A Shadowed Fate Read online

  ‘I wish that we did not have to burden you with the knowledge of the dark time that occurred long before you were born,’ I began, ‘but we have little choice now, since things have been set into motion.’

  ‘I know.’ Her tone conveyed disapproval as she rose and lifted the tea tray once more. ‘I need to put Georgiana down for her nap, but I urge you to proceed cautiously, if we are to find your long-lost daughter. We cannot allow Georgiana to be placed at risk.’ She exited the room with a graceful dignity – and a resolve that brooked no disagreement.

  Her words left a wide swath of remorse around me, a wave that reflected on the headstrong impulsivity of my youth. Certainly, I had always set my own sails and headed out into seas that had no clear destination; I never cared … until I had my own daughter. Then I tried to steer a more conventional course for a while but, once she departed this world, I had little reason to embrace the commonplace life. I never wanted it.

  Trelawny touched my shoulder. ‘Paula will come to understand.’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘That we came to maturity during a different age – and were bound by the desire for freedom.’ He moved toward the large window and gazed outward as he echoed my thoughts. ‘We rejected a tame and tedious journey through life, wanting to experience every moment as if it were our last. Remember what Byron said: “The great object of life is sensation – to feel we exist, even if it be in pain.” No truer words were spoken.’ He turned back to me. ‘Do not regret that, Claire. Many women never have even a day when they are not thinking their own thoughts or striving for their own goals. You have lived on your own terms – always – and must always do so.’

  ‘Even at seventy-five?’ I could not resist adding.

  ‘Especially at this age. Peace and quiet is for those in the grave – not us.’ A smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘We must vow to push against the darkness with all of our might.’

  In spite of my emotional turmoil, a tiny glow of excitement lit inside me and I smiled back at him.

  ‘I see the Claire that I once knew in your eyes again – that spark of vibrance,’ he said, drawing near again. ‘I have missed it.’

  ‘There has been little of that joy in our lives recently,’ I admitted.

  He picked up the obelisk drawing again and studied it. ‘I wish Byron had told me more about Allegra’s fate, but he did not give me further details. If he had, and I had learned where she was hidden, I would have found a way to make certain that she wanted for nothing over the years … I did everything I could to reach him in Missolonghi when I heard he was so ill, crossing over the mountains to be by his side, walking the last ten miles on foot in the mud, but he was already dead by the time I arrived.’

  ‘It caught the world unawares.’ Even after the stretch of time, my breath caught in my throat at the word, and I remembered how the news had stunned everyone. Dazed, the great poet Tennyson carved the words Byron is dead on a stone, sensing that with his demise, a cold wind now blew across the world.

  News of his passing had reached me during the summer of 1824 in Russia, where I was living with the Zotoff family as governess to their daughter, Betsy. We had traveled to their summer home outside Moscow – a low, wooden manor house that stood in the middle of five hundred acres – and I was walking near the river at sunset, watching the violet clouds edged in gold, when Countess Zotoff approached me with a newspaper in hand. Knowing nothing of my relationship with him, she related in stilted French that my countryman had died in Greece. A hero’s death, she said – then followed with a whispered prayer.

  Mutely, I managed a nod.

  And the moment passed as if it had never occurred.

  Weeks later, when I heard the great bell of the Zagorski Monastery ring early on a Sunday morning, I burst into tears for what might have been.

  ‘Claire?’ Trelawny’s voice brought me back to the present.

  Slowly, my focus came back to my sitting room. So ordinary and familiar, yet somehow different. Touching my locket again, I took a moment to trace the delicate filigree as something solid and real. ‘You know that I never cared to dwell too long in the past, so I find it somewhat difficult to go back there. I appreciate your telling me everything, but it has … many shadows.’

  ‘I am your friend once more?’

  Still holding the pendant, I heard Father Gianni’s admonition deep in my heart. You must forgive those who wronged you. Compassione. You must have compassion. I had forgiven my mother for disowning me, but that was another matter …

  ‘We shall see.’ It was the best that I could offer him.

  ‘I understand.’ He touched my arm. ‘Perhaps as you consider what I have told you, in time you will even come to forgive me.’

