1 - Interrupted Aria

by Beverle Graves Myers

  “Susannah is sure he put something in Adelina’s wine decanter. The chief seems to think she is to be believed. The talk on the piazza is that the authorities have their man and will deal with him shortly.”

  “If Messer Grande wants to find who meant Adelina harm, he should look to the rest of the company.”

  Crivelli cocked his head.

  I stretched my legs out on the warm stones and leaned my back against the railing. “Who has been besetting Adelina with persistent harassment? Who covets her position at the theater? Who would do anything to be the prima donna?”

  Crivelli regarded me with a silent, enigmatic expression.

  “You know who I mean.” I grabbed his coat collar. “Go on, say her name.”

  “Caterina,” he whispered.

  “It had to be that greedy serpent of a soprano. She couldn’t wait for leading roles to come her way fairly. She had to destroy Adelina and snatch them away.” I gave a mad laugh that made Crivelli’s jaw drop. “How frustrating for her to see Viviani hire someone else to sing Juno. Marguerite better watch what she drinks if she doesn’t want to end up on San Michele with Adelina.”

  “You don’t know that Caterina is responsible. We don’t even know exactly what happened.” He laid a cautionary hand on my shoulder. “Surely you noticed that Caterina had changed her manner toward Adelina. On opening night they were quite friendly.”

  “That was Caterina playing the ingénue grateful for the older singer’s attention. A clever strategy. It allowed her to get in Adelina’s room without arousing suspicion.”

  “You must not rush to these conclusions, Tito. There could be another explanation for Caterina’s sudden change in attitude.”

  “I’d like to hear what that could possibly be.”

  “Then why don’t you ask her?”

  His question surprised me, but a moment’s reflection told me it made good sense. My one thought was to get Felice out of this terrible mess. Messer Grande would not be interested in airy theories about a theatrical rivalry turned deadly. He would demand good, hard evidence. To free Felice I would have to show the chief exactly what happened that night and hand him the real killer. I turned my face toward Crivelli.

  “You are right. I must talk to Caterina. And Susannah as well. Only the truth will save Felice. I have to discover as much as I possibly can about that night.”

  Crivelli nodded sagely. “There may be others who wanted Adelina dead for reasons that you know nothing about. Have you forgotten Beppo’s death?”

  “No, of course not. How could I? Do you think the collapsing platform was meant to kill Adelina? That it wasn’t the Albrimani after all?”

  “Or perhaps the Albrimani are even more vicious than we think. We have to acknowledge all possibilities.”

  “This is not going to be easy,” I sighed, foreseeing the difficulties that lay ahead.

  “If it helps, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  “You believe in Felice’s innocence, then?”

  “I believe the matter is more complicated than Messer Grande would like it to be.” He stood up creakily, one hand to his back. “And, over the years, I have become very fond of truth.”

  ***

  Back at the theater, I was eager to start asking questions. I spied Susannah in what was now Marguerite’s dressing room. She was clearing out the last of Adelina’s things under the haughty eye of the new soprano. The little maid was sorting corsets and petticoats into large wicker baskets while Marguerite arranged her own cosmetics and trifles on the dressing table. The suspicious wine decanter was nowhere in sight. Marguerite opened drawers with an air of peevish disgust and shoved the contents in Susannah’s direction.

  “Take these things away, Signorina…whatever you are called. Be quick about it. I need to start getting dressed. My public expects perfection.”

  Susannah interrupted her packing long enough to put her hands on her hips and aim a disgruntled look at the new prima donna’s back. Then she resumed dragging a heavy basket toward the door. I saw my chance.

  “I’ll carry that, Susannah. Where do you want me to take it?”

  “I have a gondola waiting out front, Signor Amato,” she said, giving me a look just a few degrees warmer than the one she had sent Marguerite.

  We struggled down the stairs with our burdens and settled the baskets and boxes of Adelina’s belongings in the gondola. The maid started to embark, but I laid a hand on her arm.

