Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [77]
Kathi stared at her, and then fell back on modified discretion. ‘You’d have to ask Julius. It would have been a good match, of course, if he’d been Simon’s son. He would have had lands and a title in Scotland, and another title in France: his maternal grandfather was the vicomte de Fleury. But I rather think they married for love.’
And Anna had laughed and said, ‘I think there is no doubt about that. She is ravishing. But there is a son, and I wondered if, for his sake … Kathi? May I confide in you?’
Kathi glanced round. Their voices had been low, and were now further drowned by the roar as someone brought down the second-last bit of the parrot. She saw without surprise that the marksman was Julius, and that Robin’s seat now lay vacant beside her. Men. She turned back. ‘I don’t know very much about Nicholas.’
Anna said, ‘I should never want you to say more than you wanted. But I am a little bewildered. Nicholas has asked if, one day, his son might marry my daughter.’
‘Bonne?’ Kathi said. Only the fastest of wits kept her voice level.
‘Or, perhaps, any daughter Julius and I might have. I feel,’ said Anna wryly, ‘rather like Gelis’s family must have felt at her betrothal. Of course we are fond of Nicholas too, but I wish I could see his future more clearly. If I ask you about him, that is why.’ She broke off. ‘That is all I wanted to say. Look! Robin is going to shoot!’
Kathi gazed at the field, her eyes blind. She realised that they were blinded not only by amazement but by the bulky forms of two men who had just arrived in front of her uncle. One was familiar: a servant from their own house in Thorn. And the stranger accompanying him was a courier whose travel-stained dress bore the badges of Burgundy. The stranger knelt, and her uncle took the packet he proffered.
It was wrapped in wax cloth, which he opened. Kathi saw that the papers within bore a seal, which looked to her like the great seal of Burgundy. Adorne’s fingers hovered over it. On the field there was a roar of approval for whatever Robin had done that she would now never see. Under the awning, heads had turned, including those of Jerzy Bock and Jan Sidinghusen. Word was flying from one end of the ground to the other. Charles of Burgundy has rushed a letter to Anselm Adorne, his ambassador. Will you take a wager on what it says? No?
The courier stood. Adorne looked at the half-open packet in his hands. Anna rose and, glancing at Kathi, tactfully withdrew to her seat beside Julius. Kathi watched Adorne unfold the missive and scan it. His face flushed, and then patchily drained. Presently he refolded it and spoke to the courier, who turned with his conductor to leave. The President said, ‘It is not bad news, I trust, my dear lord?’
Adorne looked at him. ‘News, certainly; but nothing that need disturb so gracious an occasion. Pray do not concern yourself. I shall deal with it later.’
Kathi closed her lips, which had parted. She heard behind her the happy bustle of Robin’s return, qualified as he realised that something had happened. The President, displeased, watched the courier leave and then, excusing himself, rose and walked to the edge of the field. The foot competitions concluded, and the preliminary announcements for the prize-giving began, after which there would take place the closing demonstration.
Adorne, collecting his papers, leaned over slightly and gave them to Robin. ‘Perhaps you would take care of these?’ His look, unmistakably, invited his niece and her husband to read. They did so together, at speed, crouched over the small, black angular letters as if they were chicken bones.
Charles, Duke of Burgundy to the most excellent Anselm Adorne, Baron