  It was all too new, too raw, for me to even consider that possibility.

  ‘This may help to change your mind.’ Trelawny reached into his coat pocket and produced a small leather portfolio bound by a single strap. ‘When Byron came to Ravenna in 1820 and found himself in the middle of an uprising, he decided to keep his own account of the Carbonari – and his role in their secret society. It covers everything from his arrival in Ravenna to the end of the revolt fourteen months later.’ He paused, turning the journal over in his hand to reveal the etched symbol of a charcoal burner on the back. ‘Byron gave it to his Venetian friend, Angelo Mengaldo, a good man, but he feared if the memoir became public, it would endanger many lives. So Mengaldo burned it – sight unseen. Fortunately, the Cades drawing remained with Byron’s papers and ended up sent to Polidori, as you know.’

  Ah, yes. John Polidori. Byron’s physician in Geneva. So volatile. So eager to be a writer. So jealous of anyone in Byron’s orbit. I had long thought Polidori was my enemy during the summer of 1816, but I had come to see that others may have been plotting against me.

  I blinked in confusion. ‘But if Signor Mengaldo destroyed the memoir, how do you come to have it?’

  ‘Byron made a copy and entrusted it to me when we were in Greece, with the promise that I was to keep it hidden—’

  I gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘More lies and secrets?’

  He shook his head. ‘This document is much beyond that. It is the only known record of the Carbonari’s innermost circles – not only Byron’s activities, but locals who planned assassinations. Many of their actions would have been seen as treason, punishable by hanging, which is why I omitted these from my Recollections.’

  ‘Does he mention di Breme’s servant, Stefano?’

  ‘Yes, but they were suspicions only – he never had proof.’

  ‘He would be dead now in any case.’ Still, it made me uneasy to have that question of his intent unanswered. ‘I want to know about Allegra, but how would Byron’s recollections be considered important today after the Risorgimento? That time is over, the revolution was eventually successful, and Italy is now unified. The Carbonari no longer exist.’

  ‘Can you be so sure?’

  A warning voice whispered in my head as I stared at the memoir.

  I could not turn back now. Taking it from him, I noted cracks in the leather cover, deep-grooved and worn smooth over the years. ‘I never quite perceived how hope and fear can merge into a new path at even this stage of life – this is a road that I cannot avoid.’

  He leaned forward and whispered, ‘Your courage would shame the most hardened soldier—’

  A deliberate cough interrupted Trelawny, and I swiftly turned my head to see William Michael Rossetti standing in the doorway – the British tourist and Polidori’s nephew who had come to Florence a little over two weeks ago to buy my letters for his new Shelley biography. Needless to say, it had not worked out quite the way he planned, but he had risked his life to save mine at the Boboli Gardens and I would always be grateful. Paula hovered behind him, holding hands with Raphael, our hired man and my niece’s handsome lover.

  ‘Mr Rossetti, how delightful to see you.’ Instantly, I smiled in genuine delight at the sight of his pl
easant features and gentlemanly air.

  ‘Especially after our last meeting, which was extraordinary, to say the least,’ he said with light irony as he shook hands first with Trelawny and then me. ‘I thought it best to give you a little time to recover from the trauma, but I could not stay away any longer. Are you well enough to receive me?’

  ‘Certainly.’ I gestured for him to enter and take the chair next to me as I tucked the memoir out of sight. As he did so, Paula and Raphael seated themselves on the settee, completing our little group. Everyone whom I cared about was now present in this room, all familiar and dear, with the exception of Trelawny – he was, and would ever be, in disgrace. ‘I did not have the chance to thank you for all of your efforts on my behalf, Mr Rossetti. You traveled all the way from England to Florence to buy my letters, but you ended up on a mission to right a long-standing wrong – truly, beyond kind.’

  He bowed his head. ‘It was my honor. As John Polidori’s nephew, I could do no less to make up for his treatment of you.’

  ‘You restored my faith in the future.’ Needless to say, his connection to Polidori and additional revelations about his uncle’s character had been a surprise when he revealed them. ‘You brought word about Allegra and even restored this long-lost Cades sketch to my possession. I cannot express my gratitude to you.’

