The Darkest Sin, page 23
That voice! It had the same scratchiness that Isabella had heard the previous night. She hadn’t been able to remember where she knew the answer from then, but now it was obvious. Maria Vincenzia must have been the secretive novice talking in the corridor after dark.
Another voice spoke behind the screen. ‘My hands –’ Dea had said Maria Celestia was not making any sense, but the bedridden novice sounded like anyone else to Isabella.
‘Shhh,’ Maria Vincenzia said. ‘No one must hear you.’
Isabella moved closer, eager to hear more – and knocked over a wooden cross on a bedside table. It clattered to the floor, making everyone look round. ‘Sorry,’ Isabella said.
Maria Vincenzia emerged from behind the screen, glaring at Isabella. ‘My friend is ill. She may even be dying. The last thing she needs to hear is your clumsy mistakes.’
‘Sorry,’ Isabella repeated, staring at the floor.
‘I’ve seen you before.’ Maria Vincenzia loomed over Isabella. ‘You were in the refectory two days ago. Who are you?’
‘She is a day student staying at the convent for now,’ Dea said, joining them by the empty cot. ‘Her name is Isabella, and she’s not doing anyone any harm.’
Maria Vincenzia glanced at the servant nun. ‘If she’s a student, teach her to be quiet. This is a place of healing. The sisters need rest.’ The novice stalked out.
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Dea told Isabella. ‘She comes from a rich famiglia, so she expects everyone to treat her like a Medici.’
Isabella nodded, but her head was full of what she had heard the previous night: ‘Hidden’, ‘mistake’, and ‘they can’t know’. What had Maria Vincenzia hidden, what mistake had been made? Just what had the two novices done?
So many questions, but the answers were eluding Isabella. She couldn’t help wishing Cesare Aldo was here. If anyone would know what to do, it was him.
Aldo watched Testardo building a list of those who had been out of their beds after curfew the night Galeri was killed. The monsignor began by questioning those who slept next to the door of each dormitory. Suor Dea and Suor Rigarda were absent from the dormitory shared by servant nuns and boarders because they were helping Suor Simona at the infirmary; nobody else came or went between the night of Palm Sunday and the next morning.
It was a similar response from the nun who slept by the door of the other small dormitory, the one shared by novices and servant nuns. Maria Vincenzia and Maria Celestia had left during the night to say matins and lauds at the appointed hour, but nobody else came or went during the night. Next Testardo summoned the women who slept by the doors of the two larger dormitories, home to all chapter nuns. The first to be questioned was the prioress. She stalked into the officio, refusing to sit, and instead demanding answers from Testardo.
‘Is it true you are threatening to question my sister, Suor Violante? She is not well, and subjecting her to an interrogation will only make that illness worse!’
Aldo knew such a strategia would only anger the monsignor. Sure enough, Testardo was up on his feet, bristling at the accusations from the prioress. ‘What gives you the right to question my judgement?’ he snarled at the prioress.
‘You have not answered my question,’ she replied, crimson shading her face.
‘This visitation is acting upon direct orders from the archbishop,’ Testardo said. ‘I have the full authority of the diocese to question whomever I choose in whatever manner I decide. You may consider yourself fortunate that this is merely a visitation, and not an inquisition. And if your sister is so ill, why is she not being cared for in the infirmary?’
That made the prioress hesitate. ‘Her sickness is of the mind, not the body. She is better in solitude than being among others.’
‘Be that as it may, Suor Violante will face the same questions as any other nun at this convent, if I deem that necessary,’ the monsignor said. Aldo studied Testardo struggling to get back control of his temper. It seemed the monsignor was not used to being challenged. But he was wise enough to realize antagonizing the prioress would do the visitation little good. Testardo sat back on the chair behind the abbess’s desk. ‘But I give you this assurance: if we find whoever was responsible for the murder of Signor Galeri before the end of the day, or if someone confesses to his killing, then your sister shall be spared our questions.’
The prioress scowled at him before giving a curt nod. ‘I understand you want to know if anyone left our dormitory during the night on Sunday.’
‘That is correct,’ Aldo said, hoping to ease the tension between them. Instead Testardo glared at him.
