If sweetly you love me and deeply you care
When Autumn is falling and Winter is bare;
If you are constant in Spring’s rushing tide
When Summer is calling, you stay by my side,
In all seasons true, our life will we share;
For sweetly I love you and deeply I care.
She had thought of the first line on the day she left England and the poem found its voice today. Carina had spent all afternoon finishing the draft. A handful of women were celebrated poets in England. Would anyone consider her verse worthy of circulation, she wondered? It wasn’t enough to rhyme and scan. Poetry should express true emotion. What was it like to experience true passion? I don’t want to die a spinster, she thought. One day I will fall in love – and then poetry will flow from my pen like water.
Stiff from sitting so long, Carina stretched her arms above her head. Dogs were barking and she could hear a flurry of activity downstairs. Her uncle and aunt must have arrived from Naples. She would go down with Alice later, she decided. It would be easier to meet them when everyone was gathered together before dinner.
The door to the grand salon stood open and Gabriella was playing the piano as Carina and Alice walked down the gallery. She stopped as they entered and put away her music. Before Carina could speak to her, the door at the far end opened and her uncle and aunt entered, followed by Paulo.
Her mother’s brother, Carlo Denuzio was of medium height with dark hair thinning on the crown. His expression was difficult to read behind thick-rimmed spectacles, while his wife Anna Maria was friendly and vivacious. She had a pretty, round face and bombarded Carina with questions about the latest fashion news from Paris.
During dinner, talk was livelier at her aunt’s end of the table but Carina did her best to pay attention to her uncle. Surreptitiously observing her cousins as he droned on at her, she was glad to see Paulo had recovered his spirits. Gabriella, on the other hand, was subdued. She barely touched her food and, when they withdrew to the salon, went to sit by herself in a corner, taking no part in the conversation.
As soon as the others retired and the three of them were alone, Paulo was on to her.
‘What’s the matter, Ella? The cat got your tongue this evening?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Gabriella looked at him, her black eyes glistening. ‘You were there and you heard Papa. He has no right to speak so, denouncing all patriots as criminals and traitors to the king.’
‘Papa’s entitled to his opinions – as we are to ours. How else would Enrico Fola be allowed in this house?’
Carina watched as Gabriella stood up and walked over to her brother. She was tiny beside him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, and there was a quiver in her voice.
‘Don’t you dare bring Enrico into this! At least he has principles – which is more than anyone can say about you.’
‘Well, I’m glad he wasn’t caught up in last night’s shenanigans.’ Paulo put a hand across his mouth to stifle a yawn. ‘All words and no deeds with Enrico. Let’s hope it stays that way.’
‘Are you blind as well as partisan? Do cruelty and injustice mean nothing to you?’
‘Dear Ella, I may be blind but I’m certainly not partisan. We’re to entertain Prince Scalia for lunch on Friday and I’m dragooned into attending. To top that off, I must then escort Carina to a ball at the Palazzo Riso next week. There are no greater political extremes in the kingdom. I don’t know which I dread most. On balance, I dare say Prince Scalia’s probably the worse of two evils.’
Carina ignored the slight on Baron Riso for she was interested in the lunch party. Paulo had spoken to her of Riccardo Scalia, Duke of Pallestro. The prince was a friend of his parents and a powerful member of the Bourbon court. He was also in charge of law and order in Sicily and Paulo did not like him.
‘Is Prince Scalia really the monster that you say he is?’
‘Scalia’s an agent of the Devil,’ Gabriella exclaimed.
‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can spit,’ Paulo grimaced, wrinkling his nose. ‘I hope you’re not squeamish, for Mama’s bound to place you next to him. His face is scarred as a butcher’s block.’
‘Why? What happened to him?’
Paulo looked mysterious and made no answer. He would string her along for his own amusement, Carina thought. She would ask Gabriella later. As she returned to her chair, Paulo announced he was going out. Without giving them a chance to ask where he was going, the door closed behind him.
