1 - Interrupted Aria

by Beverle Graves Myers

“Imagine Adelina keeping her child a secret all those years.” My sister arranged the bright blue shawl Alessandro had given her around her shoulders to keep out the chill. “I don’t think I could have done it. As soon as I could, I would have run to the Mendicanti, snatched her up, and never let her go.”

  I moved my damp feet closer to the scaldino Annetta had brought down from her room. “I think Adelina suffered a lot of guilt over leaving Caterina with the nuns. That’s why she was so determined to foster her daughter’s success as a singer. It was her way of making things right.”

  Alessandro eyed me speculatively. “Are you sorry that Caterina didn’t turn out to be the killer?”

  My brother’s canny merchant’s instincts were right on target. I had wanted the blame to fall on the obnoxious soprano. Caterina’s guilt would have banished certain troubling thoughts from my mind: Felice pouring out his declaration of love, Felice blaming my friendship with Adelina for my rebuff, Felice’s startled look when Crivelli and I met him on the stairs the night of the murder. “It would have been an easy solution,” I answered wryly.

  “If Caterina didn’t do it,” Annetta asked, “who did?”

  “Our first question should be who had access to the wine decanter.” Alessandro planted his elbows on the table. “Let’s think back. We were all in the hallway outside the dressing rooms congratulating Tito after the first act. Who else was up there?”

  I led off. “Susannah says Adelina had a glass of wine before the opera with no ill effects. There was no one else besides the maid on the third floor until the singers began to come back up to change for Act Two.”

  Alessandro stopped me. “What about that maid? She had plenty of time to doctor the wine.”

  “But Susannah had no reason to harm Adelina. I often saw them together during the days of rehearsal. Susannah seemed devoted to her mistress. As well she should be. Adelina was a kind and generous employer. A maid couldn’t have hoped to find a more pleasant position.”

  “Maybe Susannah just couldn’t stand the thought of ironing one more petticoat,” Alessandro said flippantly.

  “Unlikely, I think, but I suppose we should keep her in mind.”

  My sister leaned forward tentatively. “I think Orlando Martello might have done it. Remember how angry he was after Adelina refused to go to England with him?”

  Alessandro snorted. “Think sensibly, Annetta. Orlando wasn’t even up on the third floor.”

  My sister bristled immediately. “Do you think merchants who sail the high seas are the only ones with brains? Why invent dubious motives for poor Susannah while Orlando comes complete with a motive we don’t have to hunt up?”

  “Just what would that be, your high and mighty braininess?” I had to smile as Alessandro and Annetta squared off. Mature airs set aside, they were suddenly the squabbling brother and sister I remembered so well from my childhood.

  “Tito and I were at the Palazzo Viviani the night Orlando asked Adelina to marry him,” Annetta flared back. “Orlando had it all planned. They would go to London, she would sing at one of the Italian opera companies, and he would sell his compositions to the highest bidder.”

  “She refused him?”

  “Refused and humiliated him,” I added. “When he realized that Annetta and I had overheard the scene, he was enraged.”

  Annetta shivered under her shawl. “I’ll never forget the evil glare he gave us. He looked as if he could murder us on the spot.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Orlando is a typical Roman…it doesn’t take much to ignite his temper. I can imagine him throttling someone who thwarted him, but poison? That’s not his type of weapon. Besides, no one saw him go upstairs.”

  Alessandro continued in a matter-of–fact tone, “That leaves Viviani and his entourage. If Caterina is to be believed, Domenico Viviani said something to anger Adelina right before he kissed her in the hallway. Remember?”

  “No one is likely to forget that kiss.” I pictured the scene in my mind: Adelina straining away from Viviani’s embrace, the nobleman thrusting his tongue deeply into her mouth. “Wait a minute. Could he have pushed something into her mouth, a poison capsule of some kind?”

  “Is such a thing possible?” Annetta asked. “If he held some substance in his mouth, wouldn’t he also be affected?”

