Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [117]
‘Such as the fact that you are keeping her in France while I am fighting for the opposite side,’ observed Austin.
‘I am not,’ said Crawford acidly, ‘keeping her in France in my present situation. Tu me verrois secher sous le poids de mes fers/Comme un troupeau que voit un berger de travers. She may promptly depart for Scotland. There is still a slight hitch. The French bought my loyalty with an awe-bond. Unless I fight for them for a year, my marriage to Philippa will not be annulled.’
For a moment, such was his dislike of the conversation, it seemed to Austin that the arrogant, unprincipled man opposite him was asking him to abet an attempt at escape. He said, ‘The fact that you have been captured in French service could hardly …’ and broke off suddenly.
‘… be held against me? Unfortunately, the fact that I have turned informer most certainly would. There is really only one thing they can do in retaliation, and that is to make sure that wherever I go, I can never legitimately marry. A pity. My mistress, they tell me, has sold her favours elsewhere, but the Tsar had made me another and most attractive offer. You have not, I take it, any intimate acquaintance with Russian womanhood?’
Austin Grey made no effort to answer. Instead he said, ‘I think this discussion has ceased to serve any useful purpose. I have to report to my uncle.’
‘Because,’ said Crawford, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘you ought to remember that Philippa has been trained in Turkey and will expect certain standards if you mean to make an impression, whether as her first client or her bigamous husband. I could provide some instruction.’
Austin walked to the door.
‘Or a demonstration?’ said the other man wistfully. ‘You can’t be keeping all these randy English contented in Ham without some help from a hot-house. I’m afraid my keepers have locked you in and gone off. Perhaps they are consoling themselves. Have you ever killed anyone. Austin?’
‘No.’ said Austin. He ceased hammering on the door and swung round, his colour hot in each cheek. ‘I am an easy object for all your mockery. I have never killed a man or taken a woman, or betrayed my nation or those who are paying me …’ He controlled himself, hard. He said, ‘I have waited a long time for Philippa. I can wait still.’
‘You can,’ said Crawford reminiscently, ‘but I fear the Schiatti cousins won’t, whose willingness be the touchstone and trial of their fidelity. I should hurry … They may sell her by inch of candle if you don’t get her home soon, and simply no one can outbid a banker.’
At last, at last the idiot keepers came to the door and Austin left swiftly without speaking, his head high, controlling his nausea. An effusion, gently derisive, tainted the close air behind him.
‘And from the sword (Lord) save my soule
By thy myght and power …’
The door of the prison chamber shut and locked. The voice, lower keyed, persisted floridly.
‘And keep my Soule, thy darling deare,
From dogs that would devour …’
Austin was out of hearing. Alone, Francis Crawford continued, lightly, stubbornly with his amusement.
‘And from the Lion’s mouth that would
Me all in sunder shiver
And from the hornes … of Unicornes
They were watching him through the Judas-grille.
‘Oh, Christ!’ said Francis Crawford on a sudden, harsh breath. His voice split on it, curiously. He flung himself off the table and snatching up the quill pen hurled it with violence this time straight for the opening.
The peep-hole door rattled shut. He subsided with force on a field-chest, his face driven into the arch of his fingers, and might have slept, for all anyone saw to the contrary.
*