Secret of the Song

by Cathie Hartigan

  One morning during this very hot spell, I went down to the courtyard early. It was necessary to cross this courtyard to reach the stables, and usually there was much coming and going, but perhaps all the horses were being fed or groomed indoors because there was no one about.

  Donna Maria was still asleep and I’d set Laura to mending. It was the time of the month for laundering the linen, and sheets hung limp and heavy on their lines. They would soon dry once the sun rose over the wall. I sat myself down in a corner and enjoyed a little peace. Not that it was quiet; the city was awake early too. Swifts screamed, cutting through the air in clouds of little black scythes. Horses pulled squeaky-wheeled wagons, clopping by on the other side of the wall, and as the hour struck, first the deep clang of the cathedral bell and then a chorus of lighter bells chimed all about me.

  I thought of home. I hadn’t been back for more than a year and wondered if my youngest sister was growing well. She would certainly be running around. I imagined her chubby hands picking up the warm eggs from the straw. Had she watched a chick tap its way out from the shell yet? I saw her running in and out of the sheds, hiding from her older brothers and sisters and not knowing who I was, if I ever did go back.

  Then I thought of Salvo. I still kept the carved kitten in my pouch and the thought of it made me seek it out right then. He’d probably forgotten me by now. I ran my fingers over the warm wood then put it away and went back to my sewing. Perhaps I too would be like Laura and never have a husband …

  It made me sad to think like that and I determined to be happier. The tune of a catch that Salvo and I had warbled together when we had walked along the path between the castle and the village came into my mind and I began to sing:

  ‘Buon giorno mia cara, bambina, molti baci, molti baci …’

  The tune was light and quick and, of course, repetitive but soon, singing ‘molti baci’ – many kisses – so many times began to make me feel rather sad again and I faltered. But when I fell silent, the sheet nearest me was suddenly swept aside and Don Carlo himself stood only an arm’s length in front of me, his horsewhip holding back the cloth. I jumped up in fright, dropping my work on the ground.

  ‘Do you sing, girl?’ he said.

  ‘N-n-not really, sir.’

  He came closer and looked me up and down. I’d never been so near to him before and my eye was at his ruff height. His breath stank but I dared not move. It was just at the moment when the sun came over the wall and everywhere took on its brightness. Everywhere except Don Carlo, that is, whose shape grew as dark as my mistress’s secret.

  ‘There was something,’ he said as if he’d forgotten what and spoke to himself. ‘Yes, something in the tone.’ He stepped away and I was straight ways blinded by the sun, full in my eyes. ‘Go, ready yourself,’ he said. ‘We leave in an hour. Tell Donna Maria you are coming with me to Gesualdo. That other girl can look after her.’ He walked away to the stables and a minute later I heard him shouting to make ready for the journey.

  Gesualdo! I couldn’t believe I was to be going back. And so near on my thinking about it! I nearly forgot my sewing in my haste and when I ran back for it, discovered a streak of black dirt across the middle. On the sheet that Don Carlo had swept aside, his whip had left a similar mark. I hurried away, afraid I might be falsely accused by the housekeeper.

  ‘What?’ said Donna Maria, sitting straight up in bed. ‘How long for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry, my lady. I do hope Laura will be able to manage.’

  ‘He should have told me before. Besides,’ she looked at me from the side of her eyes, ‘I have been not in the best of health.’ I smiled and helped her from her nightgown – one of my better efforts, flesh-coloured, silk-trimmed with black braid, the effect of which was very startling. It was one of Donna Maria’s favourites. ‘You did say,’ she said, standing before me without a scrap on, ‘he wanted you for the singing, didn’t you?’

  As I ran down the stairs from Donna Maria’s quarters, the more pressing fear of Don Carlo held sway. It seemed advisable to develop a bad throat as soon as possible. I began with coughing quietly. Gradually it would develop into something really quite sore.