  “It sounds far-fetched.” Alessandro shook his head. “If Viviani wanted to kill Adelina, he would just order one of his henchmen to do it. Probably Bondini, or even one of his brothers. They are both at his disposal, they know who holds the purse strings in the Viviani family.” Alessandro smiled slyly. “I doubt your patron even puts his pants on by himself. He probably has one servant to pull his breeches up, another to fasten his knee buckles, and at least three or four to button his fly.”

  I began to chuckle as a few responding quips came to mind, but quickly reminded myself of the gravity of the matter at hand. “Viviani had refused Adelina’s request to promote Caterina to prima donna. Yet Adelina told Conti she could force her lover to bend to her wishes. She must have had information that would cause Viviani a great deal of trouble.”

  Annetta wrinkled her brow. “If I were going to threaten a man like Domenico Viviani, I wouldn’t breathe a word to him until I had written my information out and put it somewhere for safekeeping.”

  “Of course, Adelina would have thought of that, too.” As I pondered my sister’s bit of wisdom, the bell by the front door jangled.

  Annetta bounced up. “I’ll get it. I’ve already sent Lupo to bed.” She soon returned with Crivelli and a masked woman. I recognized the woman’s damp skirts, but my brother and sister waited in anticipation while the female visitor slowly pulled the lace of her bauta from her face.

  “I know we’ve had our differences, Tito, but I want to be part of this. I want to help you find my mother’s killer,” said Caterina as she rearranged her stringy blond locks.

  I drew myself up and looked her in the eye. “There is one conviction that everyone in this room shares—Felice Ravello’s innocence. Can you say the same?”

  “Unlike so many others, your friend was kind to me. I don’t know what Felice was doing in my mother’s dressing room that night, but no, I don’t think he killed her. You know who I suspect.”

  With the clock ticking on Messer Grande’s reprieve, I welcomed all the help that was offered. I invited our guests to sit and brought the scaldino around to warm their wet feet.

  For the benefit of the newcomers, Alessandro enumerated our growing list of suspects. My original tally had run to only one ambitious soprano who was no longer on the list. In only thirty minutes, we had added a maid with plenty of opportunity but no apparent motive, a spurned composer with no known access to the wine decanter, and an overbearing lover who may have felt threatened by Adelina’s mysterious information. Alessandro hadn’t included a few items I was hoarding at the back of my mind. At this rate, we would be knee deep in suspects before the clock struck the next hour.

  “There’s one person you didn’t mention,” said Crivelli.

  “Who?”

  “Me. Are you so sure I didn’t do the dirty deed?”

  I laughed at his outrageous suggestion. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Don’t dismiss me so quickly. Allow yourself to consider it. How do you know I didn’t slip down the hall and fiddle with the wine?”

  I regarded him in consternation. Why was he wasting time with this nonsense?

  “He’s right, Tito,” my brother cautioned. “You can’t rule someone out just because he’s your friend.” Everyone around the table nodded in solemn agreement.

  “All right.” I sighed, feeling outmaneuvered. “Let me retrace your steps that night. That last aria in Act One always takes a lot out of you. I watched your exit. You were breathing hard and I waited until you were ready to go up. We climbed the stairs together and had barely reached our dressing rooms when my family appeared. You stuck your head around the screen t
o talk to Grisella.” I closed my eyes, reaching for a mental picture of the scene. “Then Viviani favored us with his visit. You and I stood side by side in the hall. After Torani ordered us back to our dressing rooms, I heard you whistling over the partition while we changed. Then I followed you back down to the stage level. There was no time during the intermission when I didn’t know exactly where you were.”

  “Excellent! That is how you have to think.” The old man rubbed his hands together. “We must analyze every person’s movements and take nothing for granted.”

  “Perhaps we’ve dismissed some possibilities too quickly.” I thought back to Annetta’s suspicion of the composer. “I remember that Orlando was carrying a bottle of brandy around backstage. It could have contained poison. I didn’t see him go upstairs, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. If Felice had time to slip up to the dressing rooms, so would Orlando.”

  “Or he could have given Adelina a drink before she went upstairs.” That was Annetta, building a case against her preferred culprit.

