SICILY, JANUARY 1860
Carina stood on deck as the steamer that brought them from London approached Palermo harbour. The city nestled beneath a crown of gold-topped mountains and she could see palm trees and rose-coloured domes. As they came into the shelter of the bay, the light was so dazzling she tipped the rim of her bonnet down to shade her eyes.
There was time before disembarkation and her mind went back to that fateful afternoon. Whenever she thought of Danby’s assault, Carina felt sick to the pit of her stomach. There was no one she could tell and she dared not report him to the police – for who would take her word against a peer of the realm? Alice was still out when she had reached home and Rose the only person who witnessed the state that she was in. Rose had come from Yorkshire with her and Carina trusted her completely.
‘If you want my opinion, miss,’ she had remarked as she inspected the jacket. ‘Good thing I be coming with thee to Sicily. Folk in those parts wouldn’t put up with this kind of thing.’
There had been no further letters or calling cards from Lord Danby and a week later Carina read in the Court Circular he had been received by the queen at Buckingham Palace. No matter how badly he had behaved, Danby was welcome back in the fold. The hypocrisy of the court disgusted her and, from that day on, she couldn’t wait to get away.
It had been raining on the day of their departure and Harry Carstairs drove with them to the docks. She had looked back from the ship to his tall figure standing under an umbrella and thought: Harry is a good man and I will always disappoint him.
‘Born with a devil in your heart.’ The words of Paddy O’Brien, the head groom at Melton, came into her head. ‘Let’s hope your guardian angel catches him quick. Then you’ll be a saint!’
It was strange to think of Paddy after so many years – but she would never be a saint. Carina understood herself too well for that. She was aware of her faults – her quick temper and impulsive nature that led her into trouble. She had wasted four years in mourning and then made a fool of herself. How could she have been so naive? Don’t look back, she told herself. There’s no room for bitterness or regret. You’re eighteen years old with your whole life in front of you. You made a mistake and have learned your lesson. Now you’ve been given a second chance. Think only of the future.
Ahead lay an exotic city that filled Carina with hope. After two weeks cooped up on board, how she longed to be ashore! The passage through the Bay of Biscay had been rough. Alice, and Jane Parsons, suffered from seasickness and stayed in their cabins until past the Straits of Gibraltar while Carina walked on deck every day. She had never left England before and loved the adventure of a sea voyage, the spray in her face and taste of salt on her tongue. When the weather improved, she found a sheltered spot close to the bridge. There, Jane Parsons discovered her one morning reading Childe Harold.
‘Could any man have written with such feeling without experiencing life?’ Jane’s tone was passionate. She was dressed in the same corduroy jacket and skirt she wore every day with her hair scraped back beneath a poke bonnet. She might have been considered drab were it not for her bright brown eyes and eager expression.
What is there wanting to set thee free,
To show thy beauty in its fullest light?
Make the Alps impassable; and we,
Your sons, for Italy – Unite!
‘Lord Byron believed Italy must become one nation. He was a prophet as well as a poet. On the Continent he is admired above all others!’
Of all people in the world, Carina would never have guessed Jane Parsons shared her love of Byron. Her opinion of her changed in that instant. Jane wasn’t the dull woman she had thought in London and they would surely be friends! Carina wanted to learn about Sicily and the closer they came to their destination, the more animated Jane became. Walking on deck or taking supper in their cabin, she spoke of the island’s troubled past.
‘The revolution in Sicily of ’48 was suppressed with dreadful brutality. Hundreds of people were executed or imprisoned and many more forced into exile. You cannot imagine the suffering the patriots have endured. Mind you, my cousin, the consul, says it’s only a matter of time before the Sicilian people rise up and cast off the Bourbon yoke!’
Carina thought of the newspaper article she had read to Harry in London. The idea of revolution had seemed far away then, but Jane’s words last night had sent a shiver down her spine.
‘You promise to call on me at the consulate as soon as you are settled?’ Jane’s voice beside her now made Carina start. She had come up on deck with Alice and was leaning over the rail, pointing to the beach. ‘Our baggage will be taken to the Passport Office. Make your way there and wait for whoever the contessa has sent to meet you.’
