull towards Napoli did not feel so strong suddenly but then the wagon jolted in motion.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ he called as we pulled away, ‘as well as I shall care for this.’ And much to my consternation he kissed my lucky almond and clutched it to his breast!

  We waved at each other until the the wagon went amongst the trees. Oh Salvo, I would miss him.

  I turned back to Laura who was sitting opposite and found her staring at me.

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ I said, trying to raise my own spirits, but she looked away.

  It would be a long journey.

  The sea! I was giddy with the sight and scent of it. All the misery of two days travelling fell away in a twinkling moment when I saw the sun shining over the blue bay. Even Laura came slightly more alive at the sight. Perhaps she would breathe more easily in the sea air. Everything about the city was brighter, louder and bigger than in Gesualdo. The smell too, unfortunately. A lot of people close together makes for a lot of stink. I pulled my cap down over my face to avoid any mischievous remarks from the men attending to their fishing boats, then jumped down from the wagon so that I could feel the stone of the city’s streets beneath my feet.

  ‘Ah, Silvia,’ said Donna Maria, when we reached the palazzo. ‘I am glad you are here at last. There is much to be done. I want something for the New Year feast. Don Carlo has invited half the court of Ferrara and I have no wish to be outshone.’

  ‘I cannot believe it would ever be possible, Donna Maria,’ I said.

  She laughed at that. ‘I like your earnestness. Come, Laura can unload. Let us look at the fabric samples the merchant brought. We will choose together and then you shall make me something wonderful.’

  ‘I shall do my very best, Donna Maria.’

  ‘I know you will, Silvia.’ She took my hand and held it to her cheek. ‘That’s why you’re here.’

  Truth be told, even wrapped in an old cheesecloth, Donna Maria would outshine every woman in Italy. It made me shiver, the touch of her, and I couldn’t tell whether it was with alarm or delight. What I did see though, was that with beauty and power come certain gifts. Like charms they are, or the honeyed flytraps that hang from the ceiling. And just like flies, some get stuck on them sooner than they know.

  Donna Maria’s apartment was on the second floor right above Don Carlo’s. When I looked out of the window, I could see to the palazzo one way and as far as the corner of the street in the other. My duties were to make and care for all my lady’s clothes that hung in the large carved closet and those more intimate garments, alongside the sleeves, cuffs and ruffs that lay in the cedar chest. I was to sleep in the adjoining room to her chamber.

  ‘It is quite a heavy door between us, is it not, Silvia?’ my lady asked me as I unhooked her sleeves that night. She waved her hand towards the door and I turned to look, having not given it much thought at all until that moment.

  ‘I would say so, my lady, yes. It looks as sturdy as a door might be for the indoors.’ I assumed that was a good thing.

  ‘Do you think you shall hear me when I call?’

  ‘I should think so, my lady. My ears have never been a trouble to me. Nor my eyes … why, this lace is coming away.’ I held up the offending trim. She didn’t even look, but frowned instead.

  ‘That is of no matter, Silvia. Now listen to me. You are to pay no attention to any shouts or cries that come from this room at any time when my husband is present.’

  I took a small step backwards with surprise and knocked into the closet that bore the water jug. The blow set it rocking but I was glad to turn away and steady it. What a thing to say! ‘Why no, my lady,’ I said, mumbling a little in embarrassment.

  ‘Not on any account, do you understand me? These palace walls are not like those of Castle Gesualdo and Don Carlo is …’ she faltered for a moment, then took a deep breath. ‘You must not think anything is untoward, even if it may sound so.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I understand.’

  That’s what I said, but I have to admit I was alarmed. While not having Laura’s wheezing to accompany my sleeping pleased me no end, I soon began to see and hear why the seams of my mistress’s nightwear might not hold so well.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a good thing
the Prince does not visit the bedchamber so very often,’ I said, having been woken at the darkest hour of night by footsteps and then my mistress calling. In the candlelight she held out a nightdress rent from neck to hem. I couldn’t help but see the dark spots that stained the pale silk. ‘Oh, my lady … are you hurt?’

  ‘No, no,’ she said, running her hands through her unbound hair. ‘It isn’t my blood. Here, fetch me another nightdress, and bring me some water to wash with too.’

  ‘But …’ I must have looked a little alarmed for Donna Maria smiled. To my amazement, she patted the bed and bade me sit beside her. I perched the best I could, but did not find it easy to be so familiar.

  ‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘that the Prince is not my first husband?’

  ‘I did …’

  ‘He is my third. I have had three husbands. Three!’ She sighed. ‘Shall I tell you a secret, Silvia?’

  Oh please don’t, I thought. ‘If you wish, Donna Maria.’

  ‘I am beginning to think that I might have preferred a life of contemplation.’

  I did not mean to laugh and quickly cleared my throat to disguise it. In my mind’s eye I saw Donna Maria dressed as one of the sisters of Mercy that crossed the piazza every morning. The habit could not disguise the grace of her steps or full sweetness of her lips. ‘Surely not,’ I began, but she interrupted.

  ‘It is not always … pleasant, being married. But I think I have tried to accommodate all my husbands.’ She began to twist the sheet between her thumb and forefinger, sighing with enough vigour for the candle to flicker. ‘But Don Carlo is … well … I think the best thing to say is, he is … he is the most violent.’

  I kept quiet and held my breath. What did that mean? She screwed the sheet tighter and tighter almost to rope.

  ‘I think he means well,’ she went on. ‘He certainly used to … at first. I thought he was pleased with me. The others were too, they liked to do all sorts of things. I tried, I did try. I decided when I was first married …’ she looked at me, and with the fingers that weren’t tied in a knot, stroked the side of my cheek, ‘I was younger than you are now, Silvia. My mother gave me little warning, but I decided that a wife should … should …’ she hunted for the right word … ‘participate fully.’