  The journey home did not seem so far as I remembered, but then the roads were baked hard and the wagon rolled over them easily. I was alone in the back and, without the distraction of conversation, looked all about at the landscape. We rode round Mount Somma to the North. Some say the mountain once spewed fire but, rather like Noah’s flood and Moses making the sea part, it was difficult to imagine. The day was calm. As we left the city, we left behind the noise. The screaming swifts and irritable gulls were replaced by a more gentle twittering amongst the groves and vineyards. High in the sky, I’d see a lonely eagle or falcon circling and all the way to Gesualdo, I only saw three snakes basking by the road, although one of them was probably as long as I am tall.

  It was nearly dark when we arrived, for Don Carlo had been determined to spend only one day on the road. A rider had been sent on ahead and as we neared the castle, lamps were sent out, and the first face I saw beneath the glow was that of Salvo’s. His happy expression at the sight of me suggested he hadn’t forgotten who I was at all. Don Carlo pushed on up the hill quickly, but the wagon slowed.

  ‘Jump down,’ Salvo called to me. ‘Here …’ and he held out his hand. I gathered up my skirts and jumped. My mistress would have been horrified at the inelegance of my leap and the way I arrived, or rather, fell into Salvo’s arms. ‘Well, Silvia,’ he said, while helping me to stand upright, ‘you are pleased to see me.’

  ‘Now, now, Salvo, don’t you go misreading a slight unevenness in the ground for anything improper.’ Closer too, I realised how much he had changed. My memory recalled the boy in my father’s woodshed, but before me in the half-light stood a taller and broader person: Salvo the man. Why, he even had a neat line of growth about his chin. I smoothed my skirt hoping to smooth a little fluster at the same time.

  He bowed low, laughing. ‘Would I?’

  ‘I think you might.’

  ‘So, why have you come back? And where is Donna Maria?’ He lowered his voice, ‘You’re not in disgrace are you?’

  ‘Salvo! That’s a terrible thing to say. No, of course not.’

  ‘Well, it is odd. Don Carlo doesn’t usually bring a girl with him. Unless,’ his voice caught in his throat, ‘don’t say—’

  ‘No, no … not that. But I am fearful. He’s brought me here because of my singing.’ I walked on, not realising Salvo had stopped. When I looked back his chin had dropped almost to his chest. It was a funny sight and although the worry of Don Carlo was alive in me, I couldn’t help laughing.

  The castle, unlike Salvo, was much the same as when I left. His mother greeted me fondly and had put fresh linen on my bed too, but when I lay down I felt lonely without my mistress in the next room. I even missed Laura. The castle walls were thick and the heat of summer hadn’t penetrated them. I shivered and drew back from blowing out my little lamp. The light flickered and sometimes even in my drowsy state, I would start wide awake, for the shadows cast would take on shapes, some human, some grotesque. Eventually, I listened to my courage and with a large breath, blew out the light.

  Pietro found me early next morning. Don Carlo would remain in bed until midday, but I was to be in the music room once he had breakfasted.

  As I hurried along the road to the village, I wondered whether other Princes kept such curious hours. What a good thing for their servants when they did. The morning was mine! Signora Carlino let me go and bade me wish my family well from her. I knew what was behind this, of course, so I decided to hold back with her wishes rather than fuel expectations.

  By the time I reached my home, I had fallen in love again and was in exceptional spirits. The blue hills were as beautiful as the sea, the scent of honey in the air much nicer than the city stink which we only kept at bay with lavender bags and rosewater. A hoopoe came along with me too, flitting from branch to
branch. Its ‘hoo, hoo, hoop – sigh’ of a cry, rather a one-sided conversation but company all the same.

  It was a shock, though, when I reached my family home. How mean it seemed after the palazzo and the castle. A vivid memory came back to me of carriages winding their way up the hill and in my heart, the sharp desire to be amongst those who went with them. How easy it was to become accustomed to such things.

  ‘Silvia! Is that you?’

  I looked towards the chicken house and saw my nearest sister with the egg basket in her hand.

  ‘Agnola …’ I ran over and kissed her. The scent of chickens was very strong and I laughed. I must have smelt the same once. ‘How are you? How is everyone? Where are they?’

