The duke received them kindly at the elegant Palazzo Francescini, an ancient building of pink marble whose cool and airy rooms contained treasures, collected over centuries, of furniture, paintings, silver, porcelain, statuary, and glass that made even Maurice stare. The initial interview between Francescini and his son was painful but brief, and Francesco broke through it to embrace his father, and kneel for his blessing, upon which he was entirely forgiven and restored in the most satisfactory way. As Francesco had predicted, the duke was enormously pleased and proud to have Maurice as his guest, and Maurice was flattered to find that the duke had not only heard of him, but had also heard some of his music, and begged to be allowed to consider himself Maurice's patron.
‘You must stay here, for as long as you like - I positively cannot permit you to be anyone's guest but my own while you stay in Venice. Perhaps when you have discovered how much Venice has to offer, you may be persuaded to make your home here permanently.’
As to Alessandra, there was no difficulty. She could be accommodated in the nursery along with the duke's fiveyear-old daughter by his second wife, with Caterina to take care of her. The duke was enormously proud of his daughter, Diane, and on the first evening, after the men had dined, she was brought down to be displayed and praised like the foremost of his treasures. She was a charming child, tall and well-grown for her age, with red-gold curls, blue eyes and porcelain-white skin, and a proud and haughty carriage which suggested that even at five she had already learnt how to get her own way in all things. She was introduced to the English lord and his brother, and nodded graciously to them with all the dignity of a matron. Maurice concealed a smile at such grown-up gravity in so small a child, and noted, with amused interest, that she paid far more attention to Karellie - The Marechal Comte de Chelmsford as he was introduced - than to simple Signore Morland. Karellie was plainly enchanted by her, and willingly gave the homage she appeared to expect. As a great treat she was asked, and consented, to sing to them.
‘Already she has a beautiful voice,' her father said. 'I have a tutor for her, who is training her for the opera. In a few years -' He waved a hand to indicate the heights to which she would climb. Maurice offered to accompany her on the harpsichord, and the child arranged herself with professional care by the instrument and sang three songs. Maurice, prepared to discover that the father's praise was more partial than exact, was surprised and impressed by the clarity and sweetness, but above all by the power of the child's singing. When she had retired, he asked the duke whether she would really sing opera.
‘But of course,' the duke said, and explained that in Venice it was quite usual for well-born ladies to give concert performances, and indeed was thought greatly to their credit. 'Music is our aristocracy,' he said. 'To excell in musical performance is the aim of everyone, and those who do go everywhere and are much feted, whatever their original rank in life. We have in Venice four Ospedali, where female children are placed - orphans, illegitimate children, some the product of noble families, some the offspring of our wealthiest prostitutes - and the best of them are trained for musical performance. The finest performers in Venice come from the Ospedali, particularly the Pieta, in which I have an interest. They have the best teachers, and frequently marry into the best families when they are old enough. When anyone in Venice has a great celebration, he hires the orchestra from one of the Ospedali - I do not decide on the date until I have discovered that the orchestra of the Pieta is free.’
Maurice was much interested in that, and the duke promised him that he would take him to the Pieta at the first opportunity. 'But tomorrow we go to St Mark's,' he said firmly. 'That is where the best music is. You must hear our famous red-haired violinist, Vivaldi - no visit to Venice is complete without that. On the day after I will take you to the Pieta. And now, my dear sir, if you are not too fatigued, would you honour us with some music? I have heard that you are unrivalled on the cornetto. Would you favour us with a piece of your own?’