  “Wait a moment, Susannah. I’d be greatly obliged if we could talk about what happened that night.”

  The maid pulled her chin into her chest and fixed her resentful black eyes on mine. “You mean the night my mistress was murdered by your friend.”

  “Please. There are just a few little things I’d like to know.”

  “Little things are they? Since when is poison a little thing? Since when is the death of a great lady and a singer known throughout Italy a little.…” Here she choked and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  I sent the gondola on to Adelina’s apartment in the Calle Stretta and led Susannah to a stone bench by the entrance to the theater. It was still early; two Viviani guards patrolling the theater’s perimeter were the only people around. I searched my pockets for a handkerchief and handed it to the sobbing maid.

  “Why are you so sure that Felice poisoned Adelina?”

  “I believe my own eyes, that’s why.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  She dabbed her cheeks with the crumpled ball of cloth. “I’ve already told Messer Grande.”

  “Tell me as well. I have to know what happened. Adelina was the closest friend I had in the company.”

  Susannah nodded slowly. “She was very fond of you and often spoke of you. She wondered what you would make of your career.”

  “Well, then?”

  The maid sighed and began her tale. “My mistress came up near the end of the first act. She was in good spirits so I knew she must have been pleased with her singing. It was easy to tell how things had gone down on the stage. If she didn’t think she’d done well, she wouldn’t speak to nobody, just throw her wig on the sofa and start brushing her hair with a vengeance. But that night she was all smiles and in a hurry. She had me get her out of one dress and into the next one right away. She said ‘Signorina Testi wants our help, she needs to look her best for her important aria.’ So my mistress took me next door to work on that mouthy one. What sallow skin she has, and that sharp chin. A person could cut themselves on it.”

  As Susannah shook her head over Caterina’s facial imperfections, I put in a few questions. “Your mistress showed no sign of illness or distress?”

  “No, none.”

  “When had she last eaten?”

  “She’d had some roast chicken and fruit at midday, before we came to the theater. She always waited until after the opera to eat anything more. She said she couldn’t sing and digest at the same time.”

  “Perhaps the chicken was off,” I said in a hopeful tone.

  She gave me an aggrieved look. “Impossible. I baked it myself that morning and ate my own dinner from the same bird.”

  “You were with her all day?”

  “Yes, except when she went down to sing.”

  “What happened in Caterina’s dressing room?”

  “I did what I could, but the Signorina didn’t have many face paints to work with. My mistress sent me back to her room to get a certain shade of rouge. That’s when I saw him.”

  “Felice Ravello?”

  “I know the name now, but I didn’t then. I thought, ‘What’s that fellow doing up here?’ I must have startled him. He was standing at my mistress’ dressing table with her wine decanter in his hand. He almost broke it, he set it down so fast.”

  “Did you see him put something in it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t really think much of i
t at the time. If only I had said something.” The gulping sobs began again and I forced myself to remain silent until she was ready to go on. “I thought he’d come up to see you and, when he saw the wine standing there, he’d decided to get himself a free drink. I said, ‘Your friend isn’t here. This is Signora Belluna’s room.’ He skittered out fast, full of apologies. He was slipping something in his waistcoat pocket as he left.”

  I thought I detected a ray of hope. “So you didn’t actually see him put anything in the decanter?”

  “I know what he did well enough,” she retorted. “Messer Grande told me. They found a glass vial in his pocket. Dark amber glass like the apothecaries use for poisons and acids and such.”

  “But you still don’t know that he poisoned the wine, not really. Maybe the wine was bad. Maybe someone else put something in it,” I sputtered, letting my fears for Felice take over and provoke Susannah’s ire.

