Free Nun (9781609459109) by Simonetta Agnello Hornby Page A

there she was four; it was in 1830, after the death of Francis I, whom her father called the “gentleman king.” She remembered the enchanted atmosphere of the Gulf of Naples, the roofs, the domes, and the bell towers that loomed taller and bigger before her eyes as the ship drew closer to the kingdom’s capital, sails bellying in the wind. “This great-hearted king had the courage to send away the Austrian army, which was here at a steep price to ‘protect’ the kingdom, though in reality all it had ever done was alienate the kingdom’s people. Since that day, the Neapolitan army,” and here her father thumped his chest in pride, “has protected the state better than they ever did.” Then, with a mischievous glance, he added, in a low voice: “And with the help of a few thousand Swiss! Let’s see what this boy king winds up doing!”
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    The welcome given them by their Padellani relations deeply moved Donna Gesuela and left her daughters open-mouthed in astonishment. A sumptuous funeral carriage was awaiting the coffin on the dock, with a military honor guard in full regalia. Everyone was there: Sandra, Agata’s third-eldest sister, with her husband Tommaso Aviello, their three married aunts with children and husbands and their cousin Michele, Prince Padellani, with his wife Ortensia; on his arm was Aunt Orsola, the dowager princess, Agata’s godmother. Aunt Orsola embraced mother and daughters and announced that they would be her guests and would stay in her apartment in Palazzo Padellani. After the religious function, with the cardinal of Naples, Vincenzo Padellani, the field marshal’s first cousin, officiating, the funeral procession made a slight detour in order to pass beneath the high walls of the convent of San Giorgio Stilita, where two of the aunts who had taken the habit now lived, born Antonina and Violante, now respectively Donna Maria Brigida and Donna Maria Crocifissa, the abbess. Agata had seen again—or met for the first time—other Padellani uncles and aunts and cousins, and she had exchanged a few shy words with His Eminence the Cardinal, who had expressly asked to have a conversation with her. He was a handsome middle-aged man with raven-black hair, imposing in his scarlet cassock; he had looked her up and down and, after questioning her, promised to find her a worthy confessor.
    Donna Gesuela, caught up in the condolence visits and other duties, saw very little of her daughters. Tense and drained of all verve though she might be, she never let her appearance slip: she wore the widow’s weeds with something bordering on flirtatious elegance and went out now accompanied by one relative, now by another, to discuss business or petition for an audience with the new king. Agata was beginning to understand that the king on whom so many were counting, and who was described as a benevolent and modernizing ruler, was actually a sanctimonious shut-in, remote from the populace and from the aristocracy. In order to approach him, it was necessary to penetrate an odious filter of chamberlains, courtiers, and majordomos. Her mother always returned home empty-handed, with neither a royal grace nor a pension. The sisters were often left alone in their aunt’s apartment. Anna Carolina actually preferred things that way, since she was reluctant to socialize with her female cousins and almost never spoke, remembering as she did that they had made fun of her, the last time, for her Sicilian accent. Agata, on the other hand, had established a warm and intimate bond with her aunt Orsola and enjoyed the company of her peers, but she was reluctant to leave her sister alone. She had no inhibitions about her Neapolitan; she spoke the dialect well, albeit with a Messina accent: she was the daughter who had spent the most time chattering away with her father, who had refused to learn to speak Sicilian.
    At the end of the second week, Aunt Orsola made it