SIX

After the disastrous end to the ball, the Villa Scarfiotti went into retreat. Signor Collodi and the estate hands removed the decorations the next day so that by the following evening the house had returned to its daunting atmosphere. The servants spoke in hushed tones, and Ada and Paolina replaced the usual menu with simpler meals. Rosa only managed morning or afternoon lessons with Clementina because the girl was forever being whisked off by her father somewhere. Although he had been concerned about Clementina’s education, it seemed that in this time of crisis the Marchese dreaded being alone. His wife, the cause of his vexations, was of no use to him. She withdrew to her quarters after the body had been identified and stayed there. The scandal was not so much that a jilted lover of the Marchesa’s had hanged himself in the villa’s driveway, but rather that what had promised to be the party of the decade had come to a startlingly grim end. The evening was supposed to finish with a display of fireworks. Not with a death. None of the festivities Nerezza Scarfiotti had presided over had concluded so ignobly. That, Rosa thought, was where the real sting for the Marchesa lay.

Rosa recalled what the man with the cowlick had told the Marchesa that afternoon in the woods: I left everything for you. She wondered what he had meant. A wife? Children? His position? She noticed that the lamppost where he had hanged himself retained its purple globe. Perhaps no-one wanted to touch it. Rosa didn’t blame them. She couldn’t pass that section of the driveway without a shiver running down her spine. Or perhaps the purple globe was a tribute from the estate hands to the young man so he wouldn’t be forgotten. Possibly that was what he had wanted? To be imprinted on the Marchesa’s mind forever.

One afternoon, when Clementina was out with the Marchese, Rosa was returning to the schoolroom from the library with a selection of books she had chosen to study. She was halfway up the servants’ staircase when she heard the strains of music. She was surprised because she had never heard music played in the villa, except for the ball and garden party. Signora Guerrini had been definite that music brought on migraines in the Marchesa. Rosa and Clementina only practised their instruments when they were sure the Marchesa was out for the day.

She continued up the stairs and the music grew louder. She recognised the piece. It was the Intermezzo from the opera Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni. She realised the sound was coming from the fourth floor. Rosa passed Clementina’s room on her way to the schoolroom and gave a start when she saw the Marchesa standing there. A disc was playing on a gramophone and the Marchesa was gazing at the opera sets Nerezza had made. She sensed Rosa’s presence and turned to her. Rosa flinched, expecting a reprimand for sneaking up on her, and instead was shocked to see tears in the Marchesa’s eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

‘When a Sicilian challenges another to a duel,’ she said, fixing her gaze on Rosa, ‘the one who accepts bites his opponent’s ear to draw blood, demonstrating he understands that the fight is to the death. When two opponents meet, there can only be one winner.’

Rosa remained silent. She knew there was a duel in Cavalleria Rusticana and that the story was set in Sicily, but she wasn’t sure that was what the Marchesa was talking about. The Marchesa looked almost…bereft. But the impression lasted only a few seconds before the woman’s face formed into its severe angles again. She took the disc from the gramophone, stared at for a moment, then handed it to Rosa before brushing past her and disappearing down the stairs.

Rosa stood in the doorway of Clementina’s room with the disc in her hand, bemused by the Marchesa’s odd behaviour. She only hoped that the gesture hadn’t meant the Marchesa was challenging her to some sort of duel.

The following afternoon, a van arrived at the villa. Rosa, who had been walking in the garden, saw two men loading the Bösendorfer piano into it. She noticed the Marchese’s car in the garage and hurried towards the house to see if Clementina would like a lesson that afternoon. When she approached the loggia, she caught sight of the Marchese standing in the doorway weeping. Taken aback by his tears, Rosa ducked behind a trellis to avoid being seen. Through the gaps in the jasmine she glimpsed the Marchesa approach her husband.

‘She’s dead, Emilio,’ she said flatly. ‘We have to stop living with her ghost.’

Rosa was shocked. The Marchese had adored his sister. How could his wife expect him to part with Nerezza’s most treasured possession? The Baroness Derveaux could say what she liked, Rosa thought, but the Marchesa was surely the cruellest woman alive, especially to her own husband. Was she still carrying on the rivalry with his sister even though she was dead? Was that what she had been talking about in Clementina’s room the previous day? Was the ‘duel’ still being fought?