  ‘I apologize that I could not tell you everything when I first arrived, but I was waiting for Trelawny to come.’ He shook his head in regret. ‘It might have prevented Father Gianni’s murder – that is my one regret. He was a good man in every way.’

  ‘You were not responsible for his death,’ I assured him. ‘Matteo had been plotting to steal my Byron/Shelley correspondence for many months.’

  Raphael looked down and murmured something in Italian under his breath. A short, pungent curse. Paula clasped his hand and held it tightly. Their love seemed so palpable after the last few days; once hidden, it now had a living, breathing feeling that encircled them with shared happiness. Such a touching connection – ‘such stuff as dreams are made on’ as Shakespeare once said.

  ‘Aunt Claire, you must tell us what you and Mr Trelawny discussed after I left,’ Paula interjected in a firm tone. ‘Is there any lingering danger after Matteo’s arrest?’

  I hesitated and motioned for Trelawny to respond.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I truly believe that Matteo committed the murder of Father Gianni for money and nothing more.’

  Paula grimaced. ‘And I had always thought our landlord was so kind. How mistaken we all were about him.’

  ‘At least he is now in jail and cannot harm anyone else,’ I added grimly. ‘There are always those who hide behind the mask of pretense but, eventually, the illusion vanishes and the reality becomes clear. Even so, if Father Gianni had seen into Matteo’s evil heart, he would have believed that he could turn the darkness to light – always the optimist about human nature.’

  ‘So true.’ Sighing, she leaned into Raphael’s shoulder. His arm slid around her in a protective embrace.

  ‘Still, perhaps if I had been more discreet about the true reason for my visit …’ Mr Rossetti shrugged.

  Trelawny shook his head. ‘Matteo was hellbent on theft because of his gambling debts; you were not responsible for the priest’s death.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Mr Rossetti’s features brightened, though a trace of doubt lingered around his eyes. ‘If I may ask, what do you intend to do with the newfound knowledge about your daughter’s fate? I assume you will try to find her?’

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ I responded readily. ‘Allegra would be in her late fifties now – perhaps with children and grandchildren of her own – and, hopefully, still living in Italy. Just imagine that my daughter might be residing scant kilometers from me. I almost dare not imagine it.’

  Paula’s lifted her head as she knit her brows in a frown. ‘Do you think it’s likely that she never even suspected her parentage? Just knowing how important family is to Italians, I cannot imagine that no one told her the truth or let something slip in her presence – especially after Byron died. Would you not agree, Raphael?’

  ‘Si, but we Italians also know how to keep a secret,’ he responded with a tightening of his protective embrace around her, but his words were meant for me. ‘Mi scusi, per favore, but if her guardians were told to hide her for her own safety, they would go to their graves with the truth.’

  His meaning was clear – I had already entertained the possibility that the search for my daughter would prove to be a challenge and perhaps one that would not yield the outcome that I prayed for – I accepted that. But if it took the rest of my life, I would not stop until I knew for certain what had happened to Allegra.

  ‘We must try, my friends. Faint heart never won success.’ Trelawny rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his considerable height. Shoulders squared with confident poise, I knew he would be my ally in this quest to find out what happened to my daughter. Whether that made up for the past or not remained to be seen, but I would at least give him a chance to find redemption.

  ‘I believe the expression is “faint heart never won fair maiden,”’ I corrected him gently.

  ‘Even better,’ he agreed with a laugh.

  ‘Shall you join us on our search, Mr Rossetti?’ I asked, transferring my gaze to him with warm encouragement. ‘Your company would certainly be most welcome.’

  ‘Nothing would make me happier, Miss Clairmont, but I am afraid that I must return to England. I had a telegram just today from my sister, Christina, urging me to return home as soon as possible; my mother is ill.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I trust?’ I queried in concern.

  Mr Rossetti shrugged. ‘I cannot really say at this point. Mama is strong-willed but somewhat … advanced in years.’

  He meant ‘old.’

