The Witch of Napoli (13 page)

“….The bell will be coated with this carbon lampblack.” He looked pointedly at me. “Anyone who manages to touch the bell will find a surprise left behind on their fingertips. Should any movement or levitation of the bell occur, we will stop the sitting immediately and I will conduct a careful inspection. Further, the bell itself will sit under this….”

He lifted out a large glass vase, flipped it over, and dropped it over the bell.

“…to discourage the use of strings, wires, sticks or other popular tools of the trade commonly employed by ‘spirits’ to move an object in the dark.”

Renard leaned back in his chair, a look of amusement on his face. “Rather clever, Nigel.”

“Indeed. Well done, sir,” added Sapienti. Next to him, Lombardi sat in silence.

Huxley peered into the box. “Oh – and one final change to Dr. Lombardi’s protocol in Naples.” He pulled out a length of thin cord. “This time,
Signora
Poverelli will be tied to the chair, hand and foot.”

Renard put down his wine glass. “Isn’t that a bit too much, Nigel?”

Huxley bristled. “I never underestimate the acrobatic skills of these charlatans.”

“But that presumes in advance that
Signora
Poverelli is a charlatan. Come, Nigel, your experimental controls are ingenious and quite formidable without the ropes. I’m not sure I would agree to be tied to a chair for two hours, unable to scratch my nose or shift my legs.”

Lombardi spoke up.

“That’s not the point. He wants to humiliate her.” He stared at Huxley. “Don’t you?”

Huxley returned his stare. “My sitting, my rules.”

Lombardi stood up. “This is supposed to be a science experiment, not an Inquisition. But have it your way.” He nodded to me.

“Tommaso, go get Alessandra.”

T
ommaso do this. Tommaso do that.

It was annoying, but you do what the boss says. The donkey gets hitched wherever the master wants. My neck was already sunburned from the row out to the island, and I fell on my ass when I slid down the slope to the beach. Alessandra had waded out into the water with Henri, her skirt tucked between her legs, playing fetch with Barbet. I shouted to her, but their backs were to me and the breeze was blowing onshore. I removed my shoes and socks, rolled up my trousers, and waded out. She finally saw me and they splashed back, chased by Barbet who shook himself off vigorously, soaking my clothes.

“You’re needed at the cottage,” I grumbled. I didn’t like seeing Alessandra with Henri. You can’t trust a Frenchman. “
Signor
Huxley has laid out the rules for the sitting and I’m not sure you’re going to like them all.”

“Tell me,” she laughed.

As we walked back I filled her in. The lampblack and vase didn’t bother her, but when I told her about the ropes, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Never!”

She started pacing around in a circle, her fists clenched, then collapsed to her knees on the sand and let out a howl. I was completely bewildered. The ropes would be humiliating, but refusing would naturally invite suspicion. Her reaction didn’t make any sense.

I slid down next to her, unsure of what to do. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and you could see she was trying to work something out in her mind, jabbing the ground with her stick, and rocking back and forth. She finally turned to me.

“Tommaso, I can’t……I won’t. I’ll return to Naples first!”

“But why?”

She swiped her tears angrily, jumped to her feet and set off running. Henri grabbed Barbet’s leash and we hurried after her.

Lombardi and the others were still on the verandah, sampling a cognac Renard had trotted out, when Alessandra marched over to the table and grabbed Huxley by the arm.

“No ropes,” she declared. “Or I go home.”

Everyone stared at her in stunned silence. She looked like a madwoman, her face flushed, her hair wind-tangled, her eyes puffy. Huxley put down his snifter, looked at Lombardi, then back at Alessandra.

“You prefer to withdraw?”

“I won’t be tied down,” she repeated.

Lombardi spoke up. “She’s not offering to withdraw. She’s asking you to skip the ropes.”

“No! My sitting, my rules. Or we can skip this whole charade and enjoy the weekend.” He turned to Alessandra, a smirk on his face. “What are you afraid of, my dear?”

“Nothing!” she shot back.

“What are
you
afraid of?” Lombardi said, rising to his feet. “That she’ll succeed? Use your lampblack and your vase, sir, and let’s get on with it.”

Renard reached over and rang the bell.

“Nigel, we’ve all come a long way. I for one would be greatly disappointed to leave without a test.”