On the afternoons when Clementina was out with her father, Rosa visited the bear, whom Ada had named Dono. Rosa learned from the encyclopaedia that the crescent on his chest meant he was a moon bear. Signor Collodi had set up Dono’s cage under some trees at the back of the kitchen garden and fed the bear fruit and bread gingerly through the sliding door at the bottom of the cage. The spot Signor Collodi had chosen was cool and pleasant but the cage was too small for an animal born to wander mountain ranges and climb trees. The bear paced in the limited space and Rosa realised the injury to his snout was caused by his banging his head against the bars. Despite his ill treatment by humans, the bear was not as aggressive as Rosa expected. When she approached him, he looked at her with melancholy eyes. If the Marchesa was away, Rosa would play her flute near his cage. The music seemed to calm the bear and often lulled him into restful sleep. One day, after he had eaten a pear Rosa had given him, Dono licked his paws and looked at her intently. A wave of warmth washed over her and Rosa realised that the bear had communicated his gratitude for her kindness. She was touched that he had ‘spoken’ to her. Gentleness was not what he was used to from humans; he had no reason to trust them.

She remembered overhearing the Marchese saying that bears liked to eat bark and berries, so she left her flute by Dono’s cage and walked into the woods to see if she could find any juniper or blackberries. It was the height of summer and the woods seemed less eerie than they had in the spring. The heat penetrated through the trees and insects hummed in an incessant chorus. Rosa’s dress stuck to her back and her skin smelled salty. The blackberries she found were not ripe, so she continued along the path to look for some others. She came across a tree with sap dripping down its bark and had stopped to take a piece when a rustling sound caught her attention. Something was moving through the leaf litter. She glimpsed an animal bounding between the trees. Her first thought was that it was a boar or a rabbit, but its movement had a loping action that suggested longer limbs. Rosa lost sight of the animal. She listened then caught a flash of silver-grey fur. It was a dog. No-one at the villa had a dog because the Marchese had forbidden hunting on his property and the Marchesa seemed to prefer snakes to poodles.

The dog rushed towards the driveway and Rosa ran after it. Once they were both clear of the trees she could see it was a Weimaraner. The dog turned its head to her playfully and she stopped in her tracks. It had a brown splodge on its muzzle. It wasn’t a chubby puppy any more, but it was still young, and Rosa was sure it was the same dog the man with the cowlick had given to Clementina and which the Marchesa had told Signor Taviani to destroy.

‘Come here,’ she called softly.

The dog hesitated then took off again. Rosa was compelled to chase after it.

A man’s gruff voice called in the woods. ‘Marcellino!’

Rosa recognised the voice as belonging to Signor Taviani. She realised she was near the gatekeeper’s house and crouched down in the bushes and watched as the dog ran to Signor Taviani and jumped up against his legs. The gatekeeper affectionately rubbed the dog’s head.

‘Marcellino,’ he said in his sonorous voice, ‘you mustn’t run off again. It is dangerous for you to do that.’

The gatekeeper led the dog back into his house and closed the door. Rosa blinked. Sitting in the window at the back of the house was the tortoiseshell cat with one ear that she had seen on her first morning at the villa. A strange feeling ran through her and she nearly swooned. She wondered if she was becoming heat-dazed.

She inched her way towards the house and crept past the hedge. By standing on a rock, she managed to peep in the window. The cat had moved and was on Signor Taviani’s lap. The gatekeeper was sitting in a chair with his back to Rosa. At his feet was the Weimaraner, chewing on a ball, and another dog, a greyhound with mottled fur on its face that suggested it was old. In a cage hanging from the wall was a parrot with one foot and in another cage a squirrel-like animal was chewing on some lettuce.

The Marchesa had instructed Signor Taviani to kill the puppy. Rosa had heard the shot herself, hadn’t she? Was he collecting the animals the Marchesa told him to destroy, she wondered. The dizziness returned. It felt as though she had been given a piece of a puzzle but didn’t know where it fitted. Signor Taviani was taking a risk, keeping those animals against the Marchesa’s orders, and it changed Rosa’s view of him. She remembered reading that Leonardo da Vinci had felt compassion for animals and had refused to eat them. Taking life unnecessarily was abhorrent to him. He had been known to buy birds from the market simply to set them free. Perhaps Signor Taviani was someone like that.