  “No,” said Caterina thoughtfully. “Adelina was waiting for me when I made my last exit. We went upstairs together, discussing the phrasing of my next aria. Orlando was still out front.”

  “Did you see him later?”

  “Not until Adelina was dead.” Caterina spoke softly and sadly.

  “That brings us back to Viviani or someone acting under his orders,” I replied. “If only we could get access to Adelina’s belongings, we might find a clue to the information that she planned to use to force Viviani to appoint you prima donna.”

  Caterina brightened immediately. “But that’s easy. I have Adelina’s things. Her advocate read the will before the magistrate this afternoon. Besides a small bequest to Susannah and a gift to Maestro Conti, Adelina left everything to me.”

  “Her villa?”

  “Yes, her house on the Brenta, her savings, all her possessions in her apartment here in Venice. Everything.”

  “Have you gone through any of them?”

  “I haven’t had time, but everything should be as she left it. After Susannah gathered Adelina’s things from the theater, the apartment was shut up. I have the key here.” She rummaged through her small drawstring bag and held up a brass key. “There. Susannah and I were going to start organizing Adelina’s things tomorrow.”

  “Susannah?” I asked.

  “I’ve hired Susannah as my maid. I’m afraid she didn’t seem particularly keen, and I’m not used to having anyone do anything for me, but I suppose we’ll get used to each other in time.”

  “I can help you and Susannah sort Adelina’s things tomorrow,” Annetta offered.

  “I’ll come, too,” I added. “With only four and a half days until Messer Grande goes to the Tribunal, every minute counts.”

  Alessandro got up to stretch. He extended his arms, rolled his neck, and tried to disguise a mammoth yawn. He directed a question to Caterina. “Did Susannah have any idea about the relationship between you and Adelina?”

  “No, she was as shocked as I was. Adelina kept her secret well, and Maestro Conti was a loyal confidant.” Caterina looked around the table with a challenging set to her chin. “I really think we can remove Susannah from the list. No one who witnessed her reaction to Adelina’s death could seriously suspect her.”

  I could see that my brother remained skeptical, but the rest of us nodded and murmured agreement. Closed eyes accompanied Crivelli’s nod and soon his chin was resting on his chest. My friends and family were tired and the hour was late, but I needed their counsel on one more point.

  “The Albrimani family. I believe their efforts to undermine the opera led to the apprentice boy’s death. Is their feud with Viviani vicious enough to include poisoning Adelina?”

  “The Albrimani present themselves as a family of merchant statesmen…ancient and dignified. But start chipping that façade away and they are no different from the upstart Viviani.” Alessandro turned his chair away from the table and straddled it with his long legs. He sat down and rested his arms on the chair back. A tinge of anger colored his voice. “To get to the quay to bargain on a shipload of goods, the Albrimani will knock you down just as fast as the Viviani. Their bravos’ stilettos are just as sharp and their agents’ deals are just as crooked.”

  “Ah, the invaluable voice of experience,” Crivelli observed, alert once again. “I can think of one interesting difference between the families.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The Viviani dwell at the confluence of the two widest canals in Venice. The Palazzo Albrimani stands on the Rio della Pieta, hardly a major waterway.”

  The women wore puzzled frowns, but Alessandro grasped Crivelli’s meaning immediately. “The Rio della Pieta is only minutes away from the Colleoni statue. Take a few narrow canals and you’re there. But after Tito’s attack, his captors’ gondola crossed the city and ended up on a major canal.”

  “Then it had to be Viviani thugs who warned me away from investigating Adelina’s death.” I recounted the story of my brief abduction to Caterina, who I fancied began to regard me with a little more respect.

  Annetta’s thoughts had raced ahead. “But who ordered the attack? The Signor or the Signora? The mistress of the Palazzo Viviani had good reason to hate Adelina. Time after time, Elisabetta Viviani was publicly humiliated by her husband’s liaison with Adelina.”

  I leaned back and put a hand to the bump on my forehead, which had started throbbing again. “It gets more and more complicated. What a nightmare this has become.”

  “You wouldn’t have so much to worry about if you would stick to your own business and let this wretched scandal alone,” said a cool voice from the doorway. “This is hardly the first time your curiosity has led you into trouble.”

