The Party

A scene from my Fidelio novel:

The night of the party was clear and cool. Leonora, in the fanciest of her black gowns, drove to Fernando’s home with Daniele, Amalia and Helena. Fernando’s villa was lit brightly, and carriages swarmed the courtyard, each vying to leave their passengers closest to the front doors. Seeing this madness, Leonora and her relatives left their carriage away from the maddening swarm and walked up the cobbled drive. As they walked, Lenora fussed with her mantilla, plucking at it. The lace flowed over her shoulders, a dramatic addition to her mourning. Amalia took her hand and pulled it away from its ceaseless folding and smoothing.

“You look wonderful, Leonora,” she soothed. “Do not fret.”

Leonora shot her friend a grateful look, even though Amalia was completely wrong about the reason for her anxiety. At least she was trying.

The villa was stuffed with people, for Fernando, as Minister of Justice, was a very important man. The man himself stood at the door to greet his guests, resplendent in brocaded silk. His lovely wife, Doña Nuria, stood beside him, wearing the most incredible, peacock blue dress that Leonora had ever seen. A stabbing of envy pricked at her heart. Seeing Nuria in that magnificent color filled Leonora with shameful jealousy. Florestan would have loved that color on her. She forced it from her mind. Now was not the time to mourn her losses, but to search for information. Leonora straightened her spine and sailed into the receiving line after Helena.

“Leonora! It’s wonderful to see you, madama!” cried Fernando, kissing Leonora’s cheeks. “Nuria told me that you had accepted the invitation, but I scarcely dared to believe it.”

Leonora smiled. “I wanted to see all of our friends,” she said mildly. “And I will admit it, Helena and my father insisted.”

Fernando laughed. “Good for them, I say. We have all missed you, my girl.”

“Leonora,” exclaimed Nuria, turning away from Daniele. “Come inside, my dear, and I will introduce you. There are many people here from outside our circle that I am sure you do not know. I scarcely know them all myself.”

Nuria put her arm through Leonora’s and propelled her into the villa. Glancing back, Leonora saw her own party swallowed up in the crowd, and could only hope that she would be able to find them again before dinner began. If not, she was doomed to an evening of questions about her mourning.

The surge parted before Nuria and Leonora. They went through the chambers, Nuria introducing Leonora to everyone she deemed interesting or important. Within five minutes, Leonora could not remember the names of half of the people she had met. “This is the largest party we have ever hosted here,” Nuria murmured to her. “Two hundred guests. I’ve been studying everyone’s names and positions for a month. Half of the men here are political rivals that Fernando was forced to invite.”

Leonora smiled. “Be careful with your wine, or else you may be finding guests well into tomorrow.” Nuria laughed.

They were all fine people. Leonora was no stranger to grandeur: Florestan was the younger son of a lord, and Leonora herself had grown up accustomed to all of the etiquette that surrounded nobility. Ten months out of society, however, had put her out of touch with many of these people, and Leonora found herself secretly grateful to Helena and Amalia for insisting that she wear the very finest of her mourning gowns, with its beads and lace and flounces, and that her hair was dressed properly. Womanly armor. With it, she did not have to worry about anyone judging her as anything less than a properly attired widow.

“And this gentleman is Don Pizarro de Miramontes,” Nuria said, yanking Leonora out of her thoughts as effectively as if she had poured cold water over her head. Leonora went cold, staring at the man. He was tall, dressed all in dark velvet with a powdered wig on his head. He exuded power, and, it seemed to Leonora, a sense of menace. This was the man that Florestan had mentioned so often in his journal, the one he was especially concerned about. Leonora gazed at him, wondering what he was doing here. Was he also one of Fernando’s rivals, or had circumstances changed since Florestan vanished? Nuria went on, unnoticing. “Don Pizarro, may I introduce Doña Leonora Serrano, still in mourning for her late husband, Don Florestan.”

Don Pizarro bowed, not taking his eyes from Leonora. Something passed through them that Leonora could not quite define. Was it satisfaction? Or vindication? Leonora bowed back automatically. What had that look in his eyes meant? It was certainly not pity.

“A pleasure to meet you, madama,” Pizarro said, and indeed, he looked quite pleased. “I am sorry to hear of your loss. Was it recent?”

“A year ago,” Leonora replied, watching him. There it was again: that flash of something in Pizarro’s eyes. She wondered if Nuria saw it.

“It must be so hard,” Pizarro said, and Leonora knew that she did not mistake the false pity in his voice. This man did not regret Florestan’s supposed death, nor Leonora’s mourning. From his tone, he was only following custom; from his eyes, she knew that he relished it. Leonora’s heart slammed against her ribs. Why? Even Florestan’s lesser rivals had sent letters of condolence in the early days. Why was Don Pizarro so clearly relishing this encounter? Alarm began to fill Leonora. Nuria must have sensed it, for she bowed and pulled Leonora away, out of the drawing room and into a small side chamber.

“I should have kept you away from him,” she murmured. “I apologize. I was not thinking and did not realize that he would so blatantly lack pity. Pizarro is not a kind man.”

Leonora shook her head. “It’s quite all right, Nuria. Really.”

At dinner, Leonora automatically fulfilled her part in the conversations around her, but her mind was not on small talk. Don Pizarro sat just four places away from her, and Leonora’s eyes kept sliding to him, wondering. Florestan had suspected this man of corruption. Had he had something to do with Florestan’s disappearance? The relish with which he spoke to Leonora testified to some cruel emotion gripping him. Leonora ate what was placed in front of her, was sweet and charming to her neighbors, and all the time wondered what to do next. One thing was certain: she had an indication that her suspicions were correct. Florestan had investigated Don Pizarro, and now he was gone, and Pizarro was glad. The time had come for her to corner Daniele and force him to tell her all he knew about Don Pizarro.