‘Paulo’s studying Law – but he doesn’t understand the meaning of justice,’ Gabriella stated flatly.
‘I’m sure he cares more than he admits.’
‘I’m afraid he does not! Many of his friends are liberals but he refuses to get involved. Enrico’s given him evidence of illegal executions and he takes no notice …’
Gabriella dropped her crochet needle on the floor and knelt down to search for it. When she had it, she stood up, her face flushed as her sentences tumbled over each other. ‘Papa’s even worse! He has the ear of the king and yet denies the atrocities committed in his name. He knows Scalia and Maniscalco are acting outside the law, but he’s too weak to denounce them! I’m ashamed to be a member of this family and that’s the truth!’
Gabriella was so upset Carina was afraid she might burst into tears. Her cousin was blinded by her love for Enrico, she thought, while Paulo was a cynic and she didn’t know which one of them to believe.
‘Sicily’s a rich island, but the people aren’t permitted to grow enough food to feed themselves.’ Gabriella went on, anger running in her voice.’ The government hope to break our spirit, but they’ll never succeed!’
The girl and baby came into Carina’s mind and she said nothing. Gabriella possessed a quality she admired. Her cousin would always do what she believed to be right. And then there was Jane Parsons. Why should a sensible woman like Jane make similar allegations if they were untrue?
‘I’m sure Paulo’s going to the ball on the orders of Prince Scalia!’ Gabriella announced suddenly.
‘Why on earth? He detests the man …’
‘Promise me you won’t let him out of your sight. He will try to gather evidence against Baron Riso and you must stop him.’
Carina was too tired to argue. As they made their way upstairs, she took her cousin’s hand.
‘The idea of Prince Scalia makes me quite nervous. You will stay by my side at this lunch on Friday, won’t you?’
‘I’ve volunteered to keep Nonna company. She doesn’t care for the prince either, although she speaks well of his wife. She says it’s a shame Bianca married him. Something happened a long time ago but Nonna’s never really explained. I’m sure you could find out. You’re good at winkling things out of people.’
On the morning of the lunch party Carina woke up early. Through the open window came the cries of street vendors and she could hear footsteps on the stairs. The household was up and yet she was no wiser about Princess Scalia. When she questioned her grandmother, her only comment was that Isabella del Angelo had been a friend and she knew her daughter, Bianca, as a child.
Anna Maria was in charge of preparations and the palazzo had been turned upside down. Rugs were hung out of windows to be beaten, the best table linen pressed and the courtyard scrubbed until the cobbles shone like marble. They were to eat in the blue salon and footmen had been hurrying up and down all of yesterday, bringing the best wine and gold plate from the cellars. Extra staff had been drafted in to help and blocks of ice and flowers had been arriving since dawn.
Carina had wanted to show off her latest creation from Mr Worth, the finest dress designer in London, but Alice insisted she wore a less flamboyant outfit and suggested the green bombazine. It was too bad, Carina thought as she studied her reflection in the Venetian glass. Her hair was parted down the middle in a severe style and the dress buttoned to the chin with a starched white collar that scratched her neck. It made her look positively dowdy. Why not the turquoise silk with its pretty neckline and scalloped hem? Alice wouldn’t even be there – she was confined to bed with a chest infection. Carina was tempted – but she had promised to obey Alice in future and couldn’t go back on her word so soon.
To make matters worse, when she went downstairs, Carina found everyone else decked out in their finery. Anna Maria’s friend Donna Marcella was encased in gold satin with rows of pearls draped over her bosom and her aunt bright as a peacock in blue crêpe. Even the bishop was arrayed in a riot of episcopal purple. She wanted to run upstairs to and change, but there was no time for the guests of honour had arrived.
As she curtsied to the princess, Carina took in her fair hair and soft blue eyes. Bianca Scalia was dressed to the height of fashion. Her silk skirts seemed to float in the air, her mantle trimmed with agate, and on her head sat the prettiest veil pinned over a comb in the Spanish style. Never again, even if Alice were on her deathbed, would she heed her fashion advice, Carina vowed; and then, before she was quite ready, she was being presented to the prince.