  Father frowned severely as he shook water droplets off his tricorne. The bell tower on the piazza could not have seemed so solid or unbending as the figure at the threshold of the dining room. Surprised by his noiseless entrance and daunted by his inhospitable attitude, the five of us around the table stared at him in frozen silence.

  “Well, will no one greet me? My children may have invited half the cast of the San Stefano to my home at an unseemly hour, but I am still the master of this house.”

  “We apologize for any intrusion, Signor Amato.” Crivelli rose and gave my father a painstakingly correct bow while Annetta sprang to take his hat and coat. “Your hospitality is much appreciated on such a wet night.”

  Slightly mollified, my father took a pinch of snuff and offered one to Crivelli. “Go ahead,” he said, handing the singer a pewter snuffbox. “My sons do not indulge, but I find the weed most invigorating. You’ll need a bit of a pickup. The rain is almost over but it has turned quite cold. Am I right in assuming that is your gondola at the bottom of the calle?”

  “It is, Signore.”

  “Then you had better hurry. Your gondolier is growing restless. If you delay, he may decide the warmth of his bed and his good wife is more desirable than another fare.”

  Annetta ushered our visitors to the door, leaving Alessandro and me in the dining room with Father. The rainstorm outside may have abated, but we were in for a hail of words inside. Father puffed himself up like an operatic Jupiter about to hurl a mighty thunderbolt, but Alessandro deflated him with a few soft words. “Father, where is your gold snuffbox?”

  Our father was suddenly perplexed. He patted his waistcoat and looked at the corners of the room as if the snuffbox might materialize out of the walls.

  “The gold snuffbox I brought you from my last trip, where is it?” Alessandro repeated.

  “Oh, yes. I had to leave it with the jeweler. The clasp broke off. Really Alessandro, you should learn to examine merchandise more carefully before you buy it.” With that indignant pronouncement, Father left us for the shelter, if not the warmth, of his bed.

  Chapter 19

  I couldn’t guess when Father had awakened and
left the house. When Annetta came to my bedroom with a steaming pitcher of water to fill the wash basin, he was nowhere to be seen or heard. “What time is it?” I asked groggily.

  “Almost nine. You looked so tired last night I decided to let you get a good sleep.”

  I threw the covers off and shuddered when my feet hit the cold floor. “You shouldn’t have let me lie here like a lazy Calabrian. We have so much to do and there’s so little time.” I tore around the room, gathering clothes and shoes. Annetta started toward the window to open the curtains, but I grabbed her around the waist and pointed her toward the door. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be down in ten minutes and we’ll go to Adelina’s.”

  My sister tarried with her hand on the doorknob. “You’ve become very modest. I used to dress you when you were little.”

  “Well, I’ve grown up and would like some privacy please. Is Alessandro up?”

  She smiled affectionately on her way out. “He’s already been out to get a gazette, and he’s eaten every crust in the house. You’re out of luck for breakfast unless you want to wait for Berta’s next batch of bread.”

  “No time,” I answered, splashing my face with water.

  I was hurrying down the stairs, buttoning my waistcoat, when the bell in the hallway below gave three slow rings. I opened the door. At our threshold stood a tall monk in a white woolen robe with a heavy stole thrown around his shoulders. A black hood that designated the Dominican order covered his head and threw his face into deep shadow. Despite the cold, his hands were bare. The fingers that clasped the handle of his leather satchel were red and raw. He asked for Alessandro.

  My brother was pushing in behind me. “Brother Mark, you’re here. Tito, move aside. Let Brother Mark come in and get warm.”

  The monk stepped over our threshold and shook the hood back from his face. From his close-cropped black hair to his long feet encased in worn work boots, Brother Mark exuded a supple power that suggested the body of a greyhound or racehorse straining under his white robe. His thin face showed an intelligent, honest appearance, but it was his eyes that attracted the most serious examination. A deep slate gray and protected by hooded lids, they seemed to look straight through the reality of our humble hallway filled with the smell of baking bread into a mysterious, unseen realm.