The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied, and she did hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “But I’m at home at the moment.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No need to apologize—you can call me anytime. Well, almost anytime. I don’t usually answer during meetings or lessons.”

  “Of course.”

  Lilly wondered why she felt so damned unsure of herself. Gabriel was so friendly; there was no need.

  “Do you have access to a computer in the palazzo? Or is there a house ghost who’ll deliver e-mails?”

  “I think so. I mean that there’s a computer. I haven’t seen the ghost yet.” Lilly giggled as she imagined a ghostly butler handing her a printout of an e-mail on a silver tray.

  “OK, I’ll e-mail you the files tomorrow morning. Of course, the information’s not complete. At some stage Mrs. Faraday lost sight of her protégée, but I’ll send you all I have.”

  “Thank you; that’s very kind.”

  “Anytime, Lilly.” The way he said her name filled her with the kind of warmth she had not felt since she was with Peter. And yet it was completely different.

  “Well, then . . . good night . . . Gabriel.”

  “Good night, Lilly. And remember to come back from Cremona. I’m looking forward to talking to you again.”

  He hung up. Lilly held the phone to her ear for a moment longer, even though the conversation had ended. Her heart was still thumping and seemed as if it would never stop. She had felt the same way when she met Peter, and she had probably been just as nervous. It had all been such a long time ago . . . Suppressing a brief tinge of sadness, she set the phone down by the bed. Shortly before she went to sleep, she realized that she was smiling.

  Later she dreamt she was in a dressing room like the ones she recognized from the old films. A large mirror dominated the room, and on the door of an antiquated wardrobe trunk hung a dressing gown and two dresses—the clothes of an adult woman.

  Lilly was all the more surprised to hear a child laughing in a corner of the room. Turning toward it, she found herself looking into the face of a girl of around seven or eight who bore a slight resemblance to Helen Carter—at least, she had the same thick, black hair.

  “Are you looking for something?” the child asked, clearly not shy.

  Lilly didn’t know what to say at first. “I—I” she stammered, but then the words flowed back to her. “I’m looking for Rose.”

  “I’m Helen,” the child said with a giggle.

  “But you’re a child!”

  “Weren’t you one once?” the girl retorted, and hopped up to a table on which a violin case lay.

  “Yes, I was. But . . . ”

  What should she say? She didn’t know.

  The girl ran her hand over the violin. The violin! Perhaps she should ask about the violin.

  “Where did you get the violin?” she heard her dream voice saying.

  “I was given it,” little Helen replied.

  “By whom?”

  “By a woman.”

  “And what was this woman called?”

  The girl only laughed in reply. Had Mrs. Faraday given the girl the violin? It was likely. Lilly wanted to ask the child, who bore a spooky resemblance to Helen, what had become of her, but the girl was now opening the case. The violin looked much newer in the dream than it did now. As Helen ran her fingers over it, a false note sounded, as if it were out of tune.

  “The solution to the mystery is hidden in ‘The Moonlit Garden,’” the girl whispered once the harsh note had faded.

  Lilly looked into the child’s eyes and noticed that they were an unusual golden brown, as if a beam of light were shining onto the irises.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, but the girl was not interested in answering her questions.

  “Look, I can do magic!” she cried out. Laughter filled the room before she vanished into thin air.

  As Lilly awoke, she realized that the moon had vanished from her window. A scooter rattled past along the street. She could still see the dream image before her eyes. Little Helen had told her that the solution to the mystery lay in “The Moonlit Garden.” Her mind scrambled to make sense of the visions. The dream had only come to her because she had seen the photo the day before, and it had imprinted itself on her mind, she told herself. But what if the solution to the mystery really was to be found in the sheet of music?

  Lilly felt like getting up to look, but she was overcome by a wave of fatigue. She sank back to sleep, this time without dreaming.

  14

  The next morning, Lilly considered what to do next. Her residual tiredness had been driven away by a strange restlessness. She went to the table where the violin case lay and took out the sheet of music from the lining.

