As I came through the doors on the water entrance, I heard Caterina arguing with one of the guards. “But the things in the dressing room are mine, not Signor Viviani’s. I have jewelry and clothing that belonged to my mother. You must let me get what’s mine.”
The man cringed under her hectoring tone but stood his ground. “Everything in this theater is now the property of the Republic, and nobody goes through these doors except on Messer Grande’s orders.”
Caterina stamped her foot in disgust, then caught sight of me. “Tito! Thank God, you’re here at last. Tell these men to let me through.”
The stout constable stood a little straighter and gave me a challenging look. Torani was nearby but beset by orchestra musicians and theater staff demanding wages and information about their jobs. I took Caterina’s hands and told her what I had learned on the piazza. “What’s going on here?”
“Torani decided to go ahead with Eurydice and credit the opera to my mother. He had me come in this morning to rehearse Eurydice’s death scene. Crivelli and Marguerite were here, too. I was just starting to sing when suddenly the building was full of sbirri and Messer Grande was barking orders.” She stopped and clenched her fists.
“Go on,” I urged.
“Messer Grande told us Viviani had been condemned and all his assets within the boundaries of the Republic were hereby seized. Then he had each of us brought to the room downstairs and questioned us.”
“Were you mistreated?” I asked quickly, running my eyes over her form for signs of bodily harm.
“No, that is not his way,” she replied with a sharp jut of her chin. “After I told him I knew nothing of Viviani’s business dealings or where he might have fled, Messer Grande simply asked me, very softly and almost regretfully, had I not witnessed the last public execution of a traitor.”
“I see,” I whispered thoughtfully. “Is Crivelli all right?”
“You know the old man, always so calm and assured. He probably took the questioning better than any of the rest of us.”
“Where is he?”
“Marguerite went into hysterics. You can imagine the scene. She was so unmanageable, Messer Grande let Crivelli take her home.”
Wishing that the old castrato were here to provide his usual wise counsel, I drew Caterina away from any curious ears. Under a pair of grinning plaster cherubs, I asked, “Do you think Adelina knew about Viviani’s Turkish dealings? Were they her secret lever?”
She sighed wearily, and the anger seemed to drain out of her face. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I did, but there’s just so much I’ll never know about my mother.” With slumped shoulders, Caterina half turned, then paused and drew a folded paper out of a pocket in her skirts. “I almost forgot. Susannah gave me this note last night. It was stuffed into one of Adelina’s gloves that had been left in her old dressing room. Marguerite found it when she was looking for a tube of paint that had rolled behind the sofa. It has nothing to do with this.” She waved an impatient hand at the constables and the clamoring musicians. “But it might be important for Felice’s sake. It shows somebody was very unhappy about my mother’s romance with Viviani.”
I tucked the tightly folded paper in my waistcoat, intending to read it as soon as I reached a place of relative privacy. First, I wanted to speak with Torani. If anyone at the theater could help me it would be the director. I hadn’t forgotten all the time he spent closeted with Bondini. I was wondering how to get a word with the besieged director when the door to the box office opened and everyone fell silent.
A tall, spare figure with his red robe of office thrown over an elegant silk coat stood in the doorway. Messer Grande cast his cool gaze over the foyer, but a vaguely amused smile played over his thin lips. He was flanked by the young constable I had encountered in his office in the Procuratie. The constable strained to carry a large, and evidently very heavy, cash box.
“Ah, our beloved songbird has flown in,” announced the dreaded instrument of the Inquisitors. “How nice to see you again, Signor Amato. I don’t suppose you know the whereabouts of your former patron?”
“I regret to say that I do not. If I knew where to find him, I would be on my way. I have my own business with the man.”
Messer Grande’s amused smile widened into a wolfish grin. “Yes, Signore, I’m sure you do. Perhaps we will have a chat about that at a later date, but just now I am rather busy. Signor Torani has agreed to be my guest for a few days, and we do want to show him the best our hospitality has to offer.”