They left the steamer in groups, clambering down steep steps to the long boats that were to row them ashore. Alice hung on to Carina’s arm and sat close to her on the narrow bench with Rose hemming her in on the other side. They were packed so tightly together her new turquoise dress would be ruined. She should have worn a travelling habit like Alice, Carina thought, but she wanted to make a good first impression on her mother’s family and she was too excited to care.
Arriving on the beach, the women were surrounded by men eager to offer them assistance. Carina had learned Italian, but they spoke in a dialect she couldn’t understand. Somehow they had become separated from Jane, and Alice was pale with anxiety. Carina stood on her tiptoes, searching over the heads of the crowd for the Passport Office but the beach was so crowded it was impossible to see beyond the shoreline. She was wondering what to do when someone called her name and she turned so quickly she almost knocked into the young man who had come up behind them.
‘Carina, it is you! I knew the minute I saw your dress. What a sensational colour! I’m your cousin, Paulo Denuzio.’
He bent over her hand, brushing it with a kiss and as he looked up Carina’s gaze met a pair of laughing brown eyes. Paulo was about her age with dark curling hair. There was a becoming droopiness to the corners of his eyes and his smile was that of a mischievous boy.
‘Well, are you going to present me to your aunt?’ he asked.
‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. How very kind of you to come.’
Alice’s response was heartfelt and Carina was delighted to meet her cousin. She was aware her mother’s brother was married with children, but believed they lived in Naples.
‘Gabriella is with me. She’s waiting in the carriage.’ Taking for granted they knew who he meant, Paulo offered both Carina and Alice an arm. ‘Gino will take your maid to identify your luggage and drive her home. Please be so kind as to come with me.’
A coachman in livery stepped forward and Carina was relieved to let Paulo guide them through the melee. The energy in the air was exhilarating and she did not mind the chaos and noise. The sun was warm and the sky bluer than any sky she had ever seen before. It was a world away from dismal, grey London. I’m going to be happy here, she thought with a thrill of pleasure. I’m not going to miss England one little bit.
They came to the road where a landau stood open in the mild air and a girl of about sixteen was peering over the side. Gabriella was pretty with large dark eyes. Her hair was coiled in thick plaits around her head and she wore a plain linen smock. Carina hoped her turquoise dress, with its low décolletage and petticoats peeping beneath the skirts, wasn’t too risqué. At least a fur-trimmed mantle covered her arms and no one could disapprove of her bonnet. With its cream silk lining and wide ribbon tied under her chin, it was modest enough. She smiled at Gabriella and her cousin’s cheeks dimpled shyly.
‘Behind us is Mount Pellegrino, and there’s the marina.’ Paulo pointed out the sights as they set off and came to a street lined with elegant houses. ‘This is the Toledo. When the nobility lived here it was considered the finest boulevard in Sicily. Now the houses are all religious establishments and it’s gone to the dogs—’
‘Paulo, don’t you talk so!’ Gabriella spoke for first time.
‘It’s perfectly true. They were built for pleasure – and what have they become? Convents for celibates!’
Paulo went on to tell them about his family. He was a student of Law at the University of Perugia while Gabriella was being educated at a convent in Naples. They were in Palermo on vacation and their parents due to arrive the following week.
‘My sister’s going to be a nun,’ he explained. ‘Unless, that is, she’s rescued from the religious life by one of my bachelor friends.’
At that moment, as if on cue, a young man on horseback rode up beside the carriage. He removed his hat and made a sweeping bow as Paulo introduced him.
‘May I present Enrico Fola? Enrico belongs to one of the noblest families in Sicily, yet, for all that, he’s a rogue! Do you know our friend is in danger of becoming a Liberal?’
The words had an edge to them that made Carina look at Enrico Fola more closely. Apart from his wide-brimmed hat and long hair, he didn’t appear very different from Paulo. With his pale face and deep-set eyes, he was handsome in a romantic way and she noticed how Gabriella blushed when he spoke to her.
‘And that,’ Paulo declared after Enrico Fola took his leave, ‘is the reason my little sister will not become a nun. She’s been in love with Enrico all her life.’