  She recalled what Dean had said—was there a code somehow concealed in the music?

  If there was, it was one she was unable to unravel, since the piece was purely instrumental, with no text that could be readily interpreted. She gave up with a sigh, placed the page on the desk, and went for a shower. Together with the warm water, a shower of questions rained down on her. Perhaps Ellen and Enrico might be able to detect something in the notes of the beautiful sheet music . . .

  Still unsettled, she turned off the water and dried her hair before wrapping herself in one of Enrico’s fluffy bath towels She loved the feel of it against her, especially since the washing machine at home had a tendency to stiffen her own, turning them into something akin to cardboard.

  The scent of coffee wafted down the corridor, enticing her into the kitchen. She found Ellen there, sitting at a long wooden table, her hands wrapped around a red coffee mug. She looked a little lost sitting at the oversized piece of furniture. Did Enrico really have occasion to entertain so many guests that such a table was needed to seat them all?

  “Hey, there you are!” Ellen greeted her. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming down today.”

  “I called Gabriel yesterday evening,” Lilly admitted, causing her friend to raise her eyebrows.

  “Now that’s what I call bold! Dragging a man from his sleep like that.”

  “He wasn’t asleep. At least, he didn’t sound as if he was.”

  The memory of the telephone conversation brought a smile to Lilly’s face, momentarily pushing the questions about the sheet music into the background.

  “Well, I’m sure he was wide awake the moment he heard you,” Ellen said, taking a sip from her mug. “My goodness, this is almost as good as the coffee Terence makes.”

  “Where’s your friend?” Lilly asked, glancing around the room. The kitchen looked like the kind of place that would be ideal for filming a celebrity-chef show.

  “Enrico’s gone to town to fetch us some breakfast. But don’t get your expectations up—the Italians don’t usually eat much in the mornings.” Ellen rose and made for the expensive coffee machine. “I’ll swap you a cappuccino for an account of your phone conversation with Gabriel.”

  “Deal,” Lilly replied over the humming and slurping of the machine. “But I’m not sure the details of the call are as exciting as you think. It won’t be news to you that Gabriel hasn’t refused to help me.”

  “Just as I thought—I’d have bet the contents of my wardrobe on it.”

  Ellen set the coffee cup in front of her and sat back down. Lilly blew into the foamed milk and sipped cautiously.

  “What do you think?”

  “Delicious.” Lilly drank again, then put the cup down. “Gabriel’s going to e-mail me the concert dates. And then . . . I had another dream.”

  “A dirty dream involving Gabriel?” Ellen’s eyes lit up mischievously.

  “No, not that. I dreamt of Helen. Helen as a very small girl. She told me that the solution to the mystery would be found in ‘The Moonlit Garden.’ Do you remember what Dean said? That business about the code?”

  “Do you really think the melody contains a hidden message?”

>   “Could it be possible? I’ve never been fully familiar with music notation, but you are.”

  “I am, but I’ve never been approached by MI6 with an offer I can’t refuse. I wouldn’t recognize a code if it were right there under my nose. It was only a dream, Lilly. Information your brain was processing.”

  “You’re right. But what if it’s true anyway? Perhaps the composer was clever enough to hide a message in the notes.”

  Lilly had brought the sheet music down with her and now spread it out on the table. To her, the notes looked like small birds’ footprints. There was no obvious message, no code. Ellen would certainly see them with different eyes, but after staring at the page for a while, she shook her head.

  “A piece of music. All I see is a piece of music, nothing else. And I’m married to a man whose greatest hero is James Bond.”

  Before Lilly could reply, the door opened.

  “I see you’re both awake and pretty as the morning sunshine,” Enrico said cheerfully as he bustled into the kitchen and set down a basket containing two paper bags carrying the smell of a bakery, and a large jar of jelly.

  Lilly stopped herself from rolling her eyes, satisfying herself with glancing at Ellen, who betrayed no reaction.