‘Nobody came or left,’ the prioress replied. ‘Does that satisfy you?’
Aldo wanted to ask more but stopped himself.
‘It does,’ the monsignor announced. ‘Thank you for your time, prioress.’ She stalked from the officio, not giving either man a second glance. Aldo saw her pause outside the door, whispering something to the next nun waiting to come in. Nothing helpful would come of that.
The chapter nun from the final dormitory repeated what the prioress had told them. Nobody came or went during the night. Aldo willed Testardo to ask more, to press harder, but it was apparent the monsignor had little interest in the answers he was hearing. The future of Santa Maria Magdalena had been decided, and the investigation was simply a precursor to announcing that decision. If the killer did confess to their crime – to their sin – all the better. But it would make little difference to the archbishop’s decision.
Testardo moved on to interrogating the nuns in positions of authority, and those who had private cells. But his superior attitude was not helping, as became clear with Suor Catarina. She was young, thirty at most, but was still responsible for teaching the young women who boarded at the convent and those who came in for classes. Catarina had won Isabella’s respect, which could not have been an easy achievement. But the monsignor treated the teaching nun like a child, or an idiota.
It took only a few questions for the teaching nun to lose her patience. ‘Why are you asking me this?’ she asked, her cheeks reddening. ‘I sleep in the dormitory above the refectory, away from the door. I would wake the sisters around me if I got up in the night.’
‘I simply asked if you knew Signor Galeri before he came to the convent—’
‘And I told you, no. The first time I encountered that man was when you brought him into my class as part of the first visitation. It was bad enough you interrupted my teaching, but that man leered at my pupils. Several were disturbed by the way he stared at them.’
Aldo wished Testardo would think before speaking. Aggravating another nun would do the investigation little good. No doubt the prioress and others already questioned were telling those sisters preparing to face Testardo about his attitude, putting everyone still to come on their guard. But the monsignor continued to be dismissive with Catarina. ‘You made your views known then—’
‘And you did not listen,’ she snapped. ‘This convent is a sanctuary for women and girls, a place where we should be safe from men like Signor Galeri.’ Her face twisted when she said the name. ‘Too many of us have suffered at the hands of men before coming here. Visitors are supposed to be men of faith, holy and pious, without favour or prejudice. That man was like a fox let loose in a hen house.’
‘Do you deny killing him?’
‘Of course I do!’ Catarina rose from her seat. ‘Only our Lord may take a life. I am here to teach young women to think for themselves, nothing more.’ She stalked out.
‘The last thing young women need to do is learn how to think,’ Testardo said once Catarina was gone, leaning back in his chair. ‘Well, she’s certainly angry enough to kill.’
‘I doubt Suor Catarina would show us her anger if she had murdered Galeri,’ Aldo observed. ‘Only a fool would do so, and she is no fool.’
‘Perhaps.’ The monsignor frowned, as if something was troubling him. Catarina’s barbed words about the visitation seemed to have struck home.
‘You did not select Galeri as the fourth visitor, did you?’ Aldo asked.
Testardo shook his head. ‘Our usual fourth withdrew, and Galeri was suggested. He was a member of the Company of Santa Maria, a confraternity that is bonded to the convent.’ The monsignor changed topic. ‘But Signor Galeri is not the one being investigated here. He is the victim, and he deserves our best efforts to find his killer.’
So long as those efforts were completed by curfew – but Aldo kept that to himself.
Suor Paulina was next to face Testardo’s questions, but the convent almoner was of little help. ‘I slept through the night,’ she said when asked, ‘as I always do. I have been told my snoring is quite loud, but it never disturbs me. Those without sin have nothing to trouble their conscience, I believe, or their slumbers.’ Paulina denied knowing Galeri, from the first visitation or in any other way. ‘I’m not sure I met him when the previous visitors came. It was that young priest – what’s his name?’
‘Father Zati,’ Testardo replied.
‘Him,’ she continued. ‘And the other one, Cortoldi?’
‘Cortese. Signor Cortese.’
‘Alongside my duties as almoner, I have been managing our provisions since my predecessor was taken to our Lord’s grace. It was Father Zati and Signor Cortese who inspected the provisions store. I spent quite some time answering their questions.’
