They were on the floor directly over my head. I could hear the boards creak as he paced the room. A single flight of stairs separated me from Rebecca and our fate. I strained to hear another sound. There was none. Gobbo could not be nearby — perhaps he had slipped out while I was making my furtive entrance at the front. We seemed alone, with only the bored boatmen outside for distant company, and they would not come through the door until summoned.
I tucked the handle of the hammer into the top of my trousers, held the hard iron head firm to my stomach, and ascended the stairs, step by patient step, listening to these twin, related sounds, Rebecca’s fiddle and Delapole’s commanding tones, becoming louder all the while. At the head of the staircase was an ill-lit landing with a long velvet drape which ran across to the entrance of the room opposite. I briefly saw Delapole’s back there as he strode across my vision. Rebecca was out of sight. I slipped behind the curtain and started to skirt along the wall towards the open door. There I moved the fabric a little and saw her at last. She was seated, the instrument in her arms, a single sheet of manuscript on a stand before her knees. Delapole marched around her like some kind of teacher.
“I think not,” the Englishman said. “Some part of it runs out of one’s head before it is heard, like a well-worn phrase. This is a textbook definition of the cliché, and we must avoid that at all costs.”
“Sir,” Rebecca replied wearily. “I am tired. I believed we were to depart tonight.”
“When Gobbo’s met that brother of yours. Not before. Blame him, not me. I’ll give them thirty minutes more, and then we’re off. In the meantime I shall play with my new toy, if you’ll oblige. Music, girl!”
His back was turned. I lifted the drape from my face so that she might see me, but her mind was elsewhere.
“I have had enough,” she announced. “I will play no more.”
He walked over and knelt beside her chair. “Oh, surely you will oblige me, dear. It is in your own interests. The Devil has the best tunes, always, they say. With your talent and my… polishing, who knows where we’ll end up?”
“I wish no more of this,” she said, and carefully placed the violin back in its case.
“Ah.” He looked at her with an expression I would once have interpreted as kindness. No more. “I’ll have other sport, then.”
With a single arm he dragged her from the chair and threw her abruptly to the floor. Rebecca screamed and clutched at her dress. Not for fear of his intentions, either. She was in pain. The beast took no notice. He was unbuttoning himself, and then, in one swift movement, snatched up her hem and ran his lascivious hands upon her flesh. I felt the hammer tight within my grip and wished I knew whether Gobbo was back in the house with Jacopo. We had a single chance to escape their grasp. I would not allow Delapole to savage her again, but I was determined that if I was forced to strike, I would deliver a blow that granted us all freedom.
Then Rebecca sent every idea fleeing straight out of my head. She dragged herself away from the Englishman and spat full in his face. He paused and wiped the spittle from his cheeks, with a wry smile that said she would surely pay for this impertinence.
“You shall not touch me again,” Rebecca said coldly. “I will claw your eyes out if you try. This charade about your talent I’ll tolerate if only for the safety of my brother and Lorenzo. The rest you shall not have. I carry Lorenzo’s child. I will not have it soiled in my belly by the likes of you.”
Marchese’s words of warning rang through my head. I felt the strength drain from my limbs and leaned back against the wall, scarcely able to keep the hammer in my grip.
The Englishman stood upright instantly and buttoned his fly. “Lorenzo’s child, eh?” he asked without expression. “How sweet. You did not mention this before, my love.”
She smoothed down her dress and sat motionless on the carpet, her arms around her knees. I fought to catch my breath and squeeze a single rational thought from my mind.
“I say it now. You mark it well. I’ll not have your poison stain what’s unborn inside me.”
“A child,” he repeated, seeming calm and pensive. I tried to catch Rebecca’s eye again and failed. If we had to, we must both attempt to tackle him in order to break free.
Delapole strode to the window and stared out at the canal. “You know,” he said, “I thought I would not have to face this so soon. You have rushed me, girl. You have lured me into Procrustes’ bed before I am ready. Such a waste.”
Slowly she stood upright and backed towards the door, still unaware of my presence. “The time is late,” she said. “We should be going.”
He turned and waved a hand at her. “Oh, no. Now there’s new business to conclude. You have demanded it. A child…” His face astonished me. He seemed in full possession of himself, yet distant, too, as if another Delapole lived inside his skin and had come to the surface to claim a little time in that long English frame.
“I hear someone come, sir,” Rebecca said. “On the stairs.”
There was no sound. The house was as silent as the tomb. She could retreat no further without making it clear she intended to leave the room. I waited and prepared to act.
“And I have demanded nothing,” she observed. “Nothing but some decency.”
“No?” He took a single stride forwards, hands still clasped to his breast. “Oh, come, Rebecca. Admit the truth, for we both know it. There is but one woman in the world. You may call her Eve. You may call her Lilith; it’s all the same to me. She takes a man’s life from his seed and uses it to breed his death in her belly. Had I known this earlier, I should have ripped that little upstart out of your body before it began to grow. But then we should have been denied the pleasure of each other’s company, girl. That would have been such a shame.”
“Sir…”
He shook a fist at her and came two steps closer. I gripped the handle of the hammer tightly and watched him like a hawk. “Silence, child! I’ll not let it happen. Oh, no.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved something from his person. I stared, aghast. Clenched in his right fist was a long, slim knife like that of a physician’s. “You always make it come to this in the end. The same old deception. The same old cure. Now, be still and make it easier for yourself. I’ll…”
He moved towards her. I leapt out from behind the curtain, swinging that crude weapon in both hands.
“Lorenzo,” the villain said softly, staring strangely at me. “Such a rude intrusion does not become you.”
The hammer caught him on the right shoulder. His arm shot back. The knife fell to the floor, where I kicked it hard, sending it scuttering into the corner of the room. Delapole tumbled to his knees, his hand clutching the sleeve of his white shirt from which a single point of blood soon began to grow into a broad, round stain.
I took Rebecca’s arm. She stared at the Englishman, unable or unwilling to move. “We must go,” I told her. “Now.”