‘You can be sure that is all that’s gone?’
‘I know her jewels.’
‘Did you alone know of this hiding place?’
‘I alone, save for her Grace. An old gentlewoman of the Duchess Maria’s showed it to me, and she has since died.’
Sigismondo made no comment on this; it was likely enough that in a palace full of servants, most of whom had been here before the Duke’s second marriage, any of them might have seen either Duchess go to the wall and press the panel.
‘When did you last fasten the case with all the jewels in?’
‘When I dressed her for the feast. She did not wish me to dress her because I was the bride. But who else should do so? Who else could have proper manage of the maids? They are all very well…’ She caught herself back, perhaps in realisation that she, like the despised maids, had no place now. She drew from under the lawn at her long throat a gold chain of ruby flowers. ‘She gave me this as a bridal gift. It is the only other thing not in here.’ Her face crumpled. She closed the box, and looked at that moment more like an unhappy child than a woman thrice married. She turned away, putting the box down on the table; her head made graceful bird-like movements as she dried her eyes. She said abruptly, ‘These jewels had better be given into the Duke’s keeping. He has a strongroom and I–I cannot, it seems, keep them safe.’
Outside the door there came voices, an infant pipe and a boy’s. The small page entered, a wren of a child, already in the Duke’s gift of a mourning tabard. He advanced round the bed and his eyes widened as he suddenly saw Sigismondo looming there, but schooling held; he fixed his gaze on his mistress’s back and spoke rapidly.
‘My lady, his Grace requires your presence in his library, with the Master Sigismondo.’
The Duke, among the shelves and stands of books, the pigeon-holes of encased scrolls and documents, was at a table, where the plans for his new library were spread. The architect, crow-like with his mourning-gown over his brown working clothes, was in exposition, hands and arms at work as he spoke conjuring distances, airy bays, galleries, columns. The Duke stopped him with raised hand and came towards them at his usual headlong stride.
‘The ring is found.’ The blue eyes fixed, and Cecilia di Villani curtsied deep. ‘A goldsmith has brought it to us.’
‘A goldsmith?’ From her tone, the whole Guild of Goldsmiths were as foreign to her understanding as so many giraffes.
‘A dwarf brought it to him for sale.’
The lady made an attempt at this. The words a dwarf were formed by her lips.
‘When the man asked the provenance of the ring the dwarf said that her mistress had lost her post at Court because of the Duchess’s death, and would need money.’
The Lady Cecilia closed her mouth with precision. Her eyes turned upward and her lids fluttered. She put out a hand for support in the general direction of Sigismondo, a wise choice for as her knees gave way and her head fell back he was behind her. Her head lolled helplessly against his chest, loosening the black net, which slid away. A surprising quantity of soft golden hair cascaded over her drooping face and over the soft, black, turned-leather of his jerkin. He gazed gravely over her head at the Duke, who looked morose.
‘It is of course ridiculous,’ the Duke said. ‘The Lady Cecilia cannot be said to need money. She is overwrought. I don’t suppose di Villani spared her. He’s the man to ride his mares to death. He has the sensibilities of a neat herd,’ he finished.
Sigismondo appeared to have no difficulty in supporting her, and both men looked down at her head.
‘I’ve ordered all the dwarves to attend in the west guardroom. My steward is in charge of it and the goldsmith is to identify the one he saw. I will leave that in your hands. I am waiting to receive his Eminence Pontano — who is going to tell me, I trust, why Bandini hasn’t restored the di Torre girl, and to ask whether the death of his son is negotiable.’
Cecilia di Villani now stirred in Sigismondo’s arms, and made small lost moans. The Duke gave her a blue glare, like a critic marking down an actor’s performance, and left them.
Sigismondo changed his grip, bent to package the lady’s considerable skirts together and get an arm round them, straightened up and walked out. She was emitting words of confusion and had got her head onto his shoulder by the time he reached the anteroom and put her down on a tapestry-covered bench there. The small page, aghast, was instantly at her side.
‘I leave you in good hands, my lady,’ Sigismondo said. ‘You will excuse me. I have to see some dwarves.’
The small page resourcefully picked up the fan that hung at her girdle, and fanned her face with such vigour that her hair flew in all directions.
The goldsmith had put on a gown of dark blue stuff to come to the Palace, and he kept his hands in his sleeves as if for warmth; a working goldsmith’s hands are apt to be unattractively stained. He was conscious of where he was, and the quite sudden arrival of Sigismondo failed to reassure him.
The Duke’s steward had his back to the guardroom door, an impressive affair of oak. He was attended by two of the guard, in black-sleeved livery and carrying halberds. On seeing Sigismondo, he opened the door with a caution that showed apprehension.
While it was probably known to the steward how many dwarves there were, the immediate view suggested an illimitable number. They filled the floor, were standing on benches around the walls and sat in a row on the table. They were of both sexes, all ages and, within limits, of all sizes. None of them was pleased and most were saying so.
All of them were in black and all wore, or were waving, even the males, headkerchiefs, some issued to them by the steward.
They pressed back from the door and enquired of the steward why they were there. Sigismondo’s entrance produced a comparative quiet, but it did not last. It took the grounding of a guard’s halberd, repeatedly, on the flagstones to produce a silence sibilant with complaint.
‘Had you all been quiet before, I would have explained-’ The steward querulously achieved no more. Babel supervened. Sigismondo had been watching, and now he leant across to speak to an elderly dwarf who had been relatively silent. This one accordingly stood up on the bench and raised his arms. As the rest saw him, they bit by bit stopped their clamour.
‘That’s better!’ said the steward. ‘Now. What has happened is that a ring belonging to the Duchess, God rest her soul-’
A respectful ‘Amen’ was the only interruption as yet, but there had come upon the gathering a watchfulness.
‘-is missing. Or rather, was missing. As it happens, it was offered for sale to this worthy person this morning, and a colleague of his having identified it-’
‘Is this to do with us?’ enquired an ominous voice. There was now all the quiet anyone could want, a quiet of utter stillness. Hardly an eye blinked.
‘I cannot be expected to tell you if I am continually-’
Sigismondo said, ‘The person who presented the ring for sale was of your stature.’
Only the raised arms of the elderly dwarf prevented an outraged and chaotic explosion.
‘This person was dressed as a woman, in a headkerchief. The Master Goldsmith, whom you see here, believes that it might have been a man. The Duke therefore commands that every one of you should be inspected by Master Goldsmith.’