‘Molto piacere,’ Prince Scalia murmured as he lifted her hand to his lips.
The prince was of a slight build with a narrow face and hooded eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a cutaway coat and crossover cravat. His scars were partially concealed by a trimmed beard, but they were impossible to ignore. From beneath each earlobe, a ridge ran down his cheek to the corner of his mouth so that when he smiled his upper lip lifted in a sneer. The prince held her hand longer than was necessary and Carina pretended not to notice. Determined not to stare, she kept her eyes down until Anna Maria fetched her over to talk to the princess by the window.
With her high cheekbones and flawless complexion, Bianca Scalia was undeniably beautiful. Was this her first visit to Sicily, she asked Carina? And how long did she plan to stay? Carina answered vaguely, distracted by the constant movement of the princess’s hands. She fiddled with everything she touched, her fingers plucking the lace of her cuffs or straying to the heart-shaped locket that she wore around her neck. She would hold it for a moment and then let it drop, clasping her hands on her lap. A few moments later she would start again. It was a disconcerting habit in a woman so outwardly sophisticated and a relief when the party moved through for lunch.
The blue salon had been transformed. Winter light filtered through the windows so the stamped wallpaper shimmered like seawater and the table was weighed down with gold plate and glass. A liveried footman was posted behind each chair and Carina was placed next to Prince Scalia. They stood with heads bowed as the bishop said Grace and, when they sat down, the prince turned to her first.
His manners were as polished as his conversation, but Carina didn’t remember afterwards what they talked about. His unblinking gaze stayed on her face and she was increasingly aware of his dark eyes lingering on her lips. Prince Scalia was old – at least forty – and she was the only single woman present. His unabashed flirting embarrassed her. When she dropped her napkin, the prince waved the footman away and picked it up himself. His hand brushed against her arm and Carina withdrew it hastily.
‘I hope you’ll come to visit us at the Villa Pallestro.’ The prince was undeterred by her awkwardness. ‘It will be a pleasure to show you our country estate. Rarely are Sicily’s shores graced with such grace and beauty as your own.’
It was a flowery speech with a nuance that Carina recognised. It made her think of Robert Danby. Despite Scalia’s exquisite manners, she sensed a predatory, ruthless personality and gave him a cold look before she turned to talk to Paulo. She had already noticed how often her cousin beckoned the footman to refill his glass. Carina saw the devil-may-care look in his eyes and prayed he would behave himself. Surely Paulo wouldn’t dare stir up trouble in such elevated company? Then, as Anna Maria was about to rise from the table, he made a remark that was like a small explosion. ‘I’m told Captain Mavrone has been seen in Palermo.’
The statement was directed at no one in particular, but Paulo might have danced a jig on the table for the effect it had. There was an audible intake of breath followed by a tense silence and, for no reason at all, Carina looked at Bianca Scalia. She was staring at her husband, her features frozen in shock before she had time to compose herself. What had Paulo said to provoke such a response? Carina dared not enquire. Time seemed to stand still until Prince Scalia spoke from beside her.
‘Paulo is obviously au fait with all the gossip in Palermo. Where does he pick up such tittle-tattle, I wonder?’ The prince’s tone was quietly malevolent. ‘I hope he doesn’t frequent the establishments of ill-repute where conspiracy and treason are rife in our city. I advise you to keep a closer eye on your son’s proclivities in future, Carlo.’
The prince looked around the table, his gaze resting briefly on each of them before it settled on her uncle. Carina saw Carlo Denuzio’s cheek twitch and a film of sweat break out on his forehead. He lifted his napkin, dabbing his lips, and Anna Maria signalled to the butler. Chairs were pulled back, scraping the parquet floor as the ladies rose and withdrew to the gallery. Her aunt was visibly flustered, using her fan with vigour, and Donna Marcella began talking about a sculpture exhibition in Naples. Bianca Scalia pretended to show an interest, occasionally inclining her head, but conversation was stilted, and, when the men joined them, Paulo was not with them.