The monsignor persisted with his own questions but eventually sent Paulina away. The abbess was next to be interrogated. She admitted being awake much of the night that Galeri died, but denied leaving her cell. ‘I struggle to sleep because my cell shares a wall with that of Suor Paulina. Her snoring is particularly loud when she has been testing the convent wine.’ The abbess claimed to have heard nothing but snoring until dawn.
The convent’s draper, Suor Andriana, struggled to hold their gaze as she came in, her hands worrying the beads of her rosary. Aldo recalled meeting her outside the laundry the first time he had come to the convent on Palm Sunday. She reminded him of a mouse hiding in the corner of a room, as she had then, hoping to go unnoticed.
Andriana confirmed the loudness of Paulina’s snoring. ‘I am deaf here,’ Andriana said, tapping her left ear, voice little more than a whisper. ‘I sleep on my right ear. Otherwise I would get no sleep at all.’ The draper had visited the latrina on Sunday night after curfew, but saw and heard nobody else. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could help you more.’ She paused on her way out. ‘It is nearly sext. Will you be needing a midday meal?’
‘Yes,’ the monsignor replied, rising from his seat. ‘But first I—’ he acknowledged Aldo with a glance – ‘but first we need to meet with our fellow visitors.’
Aldo followed Testardo outside. The scriptorium stood opposite the abbess’s officio, its door ajar. A faint tang of metal hung in the air. Someone had been washing the floor, doing their best to remove that blood. The stain might be removed, but the consequences of what happened would remain. No amount of scrubbing could dissolve that.
Zati and Cortese were waiting in the cloister by the chapter-house doors. Before they could report any progress, a voice called out to the visitors. Suor Benedicta was waving from the far side of the courtyard. A messenger hurried round the cloister to greet the four men, a youth clutching his cap in one hand and a sealed document in the other. ‘Is one of you Monsignor Testardo?’ the messenger asked. ‘I have an urgent letter.’
Testardo took the letter, gesturing for Cortese to pay the messenger. The monsignor broke the wax seal, shielding its contents from the others. His brow furrowed, a grimace settling on his lips. ‘It seems my sister has fallen gravely ill. Her doctor fears she may not last the day.’ Zati murmured a prayer under his breath, while Cortese made the sign of the cross.
‘Where is your sister?’ Aldo asked, doing his best to sound sympathetic.
‘Our famiglia has a country palazzo, outside the city. It will take me two hours to ride there –’ Testardo hesitated. ‘I have no choice. I will hasten there now, to see what can be done and to give her the last rites, if needed. Father Zati?’
‘Yes, monsignor?’
‘You will lead the visitation in my absence. I shall return before curfew when this matter will be brought to an end.’ Testardo stalked away, taking the messenger with him.
Zati and Cortese bid the monsignor a safe and swift journey. Aldo echoed them while keeping a smile of satisfaction from his face. He had paid Zoppo handsomely to find a way of making Testardo leave the convent. How that was done, Aldo had left to the tavern keeper’s cunning and guile – two attributes Zoppo did not lack. Now Testardo would be absent for at least four hours, perhaps longer. That wasn’t long to uncover Galeri’s killer.
Chapter Twenty-one
Once Testardo was gone, Aldo turned to Zati and Cortese. ‘The monsignor asked you to see if keys for the convent’s three entrances were missing, and whether any of the locks had been damaged. What did you find?’
The young priest appeared surprised by the question. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The keys, the locks – what have you found?’
Cortese cleared his throat. ‘I thought the monsignor left Father Zati in charge.’
Aldo feigned a smile. ‘I have the greatest respect for Monsignor Testardo’s wishes, and nothing but faith in you, Father Zati. But I am an officer of this city’s most powerful criminal court. Do either of you have experience in catching killers?’
Zati and Cortese shook their heads.
‘I share your concern for the monsignor’s sister. Would it not be the greatest service we could do to find who killed Signor Galeri before the monsignor returns?’
Cortese’s mouth flapped like a fish pulled from the Arno. ‘I – I –’
Zati proved himself more decisive. ‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘Thank you,’ Aldo replied, resting a hand on each man’s shoulder. ‘Now, what have you discovered about the convent’s locks and keys?’
