Forever past, p.7
Forever Past, page 7
‘Then you condemn Paula to not have her heart’s true desire.’
‘It is my dearest wish to be wed to her, as well, but I cannot make a home with Paula if I am not providing for her.’ He clenched his jaw and looked away.
‘But—’
‘Please, I do not wish to discuss this matter any further.’ His voice turned clipped and final.
I started to press him again but stopped myself. From his tone and posture, I could tell he would not change his mind. If I said anything else, it might even drive a wedge between Paula and him, which I would do anything to avoid. So I decided to remain silent – for now.
The carriage rolled along the next few kilometers with only the sound of wooden wheels grinding against the gravel road in a steady rhythm. When we thumped over some object in the road causing us to jerk to one side in a sudden motion, Raphael reached out to catch me from sliding off the seat. Once I righted myself again, I thanked him.
‘I am always here to assist you, Signora,’ he said quietly. ‘Even if we disagree about some of my decisions.’
‘Most appreciated.’ At least, I hoped that he was still an ally, in spite of his reluctance to wed Paula. ‘I thought I might ask Michael Rossetti to assist us with the sale of my sketch immediately after we arrive in Florence.’
‘Of course, I am not familiar with the art world but, as a critic, Signor Rossetti probably knows quite a few collectors who might be interested in it.’
‘I will write to him later today,’ I vowed, adding, ‘though your help in this matter would still be welcome.’
‘It will be an honor.’
Whatever my cautions about Raphael, I knew I could trust Michael Rossetti. As a well-respected member of the famous literary family and friend of Trelawny, his reputation had preceded him. And after traveling to Ravenna specifically to inquire about my Byron/Shelley letters and give me the Cades sketch, he had more than proven himself to live up to that stellar renown. Even more reassuringly, he had confided that he found the drawing among the inherited possessions of his uncle – John Polidori – so he could have so easily kept the artwork for himself. I had once deemed Polidori an enemy when he was Byron’s physician in Geneva during the summer of 1816, but Rossetti had restored his uncle’s true character when he gifted me with the sketch which Polidori had kept for me. Admittedly, I was wrong about Polidori. And, while I gratefully accepted Rossetti’s gesture, I could not have imagined that his appearance would set a complex and tragic sequence of events into action. Nor was it over yet.
One thing was clear: I had learned not to judge a man’s true motives too quickly. In that vein, I hesitated to censure Raphael over not wanting to marry my dear Paula because his reasons could turn out to be genuine.
I would wait and see.
We completed the last part of the trip without speaking further, but the impact of his words still resonated in my thoughts. In truth, I knew very little about Raphael, except for what he had chosen to share with us, but I could not verify those facts. There may be other parts of his life that he had chosen not to reveal. Times when he might have lost his way in the fight to overcome his poverty. In that vein, surely there could be no harm in asking Baldini to make discreet inquiries about him once we returned to Florence. I had promised not to withhold any information from Paula, but until I had any real evidence that Raphael might be playing false with us, there was nothing to share …
The carriage halted with an abrupt jolt, shaking me out of my speculations.
We had arrived at Teresa’s summer residence which had once belonged to her father: the Villa Gamba.
I swept my glance over the three-storied structure, a pleasant-looking country home, rather than a palatial estate. Made of red brick, with a tiled roof and freshly painted shutters, the villa was shaded by massive oak trees that stretched over it in graceful arches. Although I preferred the busyness of Florence’s crowded streets, I could see why Teresa liked its quiet restfulness.
Teresa’s footman swung open the carriage door and helped me down the steps, then Raphael alighted. As I shook out the wrinkles in my dress, I stepped on to the elegant walkway and turned my face toward the afternoon breeze which had cooled the air slightly. After the sweltering journey, even the slightest puff of wind provided welcome relief.
Trelawny jumped down from the perch, then gave a hand to Paula and Georgiana who were laughing and chattering away about their adventure.
The footman gestured us toward the villa, and Raphael took the lead, clasping hands with Paula as he drew her toward the front door. My heart gave a little tug.
