Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [189]
But she could hardly know it, for she said, looking from one to the other, ‘Do you know each other?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Leonard Bailey. He did not move but stood, heavily expansive, on the threshold. Behind him two … men-servants? soldiers?—had occupied positions at each doorpost in silence. Bailey continued. ‘Madame de Sevigny has not had time to tell you who her husband is. You may know him merely as the Count of that designation, but I have to enlighten you, Madame Roset. His own name is Francis Crawford, and he is my great-nephew, the rogue, and that same base-born infant you tell me you delivered here in this house to Lady Culter.’
He smiled, with his strong lips, at Philippa. ‘Sybilla was kind enough to let me have the use of her house while I am in Paris. A charming bower for lovers. Do you not envy me?’
Nymphs, severe, delightful, gazed at her from the friezework. There was a blue Turkey carpet with roses, and roses wreathed the velvet housing of a pair of exquisite virginals. By the heaps of books bound in Levantine marocain lay scrolls of music, tinted with sepia. There was a lute in a case, and a box inlaid in sandalwood with garlands of shells and sea flowers. And in marble over the fireplace ran a throng of light, laughing figures, following the spoked wheels of a frail Roman carriage being drawn by young men between tree stems. Below, were written two fine lines in silver:
I shall harness thee a chariot of lapis-lazuli and gold
Come into our dwelling, in the perfume of the cedars.
The needlework and the music were Sybilla’s. But the verse belonged to somebody else. The Hôtel des Sphères was not a living house: it was a shrine. And it was beyond belief that Sybilla could have lent it. To this stupid, imbecile housekeeper Philippa said, steadily, ‘This gentleman has no right to be here.’
Madame Roset was offended. Perhaps she had doubts already. ‘I have the letter arranging it, in Lady Culter’s very own handwriting!’
But naturally. One had forgotten. He was also a forger.
The powerful man in the doorway smiled at her, while the two men behind him stood motionless. ‘You see? But of course, if there is any shadow of doubt, Sybilla herself will be in Paris shortly. We have only to place the whole matter before her.’ And stirring at last, he came forward into the parlour, rubbing his hands and glancing from her to the housekeeper.
‘Are we not fortunate, that you thought to call on us this morning! Such a high-born young lady, and so well connected: in the service of yet another crowned head, they tell me! Do you know, Madame Roset; the young lady and I have a great deal to speak of together. And while we are talking, perhaps a little refreshment might be prepared?’ He laughed, his lips spreading widely, at Philippa. ‘Madame Roset is a paragon among housekeepers. I have never been looked after so comfortably.’
‘Then,’ said Philippa, rising grimly, ‘it pains me to tell you that you will have to cook your own dishes this morning. M. le comte has asked to see Madame Roset, and I have undertaken to take her back to the Hôtel d’Hercule with me immediately.’
‘Indeed? I thought he was in Dieppe?’ Lymond’s grand-uncle displayed, perfunctorily, a kind of surprise.
‘Did you? He came home late last night. Madame Roset, would you be so kind as to come with me?’
Madame Roset, not unnaturally, hesitated. Philippa’s elderly relative by marriage strolled across and laying his hand on the housekeeper’s arm, patted it and then held it casually. ‘Came home, and sent you out alone so early this morning, and with no escort with you? I watched you come from my window and thought how unchivalrous the young are becoming, these days. Well, well. If he is really here, then his mother and brother … That is, the dowager and the Earl of Culter must be in Paris also. And