*
It took Maurice no more than a few days to discover that Venice was his spiritual home. Though he was seeing it at the worst time of the year, when the heat was almost insufferable and the canals stank abominably, yet it spoke to him, and he felt he could never leave here. The duke was all kindness, and would not hear of Maurice living anywhere but at the palace, and his patronage was extremely useful to Maurice, for he introduced him to all the most important people. Maurice was amazed, not only at the beauty of the women, but at their freedom, for they seemed to be able to go about as easily as men, and were so accessible that at first he had difficulty in telling the patrician ladies from the wealthy courtesans. They pursued him mightily, and his following was in no way inferior to Karellie's, for as the duke said, music was the aristocracy in Venice. But there was nothing to tempt Maurice in the elegant, richly clothed, painted ladies; they were all too human and imperfect. With their lively minds, beauty, and frank, intelligent converse, they reminded him of his mother, as he wrote to her in his, now more regular, letters.
‘You would be at home here, mother. Can I not tempt you at least to visit?' he wrote.
Karellie left Venice in October to visit Berwick, recently remarried to a young Jacobite beauty, his wife having languished and died in the marshes of Languedoc. Maurice, unable to accept idleness even in Venice, sought some kind of employment, and the duke, though repeating his offers of unconditional hospitality, helped him. In November 1700 Maurice became Maestro di Cornetto at the Ospedali della Pieta, and in December added to that the post of Maestro di Trompetto. His task was to teach cornetto and trumpet to the young girls, who lived in the cloistered manner of nuns, and even wore white uniform dresses very like habits. Despite this, they were lively, gay creatures, full of high-spirits and frequently, Maurice found, difficult to control, but very gratifying to teach, for they were all talented and eager to learn. Music was their life; because of their origins, they were known only by their Christian names, and when any further identification was required, they were distinguished by the name of the instrument they played, so Silvia dal Violino, or Adriana dalla Tiorba.
And it was thus that Maurice was introduced to a fragile-looking, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of fourteen known to him only as Giulia dal Cornetto. When he first saw her, she was wearing the white habit of the Pieta; her luxuriant dark ringlets were tied out of the way with white ribbon, and into the knot of curls she had tucked a white flower. She stood before him shyly, her eyes turned up to him from under dark lashes, her long-fingered, white hands clutching her cornetto, which seemed too big and heavy for her, though she was the star amongst the cornetto girls. A man with a weakness for wine would do well not to lock himself in a wine-cellar - from the first glance of her dark eyes, he was hopelessly in love.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The death of Lady Caroline a mere three weeks after the wedding did nothing to disturb Matt's dreamlike honeymoon. He was sad, of course, and attended the obsequies with a grave face, but his mind could hardly be said to be on it, though he managed to keep his eyes from his wife during the ceremony. Lady Caroline's death was so sudden that Arthur was unable to come back from Court in time to witness her last moments, though his brother John was at the death-bed. When he received news of her death, Arthur wrote back that since he was too late to say goodbye to her, there was no point in his leaving, especially since the Duke of Gloucester's birthday was close on hand, which he, as a Gentleman of the Bedchamber and a captain in the Prince's private army, ought to attend.
By the beginning of August, however, Arthur was back from Court, and this time for good. The Duke of Gloucester's birthday party at Windsor had been a splendid occasion, complete with banquet and firework display, but the Prince had woken the next morning with a fever and a sore throat. The doctors called in to attend him had bled him and prescribed rest and quiet, but by the evening he was obviously seriously ill. For four days he lay in a delirium, holding the hands of his mother and father, who never left his bedside, and o
n 29 July he died, taking with him the hopes of the Protestant party. Since his birth the Princess Anne had borne four sons who had died within hours of birth, and suffered four miscarriages, and now her childbearing days were over. Her grief, and that of her husband, affected even Arthur, and he arrived home in a subdued mood. Clovis, while sympathizing deeply with Princess Anne, knew that the Prince's death must have been a good thing for the Jacobite party, for Princess Mary was dead, and the Usurper old and ailing, and who was there to succeed but the legitimate heir, the Prince of Wales? He wrote with discreet hope to Annunciata.