He snapped his fingers; two sbirri grabbed Torani and hustled the perspiring, glassy-eyed man away. I felt bad for the little director. As the one-man overseer of the opera house, he had not shown me any partiality, but I had come to respect his musical intuition and his devotion to excellence in all things concerning the company.
I reluctantly took my leave of the Teatro San Stefano. On its stage, I had made my debut as a novice singer struggling with mixed feelings about the career that was so violently thrust upon me. From its seats, my generous admirers had praised me and helped me realize how much I truly valued the voice that had been gained through so much adversity. Now Venice had lost a venerable opera house, and I was out of a job.
I longed to return to my secure tower retreat, but the note Caterina had pressed in my hand demanded immediate attention. I found a gracefully arched bridge above a quiet canal near the theater. Leaning on the stone railing warmed by the bright, midday sunshine, I unfolded the slender missive.
There it was: my deus ex machina. It had not come as a thunderbolt or chariot from on high, but as a thin sheet of paper scrawled in a childish hand. The prize that could effect Felice’s release lay in my trembling fingers, but it gave me little pleasure. The crisp December day could have been a July potboiler; sweat beaded on my forehead, and I could barely get my breath. I stared at the note dumbly. Though I longed to deny it, I knew the schoolroom writing as well as my own. I also recognized the paper. It was delicate rice paper, almost translucent, hand-inked with a unique motif of dueling dragons.
Part Three
Cadenza
Chapter 26
Annetta stopped reading long enough to give me a look of uncomprehending anguish, then forced her eyes back to the sheet of Chinese writing paper. “Heed my warning. A great misfortune is hanging over you,” she read the last lines aloud. “If you don’t stay away from Signor Viviani you will be very, very sorry.”
My usually serene sister’s neck and cheeks were flushed. Her shoulders were shaking. She tossed the paper on our dining room table and backed away as if it were a poisonous scorpion. “What does this mean, Tito?”
“It sounds like a childish threat from a very possessive and jealous young lady.”
“But Grisella doesn’t even know Domenico Viviani. She has probably not laid her eyes on him more than three or four times in her life.”
“Yet, she writes that he adores her, that he is hers alone. How does she put it?” I reached for the delicate sheet. “Here it is. She says, ‘He is mine. He thinks you are a fat old cow. Stop trying to steal him away from me.’”
“Grisella couldn’t have written that,” Annetta said in a strained whisper. “It’s just not possible.”
“This paper is hers. It was the gift Alessandro brought her from his last trading journey. I checked it against the sheets left in her box of writing paper.”
Annetta kept shaking her head, so I was forced to go on. “The hand is hers. Thanks to all Grisella’s notes that you tucked into the letters you sent me in Naples, I recognized it right away.
“Even the words are hers. How many times have we heard her call Berta a fat old cow?” I paused before stating the most painful but obvious fact. “Even more telling, Grisella is gone and so is Viviani.”
Annetta began to cry in noisy, racking sobs. I crossed the floor and folded her into my arms. “What are we going to do?” she asked between spasms.
I dug for my handkerc
hief and wiped her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Annetta. I need the resourceful big sister I always rely on.” She managed a strained smile, and I knew she was gathering the reins of her emotions. I said, “Tell me what we know. Start when you went to wake Grisella this morning.”
“Father left the house earlier than usual. He didn’t say why, just mentioned he had a great deal to attend to. I assumed he had a lot of errands and didn’t want Grisella tagging along being a nuisance.” Annetta’s mouth twisted and her tears welled up again. I squeezed her hands until she was ready to go on. “You know how upset and easily agitated she has been lately. I decided to let her sleep, but when ten o’clock struck, I thought I should look in on her. I opened her door and found everything in its place. Except Grisella, she…she just wasn’t there.” Annetta finished with a strangled gasp.
“Had her bed been slept in?”
“Probably not. The bedclothes were barely rumpled and nothing was missing except the clothing she was wearing yesterday.”
