Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [330]
Tobie said quietly, ‘You didn’t know about Marian?’
‘I don’t know even yet,’ Nicholas said. They had stopped outside the parlour.
‘But you guessed Anna would goad Julius as well.’ It wasn’t an accusation, or a piece of anxious self-questioning, or a dawning conviction. It sounded helpless.
‘I didn’t want to come,’ Nicholas said. He paused and said, ‘If you think it right, you can go back to their room.’
There was a long pause. Then Tobie said, ‘No.’
They took leave of their hostess and returned to the house of Adorne, where there was nothing to do. Tobie found a book and sat, seldom turning the pages. Nicholas went briefly to his room, but reappeared to sink into a chair before the handsome Sersanders fireplace. He did not speak. His sombre presence, indeed, seemed to have no purpose at all unless it was to wait out the night along with Tobie. It also demonstrated that, whatever happened, he was not taking it lightly. Whatever happened. Whatever he was allowing to happen.
The news came before dawn, with a hurried, ill-written note from Marguerite van Borselen at the Hôtel Gruuthuse. Mixed with the horror it conveyed was an apology: she and her husband had, after all, been warders of the young woman. Mixed with the apology was a grain of thankfulness: an awkward problem had been solved. Yet who would imagine that, after all these weeks, the Gräfin von Hanseyck would do such a thing?
Certainly, she had been distressed by the interview with her husband. Faced with his revulsion, reminded again of the public ignominy that lay ahead, she had been overcome, it was clear, with despair. Left alone for the merest moment, she had taken her tragic decision. By her own hand, Anna von Hanseyck was dead.
Tobie had leaped to his feet, but the messenger, a man of Marguerite’s own, had restrained him. ‘I was to tell you, Master Tobias, not to come. The lady is alas beyond help, and her husband has said he does not want company. My lord the Governor will see to all that has to be done, and Master Julius will continue to stay with him meanwhile. My lady’s advice is that M. de Fleury should go to Bruges, to her cousin his wife.’
By then, Nicholas was on his feet also, his face gaunt as it had been all night. In reply to Tobie’s glance, he made a voiceless sign of agreement and walked away, while Tobie sent off the man with a note and a coin. Then the doctor went and poured two cups of wine. ‘Justice,’ he said.
‘I don’t know if it was justice,’ Nicholas said. He had again dropped into a seat, his fist to his mouth. He removed his hand. ‘It curtailed the damage, I suppose.’
Tobie gave him his wine. ‘Did she take her own life?’ he said plainly.
‘I don’t know. Probably. He probably gave her the dagger. Oh Christ, Julius,’ Nicholas said. It was a cry, in a whisper.
‘He’ll get over it.’
Nicholas thought. He gave a laugh which had exasperation in it, as well as pity and anger. ‘In fact, you’re right. More than anyone, he probably will.’
‘And you?’ Tobie asked.
Nicholas rocked his cup, watching it. ‘She was graceful, beautiful, clever. We spent a long time together, much of it happy. It was hard sometimes to remember that she couldn’t be trusted. She had a sense of fun; she could be understanding, when she wanted to be. She was deeply musical, I discovered. But of course, she used it all for her own purposes.’
‘To hurt,’ Tobie said.
‘She had been hurt,’ Nicholas said. Then he said, ‘Bonne.’
Tobie said, ‘She’s in a convent. Father Moriz keeps in touch with her, and will tell her the Gräfin is dead. But I suspect Julius will not want to be responsible for her now.’
‘No. I shall. I shall have to look into it all. Is it possible?’ Nicholas said. He had not yet tasted his wine.
‘It is possible that your wife had a child. It has still to be proved that Bonne is that child,’ Tobie said.
‘I have to tell Gelis,’ Nicholas said to the air.
Tobie hesitated. Then he said, ‘Gelis made a journey to Dijon, while you were away.’ He did not drop his pale gaze.
Nicholas