  She jumped up and threw my handkerchief in my face. “You don’t care what he did to my mistress. You are just trying to get your friend out of trouble, but it won’t work. I pulled the cork on the wine and put it in the empty decanter as soon as we got to the theater. She’d had a glass while I pressed her first costume and another before she went down for Act One. She was fine, fine as she ever was until that Felice put his poison in the decanter. She took a glass before Act Two and it wasn’t five minutes until she started feeling queer. I thought she was just overheated. That bodice with all those metal circles was so heavy. I gave her another glass….God save me, I wouldn’t have hurt her for anything.”

  I tried to calm her distress, but the maid was determined to vent her anger. “You saw how she suffered. You held her as she died. How can you defend that murderer?”

  “I hate what happened to Adelina as much as you do. I know it looks bad, but I don’t believe that Felice is responsible.”

  “Bah!” She made a gesture that could have been a curse or an obscenity. “He did it, all right. I just hope the executioner tightens the wire around his throat with a slow hand. I want him to suffer…to suffer as badly as my mistress.”

  With a last venomous look, Susannah turned and hailed a passing gondola. I wondered what would happen to her; there were more ladies’ maids in Venice than ladies. I hoped she had family who could take her in until she could find another position. Or perhaps Adelina had provided for her. There was a thought. Had Adelina made a will?

  Chapter 13

  With the sun rapidly sinking behind the rooftops, I ascended the steps leading to the theater’s entrance and pushed through the heavy doors into the dark foyer. An elongated triangle of light stretched from the half-open door of the box office. Muffled voices came from inside.

  “…won’t hurt the take. We had to turn people away last night. Too bad we can’t extend the run.”

  “Impossible.” This was Torani’s voice. He must be going over the receipts with the business manager. “All theaters must shut down on December 16 and remain so until the day after Christmas. That’s the law of the Republic and even Signor Viviani cannot bend that rule.”

  “Has His Excellency chosen an opera for the new year?”

  “He will go along with my suggestion. The man is a cretin where music is concerned and he knows it. He concentrates on the marketplace where his true talent resides and lets me run the show here.”

  “Same cast?”

  “Tito will stay, of course. He’s our big draw. Viviani wants him in the lead. It’s time to put Crivelli out to pasture. And Caterina is out.”

  “Not a crowd favorite, is she?”

  “No. She warbles well enough but they just don’t like her. Too serious, no spark.”

  “And not much here either.” The low rumble of male laughter hinted at the descriptive gesture that must have accompanied the words.

  I shivered, but not from the chill of the dark theater. How lightly they discussed our futures, as if we singers were no more than pieces on a game board. I had my hand on the door to the auditorium when a murmured name stopped me.

  “…Ravello, the violinist. His Excellency wants the matter cleared up swiftly. He doesn’t want Messer Grande and his thugs poking around the theater any longer.”

  “But what made the fellow do Adelina in?”

  “Who knows?” Torani’s voice held a shrug. “Maybe she rejected his offers of love. She has refused many a man, and none too gently either.”

  “But he is a castrato.”

  “That doesn’t always stop them. Remember that capon we had several years ago? He couldn’t keep his hands out from under the dancers’ skirts.”

  “Still, it’s odd. So senseless.”

  “It will all be forgotten after the holiday. Tito and La Grande Marguerite will be the talk of Venice, and La Belluna’s demise will fade into a barely remembered scandal.”

  “Marguerite is not La Belluna.”

  “No, but she’ll have to do.” Torani groaned like a convict sentenced to ten years at the oars of a state galley. “I’ll coax a good performance out of her somehow.”

  The creak of a chair and the slamming of a drawer told me it was time to move. I tapped the door to the auditorium to make it swing back and forth and turned on my heel as if I had just come from the pit. The ticket manager came out of the office and began to light the wall lamps with a long taper. Plaster cherubs holding garlands sprang out from the shadowed walls of the richly ornamented foyer.

  Torani greeted me. “Tito, how is the voice tonight?”

  “It’s fine, Maestro, but my mind is troubled. The police have arrested the wrong man. It grieves me to think of Felice being held in the guardhouse unjustly.”

