Chapter 32 #2
‘You of all people have no right to say such a thing to me, young man. But I suppose that is indeed of no moment now. As for his background – he is from a good Midlands family, but not wealthy, with no prospect of inheriting more than he has already wasted, and it is by no means clear to me how he maintains his expensive and fashionable life in London. He lives on credit, I suppose, like so many others, and will take a dozen honest tradesmen and their families down into ruin with him when at last he falls.’
Max shook his head. ‘I wonder. He is no friend of mine, but I have seen him at boxing mills more than once, flashing great bundles of paper money and wagering recklessly, as a man does when large sums are of little moment to him. It is difficult to see how this can be true, since hard cash at least you cannot obtain on credit. He either wins extravagantly and consistently at the gaming tables – which seems to me unlikely, though I suppose it is possible, especially if he cheats – or he has some other source of income. I think we can all agree that it could easily be an illicit one, given what else we know of him.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ Allegra asked. She had moved a little closer to him in the shadowy kitchen, and he felt, but did not submit to, an urge to reach out and take her hand for comfort.
‘I’m thinking of blackmail. I wonder if you can really be his first victim.’
‘That’s a good thought,’ the old man said ruminatively.
‘People do not change their deep natures, only grow more into themselves. Blackmail is a coward’s crime, and one that makes enemies.
Yes, a good thought. I know the young man by sight, the braggart with the hot eyes.
I’ve seen his type before – Italy produces sufficient numbers of them, and the aristocrats are the worst. I will have him followed, ask some discreet questions, find out all there is to know about him. That will give us ammunition.’
‘Who are you, really?’ his granddaughter said abruptly.
‘How can you possibly know him, and why are you even here in this house in the middle of the night? I can see that my mother doesn’t want to talk about any of this, and perhaps it truly isn’t the right time, but I think I still have a right to ask.
Before yesterday, I thought you’d been dead for forty years.
You’re not here because Mama woke up and found that I was missing, are you? This is a separate matter.’
Leontina stirred in her seat and seemed about to speak, but her father forestalled her.
‘These are reasonable questions, anima bela. Well, to tell a brief tale, many years ago my clever, beautiful daughter, who made a living with me, singing in the street, met a gentleman – your papa – who wished to marry her and did not care where she came from or who her father was. He was besotted, and I think still is. He placed no conditions on their marriage, asked nothing of her but her hand and her heart; even then he knew she was the stronger one, and that he was lucky to win her despite everything. But she was ambitious, too, and in her pride she could not stomach to be disdained by the grand English ladies. Nor did she wish that her children should be whispered about in their turn. So we devised between us the fiction that you know, with just enough solid truth in it to make it plausible. Then that cuion Bonaparte invaded Italy to steal what the Austrians had not already stolen, and inadvertently made things easier for us, because now the story cannot easily be checked. But the price we had to pay for your secure place in society was that I – or the count I was supposed to be and am not – must be long dead. This meant you could never know me, or I you. It was a heavy cost to me, you may be sure of that. But I have always watched over you as much as I could, and visited your mother often in secret, to give her comfort when she is low in spirits. Money I could give her, but she will not take it. Clothes she has taken and you have worn without knowing where they came from, and it has pleased me to observe it. I’m proud of you all, and glad I can finally tell you of it, if not your sisters. ’
‘I’ve seen you,’ she said slowly, still gazing at him.
‘I’ve seen you many times. You used to pass by and play music in the street on a hurdy-gurdy, and we would all come out to listen to you.
You sometimes gave us pennies, and apples, or ribbons for our hair.
I never realised before how very odd that was. Surely we should have been paying you.’
‘That’s right,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘I play the humble instrument well, which is very useful for a man who wishes to move about London seen but unnoticed. And because I have been here so long and speak English better than most of my compatriots, I have a sort of standing in the community. I am known and trusted – this is no boast but the simple truth. I help people, especially those newly arrived here, and they do me favours in return, in a dozen small ways. I am not a criminal, as your mother says, but I know criminals, and they know me, and are wary of me. Certainly I can find all manner of things out without any trouble. The man who controls a great deal of the crime in London – he goes by Nate Smith – is by way of being an old acquaintance of mine. I am perhaps not nearly so poor or friendless as I appear to be. And I have a great deal of freedom. I must have seen you and your sisters many hundreds of times over the years, and you have never remarked me unless I have desired that you should. Nor does anyone else. It may be that this jack-a-dandy will be sorry he has threatened one of mine. All I need is a thread to pull, and be sure that I will pull it, to his sorrow.’
‘If you ask a ruthless man like Nate Smith a favour, Pader, you will have to pay for it,’ Mrs Constantine said with a hint of anxiety in her tired voice.
‘Be tranquil, Tinette. I have done him favours in my time, and he has not forgotten them. It may be that he will have to call on me again one day or another, to reach places he cannot easily go. He’s not a hasty man, and if he is dangerous, I don’t believe he’s dangerous to me.
And what of it, in any case? I am old now, and I have lived a long life.
I’ve always wanted to help my grandchildren, as a decent man should, and never been able to properly before this.
Sabrina does not need my aid – he’s a good fellow, Da Costa, I can see – and Viola’s troubles are far outside my power to solve.
The children have only childish worries as yet.
But Allegra, I can do something for. And I will.
I owe you more than pennies and apples.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t owe me anything at all. But I am very glad of your help, Grandfather, and grateful for it.’
‘It is nothing, picinina.’
This was an endearment, she could tell. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Little one. I’ve always called you that. You remind me so much of your mother when she was young.’
She smiled at him rather mistily. ‘I didn’t know – how could I? Well, I truly am grateful.’
Max regretted breaking in – parts of this extraordinary conversation had been so private to the family that he would regret his own presence, if he hadn’t had a notion that they’d frequently and understandably forgotten he was there at all.
‘If you can indeed do something, sir, I hope it’s not presumptuous to suggest you do it quickly.
Allegra should not be in the creature’s power for a moment longer than she needs to be.
And yes, I know I have helped to put her there.
If I can aid you in any way, I will do it without hesitation. ’
‘Empty words,’ Leontina scoffed. The tender mood seemed to have passed her by.
‘Let’s not fall to squabbling again,’ Allegra said quietly. ‘I need my bed, if nobody else does. It’s been an exhausting evening, and fatigue is making me stupid. Please can we stop now we have some sort of a plan? It’ll be dawn soon and the servants will be stirring.’