The stone Rosa was standing on wobbled under her feet. She lost her balance and fell to the ground. The greyhound barked. Before Signor Taviani could catch sight of her, Rosa ran as fast as she could into the woods.

When she neared the house, she saw the Marchese’s car drive past and come to a stop outside the villa. Clementina jumped out. Rosa knew the girl would head straight to the schoolroom, eager for a lesson, so she quickened her pace. She picked up her flute before entering the house via the kitchen and straightened her dress and hair, which had become dishevelled in her rush through the woods.

Ada walked out of the storeroom, a string of garlic dangling from her hand, and smiled at Rosa. ‘Will you want lunch in the schoolroom today?’ she asked. ‘I can make you—’ She stopped and gave a cry, staring at something on Rosa’s collarbone.

Rosa grabbed for her chest, thinking she had picked up a spider in the woods. She had seen black ones living in the garden walls. She looked down and saw there was nothing there. Her chain with the cross and silver key had simply fallen out of her neckline.

Ada pointed to the silver key. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, stepping closer and examining it. Her face was as white as a sheet and she was shaking from head to foot.

‘It was in my wrappings when a stranger brought me to the convent as an infant.’

Rosa wanted to add what Suor Maddalena had said about witches, but she was perturbed by Ada’s stricken expression. The cook’s lips were trembling and beads of sweat rose up on her forehead. Rosa thought she was in danger of fainting and helped her into a chair. Ada rubbed her face.

‘When was that?’ she asked.

‘December 1914. Before Italy joined the Great War.’

Ada swallowed and stared at Rosa as if she was searching for something in her face. Finally she shook her head. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘I sensed it. All those signs of fate and destiny since you arrived. But I was sure the babe had…’ Her eyes suddenly grew wide and her fists clenched. She stood up and grabbed Rosa’s shoulders. ‘There is something I must tell you,’ she said.

The dizziness that had struck Rosa in the woods when she saw Signor Taviani with the dog returned to her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw flecks of dust swirling in a sunbeam. She was sure they formed into a woman’s face.

‘What?’ she asked Ada.

‘Signorina Bellocchi! Signorina Bellocchi!’ Clementina’s voice called from the corridor.

‘You had better go,’ Ada told Rosa. ‘But come to me tonight. I will tell you everything. You are in great danger here.’

Clementina and Rosa had been studying geography in their sporadic lessons together and Clementina’s choice of country to concentrate on was China. Rosa was pleased with her selection. Suor Grazia had been fascinated by the work of Christian missionaries in Asia so Rosa was well read on Chinese culture and history. Clementina had meticulously pasted the newspaper articles that Rosa had collected for her into a scrapbook and sketched detailed drawings of sampans and women in straw hats working in rice fields. This afternoon, Rosa tried to listen with enthusiasm while Clementina read out loud about the Manchurian Chinese Eastern Railway and the conflicts Chiang Kai-shek had had with Russia, but her mind kept wandering to the conversation with Ada. What did the cook have to tell her? Why was she in danger?

‘What’s feng shoo-ee?’ asked Clementina.

‘Pardon?’ Rosa’s attention came back to her student. She realised she hadn’t heard anything Clementina had read in the past five minutes.

Clementina pointed to the photograph of a Buddhist temple that accompanied the article she was reading. ‘This journalist says the Chinese in Harbin built the Temple of Bliss because they were concerned that buildings erected by the Russians were negatively affecting the feng shoo-ee of the city.’

Rosa corrected Clementina’s pronunciation. ‘Feng shui—you say it fung schway.’ She pulled out the chair next to Clementina and sat down. ‘The Chinese believe in chi,’ she explained. ‘A vital energy that exists everywhere and in everything. Certain elements in the design of a city or building can block its flow.’