  “Hey, ladies, what’s up with you?” Enrico asked, clearly expecting a response to his greeting.

  “Nothing. We’ve just got something on our minds,” Ellen replied as she sipped her coffee. “Lilly had a confusing dream, and now we’re wondering whether it’s possible to conceal a code in sheet music.”

  She pointed to the page in front of Lilly.

  “What kind of code?”

  “A code that Rose, or maybe Helen, might have wanted to pass down into the future,” Lilly said, turning the page so that he could see the composition. “A secret, perhaps. Possibly even the whereabouts or fate of Rose.”

  Enrico considered for a moment before shrugging.

  “I wouldn’t rule it out. In earlier times people were said to have been very inventive when it came to encoding messages. I’m not the right person to answer queries like that, but I do have a friend, a historian, who’s interested in medieval espionage. Rose obviously lived in much more recent times and had nothing to do with the Borgias, but he might be able to give you some answers.”

  Ellen smiled at Lilly. “We’re gradually getting so deeply in debt to you that we’ll never be able to repay you in a lifetime.”

  “You don’t have to,” Enrico countered, this time without a hint of his usual suggestiveness. “If there really is a code concealed in this piece of music, it’ll be a sensation. Now, have a good breakfast—the archive awaits us. While you’re eating, I’ll try phoning my friend. Perhaps he can help.”

  All morning Lilly was unable to get the dream out of her mind. Was it really possible that there was a hidden message among the notes? She was a little annoyed with herself for not having paid more attention during her music lessons. But even if she had, would she have been in a position to detect a code? Probably not. And it wasn’t even certain that there was a secret message. It was a dream, Lilly, just a dream, she told herself repeatedly. But something urged her not to let it go.

  Enrico had been unable to get hold of his friend. He had left him a message, and Lilly now felt as if she were on hot coals, her mind full of Helen’s girlish voice haunting her with its laughter.

  “Well, your Mr. Thornton has been a great help,” Enrico remarked. They were back in the museum, waiting for the newspapers he had requested to be brought to them. “I’m only surprised that he hasn’t turned up here himself to look for the articles.”

  “He has a school to manage and can’t always take the time off to inquire about the school’s former students,” Lilly said, somewhat surprised at the intensity of her tone. After all, Enrico’s words hadn’t sounded all that critical.

  “I’m sorry—I meant no offense to your friend. I was just a bit surprised.”

  “No, forgive me. I’m just a bit on edge because of Rose,” Lilly replied, her embarrassment earning her an amused look from Ellen. “And I must admit, I’m a bit nervous about the sheet music.”

  “Pietro will be in touch soon,” Enrico said confidently. “He’s probably been taken off somewhere by his wife. She’s very keen to make sure they spend the little spare time they get together. He’s probably strolling through the park with her, enjoying the lovely weather, and pining for his cell phone. He’s not allowed to switch it on when they go for their walks.”

  Strolling through the park. Lilly smiled sadly as she repeated the words in her head. She used to stroll through the park with Peter on Sundays, when time allowed. When the first magnolias were in bloom, they always went out together, at least when the sun shone. Would she ever enjoy walks like that again? She could imagine doing so with Gabriel, but would that ever happen?

  “Look here!” Enrico’s voice tore her out of her thoughts. “Rose at eighteen. Perhaps the last time that cranky old lady accompanied her.”

  The photo, which dominated the center of the newspaper page, showed Rose looking similar to the way she had when Lilly first saw her among Thornton’s documents. Mrs. Faraday looked older, and Lilly could see a man in the background. Rose’s lover? That was Lilly’s first thought, but then she shook her head. The strict music teacher surely would not have allowed that. But why was he in the picture? It looked as though he had slipped in at the last minute.

  “Does the article say anything about who this man is?” Lilly pointed to the picture.

  Enrico’s eyes skimmed the newsprint; then he shook his head. “The guy makes me think of football fans,” he said, causing Ellen to laugh.

  “Football?”

  “Yes. You know, those fans who pop up and shove their faces or fingers into the picture when their idol is being interviewed?”