  Why is it the young resort to these delicate euphemisms for a perfectly honest word? Old. I am old. I had lived for seven decades and, while there seemed little ‘advancing’ about the aging process, it was not without its own charms. I could speak my mind. I could make my own decisions. I could walk alone through the streets of Florence without a disapproving murmur from fellow English expatriates. In many ways, molto bene. If lonely moments drifted into my thoughts at the reality of outliving most of my dearest friends and relatives, well, what was the alternative? Life was meant for the living – not the dead.

  ‘I shall say a novena to St Catherine of Siena for her,’ I promised. ‘Please do let me know how she fares.’

  ‘When do you leave?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Then we must celebrate this evening – the five of us,’ Trelawny pronounced. ‘No sad faces or mournful thoughts. Let us dine out under the stars, drink wine from the Tuscan valley, and simply enjoy this time together. La vita e bella.’

  ‘I know the perfect place, near the Ponte Vecchio,’ Raphael enthused. ‘Mio cugino, Lorenzo, owns a restaurant on this side of the Arno – not fancy, just true Tuscan food that my cousin prepares himself.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Paula beamed at him, then turned to me. ‘Aunt, can we go?’

  I smiled. ‘Who could turn down such an invitation?’

  She rose quickly, pulling Raphael with her. ‘I must go and wake Georgiana – then, if you will escort me to her friend’s house, she can stay there while we have supper. Aunt Claire and I will wear white roses in our hair – for Firenze.’

  She drew him out of room as she chattered away, and I heard their laughter follow them out of the room. ‘Young love is such a sweet thing to behold.’

  ‘Luckily, everyone in Italy is a cousin – primo or secondo, it’s all family.’

  Smiling, I stood up and shook out my long skirt, keeping the memoir hidden in its folds – I would share it with the rest of them later. Feeling some of my old buoyancy rising up inside once more, I vowed to embrace the joy of the moment, if only for this one night. Genteel poverty be damned. ‘I, too, shall dress up for our evening out – my pin
k silk frock with lace trim. We will enjoy our supper and watch the sun set on the Arno as we toast to the future with chianti.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend.’ Trelawny clapped Mr Rossetti on the shoulder. ‘Could anything be more needed? We survived the events of the last few days – alive and with hope – so we must make merry and let tomorrow bring what it may.’

  ‘Carpe diem – yes, we must seize the day … or rather the night,’ Mr Rossetti quipped. ‘Beyond that, who knows?’

  And we were true to our vow.

  We ate our supper sitting under the stars – feasted on cinghiale, wild boar served with antipasti. The wine flowed and I felt younger than I had in years. All the layers of heartache and poverty fell away. Our spirits soared. In the midst of it all, I watched Trelawny’s face in the growing twilight. Even if he had held a terrible secret from me for so long, he had given me the gift of faith in this time and place. And not just this night of happiness, but a present that stretched out with a tantalizing offer of more than I could have hoped for: my daughter.

  His eyes met mine and, in that moment, he knew that I would forgive him. Perhaps not today or tomorrow – but it would happen.

  Raising his glass, he whispered, ‘Amici.’

  Friends.

  Ah, but we had been something more … if only for a single night.

  After the moon rose, a cool breeze swept in from the Tuscan hillsides, bringing in a sweet fragrance of rose and lily; it mingled with an earthy whiff of ancient stone buildings and slight dampness from the Arno River. A perfect backdrop for the food of Florence with its golden olive oils, fresh herbs, and ripe, lush tomatoes. Raphael asked his cousin to serve panforte – a rich fruitcake – for dessert, and we celebrated his culinary skills and our good fortune at being able to partake of it.

  Later, after a final course of coffee and biscotti around midnight, we made our way back to the Palazzo Cruciato through the narrow cobblestone streets now hushed in quiet darkness. All along the ancient palazzos, light streamed out of the occasional upper-story window, but most of the city had settled in for the night. As we ambled along, I dared to envision that light expanded even beyond these old and beautiful buildings, and the evening signaled a new beginning, an emergence into a future of good fortune. Perhaps the endless cycle of debt and defeat had finally passed.