She had hoped for too much, Carina thought. Ben had offered his protection and pride made her refuse. She wasn’t sorry for what she had said – but she had been so sure they would be together. What was her future without him? If she refused to accept his proposition, how could they ever set things right between them?
Her mind went round and round searching for answers. If only they could talk, but Ben made no attempt to see her again. I can’t stop loving him because we had an argument, she thought. War has its own rules. Who knows what might happen? Ben could be wounded or killed. I must find a way to be close to him. I’ve the skill and courage to ride with the Redshirts – but how is this to be arranged?
Temperatures soared during the day but when the scorching sun set behind Mount Pellegrino, sea breezes refreshed the city and life returned to normal. A steady flow of correspondence arrived from her grandmother, each letter containing one for Enrico from Gabriella.
Dearest Carina, Nonna wrote. We were concerned when we learnt of the bombardment and glad to know you were safe on Admiral Mundy’s flagship. I am most grateful to Mr Goodwin and Miss Parsons for taking care of you. As you can imagine, there is great consternation at court. The king and queen remain in Naples for now. How long they will stay, depends on Garibaldi’s intentions …
Enrico came regularly and Carina longed to ask for news of Ben, but every time she thought of him she struggled to hold back tears. I can’t go on like this, she thought in despair. I have to find out if Greta Mazzini is still in Palermo. She’s the only person who can help me.
The next time Enrico brought a letter for Gabriella, she rustled up her courage and asked him.
‘I believe she’s staying at a pensione in the centre of town.’ Enrico gave her a straight look. ‘Stefan’s gone home to look after the farm at Calatafimi. They have an unconventional marriage, as you probably know.’
She didn’t know, but Carina nodded. ‘They were very kind to me. I would like to call on her. Do you have an address?’
Enrico scribbled the directions on a piece of paper and, when he left, Carina called Pietro and requested the landau be made ready.
‘But it’s impossible, signorina! Tomorrow is Festinu. The procession of Santa Rosalia is tonight! No carriages are allowed in the city.’
How could she have forgotten? The feast day of Palermo’s patron saint was the most important celebration of the year. Carina asked Pietro to order a caleffini. She remembered Jane telling her the drivers knew every route in the city and one of them would get her to the centre.
Less than an hour later, she was in a gig and on her way. The driver told her the pensione was close to the Piazza Garibaldi and dropped her off as near as he could. From there, she would have to go on foot. There were hundreds of people milling around and a murmur of excitement ran through the crowd as the procession of St Rosalia approached.
The statue of the saint was dressed in white, placed high on a boat-shaped chariot and illuminated by a forest of candles. As she came nearer, children dashed in front of the horses to throw blossom in her path. A young woman fell to her knees in the middle of the road, bringing the procession to a halt and those next to Carina genuflected. She bowed her head and when the statue moved on everyone began to sing.
Notti e ghiornu farìa sta via!
Viva Santa Rosalia!
Ogni passu e ogni via!
Viva Santa Rosalia!
Santa Rosalia was a real person to them, Carina thought as she joined a stream of people heading towards a piazza where a band was playing. Wall brackets lit the dark alleys and she checked each door until she came to the pensione. The upper windows were open and music and laughter drifted out into the night. She lifted the heavy knocker and a housemaid opened the door and showed her upstairs. Someone was singing a Venetian barcarole and as Carina hesitated by the entrance, Greta glanced round.
‘At last! I’ve been waiting for you every evening. Where’ve you been all this time?’
Greta was wearing national dress; a black jacket and red skirt adorned with flowers. Her hair was tied up in a scarf and her black eyes shining as she presented Carina to the company.
‘I’m sure you all remember our distinguished poet, Carina Temple?’
There was a round of applause and Carina was introduced to the pianist, whose name she didn’t catch, and a French woman called Angela Pourri. A group of Redshirts came forward and one seemed vaguely familiar.