Clementina was satisfied with Rosa’s answer and turned to the next article, which was on Chinese opera. Rosa thought about the strange feelings and visions she had experienced at the Villa Scarfiotti. Maybe there was something to the Chinese belief that there was an omnipresent energy contained in all things. She thought about Signor Taviani and his animals and the heart she had seen in the Marchesa’s quarters. She felt as though energy was somehow trapped in the villa and was building up, ready to blow at any moment.

After the geography lesson, Clementina and Rosa revised some mathematics problems and then practised French. It was the longest time they had spent together since the ball and Rosa half-expected the Marchese to burst in at any moment and call Clementina away. But he didn’t appear. He must have gone to Florence; perhaps to find solace with Signora Corvetto instead. Rosa would have been delighted for the extended time if she wasn’t so anxious to speak with Ada.

Six o’clock came and Maria didn’t appear to take over as nursemaid and organise Clementina’s dinner.

‘Do you know where Maria is?’ Rosa asked.

‘No,’ said Clementina. ‘I didn’t see her last night either. I put myself to bed.’

Rosa was shocked. ‘What? Why didn’t you come and tell me?’

Clementina shrugged.

Rosa was growing impatient with life at the villa. She could see that Clementina was becoming used to the lack of routine. The Marchese took off with her whenever he felt like it and now Maria was growing careless. She had no right to ignore her responsibilities to her young charge.

‘Wait here,’ she told Clementina.

She walked down the hall to Maria’s room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Rosa was turning to go when she noticed a glimmer of light under the door. She knocked again. ‘Maria?’ She pushed open the door. The light was coming from a lamp on a writing desk. Next to it was Maria’s armoire with her nursemaid’s uniform dangling from a hanger on the door. If she wasn’t wearing her uniform, where had she gone? Clementina said that she hadn’t seen Maria the previous evening.

The room was neat with buttercup yellow walls and a Chinese rug on the floorboards. There was a strange smell: a sour stink like flowers that had been left in the vase too long. The room needed airing. The bed was in an alcove behind a drawn curtain. Rosa didn’t think Maria was there and was about to leave when she heard a moan.

‘Maria?’

She hesitated then moved towards the curtain. Her eye caught something in the washbasin: a bloodied towel. She pulled aside the curtain and reeled back. Maria was curled up on the bed with her knees to her chest. She was covered in sweat and shaking. Rosa reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Her stomach heaved. The bedding was soaked in blood.

‘Maria!’ she cried. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve committed a sin,’ the girl wept. ‘God is punishing me.’

Rosa took Maria’s hand and was shocked to feel her pulse pounding like a hammer under her skin. She could see it too in the raised veins on Maria’s neck. Her own hands started to tremble and she had to struggle to think clearly. Then her eye caught something on the floor. It was a bloodied piece of metal that resembled an umbrella rib. Rosa remembered many years before when a young girl had come to the convent for help in the middle of the night. She had died in agony, her screams reaching the dormitory where Rosa and the other girls lay shivering in their beds. Rosa later overheard the Badessa telling Suor Maddalena that the girl had haemorrhaged after using a knitting needle to abort the child she was carrying.

‘Oh, Maria,’ cried Rosa. ‘Who did this to you?’

Maria’s lips were blue. ‘It’s not his fault,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I love him. I’d have left if I thought it was better, but there is no work out there for pregnant maids. I thought if I got rid of the…it…I could stay and he wouldn’t get into trouble.’

Rosa’s head was pounding. Did Maria mean the Marchese? Surely if he had any decency he would have sent Maria to a convent until she’d had the baby.

A spasm shook Maria. She clutched her stomach and tried to sit up. A clot the size of an egg passed between her legs. The horror of it shocked Rosa into action. She raced to the schoolroom where Clementina was still waiting.

‘Get Signor Bonizzoni! Quickly!’ she said to the girl. ‘Tell him Maria needs a doctor. Urgently!’

Rosa returned to Maria’s side and fell to her knees, praying for the nursemaid. Maria was gasping for air. Despite her agony, a strange smile came to her face. ‘Vittorio,’ she whispered. ‘Vittorio.’

The name hit Rosa like a slap. Vittorio? Her mind raced to make sense of things. Pictures of the Marchesa’s brother at Clementina’s birthday party and the ball flashed into her mind. Yes, he was always at the villa while the Marchese was often not. He was the one Maria had been seeing.