“Have you questioned Berta? She sometimes checks on Grisella during the night.”
“Berta’s been no help. She’s in the kitchen, blubbering into her apron. She and Lupo both slept the night through. They heard no sign of a disturbance and neither did I.”
Exasperated, I paced the dining room floor. “Grisella must have left the house willingly. She can certainly make enough noise when she wants to.”
“Unless someone overpowered her suddenly, without warning.” Annetta shivered, but her tears had dried.
I waved Grisella’s threatening note to Adelina. “This would seem to indicate that force wasn’t needed. What a farce this would make for the stage. A playwright couldn’t devise a more ironic scene. While Alessandro and I were combing the city for Viviani, he, or someone under his orders, was right here at our house, stealing our sister.”
A heavy sigh commanded our attention. Alessandro slouched in the doorway. Sweat stained his shirt, and his face was haggard.
Annetta ran to him. “Did you find Father?”
He shook his head. “For the second time in twelve hours, I’ve been all over Venice. Father didn’t show up for his classes at the Mendicanti, and he’s not at his coffeehouse or guild. No one knows where he is.” He straddled a chair, put his elbows on the table, and began to massage his forehead. “Any word about Grisella?”
Silently, I put the sheet of Chinese writing paper in front of him. As he read through the note, his face was a study in extremes. Puzzled, astonished, incredulous, and, finally, furious, Alessandro shot up from his seat. “That bastard. That degenerate, sneaking bastard. Grisella is hardly more than a child.” He beat his fist on the table. “How could this happen?”
“I’ll hazard a guess,” I replied. “The only place where Grisella and Viviani’s paths cross is the Mendicanti. She attends classes and takes part in concerts there. Viviani is on the Board of Governors. He can tour the place anytime he likes, and his family is given choice seating at all the events. Grisella is a striking girl. We think of her as a child, but a man like Viviani would doubtless see her in a different light.”
Alessandro nodded, understanding dawning on his face. “So she caught Viviani’s eye, a man used to satisfying his every whim.…”
“But Father…” Annetta interrupted, “Father is always there to watch over her. He would never let anyone take advantage of her. Would he?” she finished on a stricken note.
“Did he protect me? When the agents from San Remo carted me off to the surgeon, did Father protect me then?”
“Oh, Tito,” Annetta replied. “That was an accident. You fell. The surgeon only did what was necessary.”
“Did you see me climb on the bridge? Did you see me fall?”
“No. I didn’t know anything about it until Father carried you in the house all bandaged up.”
“And you,” I asked my brother. “Did you see the fall?”
As he slowly shook his head, Annetta grabbed my arm. “But Father explained it all, Tito. He said you could profit from the accident, turn it to good advantage. He made it sound almost like a stroke of good fortune…such a lucky coincidence that the agents from Naples were in Venice when you happened to fall.”
“Do you believe that, Sister?”
“I did then.” Her voice faltered.
“And now?”
The look in her eyes gave me my answer. Annetta held me and cried into my chest while Alessandro put his hand on my shoulder and stroked our sister’s hair. We stood like that in the dining room of our little house for some minutes, sorely aware of what our hearts had known all along. We might as well be complete orphans. God’s will had taken our mother and left us with a father who was not to be trusted. To see us down the road of life, we had only our wits, our talents, and our love for each other.
Alessandro spoke first. “We have to get her back. We can’t let Grisella’s future be shackled to a rogue like Viviani.”
“But he has fled Venice,” I said. “Surely you’ve heard the news about the Turkish scandal. The Tribunal has condemned him to death.”
“Yes, of course. The turncoat patrician is the talk of the city, but they’ll have to hunt him down to carry out the sentence. All the more reason we must retrieve Grisella before Viviani is found.”
“Where do we start looking for them?” Annetta asked.
Alessandro stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I heard several things while I was roving around this morning. I was intent on finding Father so I didn’t dwell on them, but now they all begin to fit together.”
“Yes, go on,” I urged.