‘Aunt Claire, I held the reins all by myself,’ Georgiana exclaimed, motioning her hands up and down as if she were leading the horses. ‘It was so much fun.’
Trelawny swung her up in his arms, holding her against the sky until she giggled in delight, then settling her on his chest. ‘She will be an excellent horsewoman.’
Forgetting my qualms temporarily, I stroked Georgiana’s soft cheek. ‘You are so fearless, my darling child.’
‘Just like her great-aunt,’ Trelawny added, moving forward.
I raised a brow in wry irony. As I started to trail them, I caught sight of a blurry figure out of the corner of my eye as he darted behind one of the oak trees. A quick-moving silhouette of a man. I paused, an oddly primitive warning flaring inside of me.
‘What?’ Trelawny turned, following the direction of my glance.
‘I thought I saw someone dash behind that tree near the rose garden,’ I whispered.
Trelawny slowly took stock of the area, keeping a tight grip on Georgiana. ‘Perhaps it was a yard worker.’
Seconds passed.
The air stilled as if it were holding its breath.
But no one appeared.
Unaware of anything amiss, Paula and Raphael entered the villa, stopping only briefly to glance back for Georgiana. Quickly, Trelawny set her down and urged her to join them. She ran toward Paula with her arms stretched wide to hug her mama before they disappeared inside.
Once they were safely out of sight, Trelawny reached for the pistol at his waist and signaled for me to stay put. Then he slowly and silently moved toward the oak tree.
My nerves tensed as he edged closer.
Convent of San Giovanni, Bagnacavallo, Italy
August 1821
Allegra’s story …
I have a visitor coming to see me.
When Sister Anna told me at first, I grew so excited, thinking that my dear papa was on his way to the convent. But it turned out to be his friend, Mr Shelley. I remembered him only slightly from the early days with my mama – a tall, funny-looking man with freckles and wild hair who always had his head buried in a book.
Still, it would be nice to see him.
Perhaps he would tell Papa how much I longed to be with him in Ravenna again.
When Mr Shelley arrived, I met him in the courtyard during the late afternoon when the sun had begun to sink low on the horizon. Waiting patiently near one of the lushly blooming flower beds, I held up the hem of my white muslin dress and curtsied as he approached.
Smiling, he held out a basket of sweetmeats and told me how I had grown into a lovely lady. I struggled to understand his English since I spoke nothing but Italian at the convent, but I sensed he approved of my quiet manner. Sister Anna had worked to tame my willful ways.
As I took a sweet from him, he asked if I liked living at the convent. I shied away from answering at first, not wanting to seem ungrateful for Sister Anna’s many kindnesses, but, eventually, admitted that I often felt lonely.
‘I miss Papa.’
‘I know you do, but things are … difficult at present.’ He knelt down and brushed back my hair with a soft touch. ‘You must believe that he would have you with him if he could.’
Stubbornly, I kept my head down and kicked at a small pebble in the grass.
‘It is true. Your papa loves you very much,’ he added.
‘Then why does he not visit? Or respond to my letters?’ My voice sounded peevish, but I could not help it.
‘He will when the time is right – I promise,’ Mr Shelley asserted. ‘And you must be brave just like your mama. In truth, she wanted me to tell you that she thinks about you every day and would travel here at an instant’s notice if she was allowed to see you.’
‘But Papa would not mind if Mammina came because he never denies her anything.’
Sitting back on his heels, he studied me intently. ‘I meant your English mama.’
Reaching back into my memories, I envisioned a pretty lady with olive skin and sparkling dark eyes rocking me in her arms as she sang out: My darling Allegra, sweet child of light.
Then her face faded into nothingness …
‘I see you still remember her.’ He touched my cheek and smiled. ‘Never forget your mama because she will always keep you in her heart.’
‘I promise.’ But I was not sure that I could live up to that vow since I barely recalled her – only snippets, without any real sense of a time or place, that would occasionally flicker through my mind. Like her singing to me. But it happened less and less often.