It was not until later that Carina saw him again. She had been with her grandmother and was taking a stroll in the garden. Following a path between hedges of myrtle to the fountain with a satyr dribbling green water from its mouth, she came across Paulo and Enrico Fola.
‘By the saints, the roasting I’ve just had! Their Excellences were hardly out of the house before my father let fly!’ Paulo rolled his eyes dramatically. ‘If Enrico hadn’t arrived, it would have been the rack and thumbscrews.’
‘I gather Paulo’s been shooting off his mouth again.’ Enrico fell into step beside Carina. ‘He can’t resist taunting Prince Scalia, but should have more sense than to do so in his own home.’
‘He certainly set the cat among the pigeons! And I was the only one there with no idea what it was about.’ Carina directed her tone of accusation at Paulo. ‘Who is this Captain Mavrone, anyway?’
‘Enrico can tell you. The captain is one of his comrades.’ Paulo kicked a pebble off the path. His tone was sulky, bringing a swift retort from his friend.
‘Mavrone and I may share the same views on the future of our country, but we have little else in common.’
‘Don’t be a humbug!’ Paulo laughed in his friend’s face. ‘What you mean is the man isn’t the same rank as yourself.’
‘Who is he?’ Carina persisted. When Enrico didn’t answer, she turned to Paulo and repeated the question. He was silent and she stood in front of him until he gave a hitch of his shoulders.
‘Ben Mavrone is Riccardo Scalia’s arch-enemy. There’s been a deadly vendetta between them for years.’ Paulo’s eyes lit up at Carina’s astonished expression. ‘After the ’48 revolution, Scalia put a price on his head. Mavrone escaped from Sicily so the prince incarcerated his brother, using him as bait to make Mavrone return.’
Carina gazed at him. Was he making it up? One never knew with Paulo, but he was getting into his stride and she was too curious to stop him.
‘The brother met with an accident and died in prison. Scalia then disappeared from Palermo, supposedly on a political mission to France. When he returned, the surgery had been performed on his face. You’re free to draw your own conclusions.’
‘Do you mean they fought a duel?’
‘I doubt it was so honourable. The odd thing is why, when Mavrone had him at his mercy, didn’t he finish him off? A life for a life and all that?’
‘Because there’s no greater humiliation for a man like Prince Scalia than to owe his life to his enemy,’ Enrico offered.
‘Maybe, but there’s another theory.’ Paulo dug his hands into his pockets and strolled onward. ‘It’s rumoured Captain Mavrone was, and possibly still is, Bianca Scalia’s lover.’
‘Really, that’s outrageous!’ Enrico Fola interjected forcibly. ‘There’s no foundation—’
‘And no smoke without fire. You have to admit, my friend, being a rebel has a dangerous attraction for the ladies.’
Carina saw Enrico scowl and Paulo changed the subject. The story of murder and revenge was the stuff of Gothic novels, she thought; yet Prince Scalia exercised a sinister power that was hard to throw off. They had all heard the menace in his voice and Paulo had better watch himself. He shared her own impulsive nature and the prince would make a dangerous enemy.
Carina walked on, lifting her skirts high and unconsciously showing off her ankles as she climbed the stairs to the veranda. She thought Paulo and Enrico were behind her, but when she looked back there was no sign of them. Paulo must have taken his friend off to apologise – and so he should! She didn’t believe half of what he said. The idea of the nervous creature at lunch having a liaison with an outlaw was beyond credibility.
‘A rebel has a dangerous attraction for the ladies.’ The sentence echoed in her mind. It was a mild evening, but a shadowy feeling touched Carina. Something strange had happened at lunch, something she didn’t understand. She was accustomed to premonitions, but this was different. Until just now she had no idea about the vendetta. So what was it that impelled her to search out the princess when Paulo mentioned Captain Mavrone? And why, in that briefest of moments, had she been convinced the look she saw on Bianca Scalia’s face was one of unguarded terror?