  ‘Silvia?’

  My mother stood at the doorway of the house. All our past differences were forgotten at once. We embraced and I do believe I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.

  ‘Fetch your father,’ she said to Agnola. ‘He’s at Francesca’s.’

  ‘Francesca?’ I hadn’t thought of her for years. ‘Is she still alive?’

  ‘Yes, just about. Your father is fixing one of her hives.’ My mother turned to Agnola, who stood stroking my sleeve in wonder – it was silk after all. ‘Off you go, Agnola. Don’t just stand there. Silvia will still be here when you get back and I’ll see if I can do something with some of these eggs.’ She turned back to me. ‘You can stay, can’t you?’

  ‘For a little while, yes,’ I said.

  Together, we carried the trestle table to the little spot between our three olive trees where we celebrated birthdays and saints days. The morning was to be enjoyed. My later appointment with Don Carlo lay upon me like the heavy mist that at times would obscure the Mount Somma, but even then, the city of Napoli shimmered in sunlight.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘We ran into the museum curator at the cinema,’ Sophie began to explain as soon as she opened her door. It was the day after her phone call and I had nipped round after work and before picking up Mollie from ghastly ballet.

  ‘We?’

  ‘The Imitation Game. It was jolly good.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, Robert and I. Anyway, we met—’

  ‘You went to the cinema with Robert?’ I was so surprised that I sat down without checking whether there was a seat to sit on. Luckily I made contact with a corner and caught the edge of the table to steady myself. The vase of bright pink nerines in the centre of the table fared worse though and tipped over.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She said it so lightly, as if they went to the cinema every week.

  I put more water in the vase while she mopped up.

  ‘And you both just happened not to mention it? I’ve been at the shop with Robert all day. He never said—’

  She laughed. ‘You’re making too much of it, Lisa. It was quite casual.’

  ‘Really. Robert hasn’t been to the cinema in all the time I’ve known him. If it was that casual, he’d have told me.’

  ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘forget that. Let me tell you about what we should do for the publicity shot. The curator said they needed a photo of Noteworthy.’

  ‘Did she,’ I said, vaguely, still trying to see Robert and Sophie sitting next to each other in the cinema. Sophie, exotic in her jewelled-coloured robes, with Robert. Mr Taupe.

  ‘It was the scythe that gave me the idea of a tableau.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A tableau. The Victorians did them all the time. Dressed up in classical poses and what not, then had their photo taken.’

  I imagined us all draped in togas. ‘Classical poses?’

  ‘Well, we wouldn’t, obviously. I thought we could do something more appropriate.’

  ‘What sort of something?’

  ‘Here, let me show you.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Robert said at Noteworthy’s next rehearsal. ‘I’m certainly not going to dress up like that.’ His finger trembled above the figure of Duke Fabrizio.

  ‘Dress down rather,’ Jon said. ‘He doesn’t appear to be wearing anything at all.’

  I put on my imaginary high definition love-detection glasses. There may have been something between them, but Robert didn’t look that much like a man smitten with anything, and definitely not with Sophie’s mock-up design for the tableau. We were in my kitchen, which could just about accommodate five. It meant sitting very close together, not ideal for singing and to my mind, Daniela being so particularly close to Jon was not ideal either.

  Sophie frowned. ‘But what do you think of the idea?’

  We all looked at each other.

  ‘Brilliant, Sophie,’ said Jon. ‘A damn sight better than the usual stuff you see, where everyone’s in black and gawping straight at the camera.’

  ‘Che divertimento!’ Daniela clapped her hands together and beamed at all of us in turn. ‘Molto buon!’

  We got the message.

  I was taken with it too, the way Sophie had arranged us reminded me of something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The tableau had four figures in action posed at the front: Don Carlo, Donna Maria, the Duke and the maid. To one side, a little apart, was a figure all in black holding a large scythe. ‘So how are we going to decide who’s who?’ I asked.

