will help you," the marchese had said, but Donati
thought Orfeo had been humiliated enough for one day, without being
made a servant to his own singing teacher. In the event, however,
the problem was easily solved: Orfeo stepped into Tonio's shoes
without being asked.
In
the late afternoon, the marchese returned with a carpet-bag, having
left his horse at the Nightingale in Solaggio. Lucia had prepared
the largest and grandest of the villa's seven bedrooms for him. He,
Donati, and Orfeo all occupied rooms on the upper floor at the front
of the villa, overlooking the terrace and the lake. Donati's and
Lodo-vico's rooms flanked the main staircase; Orfeo's was on the
other side of Donati's.
Lodovico
took his carpet-bag to his room himself, refusing to let Lucia unpack
it for him. He, Orfeo, and Donati sat down to an uncomfortable
dinner. At six o'clock, Orfeo had his evening lesson. He sang as
well as ever, but Donati perceived it was costing him an effort.
When Donati questioned him, he reluctantly admitted that his split
lip had opened again and was bleeding profusely. "You ought to
have told me at once," Donati said severely. "How can I
teach you properly, when I don't know what obstacles you're facing?"
"I'm
sorry, Maestro. But if I'd been on stage, I couldn't have complained
to anyone. I should have had to go on singing as best I could."
Donati
was about to point out that a lesson was not a stage performance.
But he let the argument drop, because he understood what it was
really about. The young man would sooner have choked on his own
blood than complained of pain or difficulty in front of the marchese.
In
the evening, Matteo and Lucia departed for the castle. Lodovico
paced up and down the music room in an agitation Donati could not
account for. Orfeo played the piano and sang softly to himself.
Donati did not allow him to practise at full volume for more than two
hours a day, but he could sing a little longer in half-voice, to
develop interpretation and expression. He was working on one of the
old songs Donati loved:
"I
am all sorrow, I have only cares, A cruel pain is killing me.
For
me, the stars, fate, the gods, Heaven are nothing but tyrants."
"Do
you have to go on in that dreary vein?" snapped Lodovico.
"Can't you sing something more cheerful?"
Without
comment, Orfeo changed to Mozart's droll air about the advantages of
hiding under an ass's skin. Lodovico resumed his pacing. Donati was
profoundly relieved when the church bells struck ten, and Lodovico
sent him and Orfeo off to bed. As he ascended the stairs on Orfeo's
arm, he heard the marchese restlessly playing scales on the piano,
and wondered when he meant to go to bed himself.
Orfeo
helped Donati to wash and undress, his touch as gentle and patient as
a woman's. Donati could not imagine how he had endured Tonic's
ministrations for so long. He hated to raise a sore subject, but he
knew he would not sleep unless he did. "My son, there's
something you ought to know. Tonio made a vow to give up cards
during Lent."
Orfeo's
hands paused briefly in the act of tying Donati's nightgown at the
neck. When he spoke, Donati could hear the smile in his voice. "I
made a misstep there."
"Don't
worry, I won't tell the marchese. But, my son, what were you and
Tonio really fighting about?"
"Believe
me, Maestro, it was a matter of no importance."
"Then
why can't you tell me about it?"
"I
will, if you'll worry otherwise. But I give you my word, there's no
need."
Now
Donati was in a quandary. To insist would be tantamount to saying
that he did not trust his pupil. Orfeo was at an age when a man was
entitled to keep a quarrel private if he chose. So Donati asked him
nothing more. But when Orfeo had helped him into bed and drawn up
the covers, Donati said tentatively, "I was thinking "
"Yes,
Maestro?"
"I
know you and the marchese haven't been getting along of late. He
does care about you in his way. I heard the fear in his voice when
he asked if
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley