Death of a Duchess by Elizabeth Eyre Read Free Book Online Page B

hurling after him their hats and whips and entering into the improvisation with gusto. Music picked up again, servers quickly mopped and put fresh linen cloth at the Duchess’s place, her goblet was wiped, restored and refilled. Some tumblers ran in. The Lord Paolo now, after a word with the Duke, helped his son from his chair among his cushions and, refusing help from the servants, took him up in his arms. The Lady Violante leant across to enquire after her cousin, and was reassured as the boy smiled at her. He was carried out, amid a perfunctory murmur of concern, and admiration of the careful father. One of Sigismondo’s neighbours became maudlin on the subject.
    The tumblers were interrupted by a man-at-arms, thudding the butt of a halberd thrice to the floor. The music ceased, save for a flute that pootled on a few bars; the curtains parted to reveal an over-smiling, fashionably dressed man, who raised his arms and, after a flourishing bow to the Duke, turned in the centre of the room announcing: ‘Noble lords, lovely ladies! By command of her Grace, in the Great Court — fireworks! A display of unprecedented artistry. It may be seen from the great loggia also. A deer hunt...’
    What other wonders were to appear went unheard, because the Duke rose, offering his hand to the Lady Cecilia. Her husband managed to get to his feet, but made an exit more remarkable for urgent speed than grace, ushered skilfully to a side door by pages. The Lady Violante followed her father, handed by a cavalier who bent obsequiously to listen as she spoke.
    The Festaiuolo was still announcing further wonders, while the company made for the doors. Pages waited there with cloaks, for the loggia would be cold. Some kept their seats, and the servers still came with trays of small sweetmeats or dishes of sorbets, while the tumblers and the music resumed.
    Sigismondo, perhaps aware of Benno’s urgent wishes, got up and accompanied one of his neighbours out, taking a hooded cloak at the door. Benno (the pigeon, still warm, in his bosom) was ignored by the pages, but outside, a servitor gave him a blanket wrap. He found a bench at the back of the loggia where a trio of gentlemen’s servants gave him three inches to stand on. Once he had placed where his master was, against a pillar towards the end, where he could see the company by the bonfire light, Benno gave his mind and soul to the entertainment.
    He forgot everything for the next period of time. He gaped at the whirling lights, the moving figures, the fountains, the coloured explosions, the stars that burst in the night sky; his breath steamed on the air before his face but he noticed no cold. He came down to earth, literally, as somebody pushed past the bench and disturbed his precarious balance. He heard the question — ‘Signor Sigismondo?’ — and he wormed through the crowd after the servant. Sigismondo bent his head to hear the messenger, nodded and made for the nearest door. Benno slid after him. They made their way through a room full of knights in exotic pasteboard armour and some allegorical figures with towering headdresses, one an outsize skull, one in green with iron-grey teeth. Benno, bewildered, kept Sigismondo’s shoulders in view, followed him out and up a spiral staircase, along a blank stone corridor unlike the ornate public rooms, where the music and the pop of fireworks became distant and then louder as they emerged at a stairhead. Sigismondo crossed to a highly decorated doorway where a curiously pallid man-at-arms stood aside and opened one of the carved doors. Benno, prevented, sighed and waited where he was. Sigismondo entered. He saw, first of all, the Duke, who leant on the wall past the curtained foot of a bed. In a looking glass with a frame of carved gilt, his reflection in profile stared, the brooch on his cap winking. Sigismondo rounded the curtains.
    The Duchess, in her shift, lay upon the bed; two fat wax candles showed her spread body, the hand