Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [23]
‘And yet he takes his friends to a tavern. His own marriage is in trouble. What then,’ said Francis Crawford, ‘does he think of mine to Philippa? You know my wife is a virgin?’
Adam thought of leaving the room, and then decided, blearily, to go through with it.
He said, ‘Jerott asked if she was. He says you married her three years ago in Turkey and parted immediately. He says it was a wedding of convenience, to be annulled when you got back to England. He says you’ve been back for five months, and if it hasn’t been dissolved yet, it must be for your own private reasons.’ Adam paused. ‘He has some tall stories, even for Jerott, about what happened on that journey to Stamboul.’
Francis Crawford raised his eyebrows. ‘You are hoping I am going to tell you it was all due to Jerott’s vivid imagination, but of course, it was perfectly true.’
He lifted his cup, smiling and twisted it, admiring the entwined lizards and winged duck-head ornament. ‘The little attack of blood-frenzy in Algiers; the fat Turk I was good to, on Djerba. The whores … the opium … the bastard I propagated on an Irish kern’s mistress … Jerott knows it all. And Jerott would have me boiled in hell and strained through a cloth if I behaved to Philippa as my dear Marthe is no doubt behaving to him.… You know she is in Lyon?’
Adam sat up. ‘You’re talking of Philippa?’
‘Staying with the Schiatti. She has been invited to call on Marthe at six tomorrow afternoon. So have I, in a message from Jerott. If what you say is true, why should Jerott choose to throw Philippa and myself together?’
‘He didn’t know,’ Adam said. ‘I swear he didn’t know Philippa was in Lyon.’
‘But Marthe did. So Marthe isn’t afraid for Philippa’s virtue. Marthe wants us to meet there tomorrow. I wonder,’ said Lymond, ‘why?’
Adam shook his head. A scar, thready in the flickering candles, marred the thin, distinguished lines on his face, and his hands lay open on his lap, their sketching days over now that there was no great band of fighting men on whom to exercise daily his talents. Lymond rose with eloquent ease and said, looking down at the other, ‘You should have stayed with the Muscovy Company.’
‘I know,’ said Adam. He got up.
There must have been something over-critical or over-searching in his expression. Francis Crawford lifted his open hand and arming the other man with sudden force, walked him to his threshold and released him beyond it. The slam with which the door closed reverberated through all the stout floors of the Hôtel de Gouvernement.
Madame la Maréchale recognized it, as perhaps he intended. Lymond was clearing away the last of his papers when he heard her door open. He waited, listening, but there was no further movement. He finished therefore what he was doing and then, pouring himself another cup of wine, walked to his own door and opened it.
Candlelight spilled from the double carved door of her room, defining the tall shadow of her robed figure, standing there. Her black hair, unconfined, fell straying over the silk of her night-shift. Her face, freshly painted, was young in the kind, golden light and her scent, invading the corridor, reached him where he stood in turn, the cup in his fingers. She said softly, ‘Have you finished your wine? I can offer you some.’ And waited as, seasoned, desirable, he came to her through the quiet passageway.
Chapter 4
Le capitaine conduira la grande proye
Sur la montagne des ennemis plus proche.
The next morning the pots of war boiled, and the merchants of Lyon discovered, as Danny Hislop remarked, what they were paying for.
At dawn the first messengers began to come in: from Berne and Metz; Marseille, Mâcon and Turin. A little later, the chief officers of the Consulat arrived to report and confer, followed by the members of the new safety committee and the captain of the guard. Danny Hislop left shortly with a book of orders, to accompany them. Adam stayed behind with Lymond’s secretariat, correlating the reports as they came in and transmitting the resulting instructions