Gabriella shot him a look that would have silenced most people, but Paulo was irrepressible. ‘There’s no use denying it, Ella. The whole world knows it’s true.’
‘Be sure we won’t take notice of him,’ Alice intervened mildly. ‘Brothers always love to tease.’
Her aunt was more relaxed already and Carina was impressed by Palermo with its fine churches and statues in pretty squares. The citizens were smartly dressed, their carriages drawn by horses in harnesses adorned with plumed feathers. Painted donkey carts drove alongside stylish phaetons and on every corner were flower stalls and women selling fruit. At Paulo’s insistence they stopped for iced sherbet brought to them in the carriage before setting off again.
The open boulevards were left behind and the streets became narrow and dark. Lines of washing were strung from one side to the other, blocking out the sun. Instead of the scent of flowers, the air was close and fetid and Carina sensed hostility in the silent stares of the women and children who crowded in doorways. Barefoot urchins ran after the carriage calling out for money and when an old man spat under the wheels, the coachman cracked his whip. No one spoke until the slums were left behind and they came out above the city and trotted across a piazza with a church. As they rumbled through a barrel-vaulted entrance, she glimpsed the Denuzio coat of arms and Carina knew they had arrived.
Her first impression of the palazzo was of a large honey-coloured house with shuttered windows. They alighted in the inner courtyard and Paulo and Gabriella escorted them up a flight of steps to enter on the first floor.
‘This is the piano nobile,’ Paulo explained. ‘It’s where we meet, eat and entertain. The bedrooms are above, rather less nobile but a good deal more comfortable.’
Carina glimpsed a series of rooms, leading from one to another, before they ascended a second staircase. Alice was shown into her suite and then Gabriella led Carina down the passage. She beckoned her into a bedroom with a balcony overlooking the city, where Rose was already surrounded by boxes and giving orders in uncompromising English to the young girl helping her to unpack.
A note awaited her from her grandmother saying she was looking forward to welcoming her once she was settled. An hour later, Carina set out to find her. Her hand gripped the banister rail as she went down. What would they make of each other, she wondered? If only she knew what Oliver had said in his letter! He was bound to have written a damning indictment. How would she answer if her grandmother asked about Robert Danby? She must tell her the truth, she decided as she reached the gallery.
A footman was waiting and there was no chance to think further. Carina followed him downstairs, through an arched doorway and along a dark corridor with shadowy portraits gazing down from the walls. Presently, they arrived at her grandmother’s apartments and Contessa Denuzio rose stiffly from her chair and held out her arms.
‘My beloved child, welcome home.’
Carina had a miniature of her grandmother as a young woman and took in every detail of her appearance. She was small and, apart from a lace cap, dressed entirely in black. Nonna was thin as a sparrow – Carina felt her shoulder bones as she embraced her – but her grasp was strong as she led her over to sit by the window. Her skin was like parchment and Carina had a strange urge to run her hands over her face. This was the closest she had ever come to her mother and all she could think was: Sonia was hardly older than me when she left Sicily. I should have come before. Why did I leave it so long? Tears filled her eyes and her grandmother held onto her hand so she couldn’t reach her handkerchief. Too overcome to speak, the two women sat in silence until there was a tap at the door and a maid entered with a tray of refreshments.
Carina sipped her lemonade and then, prompted by her grandmother, began to talk about her childhood. She was hesitant at first, gradually becoming more confident. She told her of Melton and the Yorkshire dales, how she loved horses and her passion for reading and poetry. As she was speaking, she had the sensation she was describing someone she hardly recognised or remembered. There was a vital, undiscovered part of her in this room and she longed to ask about her mother. Do I remind you of her? What was she like? Would she have approved of me?
Her grandmother’s sharp old eyes never left her face. It would be too painful for her to speak of Sonia now, she thought, and her questions must wait. She was trying to think of something else to say when Nonna asked about her life in London.
Carina took a quick breath before she answered. ‘I believe my uncle wrote to you regarding the circumstances of my visit.’