“I had it from a reliable boatswain that Viviani sailed from Chioggia on the morning tide. Of course, he was spotted. One of his sleek trading galleys could hardly be missed among the fishing boats of that little port. A military galleass was launched to overtake him, but he had a good head start. They fired on his galley, but the state’s heavy ship was too far behind to do any damage. Unable to keep up with the lighter galley, her captain brought her back to port. With the north wind that’s blown up, Viviani will be halfway down the Istrian coast by nightfall.”
I started to speak, but Alessandro raised his forefinger. “One more thing. Some fishermen trolling offshore spotted a young woman on Viviani’s galley. They couldn’t describe her face, but as the first rays of the sun struck the deck, they saw her long mane of hair whipping behind her like a red pennant sewn with golden thread.”
***
As Alessandro and I headed for the Palazzo Viviani, the afternoon sun was starting its dip toward the mainland. The endless procession of narrow houses rising from the water’s edge blocked the slanting rays and threw the green water into heavy shadow. Annetta had begged to accompany us, but we finally persuaded her that she was needed in Venice. Though I expected her mission to be futile, I charged her with going to the Procuratie to see Messer Grande. She was to throw herself on his mercy and spare no feminine wiles in begging him for a few more days to unmask Adelina’s killer. I watched as Alessandro strained forward in his seat, as if this posture could hasten the gondola’s progress through the dark water. He could do no more; he had already encouraged top speed by promising the boatman a double fare.
My brother turned toward me with a frown. “Tito, what if Grisella carried out her threat?”
“What do you mean?”
“Her note threatened a great misfortune if Adelina didn’t give Viviani up. I can’t think of a greater misfortune than being poisoned.”
“Surely you can’t imagine that Grisella had anything to do with Adelina’s murder?”
“Until an hour ago, I couldn’t have imagined that my little sister would be involved in a sexual dalliance with a man over twice her age.” Alessandro chewed his lip anxiously. “She was there, you know. We visited your dressing room right before Adelina was taken ill.”
The two of us peered down the shadowy tunnel of looming buildings, each deep in his own thoughts. I had no
answer for my brother. I saw Grisella’s note as a piece of juvenile play-acting. She had heard gossip about Adelina and Viviani, some of it from my own lips. She must have used the dress rehearsal as an opportunity to leave the note in Adelina’s room. The little minx had been all over the theater that day. But slipping poison into Adelina’s wine decanter? Surely that was beyond Grisella’s ability to plot and plan. Besides, she had no access to poison, and she couldn’t have known that she would be in the vicinity of the dressing rooms on opening night. Visiting me between acts had been a spur-of-the-moment decision on Annetta’s part. No, Viviani was the guilty culprit. Adelina had become aware of his Turkish dealings and threatened him with exposure. He arranged her death to protect himself and his family’s interests. That was the only scenario that made sense.
With a warning shout, our gondolier propelled the boat onto the shining surface of the Grand Canal. As I closed my eyes against the sudden glare, an unpleasant memory popped to the surface of my mind. It was the lingering, intrusive kiss that Viviani had forced on Adelina during the first intermission of opening night. The adults in the hallway had recognized the embrace as a show of dominance, but what would Grisella have made of it? I cast back to my own youthful crushes and the days when a frown from the object of my adoration seemed like the end of the world.
I looked at my brother. “You may be right. We’ve got to find them. For Felice, for Grisella, for everyone’s sake we’ve got to find them quickly.”
Chapter 27
The scene at the Palazzo Viviani recalled the uproar at the theater earlier that day. Constables were guarding the entrances to the warehouse, but the doors were standing wide open. We could see state clerks in black coats and wide-brimmed hats poking into crates, thumping barrels, and recording it all in bound ledgers. At the front portico, workmen were moving rolled carpets and gilt furniture down a wooden ramp into a covered barge. Before long, every possession that the Viviani had accumulated over years of trading would be stored in a government warehouse or, more likely, be transferred to the residences of the State Inquisitors and their friends.
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