‘She would be pleased to hear it, and I shall tell her of your pledge.’ He handed me another sweet. ‘In the meantime, you must learn all about great literature – especially poetry – so you will be a well-educated young woman. Do you like verse?’
‘Sì.’ I savored the sugary taste of the candy. ‘Sister Anna reads the psalms to me every day, and I memorize long passages from the Bible. She says she is most pleased with my progress.’
His mouth seemed to tighten. ‘I trust you read from other works, as well – especially your papa’s.’
‘Sometimes.’ Actually, I read little else beyond the Scriptures, but I recalled Papa reading his poetry to me.
‘I shall speak with her before I leave,’ he said with a clipped tone. ‘You are the daughter of a great poet and should know about your heritage.’
Tugging on his sleeve, I burst out, ‘Take me with you, so I can be with Papa and he can read his poetry to me himself. Please.’
As he covered my hand with his, Mr Shelley’s chest heaved in a deep sigh. ‘I wish I could, my dear child. There is nothing I would like better than to see you reunited with your father, but he is adamant that you remain here …’
‘I want to go home,’ I pleaded, still clutching his jacket.
‘Soon, I hope.’
Defeated, I dropped my hand and spun away from him, knowing only too well what that meant. I would not be leaving the convent. My lower lip began to tremble as I struggled to control my dismay, when I wanted nothing more than to throw myself on the ground – cry and pound the earth until Mr Shelley gave in to me. But it would do no good.
‘Allegra?’ he said quietly.
‘Sì?’ I turned slowly as he rose to his feet.
‘You must remain positive because the world is changing quickly, and your papa will do everything he can to bring you home.’ He leaned down and cupped my face in his hands. ‘Never forget that you are the “daughter of Earth and Water / And the nursling of the Sky …”’
I frowned, not understanding his words. He kissed my forehead and set the basket on the ground next to me. Then he was gone.
And I was alone once again.
FOUR
‘Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,
It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall flee like earthly year …’
Byron, ‘When Coldness Wraps This Suffering Clay,’ 25–27
Ravenna, Italy
July 1873
I felt the muscles in my body tighten with each step as Trelawny inched closer to the oak tree. The lush foliage around Teresa’s villa, which seemed so beautiful at first sight, had taken a dark turn. A shift into some vague threat. He moved soundlessly and slowly until he reached the tree, then disappeared behind it in a sudden motion. I drew in a sharp breath, watching the low branches sway in his wake. After a long moment, everything quieted again, but he did not reappear.
Please let Trelawny be safe.
Finally, I heard him curse as he emerged, shoving his pistol back in place.
Shaking in relief, I hurried toward him, but stopped when I saw what he carried in his left hand: a small animal, its head dangling downward, limp and lifeless.
Dead.
My hand went to my mouth as I spied the spreading patch of blood on the creature’s reddish-brown coat.
‘It is a baby red fox – they run wild in rural Italy, especially the northern regions.’ Trelawny closed the distance between us, maintaining a tight grip on its neck. ‘They like to den in woodlands, so the mother is probably lingering somewhere nearby in the Filetto forest, and not happy at his absence. We need to watch for her.’
‘Should we tell Teresa in case the mother shows up?’ I posed, lowering my hand.
‘I think it best to inform her footman so as not to alarm her unduly.’ He let it fall to the ground with a muted thud. ‘The animal had already expired when I found it … and not from a natural death.’ Kneeling down, he rolled the fox over and pointed at a gold stickpin protruding from the animal’s side; the ornament’s head seemed to be made of jet stone carved into the shape of a hatchet with two small rubies in the center of the blade: the kind of jewel that men used to secure their cravats.
I shuddered as all of my misgivings returned in a rapid rush of emotion. ‘Do you think someone deliberately stabbed the creature?’
He gave a grim nod. ‘It has been dead for hours because the body is already cold. It was killed sometime before we arrived—’
‘And placed there for us to find?’ I cut in, considering the figure I had just seen scurrying behind the tree.
