Gemini (118 page)

After Beltrees, Nicholas had no hunger for territorial possessions, other than the houses he already owned. His business was well placed and thriving, and now his presence was permanent, he could expect to be bound into the fabric of the royal
familia
, with all the extra emoluments that implied. And there was music with Arnot and others, and the chance
perhaps to continue what he and Whistle Willie had begun. Go on, Andreas had said. Use your life to the full.

He had come to that point when, walking quickly, he found himself stopped. He had forgotten that the nuns of the Cistercian Priories had a house in the High Street of Edinburgh, and that the Prioress Euphemia might be there. It had never crossed his mind that Bonne might be there too; removed as a maiden without legal protection from Kilmirren House. He had killed Julius, her guardian. If that were to be endorsed as a just execution, he might be regarded as having some say, at least, in her future. He had been related to Julius’s late wife, Bonne’s supposed mother.

She did not seem, when he was ushered into the parlour, to be mourning her stepfather. Prioress Euphemia, seated beside her, displayed the air of aggressive self-possession that had barely changed since their encounter at Eccles. Following the attack on North Berwick, he had seen her in passing, at funerals, as he had seen Bonne. He had avoided them both.

Which had been unfair, he realised. He greeted them and was seated, without benefit of refreshment. The Prioress said, ‘There is no need to look quite so abashed. Nor am I about to recommend that you should replace the late unfortunate gentleman as the demoiselle’s tutor.’

‘I am sorry. Then, yourself?’ said Nicholas rather wildly. Bonne was studying her lap.

‘She may stay with me, if she so wishes. It will not be for long. She may also enjoy the spiritual guidance of Father Moriz. I wished to speak to you about her support in the meantime, and about the terms of her dowry. Assuming, of course, that you approve of the match.’

‘The match?’ Nicholas said.

‘She has not had an opportunity to tell you. But the lady of Cuthilgurdy appeared to think it quite suitable, and I am sure that Sister Monika will approve. The Charteris household was certainly unproductive of offers. You know the young man, of course. The son of Constantine Malloch.’

‘John Malloch,’ said Nicholas rather blankly. The child singer in his play eleven years ago. The brother of Muriella. The half-brother of Muriella, rumour went; born remarkably soon after his mother’s marriage but, naturally, accepted as his own son by Conn. It happened sometimes. He spoke to Bonne. ‘Are you happy?’

The hard, bright eyes surveyed him. ‘Of course. Would I have accepted him otherwise?’

The Prioress continued. ‘The family is, of course, modest in means, and not well placed, so close to the Border. But the maternal uncle was a merchant, and there are connections abroad. Bonne may find herself pursuing an interesting marriage in other countries.’ She refrained from
adding the obvious. Bonne had no money. This was the best she could hope for.

Nicholas said, ‘If she wants it, then of course I agree. Might I discuss it with her?’

‘Of course,’ said the Prioress, and rose. She left the door open.

Nicholas reseated himself, and Bonne looked up. Nicholas said, ‘This isn’t too hasty a decision?’

Her smile was tolerant. ‘A recoil from the death of my stepfather? No.’

‘You have never thought of finding a husband in Germany?’

‘Why?’ she said. ‘The Graf, I fear, was not my father. I doubt very much that my mother was Adelina de Fleury. I think Father Moriz came close to proving that she was not. And if she was not, then who am I?’

‘I don’t know, Bonne,’ he said.

‘And if you did, you wouldn’t tell me. You don’t want me as your daughter, M. de Fleury?’ the girl said. ‘That was one possibility, wasn’t it? That I was born to your first wife at Damparis?’

‘I am sorry,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have tried to find out; so have others. It seems to have been a mischievous suggestion, no more. There is nothing to support it.’

‘Tasse knew the truth,’ the girl said. ‘She was at Damparis. Later, Julius had her killed.’

Her voice, mildly informative, had not changed. He remained, outwardly, equally calm. He said, ‘So I believe. How did you know?’

‘I overhear things,’ she said. ‘I pick locks, if I have to. We unprotected maidens cannot afford to be unduly decorous.’

‘And so,’ he said, ‘you made some discoveries.’ He had expected anger, resistance, certainly challenge. Instead, it was danger he sensed.

