Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [234]
‘What were Francis and Philippa talking about?’ she said again, abruptly. ‘Adam must have seen Philippa. Why was she there so late at night?’
‘I don’t know,’ Danny said. He hesitated, and then said, ‘She had been crying for a long time. Adam said her face was all swollen, but she said it was her own fault and nothing to do with Francis. And after that, she didn’t even seem to hear what he said, which was perhaps understandable after a drunken session with Francis on his way to someone else’s bedroom.’
There was a little silence. Then, ‘Did he go?’ said Sybilla softly.
‘Adam says no,’ said Danny, his confidence steadily dwindling. Sybilla did not look at him while he answered but at Marthe, who sat, her golden head high, sustaining the long, clear regard.
‘I see,’ Sybilla said. She rose, her gaze still on Marthe, who rose also, her eyes masked for the first time by their lids. Sybilla said, ‘It has been enough. I am going. When you have no one else to turn to, come to me.’
The lids lifted at that, to reveal blazing eyes. ‘To you?’ Marthe said. ‘I would sooner …’
‘Yes? What would you sooner do?’ Sybilla asked.
And as Marthe did not reply, Danny spoke, with less assurance than at any point in the preceding discussion. ‘And Jerott?’ he said.
Sybilla had begun to walk to the door. She stopped and turned; and when she spoke, it was to Marthe. ‘I shall tell Jerott,’ said the Dowager, ‘that it is better if you do not come together. He will find solace in war.’
‘And I?’ Marthe said.
‘It is for you to begin your studies afresh, although I am not sure of your present choice of tutor. Do you know, Mr Hislop, the expression, A pen is walking in the chimney behind the cloth?’
He had already observed the badly-hung hung tapestry, but without Sybilla’s quick intuition behind the observation. ‘This?’ said Danny Hislop; and striding forward, ripped the cloth aside.
Behind the arras was a door, and beyond that a small antechamber, in which stood a single chair. Master Michel Nostradamus, his expression entirely undisturbed, was sitting in it.
‘Ah,’ said Sybilla. ‘Behind the prophet, the analogist. And behind the analogist, the eavesdropper. We have not met before, I am glad to say. Which of you thought of this first?’
‘I asked Master Nostradamus to listen,’ Marthe said.
‘And I did so, believe me, with no evil intention,’ the astrologer said. He rose and, moving through the door, stood before the Dowager Lady Culter. ‘I wished to see the chosen vessel and learn why it was chosen. Now I know. The truth of the matters you speak of is already known to me. You may rely on my discretion. Indeed, Mistress Philippa has already been to see me.’
Danny waited, and then as the vital question remained for some reason unasked, put it himself. ‘What about?’ he said.
The astrologer smiled at him. ‘She required me to tell her how Mr Crawford spent his last evening in Lyon,’ he said.
Danny Hislop’s pink freckled skin turned slowly the deep scarlet of pure anger. ‘And you did?’ he said sharply. ‘You told …’
‘Do you, too, enjoy your monopoly?’ Nostradamus said. ‘As I said before, you may rely on my discretion. I am concerned, as you are, with her future, and with the curing of my patients.’
‘And Mistress Marthe is a patient of yours?’ said Sybilla. ‘As you were a disciple of her grandmother’s?’
‘We have an understanding,’ Nostradamus said. ‘Francis Crawford will come to no harm through me; nor will your son Richard.’
‘Is that a prediction, or merely a pious intention, I wonder?’ Sybilla said. ‘I am not sure that I care to have either of my sons’ affairs in your hands, and if Marthe were a daughter of mine, I should remove her.’
‘If I were a daughter of yours,’ Marthe said curtly, ‘I should probably go. If it makes any difference, I am willing to accept what you have told me.’
‘That is wise,’ Nostradamus said.
‘But it didn’t occur to you to explain to her,’ said Sybilla. From the formidable, her expression had changed to one of reprimand.
‘Yes it did,’ said Nostradamus mildly. ‘But I realized that it would come better