These things passed Matt by almost unnoticed. He was obsessed with India. He spent every moment of every day with her, lay wrapped blissfully in her arms all night. She expressed a wish to learn to ride, and he took her out to Twelvetrees and taught her on the old schoolmaster gelding, Hastings, and she shewed an immediate and such a skilful grasp of the art that within a fortnight he was choosing for her a horse of her own, and ordering a special saddle and bridle to be made for her. The animal he selected was half-brother to his own new horse, Star; a handsome coal-black gelding named Midnight, great grandson of Ralph Morland's famous black stallion, Barbary. Midnight was a beautiful horse with a great conceit of himself, and very showy paces, but for all that reliable enough for Matt to trust him with his beloved bride. The tack he had made was of black leather tooled in silver and decorated with silver beads; India at once ordered in a dressmaker to make her a riding habit of black velvet trimmed with white ostrich feathers, which Birch said sourly was most impractical. Dressed in it, and mounted on Midnight, she was quite spectacular, and the villagers and servants loved it, and rushed out of their houses to wave when she went by.
Once she had learned to ride, she and Matt were out every day, and he took her over all the estate and introduced her to his tenants. She liked sitting upon an eminence and being told that 'all this belonged to her, as far as the eye could see', but had less patience with the tenants, whom she said were ugly and smelled bad, and though she was polite to them for Matt's sake he thought it best to limit her visits, lest they be offended. When they were not riding, or walking about the gardens, Matt dedicated himself to amusing her within the house, playing cards with her, or playing to her, or listening while she sang. Even when she sat and sewed, he was on hand to find her scissors, thread her needles, pick up her handkerchief, or fetch her rose-flower water.
‘She leads you about like a bear by the nose,' Birch said to him once, and he was so angry that he would not speak to her for days. Had she been anyone else, he would have dismissed her; so the servants, though they shook their heads over his infatuation, kept their comments to themselves. Matt neglected his work to attend his bride, but Clovis took over that burden too, saying that everyone should have their honeymoon, and Matt was still young. So there were visits and parties and banquets and balls, and the dressmakers came every day loaded with silks and laces, and India grew daily more fine and Matt daily more proud of her. The only thing which gave him any qualms at all was the amount of time she spent giggling and gossipping with her maid Millicent, of whom Matt had from the beginning no great opinion.
He tried to wean her mind to higher things and, shocked that she was unable to read or write, offered to teach her.
But she only laughed gaily and said, 'What should I do with books? Even if I could read, I would never have time to. Why, I'm busy from morning to night.’
Sometimes when she sewed he tried reading aloud to her, hoping that it would awaken an interest in her, but it proved hopeless. She would listen for a few minutes, an expression of eagerness on her face, and then would interrupt him in the middle of a sentence to ask her mother's opinion of her work or comment on the good fit of her new manteau, and Matt would know she had not been listening, and that the eager expression had been designed to please him.
It was the same if he tried to talk seriously to her; after a few words she would break in to say, 'I must tell you of the woman I saw today riding into the city, with her hair dressed in such a curious way, I could hardly stop staring at it. What a mercy it is one has hair that curls naturally! I could not endure to look so forced as she did, not for twice my fortune!’
These things saddened Matt, for he had hoped that marriage would provide him with a complete companion, someone in whom he could confide utterly. But they were small matters beside India's beauty, charm and vivacity. She was prodigally extravagant, and her extravagances amused him, for it delighted him to give her things and watch her pleasure as she unwrapped a new present from him. He bought her a pair of clips for her hair in the shape of two sprays of blossom, all in diamonds, and was deeply moved that she altered the style of her hair to accommodate them.
One day he took her down to the strong room and took out all the boxes of jewels to shew her, and she cried in excitement, 'Oh Matt, they are lovely. I must put them on at once.'
‘What, all of them?' he said, amused. She clapped her hands.
‘Yes, all of them, at once. Come, you shall help me.' And she stood like a statue while he lifted out piece after piece and put them on her, until the boxes were empty and she glittered like a Spaniard's haul, and then obliged him to run and fetch a glass so that she could see herself. Her eyes glittered as brightly as the diamonds, and her cheeks were flushed, as she gazed at herself, and Matt felt his stomach churning.