‘Our guardian angel, if I remember correctly? Max Corso at your service, ma’am,’ the soldier said. ‘It was a mercy you secured Enrico Fola’s release.’
Carina looked at the young man with blonde hair and blue eyes. At first she couldn’t think who he was. Then it came to her. He was the prisoner who had been with Enrico in the Vicaria! Max Corso was younger than she had thought, no more than twenty-five, and good-looking with regular features.
‘I’m sure it had very little to do with me. When were you set free?’
‘On the day Garibaldi entered Palermo. The citizens blew open the gates and stormed the prison. They attacked the guards and carried us out as heroes.’
‘It was a wretched, evil place. I thank God you survived.’
‘I’m fortunate to be blessed with the constitution of an ox. We heard Fola’s sentence was commuted by order of Prince Scalia himself. You must have gone to extraordinary lengths.’
Carina smiled and moved on. Prince Scalia had taken to his heels with the rest of them. He could do her no harm, but the memory of that time made her shudder. She wondered how Max Corso had found out. If he or anyone else asked her, she would deny her involvement outright. Everyone in the world had a secret and this one was hers. It was the only truly worthwhile thing she had done in her life and she would take it with her to the grave.
‘Come on! It’s time for a tarantella!’ Greta exclaimed as the pianist struck up a lively tune. She had never danced a Sicilian folk dance before, but Carina found herself on the floor between Greta and Angela with a tambourine in her hand. The men danced in a circle around them, clapping in time to the music. Then it was the women’s turn and she was on her feet, picking up the rhythm and clapping the tambourine on her hip and in the air as they snaked through the men. They danced in circles and spun round in pairs, the tempo becoming faster and wilder until the dance ended with a loud cheer.
They were all hot and breathless and Greta declared they must go to the piazza for an ice cream.
‘This is the one night of the year that we’re safe. There are no pickpockets when Santuzza is in town. They wouldn’t dare!’
The party began heading for the door and Greta was halfway down the stairs when Carina called to her. ‘Please, Greta, can you wait for a moment? I must speak to you before I leave.’
‘You can’t possibly go home tonight!’ Greta looked up briefly. ‘You can sleep my bed and we’ll talk tomorrow. Now come along or we’ll miss all the fun!’
When Carina opened her eyes, Greta’s head lay on the pillow beside her; she was asleep. They had strolled back from the piazza in the early hours and Carina had slept in her petticoats. Her dress hung haphazardly from a hook in the wall and the smell of coffee wafted up from downstairs. A church bell was tolling and she counted to seven. She didn’t want to disturb her friend, so she quietly washed and dressed, waiting until Greta stretched her arms and yawned.
Coffee was sent up and she perched on the end of the bed with a cup in her hand while Greta propped herself upon pillows.
‘So, we must talk about Ben?’
‘No, not at all.’ Carina was taken by surprise. ‘I came to ask you about riding with the Redshirts. I need to know who to speak to.’
‘You should ask Ben. He has the authority.’
‘He won’t let me volunteer. He insists I stay in Palermo.’
‘The reason Ben doesn’t want you near the battlefield is because he cannot be distracted in any way.’
‘So no one is distracted by Anne Lamartine?’ Carina protested.
‘Precisely; you are different.’
‘But you don’t understand! We had an argument. I refused to—’
‘You refused to be left behind?’ Greta drew up her knees and rested her chin on her hands. Her eyes were kind and her voice firm. ‘The next confrontation is likely to be the bloodiest of the campaign. Ben wants you to stay in Palermo so you’re safe.’
‘And if Garibaldi is victorious, may we volunteer then?’
‘I sincerely hope so. In the meantime, I must return to Stefan in Calatafimi. I’ve an appointment with the general this afternoon and will request he sends for us both when the time’s right.’ Greta curled a lock of hair round her finger and tucked it behind her ear. ‘There’s something I must ask you, Carina. Max Corso told me you appealed personally to Prince Scalia for Enrico Fola’s release. Do you know about the vendetta between Ben and Prince Scalia?’