Huxley hesitated. He could insist, but it would be “bad form” as the Brits say – a mortal sin in Huxley’s social circle. He swirled the Courvoisier in his snifter, swallowed it, and set the glass down.

“Fine with me.”

That evening, Capucine served up a delicious seafood bouillabaisse for dinner, better than anything I ever ate in Naples. Renard kept us entertained during the meal with a humorous description of his visit to Stockholm to receive his Nobel medal, but Lombardi was distant and quiet. He seemed very nervous.

Alessandra wasn’t – she had seconds and chattered away with Sapienti. As Capucine and Henri cleared the table, Sapienti invited us all outside to see the stars. Huxley begged off to go paint his bell and arrange the séance room. The sky that night was spectacular, and Sapienti, energized by Alessandra’s flirtations, outdid himself pointing out various constellations and planets.

Afterwards, I headed to my room to fetch the tripod and camera for the sitting, since Lombardi wanted me to visually document the layout of the séance room before we began. As I passed the kitchen, Henri pulled me aside. Between his pantomimes and broken Italian, I finally understood what he wanted to tell me. While we were outside, Huxley had slipped into Alessandra’s room and rummaged through our bags. Henri didn’t know why, but I did. Huxley was looking for devices he was convinced we had brought with us.

A
t eight o’clock, Huxley locked the door and bolted the wooden shutters.

Gaston and his family had been dismissed for the night, and we crowded into the séance room. It was a tight fit. I set up my tripod in the corner assigned me, right behind Huxley’s chair. Lombardi was banished to the end of the table along with Sapienti, and Huxley and Renard took their seats flanking Alessandra where they would control her hands and feet. I made sure the photo showed everyone’s position, as well as the blackened bell sitting under the glass vase on the table. Huxley had placed the oil lamp on a small side table, the wick trimmed high. The room was definitely brighter than in Naples. Lombardi looked unusually somber.

None of them joined Alessandra in the opening prayer – Sapienti and Renard weren’t religious, and Huxley wasn’t about to pray with her – but Alessandra appeared confident.

Maybe she was overconfident, or maybe it was the brighter light, but she struggled from the start.

She fidgeted and sighed as she settled down, closing her eyes and calling on the spirits for several minutes, then re-opening them to stare at the bell – back and forth, back and forth she went. I stood behind Huxley, the camera squeeze bulb in my fist, ready to fire if anything happened. Maybe twenty minutes into the sitting, she turned to Huxley.

“You’re holding my wrist too tight. It hurts.” Huxley ignored her. A short while later, she turned to him again.

“I need a glass of water. Let go of me.” She nodded towards a pitcher Capucine had stationed on the sideboard. Huxley shook his head.

“Dr. Sapienti can bring it to you.”

“But I need to stretch my legs!”

Huxley smiled. “I’m sure you do.”

It was clear Huxley wasn’t going to let Alessandra out of his grip for a moment. I wondered when Alessandra would give up and call Savonarola. As Rossi said, when the spirits didn’t show up, she inevitably called on him.

We didn’t have to wait long.

Alessandra finally bent her head, closed her eyes, and began mumbling the disturbing incantation she used in Naples.

“
Babbo
…
Babbo
!…
Per favore! Per favore
!” Father! Father, please come!

Huxley partially blocked my view, but I anticipated everything that followed – the slump against Renard’s shoulder, the head falling forward, the convulsions as the demon took possession of her twitching body, then …

Sapienti grabbed the table and gasped.

“My God! Look at her face!”

“Disbelievers!”
A chilling hiss filled the room. “
You demand signs and wonders, even as the Devil prepares your place in Hell
.”

Alessandra’s head swiveled to face Huxley, and once again I saw Savonarola’s sickly, green eyes sweep the room. The heavy-lidded, reptilian gaze locked on Huxley.

“My Alessandra begs, but I am tired of your games. I will show you nothing.”

Huxley started clapping.

“
Brava, Signora
Poverelli. You really should be in theater. The voice! The facial contortions! The change of eye color – tell me, how did you accomplish that? I’m guessing a drop of methyl green slipped into the eye while we were distracted?”

The entity remained silent, its unblinking eyes fixed on Huxley.