‘There are three entrances,’ the priest said. ‘The sisters’ private chapel has a connecting door only used by their confessor, Father Visconti. We talked to him. He confirmed only the abbess has a key to that door, which is in her possession.’
‘The lock of the connecting door was undamaged,’ Cortese added.
Aldo ignored him. Though lacking in experience, Father Zati seemed the more useful. ‘What about the other entrances?’
The young priest pointed to where Testardo had departed. ‘The abbess and the listening nun each have keys to that door. Both are accounted for. The lock is worn from use, but otherwise undamaged. The other entrance is the doors at the back of the convent. Again, the padlock and bolts are worn but show no damage. The abbess and cellarer both have keys for the padlock. The abbess has hers, we have yet to speak to Suor Paulina.’
‘She was with you and Monsignor Testardo at the time,’ Cortese explained.
‘You’ve been very thorough,’ Aldo said. ‘Well done. The monsignor also asked you to search every room and storage space for the blade used to stab Signor Galeri.’
The priest’s eyes slide sideways to Cortese. ‘Checking the doors and keys took all morning.’ It was clear whom Zati held responsible.
‘That is understandable,’ Aldo said. ‘But you have done well – thank you. Father, you are leading us until Monsignor Testardo returns. Can I make a suggestion?’
‘Of course.’
‘Finding that blade is more important than almost anything else. It could lead us to the person responsible for the wounds Galeri suffered.’ Whether that was the same person who poisoned Galeri was another matter, but Aldo kept that to himself. ‘You and Signor Cortese inspected the convent a few days ago. You are far more familiar with Santa Maria Magdalena than I. Tell me if I am being too bold, but I suggest you work together to find that blade. I believe it would gladden the monsignor’s heart to know you were following his instructions.’
The young priest agreed, and Cortese concurred. The pair strode away, eager for their task. Aldo smiled. Good. He would make faster progress with them occupied elsewhere.
‘That was impressive,’ the abbess said once the pair were out of hearing. ‘Anyone who can be that persuasive . . .’ She emerged from the chapter-house doors to stand beside Aldo. ‘You should be giving sermons.’
‘I don’t have the strength of faith to be a preacher,’ he replied. ‘And the last time this city surrendered itself to someone who gave good sermons, it didn’t end well.’ Forty years ago a Dominican friar named Savonarola had risen to a position of power in Florence thanks to the power of his oratory. He preached that divine justice would save the city and its people from the indulgences of the wealthy, making everyone equal before God. Women and their daughters began taking vows and entering convents to save their souls. Those who valued their place in society made sure they were seen going to church often. Even young men and boys fell under the sway of Savonarola, forming gangs dressed in white to demonstrate purity. They marched the streets and hammered on doors, demanding those within surrender their vanities – wigs, gowns, paintings, secular texts and more. But when the friar challenged the divine authority of the Church itself, he was excommunicated and eventually executed.
‘Are you old enough to remember Savonarola?’ the abbess asked.
‘No, but my papa told me of the hold the friar had over the city. Apparently, I was conceived while his followers were hurling their vanities onto a bonfire . . .’ Aldo’s words died away, realization striking inside him like a hammer against a bell. Savonarola’s first name had been Girolamo. At his ascendency, he had commanded significant authority in Florence. Could that explain the scrap of parchment found under Galeri’s body, a scrap torn from the locked cabinet in the abbess’s officio? Had the Company of Santa Maria originally been created by the authority of Savonarola? Ruggerio and his senior brethren would have been fifteen or sixteen when the friar’s dominance was at its peak, the right age to have been among the piagnoni, as they were known.
Had the confraternity’s leaders been one of the bands of Savonarola’s boys? Dark tales were still whispered of acts committed in the friar’s name. That could explain what had bound Ruggerio and his brethren together for so long, a secret history they shared. If there were documents proving that, why would such men keep their incriminating papers inside the convent? Why not destroy the proof? Unless there was something within the documents that also empowered them? By keeping the papers out of reach in the convent, it meant none of the confraternity’s leaders could use the documents against any of their brethren. That raised the question of how Galeri had found all this out, and whether his murder was related to it . . .