  ‘Okay, Robert, heads or tails?’ Jon tossed a coin, slapping it on to the back of his hand. ‘Which one of us gets to be Gesualdo?’

  Mercifully, Robert lost. While it was possible Gesualdo was rotund, all my research had given me the impression Don Carlo was a gaunt figure, not exactly compatible with Robert’s rather portly frame. There again, I couldn’t really see him as the Duke either, especially not in such a revealing costume.

  That left the three women. I put two brown Smarties and one red one into a cup and covered it with my hand. ‘Whoever gets the red one gets first pick.’ And to my amazement, when both Sophie and Daniela pulled one from the cup, they were brown.

  It was an easy choice for me, almost a cop-out. ‘I’ll be Silvia Albana, the maid.’

  Daniela had the next go and decided Death was better than Donna Maria. I was surprised at her choice, imagining she’d prefer the tragic heroine role. Perhaps I’d got her wrong, or maybe she didn’t fancy appearing quite so undressed. That led me to a mean thought. Her underwear, especially in the bra department, had to be quite substantial. Who knew what might happen when she took it off?

  ‘Oh dear.’ Sophie laughed. ‘It looks like my petard has been well and truly hoisted.’

  The theatre was chosen for the venue. Being wardrobe mistress meant Sophie was a key-holder. She would sort our costumes and, with luck, Jon would persuade a photographer who owed him a favour to come along and do the deed.

  I looked at Sophie’s drawing again.

  ‘Oh!’ My stomach lurched with the shock of realisation.

  The others looked at me. ‘What?’ said Jon.

  ‘I know where I’ve seen this before. The group. Us. The figures.’ I rifled through my music, looking for the frontispiece. I looked twice but it wasn’t there. ‘Damn.’

  I got up and went into the sitting room. Could I find it?

  ‘Mollie?’

  No response. She sat at the keyboard wearing headphones so I went and lifted one from her ear.

  ‘Have you been messing about with my music?’

  She looked aggrieved. ‘No. Why should I want to do that?’

  ‘Okay, never mind. But while I’m here, I think you’d better get to bed.’

  ‘Can Jon come and say goodnight?’

  ‘Not right now, we’re about to sing.’

  ‘Later then.’

  ‘All right.’

  Back in the kitchen the others looked at me as if I were about to produce a rabbit out of a hat, but the frontispiece wasn’t anywhere obvious, and I couldn’t spend all evening turning the place upside down so I left it.

  Jon looked nervous when I asked him to say goodnight to Mollie. ‘She’s not going to start screaming again, is she?’

&
nbsp; ‘I doubt it, she hasn’t gone to bed yet. Tell her sleeping is good for her voice. She’s got choir practice tomorrow.’

  ‘Does Jon often make Mollie scream?’ Daniela asked, when he’d gone out of the kitchen. Her expression was the usual blank screen and for a moment I felt a touch of anxiety, as if she was some sort of secret abuse police. I explained about the nightmare.

  ‘It sounds as if Mollie is dreaming about Gesualdo,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’ I was surprised and immediately felt stupid for not thinking the same thing myself. Perhaps Mollie had read one of the books I’d got from the library and had been frightened. It was possible although I’d never seen her look remotely interested in them. ‘I don’t think so. It’s more likely she’s seen something frightening on the television or the web.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You are probably right. It is funny that Jon is going to be our Don Carlo, isn’t it?’

  I looked at her. She wasn’t smiling and neither was I. ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’ I took a rather large gulp of wine and focused my attention rather fiercely on the music, although it didn’t escape me that Robert and Sophie had been discussing the latest Picturehouse programme.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gesualdo 1589

  ‘I have some news, Silvia.’ Salvo greeted me in the castle courtyard.

  ‘I do hope it is good, for I am in desperate need of cheering up.’

  ‘Oh?’ His concern for me was immediate. ‘What is it?’

  ‘My appointment with Don Carlo. I am in dread of him.’

  Salvo sighed. ‘We all are, Silvia. It is something we have to live with. The best thing is not to get noticed.’