‘You look — fabulous,' he said in a strange, husky voice. She turned to him, an odd smile on her lips.
‘Lock the door,' she said, and when he hesitated, 'Do it! Quickly!' He obeyed her, his hands trembling, and she made him pull out a bundle of furs to make a couch for her. 'Now you shall lie with me, just as I am, all covered with jewels. Yes, yes, now! Hurry!’
His excitement was so great that he could barely fumble with his fastenings. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined anyone like her. Afterwards she sighed with content and rubbed her face against him. 'When I was a child, and we were so poor,' she said, 'I dreamed of jewels like these, and the man who would give them to me.’
The next day Matt bought her a greyhound bitch with a diamond collar, and she thanked him with a smile that melted his bones, so full was it of shared secrets and promises. He was utterly bewitched, and very happy, and thought he could not be happier, until November, when she told him she was with child.
‘It means we must not continue to do those things that delight us so,' she told him, stroking his cheek with one soft hand, and her eyes looking deep into his made him blush all over, 'but it is only for a short time. And there are other things we can do, just as pleasant for you.’
The advent of her first pregnancy changed India's attitude to Morland Place and its inhabitants. Until then she had been happy just to enjoy herself, spending money and enslaving her husband, but once motherhood entered her calculations, she began to realize that as mistress of Morland Place she had great power.
‘It was lucky Lady Caroline died when she did,' she told her mother one day while she was dressing. Her mother, an early riser from long habit, often came to her room and broke her fast with chocolate and bread while India was dressed. Matt was attending Mass in the chapel, as he did at that time every day, and so they were alone with Millicent and the dog, Oyster. Matt had given up trying to persuade her to attend the morning Mass. She said once a day was enough for her, and he told Clement that the mistress was not strong, and needed to sleep longer in the mornings. Clement, recollecting the energetic, firm limbs and healthy colour of the mistress, agreed gravely.
‘If she had not,' India went on, 'I should have had to persuade her to go away and live with her brother, and that might have been difficult to do. There are too many people living here on my money. I cannot see why I should pension half the world.’
Mrs Neville, who was herself a pensioner, said nothing. Millicent, wielding the brush and comb over India's glossy black head, said, 'Big houses always have a lot of dependents hanging on their coat tails, madam. When I worked for the Earl of
Bennendon -'
‘Yes, yes,' India said, not caring for any more stories of Millicent's past service, 'but I have not gone to all the trouble of getting married in order to have my fortune released, only to see it spent by a parcel of good-for-nothing beggars. Arthur and John, for instance - quite penniless -'
‘Lord Ballincrea is very good looking, madam,' Millicent put in. 'And mightily smitten with you, if I may say so.'
‘You may not,' India retorted, and then, her curiosity whetted, 'has he said anything to you?'
‘Oh not to me, madam - not to a servant. But one only has to see the way he looks at you. Such a fine gentleman! And a title, too.'
‘A title and nothing else,' India said with spirit, but with a shade of thoughtfulness behind it.
‘I think Master Clovis Morland is intending to do something for Lord Ballincrea and his brother,' Mrs Neville said helpfully. 'He has money of his own, and no children to leave it to.'
‘There's Clover,' India said with venom. 'It's indecent the way that child hangs about his neck. I wouldn't wonder if he leaves everything to her, though goodness knows she has enough of her own. I don't know why she has to live here on my charity.'
‘Well, dear, she is only a child still,' Mrs Neville said. 'She's only thirteen.'
‘She's old enough to make me blush for shame with her dallying and smirking at Clovis. But let her just get to fifteen, and I'll have her out of the way, married in two minutes, the very moment she's old enough. And John Rathkeale. Now my own child is on the way, I shall have enough expenses without them. And there are a lot of servants who will have to go - that horrible old priest, and that evil old woman Birch for instance. We can't have the house filled with cripples, eating their heads off and doing nothing.'
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