Read Online Death of a Duchess by Elizabeth Eyre - Free Book Online

was roused, had his hose pulled on, was shaken, kissed and carried away. Niccolo cried, ‘Wait, wait; I must make sure of the costumes. Wait, wait,’ and tried to halt the men. A dwarf under the scarlet plumed hat ran by and he turned to catch him.
    Sigismondo’s right hand was holding his chin, a forefinger over his mouth. His left hand nursed his elbow. In the hubbub he was still. The gold shank of the ring glowed in the torchlight.
    The Lord Paolo beckoned. Sigismondo detached himself from the wall and came through the excited throng.
    ‘We see the outcome of this morning’s sad affair.’
    Sigismondo bowed.
    ‘There will be no need now for further search on your part. Bandini will have to yield up the Lady Cosima — but I fear that will not save his son. The Duke’s mercy must be tempered with strength.’
    Sigismondo bowed again.
    ‘Though I have always counselled mercy,’ said the Lord Paolo, as he turned away. The crowd made room for him to go.
    ‘Sir. Sir.’
    A tiny child, smaller than the Cupid and with a head of curls not unlike the gilded wig, but wearing a page’s tabard, tugged at Sigismondo’s tunic and looked up at him with huge brown eyes.
    ‘Sir. My lady wants you.’
    Sigismondo crouched to child level. ‘My lady?’
    ‘Follow me.’ The infant, having secured Sigismondo’s attention, assumed his obedience and set off, weaving smartly among the legs of the crowd in the entrance hall, through guests remaining to churn over the unbelievable news and the rumour that Ugo Bandini, hearing of his son’s dreadful deed, had taken refuge with the Cardinal Pontano in fear of the Duke. In the Great Hall, servants, clearing tables and filling their mouths, were busy with the same subject. Sigismondo followed, as deft in avoiding shoulders as the page in avoiding legs. Anyone who saw him coming, however, instinctively made way; he was used to this and, in battle, appreciative.
    The Castello Rocca might have been constructed by giant rabbits; there were passages of every kind, rough stone or painted plaster, narrow or wide, some apparently leading nowhere but saved from frustration by a curtain and an eel-like twist by the tiny page, who had picked up a flambeau once they were beyond the standing lights — a rabbit of experience. Sigismondo followed in perfect trust, a man who knew when to commit himself to the unknown, and who knew himself less at danger than many in so doing.
    The apartments of Agnolo di Villani, Master of the Duke’s Horse and, since earlier in the day, husband and presumably also master of the Lady Cecilia, were reached at last. The infant page opened the door, drew aside the last curtain and announced, ‘The Lord Sigismondo’.
    Sigismondo, suddenly and flatteringly ennobled, bowed low. He had seen the Lady Cecilia at the banquet when she was in an hour of exaltation, the fair bride in whose honour it was all taking place. One might expect conventional signs of grief, such as an effort at tears, gracefully disordered hair. What he saw was swollen eyelids, and a composure that spoke of discipline. The gold net still held the golden hair, she had not changed the gown of yellow velvet, but the Lady Cecilia of that time was not the one he saw now.
    ‘You are in the Duke’s confidence, I believe.’
    Sigismondo held out his hand, the sardonyx with the arms of Rocca now uppermost again. She nodded and clapped her hands. Another page, with more muscle at his command than the infant, appeared with a folding stool upholstered in red velvet, which he set up for the guest with a flourish. At a gesture from the lady, Sigismondo sat and was offered a goblet of wine by the page, who withdrew the moment Sigismondo’s hand took the silver-gilt stem.
    ‘You saw her Grace?’ Her eyes showed the memory of that figure.
    ‘Yes, my lady. The Duke sent for me at that time.’
    ‘He sent for me, too.’ She looked down at her hands, long and white, laced in her lap. ‘He knew she would have