Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [279]
That night, they had been entertained at the castle at ’s-Gravenhage. Descending the steps in the candlelit morning, Gelis saw the white of frost through the door and heard the icy clarity of the sounds from the stables, as the wagons for the Duchess’s ladies were brought out and harnessed: it was becoming too cold to ride. Yesterday, the sea had crawled sluggish and grey to its shore. The weather was closing in, and soon, they must make back for Ghent. She and Nicholas were not going to meet on this journey.
Jodi came hopping towards her, along with Manoli in his dazzling cuirass and Clémence in the furred, hooded cloak which was just rich enough for a physician’s wife without appropriating the rank of a noblewoman. Clémence, the correct, the discreet; who knew all that Tobie knew, but did not speak unless asked.
But now, she had news. ‘Have you heard? A courier has come from the Duke. It is confirmed at last. His daughter Marie is to marry the son of the Emperor. Official rejoicing is ordered.’ Her dark eyes added what her voice did not say. Official rejoicing might well have to be ordered: not every town would produce it spontaneously. The marriage was to take place which had been on the table at Trèves, in return for the royal standing Charles craved. The Emperor, escaping from that, had simply waited for time. And now Frederick was to marry his son into Burgundy, and no sceptre or crown need change hands, for Burgundy needed the Emperor’s help.
Then she said, ‘Also, there are other arrivals, I am told; among them a man, travelling west, who heard of your presence and has asked to be permitted to see you.’
Gelis stood without speaking. She heard Clémence say, ‘It may not be whom you expect. Let me take Jodi away. He can come back when we leave.’
She let him go. It could be anyone. Since she became a banker, and wealthy, unknown relatives and forgotten acquaintances had become eager to meet her. Then she saw, making his way between the chattering groups, the piles of luggage, the hurrying servants, a man whose cloak was lined and turned back with ermine and whose face was shadowed by glorious sables. She caught the sober intensity of his gaze as he saw her; saw his fine-gloved hand lifted in tentative greeting; glimpsed, even, that someone followed behind him.
The man advanced. As he drew nearer, Gelis observed that he was less than tall, and that his eyes were not unusually open and grey, or his cheeks furrowed with dimples. Indeed, the face beneath the fur hat was classically handsome, its cheek-bones distinctively high, its nose Roman.
The man coming towards her was Julius. And the slender figure pressing towards her, and taking her tenderly in her arms — the girl with the pure face, the dark hair, the subtle, unmistakable scent was the Gräfin Anna von Hanseyck, his wife.
If there was anything Gelis had learned in the years of her torment with Nicholas, it was how to disguise her feelings. She returned Anna’s embrace cheek to cheek, and stretched to give her free hand to the lawyer. ‘Julius! We were so distressed. I am so thankful to see you.’ They had once thought him dead. Towards Julius, her relief and pleasure were genuine. She saw by the flush on his grave face that he recognised it.
He had enfolded her hand when Anna suddenly drew in her breath and pulled away from them both, her hand to her side.
Gelis said, ‘Anna? Is something wrong?’
Julius, his arm round his wife, his face dark, began to say something, but Anna herself interrupted. She straightened, shaking her head. She was white. ‘It is nothing. You will hear of it later. My dear, we have news to break to you first.’ She glanced up at Julius.
Gelis said, ‘Let me send for some wine. And don’t think you have to break news about Nicholas. We know they