Carina nodded silently and felt her face stiffen as Greta went on.
‘The whole world can change, but devils remain constant. A vendetta lasts until death, no matter the circumstances. You must be careful – especially if you and Ben have feelings for one another.’
She had brought the conversation back to Ben and Carina finished her coffee and put down her cup.
‘I don’t know if Ben has feelings for me – or for anyone else.’ She answered in a low voice. ‘Have you met Madame Lamartine?’
‘Anne Lamartine is a vain, ambitious woman. Her quarry is Garibaldi and she’ll use any means she can to stay close to him. She may try with Ben, but she won’t get far.’
How can you be sure? Carina wanted to ask. She was desperate for reassurance, but in the depths of Greta’s eyes she saw compassion and stayed silent.
‘When Ben returned from his years of exile, he was a changed man,’ Greta spoke with care. ‘He had no love or trust to offer any woman. At least, I believed that was so, until I saw him with you. I was struck by your effect on him from the first day I met you at Monteleone.’
So much had changed since then, Carina thought. The young woman, brimming with the golden confidence of youth, had gone forever. Her presence at Monteleone had had no lasting effect on Ben. She had learnt that men only cared for women if it is on their terms. She had refused Ben his, and there was an ache in her heart as she looked at Greta.
‘I cannot stay in Palermo when the army leave. I won’t be able to endure it.’
‘Then we must both be patient.’ Greta slipped out of the bed and went over to the wardrobe. She searched among the clothes until she found a clean shirt. ‘I take it you can ride astride?’
‘I rode astride when I was young and can borrow my cousin’s breeches and boots. What happens if Garibaldi’s defeated?’
‘He will return to Palermo and consolidate his power in Sicily. He won’t be defeated in the long run.’
Ben had tried to explain all this to her, Carina thought, and she hadn’t given him the chance. But Greta was to meet with Garibaldi today. She would put her name forward and it was enough to give her hope.
‘Thank you with all my heart.’ Carina embraced Greta as she said goodbye. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me.’
‘I have every idea.’ A smile touched Greta’s mouth. ‘There may be a rift between you now – but don’t give up on Ben. He needs you.’
If only that were true, Carina thought as she walked back to the piazza – and it was Ben who had given up on her, rather than the other way around. Passing through the crowd, she was cheered by the festive atmosphere and excited voices of children. Men and women were dressed in their best clothes and only black-frocked priests, fearful of Garibaldi’s anti-clericalism, walked by with their heads down. At the far corner stood a line of caleffini and she was about to cross over when a clatter of hooves made her look round.
Two riders were coming down the street and, with a lurch in her heart, Carina saw Ben in the lead with Lamartine close behind. She pushed back into a shadowed corner as they went past and stopped by the fountain. Lamartine swept off her sombrero, laughing as she shook out her hair. Then Ben tossed a coin to a boy to hold their horses and they strolled towards a trattoria.
Carina waited until they were inside before she skirted round the other side of the piazza. Hidden behind a cab, she watched as they joined Max Corso and Angela Pourri. Max pulled up extra chairs at their table and Lamartine sat close to Ben. She took off her gloves and placed her hand on his arm.
Carina wanted to cry. Until now, she had believed that somehow she and Ben would be reconciled. Oh God, how could one ever know anything? Seeing Ben with Lamartine drove everything Greta had said from her mind. Ben had discarded her as carelessly as a piece of old rag. He could have any woman he wanted. So why choose Anne Lamartine? Had he lied about her, too, on the morning after Garibaldi’s reception?
Carina scrambled into a cab and gave directions to the driver. As they set off, she leant back to keep out of sight and dug her nails into the leather upholstery. I hate him, she thought with hot violence. I hate Ben for making me feel worthless and ashamed. I wish he had never come into my life.