She said, ‘Certainly, I knew more than you did. I knew Julius and my so-called mother were using each other. I didn’t know you had guessed. Why didn’t you kill him?’

‘I did,’ Nicholas said.

Again, the contempt. She switched back. ‘Tasse. I had some sympathy for Julius when I found out. I guessed he didn’t want his wife recognised. But I didn’t expect him to have Tasse killed before he could question her. Tasse would know if Marian had borne a daughter who lived, and even perhaps what had become of her. I might be your legitimate heiress, and Julius my guardian. But he didn’t want that. He would rather know nothing at all than share his prospects with me.’

Nicholas said, ‘How do you know he didn’t question her?’ He didn’t want to be in the same room.

‘Because nothing happened,’ Bonne said. ‘If I had no claim, he would have made sure, these latter years, that I knew. If I had, he would have tried to get rid of me. Although, in a convent, that isn’t easy.’

‘So you knew what he was like,’ Nicholas said. ‘You didn’t think to warn anyone? If I had died, would he have supported you?’

‘What do you mean? I didn’t know anything,’ the girl said. ‘No one could prove that I did. Of course, if I had had some evidence against him, I could count on his support in the long term. As it was, it was simply a case of waiting to see who would win: you or Julius.’

‘You didn’t mind which,’ Nicholas said.

She considered. ‘Personally? Julius was handsome, but not very clever. You are quite a kind man. Reflect, if you will, on who gave Mistress Bel the information that sent your friends to help you at North Berwick.’

He met her eyes. She did not look away. He said, ‘Because, of course, you were going to need funds for a dowry.’

‘Of course,’ she said.

He didn’t want to talk to her any more. He said, ‘Where do you think you will live?’

She laughed. ‘You won’t have to meet me. John’s uncle had friends in the East. In Rhodes and Zakynthos. Is that sufficiently far?’

For him, it was. Leaving, he forced himself to think of her, and to persuade himself that she might have grown differently, in different hands. But she wasn’t like Henry. It had taken more than a mismanaged childhood to produce Bonne von Hanseyck. And he did not have the skill, or the desire, to put it right.

S
TANDING IN THE
High Street after that, with the thatch and the orchard-twigs flying, and the wind twisting his cloak, Nicholas did not want to go to Swift’s office to see Andro Wodman; and especially he did not want to go, after that, to Kilmirren. He wished he had no sense of duty. He remembered, painfully, what had just happened and resolved to do the best he could, this time at least.

He saw Wodman alone, and accepted ale, and talked about Adorne, who had saved Andro’s life, as well as his, by Castle Heaton. From there, Nicholas went on to speak of Jordan de St Pol.

‘You know him, Andro. He risked his own life, it seemed, to save my son from being shot at North Berwick. I haven’t thanked him, partly because I’m not sure that he’d wish me to, and partly because I’m not sure that I could. It seems to me, from what I heard recently, that I myself owe him remarkably little. I might enjoy telling him so, but it would only cause pain to Bel.’

Wodman was drinking ale from a chopin. He put it down. ‘What have you heard? Something you didn’t know? Who could tell you something new, now?’

And so Nicholas told him what Julius had said.

At the end, the Archer was quiet. Then he said, ‘I heard all that. I don’t know much more. I can tell you something of his loathing of Jaak; and of anything to do with men’s relationships with each other, or with children. It was an obsession that pursued him all his life, because of his beauty. Maybe you can still see what he was, beneath all that bulk. The fat is protective. Whether he invited it deliberately or not, I don’t know. But before he put on weight, he was as handsome as Simon, with twice the intelligence. Some of the Archers are married, but it is a closed community, as armies tend to be, and he was constantly pestered.

‘He also reacted too strongly. I don’t know, but I suspect he had already experienced something like it at home. I never met Alan, his brother. It became a competition, to try and captivate the magnificent Jordan, or tempt him at least. Even after he left the Guards, it dogged him, for he still lived in France, and within reach of them all. By that time I knew him, and I knew he would kill someone one day if it continued. As it was, I tackled the next man myself, and challenged him to a sword-fight, and he died. It was why I left the Guard. St Pol gave me work, and Simpson contrived to join me.’

‘But wasn’t he a liability too?’ Nicholas said. He kept his voice quiet.