  Torani cast his eyes upward as if beseeching the plaster angels to smite this latest source of irritation. “I’ve already lost one of my best singers. I’ve got ballet girls having hysterics if someone merely taps one of them on the shoulder. I’ve got seamstresses ready to walk out at the slightest hint that a murderer is still at large.” He stopped to wipe his brow. “I beg you, Tito, don’t stir up trouble. It’s a tragedy that Adelina was taken from us, but Juno must go on without further disturbance.”

  We were walking across the pit. Soft yellow light shone from under the half-raised curtain. On the stage, disembodied legs moved this way and that in a seemingly aimless dance. It was getting late. Several servants were already dusting chairs and lighting candles in their masters’ boxes.

  “Signor Torani, you have also lost a violinist, a man who helped you out when you were short of musicians.”

  “Felice Ravello was easily replaced. There are scores of mediocre violinists looking for work. Whenever I go in a tavern, they cluster around me like flies on an uncovered dish of gelato.”

  I bit my lip. “Isn’t it possible that Adelina’s death is related to the other problems that have plagued this production? Felice could not have had anything to do with the falling platform that killed Beppo. Just think. It would be the ultimate act of sabotage…murdering the prima donna on opening night.”

  Torani frowned and looked behind us. “That would place the blame on the Albrimani family.”

  “Perhaps. Why not?”

  “To start with, the difficulties ceased when Signor Viviani posted his bravos at every door and throughout the theater.”

  “What about scaring the original orchestra musicians away?”

  “I’m not so sure that wasn’t simply a few vagabond violinists looking for better wages elsewhere. If it was the Albrimani, it was done from outside. To poison Adelina, one of them would have had to get inside the theater and up to her dressing room. Messer Grande has questioned everyone on that point. There were no strangers backstage that night.”

  We had reached the stage door. Torani put his hands on my shoulders. He was smiling, showing his yellow teeth, and nodding encouragingly. “Just let it be, Tito. You were meant to sing, not to do Messer Grande’s work for him. Put all this unfortunate business out of your
mind. Just go out there and give me the best Arcas I have ever heard.”

  As I headed for the stairs to the dressing rooms, a lonely figure caught my attention. Caterina was perched on part of the set for Act One, a low stone wall fashioned of canvas and wood. Her feet were planted on the floor and her back slumped in a dejected curve. She stared at the activity on the stage, but made no reaction until one of the scene shifters practically pushed her from her seat so he could maneuver the bulky set piece onto the stage.

  Madame Dumas bustled past with her scissors and thread. “Monsieur Amato, you should be dressed. They will call for places in a few minutes.”

  I glanced back toward Caterina, but the soprano had disappeared. I ended up chasing her all evening. If I stationed myself where she was supposed to exit, she ignored the staging and darted around a different flat of scenery. If I tried to corner her in her dressing room, the door was slammed in my face. My only chance to have Caterina to myself without a handy escape route was at the end of the opera when we made our ascent on the starry chariot that carried Arcas and Callisto up to their final destination among the whirling constellations.

  Caterina wouldn’t look at me as we sang our last duet. When the song called for us to face each other, she stared fixedly at a spot somewhere above my right shoulder. As I took her arm to escort her onto our flying chariot, she discreetly shook me off and settled herself at the very edge of our platform.

  I slipped one arm around her waist and made my choreographed gesture to salute the singing nymphs and courtiers on the stage.

  Smiling, I whispered between my teeth, “Get over to the center of the platform. You are going to make this thing tip over.”

  She refused to move, except to grip the silver-painted railing more tightly. Only when the chariot began to rise with the floor at a definite angle did she shuffle a few steps toward the center.

  “Why are you avoiding me?” I asked in an attempt at a soothing tone. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Why should I talk with you?” she shot back.

  “Why should you not?”

  She glared at me and flared her nostrils. If the audience was paying any attention to the actors in this spectacular ascent, they must be wondering what Arcas had done to make his mother so angry. Caterina said, “I know what you want to say, but I don’t have to listen to it.”