‘Oliver Temple’s correspondence was private.’ Nonna put up her hand, waving the question away. ‘I’m grateful he decided to make an old woman happy, but your mother didn’t care for him. I weighed his words accordingly.’
So that was it. She had read Oliver’s version of events and had no wish to talk about it. The topic Carina dreaded the most was dismissed and Nonna continued briskly, ‘I’m delighted your Aunt Alice is to stay with us for a few weeks. Sonia wrote of her with great affection and I look forward to meeting her. Now, let me tell you what I have planned for you …’
She went on, speaking of picnics in the gardens of La Favorita and visits to the Teatro Santa Cecilia. The Princess del Monti had invited them to her box at the opera the following week, thus ensuring her entrée into Palermo society, and Paulo promised to escort them around.
‘We’re not as sophisticated as you are in London, but Sicily is never dull. I’m sure you’ll be happy here, my dear.’
Carina felt a glow of warmth radiate through her. How could one not respond to such a welcome? She already felt more at home than she ever had in London. There was an immediate understanding with her Sicilian relations. The sense of kinship buoyed her up, and when she came downstairs later she was pleased to find Paulo waiting in the salon.
He poured out two glasses of chilled wine, handing one to her, and raised a toast. ‘To my beautiful cousin, who has come to set Sicily alight! The whole of Palermo is asking about you. “Will Miss Temple be allowed out of the house?” “When may we be presented?” I’ve never been so popular in my life.’
‘Why so, I cannot imagine.’ Carina looked at him questioningly.
‘Don’t say you thought to arrive in Palermo and not find your reputation gone before you?’
There was mischief in his eyes and Carina dropped her gaze. She shouldn’t mind, but her grandmother had made her feel all the unpleasantness was left behind. She hadn’t expected this of Paulo and answered coolly. ‘Does our grandmother listen to the same gossip as you?’
‘Nonna would never hear a word against you.’
‘So what’s your opinion of my reputation?’
‘Should I denounce a scandal if you don’t yourself?’
Carina did not answer and Paulo went over to the side table to refill his glass. He continued without looking round. ‘It’s really of no significance. Papa thought it advisable to apprise us of certain rumours, that’s all.’
To be sure, he was an impudent young man! What did he expect her to say? Did Paulo think she’d admit or deny anything to him? If so, he was a fool as well as a prattler. She had liked him so much that morning and was now disappointed. When he came and sat down beside her, she turned her back and picked up a small enamel box from the table.
‘Are you annoyed with me?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she said shortly.
‘Yes you are. Of course indiscretions are only acceptable as long as they remain discreet.’
Carina imagined Paulo smiling at his own wit and turned the box over in her hand. A hint of vulnerability usually did the trick and she sighed.
‘I’m sorry you choose to think badly of me. I hoped we might be friends.’
‘Of course we’re friends. Why ever not? And I don’t think badly of you. I’m full of admiration!’
Before she could think of a suitable retort, he slipped off the sofa and knelt on the floor with his arms across his chest. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. Please will you forgive me?’
He was being ridiculous and Carina refused to answer.
‘Tell me what I can do to appease you? I’ll challenge anyone who casts doubt on your honour. Pistols at dawn – whatever you demand! I will risk life and limb to prove my allegiance.’
It was all an act, but Paulo was hard to resist. His antics made her want to laugh and Carina struggled to keep a straight face.
‘How you behave is up to you. Now, will you please get up?’
If her attempt at coolness worried him, Paulo did not show it. He was back on his feet, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth even as he tried to prevent it.
‘You’ll never refer to my life in London again. Is that understood?
‘Upon my honour, I swear to be your most loyal champion. However …’
Just then a footman entered carrying a tray of olives, which he placed on the table. The setting sun threw beams of light across the room, turning the walls from gold to pink and through the open door came a murmur of voices. Alice and Gabriella were talking as they approached, their silk skirts rustling on the marble floor as they came down the gallery.
‘Silence is my bond, dear cousin.’ Paulo placed his hand over his heart. ‘But know this: in Sicily a scandal attached to one’s name is a greater asset than a fortune. If it turns out that you have neither, you’ll be considered a nonentity!’