Huxley looked around the table. “It’s a show. Don’t you see? That’s all it is.” He started to reach for Alessandra, and the green eyes burned brighter.

“Do not touch my beloved!”

The menace in the command was palpable.

Huxley hesitated, then drew back his hand. He seemed unnerved.

“Very well,
Signora
, have it your way. I expected it might come to this.” He got up, walked over to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of water, then returned to his seat. I noticed a tremble in his hand.

“Let’s play a game, shall we? You can be Fra Savonarola.” He forced a smile. “At Cambridge, my alma mater, I had the pleasure of attending a most informative class in medieval Italian history. Unfortunately, it was some years ago, and I’ve forgotten most of it. Since you were there, I’m sure you can help me with a few facts….”

It was a brilliant trap. Huxley had obviously planned it in advance, and knew the answers to the questions he was about to ask. If Alessandra were play-acting, she was caught. She knew nothing about Italian history – she could barely read. Across from me, Renard had immediately picked up on it. So had Lombardi. Huxley took a sip of water.

“Now, you were born in Florence, if I recall correctly….”

“Serpent!”
the voice hissed.
“You know I was born in Ferrara.”

The shock on Huxley’s face was unmistakable. He stared at Alessandra, mouth open.

“I…I… yes, Ferrara…” he stammered. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“And you were the only child of…”

“There were seven of us.”

Huxley sat there dumbfounded.

“Your mother’s name?”

“Elena.”

“Damn you! Your father?”

“Niccolo.”

“Grandfather’s name? Tell me that!”

“
Michele.
”

“Enough of this!” Huxley yelled. “Rossi schooled you, didn’t he? He’s in on this. I should have guessed. But we’re not here to test your memory.” He pointed to the glass vase in the center of the table.

“Move the bell, damn you, or admit you’re a fraud!”

The hooded green eyes narrowed, and a sneer appeared.

“What if I move you instead?”

Huxley’s chair was suddenly yanked from under him, dumping him on the floor. As the chair flew backwards, it knocked over the tripod, and I ended up on my backside too. Sapienti stared at us. Lombardi had a triumphant grin on his face.

Huxley reached over and grabbed me by the collar.

“You! You did that!” he shouted, his face purple with rage. “You’re working with her!”

“Nigel! Stop!” Renard scrambled around the table and separated us. “I saw Tommaso the whole time. He didn’t touch your chair.”

“The hell he didn’t!”

At that moment, the bell rang.

Everyone turned back to the table. The bell was now outside the glass jar, lying on its side. Alessandra was slumped forward in her chair, face down on the table.

“Nobody touch it!” Huxley screamed, pushing us back.

He grabbed the oil lamp and examined the bell, searching for marks in the lampblack. Nothing. He seized Alessandra’s hands and inspected her fingers. Again, nothing. They were clean. He turned to us, barely able to contain his fury.

“The chair was a diversion,” he shouted. “We looked away, she moved the bell.”

“But how?” Renard demanded. “There’s no marks on the bell.”

“They’re clever – I warned you! That’s why you use the ropes!” He slammed his fist on the table, and leaned down to Alessandra. “You think I’m some dumb, gullible Italian
paesano?
You’re a fraud, and I won’t let you get away with this.”

O
n the train back to Torino, they argued fiercely.

Huxley was the odd man out. Renard and Sapienti had seen enough to join Lombardi’s camp. Alessandra needed to be investigated by Science. Huxley would only agree to attend the press conference.

The day of the announcement, we picked up Alessandra at the asylum before heading to the Minerva Club. Lombardi wanted to keep her away from the press, but Renard convinced him he couldn’t hide her forever. On the way over, Lombardi sternly warned Alessandra not to say anything.

“Dr. Renard or I will handle any questions from reporters,” he said. He pointed his cane at her. “And stay away from Huxley. I don’t want any incidents.”

The library was jam-packed when we entered. A buzz of excitement filled the air. Renard had arrived early and was surrounded by a crowd. Sapienti and Gemelli were huddled in animated conversation in the back of the room, where a photographer from
La Stampa
was busily polishing his camera lens. I recognized a dozen other gentlemen in the audience who had attended Lombardi’s first talk. Baranov had returned to St. Petersburg, but Dr. Parenti was there, and he hurried over when he spied Alessandra.