‘It is possible that you may have caught sight of him before he had the chance to position the remains; then he dropped it and ran before I could catch him.’ Trelawny spat on the ground. ‘Coward.’
‘But why?’
‘Leaving dead animals is a common way to intimidate people in many parts of Italy, and whoever did it knew we would have seen it on our way inside the villa.’
I groaned and shook my head. ‘First, the cinquedea, then the vandalism of Paula’s room, and now this horrible act of cruelty … I cannot take much more.’
‘You must stay strong, Claire.’ Trelawny stroked the fox’s soft fur with the back of his hand. ‘We cannot give in to fear and intimidation, even though this poor creature of the wild deserved better than to be trapped and killed so viciously.’
As we stared down at its still form, I heard Paula’s laughter drift out of the villa – soft and light. Then she called out for us to join them. I responded that we would be there directly, gazing over to make certain she was not standing near the open window and could see us. ‘You need to dispose of the fox before anyone else sees it. I do not want to further alarm Paula after what happened this morning.’
‘Nor I.’ He stood up, picking up the animal and seizing the stickpin. ‘You might not want to look at this, Claire.’
‘I have seen worse,’ I said firmly. ‘Do what you have to.’
In one quick motion, Trelawny pulled out the stickpin and covered the wound with his hand. Blood gushed through his fingers but he held on to the fox until it bled out; then he loosened his grip and handed me the stickpin. ‘Give me a few minutes to hide the carcass in the underbrush.’
He strode away, and I gazed down at the stickpin in my palm, flinching at the scarlet stain on rich gold. In spite of the head’s odd hatchet shape, it hardly looked lethal. More a piece of gentleman’s finery than an instrument of death, which somehow made it seem even more sinister.
I leaned down and wiped the stickpin against the grass beneath my feet until it gleamed again. Sorting through my bag, I found a cotton handkerchief to wrap around the pin, and carefully placed it inside, making certain that the point was covered by the cloth. By the time Trelawny reappeared, I had finished my clean-up task.
‘Are you ready to go inside?’ he inquired.
‘Not really, but we cannot remain out here any longer because Paula and Raphael will grow suspicious.’ I smoothed back my hair, noting only a small tremor in my fingers. ‘We will have to tell them later—’
‘Aunt Claire, we are about to have tea,’ Paula exclaimed, now standing in the open window. ‘What are you two doing?’
Waving at her, I smiled widely. ‘Just admiring the landscape – it is quite lovely.’
‘It is way too hot for you to linger in the sun,’ she chided us. ‘Please come in.’
‘You know how your aunt cannot resist the beauty of nature,’ Trelawny exclaimed. He nudged me forward gently as he murmured, ‘Take heart … I shall be at your side.’
I gave a brief nod of gratitude.
My dear Trelawny … always there for me.
We entered the villa’s elegant main hall with its high ceiling and marble floors – dominated by a stone staircase that curved along one wall in a graceful sweep like a marble wing. Exquisite and refined. A lady’s house. It had passed through many generations, reflecting the old wealth of Teresa’s family. Sadly, she was the last of her line since her brother, Pietro, died young and she had no children. The house would pass to strangers.
As we strolled into the parlor, I spied Teresa seated on a rosewood settee near the fireplace, its empty hearth decorated with a basket of wildflowers. When she saw us, she broke into a wide, generous smile. ‘Buongiorno.’ Her delicate, petite figure appeared almost doll-like with her white hair and smooth, pearly skin.
‘Salve, Contessa,’ I replied, noting that Paula and Raphael sat comfortably in matching chairs off to the side, with Georgiana on the floor, playing contentedly with her cup and ball. A cozy scene. So sweet. So normal. It helped to focus on them as I tried to push aside the images of the dead fox. Do not dwell on its death. Paula will know something is wrong.
Our hostess asked my niece in Italian to pour the tea from a porcelain tea service already set in front of her and then continued, ‘I am so pleased that you have joined me again this afternoon.’