Wodman said, ‘I warned him not to try and attract the old man, or he would be either thrown out or killed. Most of the work filtered through me. With my looks, I was considered reliable.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Nicholas said. He tried, as he always had done, to look at what had happened objectively, as if it had occurred to someone else. That it had been a forced marriage was known at the time; and so was Simon’s dislike of his wife: far older than he was; kept long unmarried by some doubt or timidity no one had plumbed. Sophie’s second child had arrived when he had long been out of the country, and the dates of birth had never been properly proved. There was only one certainty: that Simon had not been near his wife between the two births. Eager for any excuse to end the marriage, Simon would find, to his delight, that he suddenly had his father’s full agreement. His father had belatedly found that the taint he abhorred existed in Simon’s wife’s family, and was now harboured, no doubt, in the child. He intimidated Sophie. He menaced the life of her son. He threatened to ruin Jaak’s business, and the reputation and business of Thibault, unless the child was brought up as a bastard, and did not bear the name of St Pol. He continued to threaten her until, alone, without any hope of help from her invalid father, she became afraid that she would make some mistake, and so offend her oppressor that her son would die. She thought it better to remove herself from her son’s life.

That had been the hardest part to accept. Once, Nicholas had said something of it to Jordan, but nothing to anyone else. It went too deep. As his understanding had grown with the years, so had the torment. He
had lost many mothers, many times. The mother who left without warning because he disappointed her; because she never cared for him; because he was wicked. The mother who took her own life—died—because he had failed her. The mother who took her own life—committed her soul to eternal misery—for his sake. Because she was afraid that, scared and hounded, she would do or say something that would harm him.

And, finally, the mother who loved him; who sacrificed herself for him; and yet could not trust him to help her; could not talk to him; could not envisage that he, even at seven, was staunch, determined, agile: a small bulwark, maybe, but there, only for her.

Marian de Charetty had seen all those things, no more than three years after that, and had trusted him. It was why he had loved her. It was the source of the greatest pain, that he stood between Marian and his mother, with all his mortgaged love, and no one to help him apportion it.

Wodman went on explaining. It fitted with what he already knew. The consequences of Sophie’s death could be imagined. When she died, Jordan de St Pol was out of the country. Thibault’s keepers knew nothing suspicious about Jaak. When St Pol returned, he found the child, apparently contented, performing menial work in the home of the same Jaak de Fleury, abuser of children. It confirmed all St Pol’s fears. It made it intolerable when, as the child grew, it became apparent that, however deprived, however unprepossessing, it was endowed with all the intelligence that his own son Simon lacked; and the power to attract affection, and happiness. After that had come the bitter scarring; the cynical whim of throwing Simon and Nicholas together, base coin and silver, to see what would happen. For by then, Monseigneur had also realised that the joyous lusts of the artisan Claes were not of the same cadre as Jaak’s. All the girls in Flanders seemed able to prove it.

One listened, and breathed. ‘And so he hit on the idea of setting me to vie with Simon?’ Nicholas said. ‘Let the best man win? What a large part of his life he seems to have devoted to this. I find myself wishing he had picked some other sport.’

‘Go and see him,’ Wodman said. ‘He won’t change his mind. He’ll never confess to the truth now. But if you want to punish him, show him finally what he has lost by repudiating you.’

Nicholas said, ‘Julius said much the same. I might be assured that I was Simon’s son, but there was no proof, and St Pol would never admit it.’

‘Does it matter?’ said Wodman. ‘Monseigneur knows who you are. So do you. You have no need of his name or his property. Go and see him. Tell him what you think of him: why not? But keep in mind how it started. It took a lot of misery to bend a man’s nature like that.’ He
stopped. He said, ‘You are very like him, you know. The way he should have been, maybe.’

‘So I have been told. I am trying not to believe it,’ Nicholas said. He thought of Bonne. He wished this day would end.

B
EL OF
C
UTHILGURDY
opened the door, when he crossed the road to the house of his grandfather, and he hesitated, even though he had been prepared. Within, Mistress Bel stood in her hall, arms almost folded, and snapped.

‘I hear it was Katelinje that made ye face Julius. So you might as weel ken it was me that sent Tobie to help. Adorne might be alive if I hadn’t.’