Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [179]
Katelijne Sersanders, nine months pregnant, sat breathing heavily while being told of her uncle’s solicitous gesture, and then sent for Dr Tobias and Mistress Clémence to attend her at once. When they did so, she closed the door, resumed her lodgement on a greatly quelled cushion and said, ‘All right. Dr Andreas is coming. What are you going to tell him?’
‘That we don’t need another doctor,’ Tobie snapped. Mistress Clémence cast her eyes upwards.
‘He knows that,’ said Kathi patiently. ‘My uncle doesn’t, but Andreas does. I’ll tell you why he is coming. Because he’s an astrologer. Because he’s inquisitive. Because, even, he’s got wind of what you and I and Gelis are doing, and would like to know more. In which case, do you think we should tell him?’
‘No,’ said Tobie.
‘Um,’ said the nurse. Tobie looked at her, astonished.
‘I thought it might be Um,’ said Kathi, with a kind of fond irritation. ‘Suppose you both go off and discuss it? It’s time you reached some sort of decision. But don’t take too long, or you’ll have to explain to more than one of us.’ The door closed, and Kathi took up her sewing and dropped it, casting about for a while before she discovered it on her lap.
In Mistress Clémence’s parlour, Tobie took one or two turns while Clémence stood, in her composed way, and watched him. Tobie came to a halt. ‘Those letters from Gelis are private. You and I know what’s in them, and Kathi. But it isn’t Andreas’s affair. I don’t think we should tell him.’
‘Probably not,’ Mistress Clémence remarked. Within the closely pinned linen, her plain face was remarkably placid.
‘Then what else,’ Tobie said, ‘are we supposed to be talking about?’ He had reddened.
‘We don’t seem to be talking about anything,’ Clémence said, in the same friendly way. ‘Unless I give you a hint. Dr Andreas has a close friend in France. Her home is in Blois, near Coulanges, and he visits her regularly.’
Mistress Clémence came from Coulanges. ‘He knows your family? You never said.’ Tobie, frowning, dragged off his cap. The lateral puffs of faded hair stood in disarray. Mistress Clémence, looking at them, stirred as if moved to delve in her apron. She desisted.
Unexpectedly, Tobie laughed. He said, ‘Your comb has Jodi’s name on it. You mean that there is gossip, and Andreas will have heard it, or may spread it? Gossip about you and me?’
‘And Master Nicholas,’ Clémence said. ‘We are all bound together. Certainly, there are some things Dr Andreas had better not know, but there are others he must.’
‘But we are talking about you and me,’ Tobie said. When narrowly trained, his gaze, of a very pale blue, appeared shrewish in its intensity. Three feet separated them. Of the two, she was a little the taller and, surprisingly, very much younger.
She said, ‘I suppose so. The case history by now is quite extensive. It may be time for a diagnosis.’
Her self-command, added to a touch of amusement, steadied him. He took out his handkerchief, waited, and sneezed into it neatly. Then he put it away. ‘Very well. First, the facts of the case. The patient is forty-four years of age, of a choleric disposition, with a rude past and a record of transient commerce.’
‘None of it promising,’ Clémence said thoughtfully. She brightened a little. ‘He has shown himself, in recent times, capable of a certain constancy. But perhaps appearances are misleading?’
‘In this case, no,’ Tobie said. ‘But with age, there is