Maria sat up again and struggled for another breath. It was her last. She fell back on the pillow and her eyes glazed over. Rosa stood up and crossed herself. She heard footsteps in the hall and covered Maria’s lower half with a sheet and tried to arrange her into a more dignified position. But when she straightened Maria’s legs more blood flowed out of her and onto the floor.

‘Good God!’

Rosa looked up to see Signor Bonizzoni standing in the doorway. Signora Guerrini was with him. The housekeeper was the last person Rosa would have called for assistance but, as the maids were her responsibility, Signor Bonizzoni must have asked her to come along too.

Signora Guerrini glared at the umbrella rib on the floor then looked at Rosa. ‘What have you done?’ she demanded.

Rosa glanced down and saw the front of her dress and shoes were covered in blood. Her hands too. It seemed that she could even taste blood in her mouth. ‘I’ve done nothing,’ she said. ‘I found her like this when I came to look for her after Clementina’s lesson. The poor girl is dead.’

‘We’d best go see the Marchesa,’ said Signor Bonizzoni. ‘She’ll have to call the police.’

The Marchesa was sitting with Vittorio in the parlour. They were smoking and playing cards.

‘What is it?’ she asked when the butler ushered Rosa and Signora Guerrini into the room. She caught sight of the blood on Rosa’s dress. Disgust pinched the corners of her mouth. ‘What’s happened?’

‘A most terrible incident,’ said Signor Bonizzoni. ‘The young maid Maria is dead.’

Rosa’s brain had clamped up and she couldn’t think at all. Not even to defend herself when Signora Guerrini insinuated that she had helped in Maria’s botched abortion. Signor Bonizzoni, who did not seem to think Rosa was the culprit, suggested the police should be called to investigate the matter.

The Marchesa jumped from her seat. ‘Police?’ she repeated, her voice turning shrill. ‘Another scandal! After what we have just been through!’

‘The girl is dead, Signora Marchesa,’ said Signor Bonizzoni. ‘We can’t hush such a thing up. The girl will have relatives and the younger servants will talk.’

Rosa’s stomach turned. Maria was being reduced to a pile of dirt to be swept under the carpet. ‘Little people’ the Marchesa had called her staff on the first day Rosa had laid eyes on her.

Vittorio was tapping his fingers and singing under his breath. He had heard the discussion but seemed indifferent to the fact that a young woman he had defiled was dead. Rosa was filled with disgust. Vittorio had used Maria like an old rag and she had been starry-eyed enough to believe she was in love with him.

The Marchesa launched herself at Rosa.

‘Who is the father?’ she demanded. ‘Who made the girl pregnant?’

Rosa had no time to think. She involuntarily turned in Vittorio’s direction. Signora Guerrini let out a gasp. Vittorio leaped out of his seat and backed away towards the fireplace.

‘A spoil of war! Little slut!’ he said, jerking his head nervously.

Oh, Maria, Rosa thought.

The Marchesa glared at Rosa. A sharp pain jabbed inside Rosa’s skull. It was as if the Marchesa had pierced her mind and was able to see what she was thinking. Understanding dawned on the Marchesa’s face. Rosa was no longer inconsequential to her: she was the enemy.

‘Abortion is a crime,’ the Marchesa said, turning to Signor Bonizzoni. ‘Mussolini says it is a crime against the integrity and health of the race. It must come with the severest penalties.’ She caught her breath as an idea crossed her mind. ‘I will call Il Duce myself,’ she said. ‘He will send someone here to deal with the matter.’

Signor Bonizzoni cleared his throat. ‘Very well, Signora Marchesa,’ he said. ‘But I don’t believe Signorina Bellocchi had anything to do with what’s happened.’

The Marchesa threw her head back. Rosa had a vision of her as a dragon sending out an explosion of fire; she felt it burn her feet, singe her clothes and melt her insides. The peculiar dizziness that had struck her with both Signor Taviani and Ada that afternoon gripped her again. The triangle was complete: Signor Taviani; Ada; and the Marchesa. But what did it mean? Rosa sensed that she had faced the Marchesa as her adversary some time in the past. And then, just as now, she had been helpless in her grasp.

