Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [101]
‘You’ve heard the rumours. I now have better news directly from Danzig. Meester Julius is not dead. He has been injured in an accident but, although badly hurt, is recovering. His wife waited to be sure he was out of danger, and has now gone to do business in Caffa, with the help of the Patriarch of Antioch, who is to fulfil Lord Cortachy’s mission at Tabriz as well as his own. Lord Cortachy is returning home, that is true, but he has managed to complete some successful contracts with the Danzigers: I have details here. And lastly, his niece and her husband are coming home also, for a very good reason.’ She looked across smiling at Margot. ‘The lady of Berecrofts is with child. I think we should drink to that, and the other news. Goro, bring out the wine.’
He had begun to fetch it already. She sat down, the room ringing with relieved voices. She had not mentioned her husband but, for the moment, nobody cared. Julius was safe, and so was his wife, safely chaperoned by Ludovico da Bologna, of whom Zeno, of course, had said nothing.
The voice of Jodi said shrilly, ‘What child is Kathi with?’ and then broke off as someone chuckled. Mistress Clémence bent over and whispered; then, rising, drew the child from his chair and, curtseying, led him from the room. His voice faded. Tobie, who had not taken his seat, also left the room quietly. When Mistress Clémence presently emerged from the nursery alone, shutting the door, she found him waiting for her.
‘He is jealous. He misses his father,’ she said.
‘Nicholas has gone to Caffa with the woman,’ Tobie said. ‘It would have been better if Julius had killed him.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ said the nurse. ‘The priest is with them, in any case.’
‘When did that ever stop Nicholas?’ Tobie said.
‘Come into my parlour,’ Mistress Clémence said, and opened the door.
She did not curtsey or address him with ceremony and had not done so for some time, but he never thought of the omission, any more than he had noticed when it began. To an outsider, they were two professionals, nurse and doctor. To themselves, it was the same.
He had grown to trust her in Scotland, once he had become accustomed to her tart speech and tendency towards boldness. She had proved quick-witted at Trèves. Since his birth, she had been an excellent nurse and a stern but fair mentor to Jodi. Tobie believed that the woman had had a fair understanding of Nicholas, and supposed that the revelations of the previous winter had been as much a blow to her as they had been to himself. When Nicholas’s wife had reacted as she had done, daring to take up the business in Venice, Tobie had been impressed, rather than sorry for her, and had decided, since the company needed a doctor, to return to his old role.
Since then, he had seen a great deal of Clémence, who was now Jodi’s only nurse, and who also gave her services, in her neat, angular way, to Gelis, Margot, or any who she thought required or deserved them. She was athletically thin, with a depressed Gallic nose and globular irises black as obsidian: he had never seen her brows, never mind her hair, both of which were permanently concealed under a hood of impeccable white linen. Her ankles were the finest he had ever caught sight of, to the extent of being disturbing. The doctor was in his early forties, and reckoned her to be ten years younger perhaps. It was at this stage of their acquaintance that, not so long ago, he had received his real blow: he had discovered Mistress Clémence by chance in a rival office, selling information for money.
The Bank in question had connections with Bruges, which was why he was there. Curiosity and a chance-open door led him to glimpse the woman ensconced in a chair, handing over a document to a clerk who, in return, took out and passed across