  “Do you really think people did that kind of thing in those days?” Lilly asked, although she suspected he was right. Yes, it looked as though he had wanted to push his way into the picture.

  “People haven’t really changed that much over the last century,” Enrico said with a laugh. “There were brazen, pushy people back then, too. Perhaps this man was an ardent admirer of Rose.”

  A shrill ringing suddenly interrupted the silence that had fallen. Enrico delved into his pocket as the young museum attendant who was keeping an eye on them frowned in disapproval. The conversation was short and to the point. As Enrico hung up, his eyes were shining mysteriously.

  “That was Pietro, the strolling historian. He listened to my message, and he’s now asking for a copy of the music. He’d like to look at it.”

  Lilly gave a soft whoop of joy. “So it’s possible?”

  “According to Pietro, yes. But you should also be prepared for the possibility that there’s nothing there. My friend can’t find a code that doesn’t exist.”

  “But he’s going to try.”

  “You can be sure he’ll look at it closely. And if there’s the slightest hint of a secret, he’ll find it, guaranteed.”

  “Then we should get it to him as soon as possible,” Ellen said. “Does he live nearby?”

  “No, in Rome. We’ll have to send it to him. If you can get a letter ready by this evening, I’ll post it tomorrow.”

  “Do you still always send everything by mail?” Ellen asked in surprise. “Doesn’t your friend have an e-mail address?”

  “Of course, but I don’t have a scanner. You know I only have the essentials when it comes to technology.” He turned back to Lilly. “Have you brought the page with you? We should copy it here. I don’t have a photocopier, either.”

  Lilly nodded and handed him the sheet of music.

  In return for all that Enrico had done for them, Lilly and Ellen offered to cook him a meal that evening.

  “German food? Are you sure?” he joked, his expression one of feigned dismay. “I don’t think I have any bratwurst or sauerkraut in my fridge.”

  “Those eternal clichés!” E
llen said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re an Italian, not an American. You should know us better than that.”

  “And we’re not intending to serve you up knuckle of pork,” Lilly added with a laugh. She was almost beginning to feel sorry that they were leaving the next day. Despite her initial impression of him as a sweet-talker, Enrico had turned out to be a friendly, helpful man. And she loved Cremona. It was a pity that they had not had the opportunity to visit the violin makers’ workshops. If she came again, she would make sure she did.

  Despite Enrico’s fears, Lilly and Ellen conjured up a very passable pasta dish, which they polished off during a cozy evening around the long kitchen table. Enrico then insisted on showing them around the palazzo, including the rooms that were closed off because he didn’t use them. After some gruesome stories about murdered counts, unfaithful poisoners, and the ghost of a midwife who had been killed by a countess after a stillbirth, they returned to the living room.

  “What do you plan to do next?” Enrico asked as they enjoyed a glass of red wine from the palazzo’s wine cellar. “The newspaper clippings aren’t really going to help you explain why you were given the violin.”

  “But at least I’ve discovered some more about Rose,” Lilly said. “Anyway, we haven’t heard the analysis of the music yet. Maybe it will tell us more than we think.” As soon as they’d arrived home, Lilly had put the copy of the music in an envelope. Now it was a matter of waiting.

  “What if it doesn’t?” Enrico pried.

  “Then we’ll try and find some new clues. In the meantime, maybe I’ll be able to discover the identity of the mystery man who brought me the violin. Surely he’d be able to tell me how he came to the conclusion that I’m entitled to it.”

  “If he doesn’t keep eluding you,” Enrico reminded her. “He obviously had his reasons for not telling you anything. Why should he have changed his mind if you see him again?”

  “I’ve got to try, at least. I don’t want to keep something that doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Oh, maybe it does belong to you. Sometimes there’s no knowing the complicated paths followed by people—or things. The violin must have belonged to someone after Helen Carter—as far as I know, she was unable to play after she suffered an accident. Perhaps she sold it to one of your forebears.”