‘Of course she helped,’ the Marchesa spat. ‘Those servant girls are all the same. They stick together. Take her downstairs and keep a watch on her.’

Signor Bonizzoni and Rosa stood motionless. Even Signora Guerrini hadn’t expected such a reaction. They waited to see if the Marchesa would continue, but she simply turned away from them and said, ‘That will be all.’

Rosa was taken to the laundry room where she waited with Signora Guerrini. The housekeeper wrung her hands and her eyes flickered to the window every few minutes. Rosa could tell she was worried that her insinuations would result in more grievous consequences than she had anticipated and that she might be implicated too. Half an hour later Rosa heard Signor Bonizzoni and Signor Collodi speaking as they came down the stairs. The men walked past the laundry window, carrying Maria’s body on a stretcher towards the garage. They had wrapped the corpse in a blanket but a pool of blood was seeping through it. The body looked diminutive, like a child’s. The sight gave Rosa the strength to speak finally.

‘I was with Clementina all afternoon. You can ask her yourself,’ she told Signora Guerrini. ‘And before that I was playing my flute near the bear. Ada saw me.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it will be sorted out,’ said Signora Guerrini, twisting her apron in her hands. ‘That stupid, stupid girl. She’s brought trouble on all of us.’

Rosa tried to recall anyone who might be able to help her. She remembered the maid who had spoken with Maria at the garden party. The girl had obviously known that Vittorio was Maria’s lover. But what would be the point of involving her? She would become another innocent person caught up in the mess. Rosa realised that the only hope for her to keep her position at the Villa Scarfiotti would be if the Marchese arrived before whoever Mussolini was sending and intervened on her behalf. Otherwise she was sure she was going to be sent back to the convent and would never see Clementina again.

When Rosa heard a car coming down the driveway just after nine o’clock, she prayed it was the Marchese. Her heart fell to her feet when Signor Bonizzoni walked into the room followed by two men in fascist uniforms. The shorter of the two was in his thirties and seemed agitated. He kept taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping it across his sweaty brow and cheeks. The taller man was older with piercing eyes and pockmarks on his cheeks. Signora Guerrini gave a cry, stood up and rushed towards the other side of the room, as if Rosa had a contagious disease.

‘Is this her?’ the man with the pockmarks asked, pointing to Rosa.

Signor Bonizzoni gave a cautious glance in Rosa’s direction, then averted his eyes and nodded.

‘I had nothing to do with the matter,’ Rosa said.

‘Well, a tribunal will decide that,’ the short fascist said.

He grabbed Rosa by the arm and handcuffed her. There was no use struggling so she let herself be jostled out of the exterior door and around the side of the house. Parked in front of the villa was a van with mesh on the windows. Her legs gave beneath her when she realised she wasn’t being sent back to the convent; she was being taken to prison.

Ada was out the front of the house, running up and down the steps like a crazed animal. The Marchesa was also there with Vittorio.

‘Rosa, Rosa. What’s happened?’ Ada called. She tried to reach Rosa but the pockmarked fascist pushed her back.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Rosa told her. ‘I didn’t do what Signora Guerrini said. I found Maria dying when I went to search for her after she didn’t show up to look after Clementina.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Ada. Her eyes met Rosa’s. She had to be careful because the Marchesa was watching. ‘Remember the key,’ she said under her breath. ‘It will keep you safe as it did for so many years.’

The short fascist opened the door to the van and pushed Rosa inside. Although she didn’t resist him he punched her in the breast for good measure. She collapsed backwards in pain. The motor started up, the van pulled away and Rosa felt her freedom vanishing from her. She thought of Dono the bear; now she was caged and humiliated too. She looked back at the villa and caught a glimpse of someone at the schoolroom window. Clementina! The girl was rubbing her face and crying.

The van picked up speed. Flashes of light illuminated the interior as it passed each lamppost. Rosa shivered when a purple flash flickered over her. She understood then that she was being sacrificed to save Vittorio and avoid another scandal. The Marchesa saw her as expendable; just like the man with the cowlick.