Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [28]
‘Among other reasons,’ Lymond agreed. That she had a nose for illicit information was known to him. He added, ‘You must surely miss the court at London?’
‘They wouldn’t have me back after I sent you to France,’ said Philippa briefly. She thought, and remarked, ‘I miss Austin Grey.’
‘Tristram Trusty?’ The opening of the rue Tupin appeared sunlit ahead on their left. On their right, the sign of the Hôtel Gaultier swung from the second of its five irregular storeys. Below, an ornate door with a wrought-iron fanlight gave on to a spiral staircase which went down as well as up. Next to it was a stone arch with a clock and a crowned turban sculptured in stone set above it. Lymond drew his horse to a halt and dismounted, taking the bridle. ‘You heard he came to meet me at Douai?’
‘Everyone was very anxious to tell me,’ said Philippa. ‘You know what I think about this obsession with Russia. But you were right to trust him, and I’m glad he escaped. Kate always said he was too sensitive for a Somerville, but I think I could do something with him. Don’t you?’
At a glance from Lymond, one of the men at arms came to help her dismount. There was a general vacating of saddles, attended by a number of grooms who emerged from the Gaultier archway. The archway door, opened wide, revealed a cobbled tunnel lit by indifferent wall torches. Leaving the horses, Lymond raised his eyebrows at Philippa and walked towards it. He said, ‘Everyone is too sensitive for the Somervilles: I shouldn’t let that deter you. He’s as nice as a nun’s hen, but you’re right, I think. There is good stuff there. And he’s a chivalrous child.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ said Philippa doubtfully. ‘Do you think my friends will corrupt him?’
‘I don’t know about your friends,’ said Lymond, ‘but you can rest assured that your husband’s behaviour will be impeccable. If you’re going to marry the youth, I shan’t touch him.’
‘But you will be nasty to him,’ said Philippa gloomily. ‘You know you can’t help it.’
‘I shall probably be nasty to him,’ Lymond agreed firmly. ‘But I shan’t touch him.… You were here four years ago, when the Dame de Doubtance was alive?’
‘Yes,’ said Philippa dimly. She remembered then, as now, this dark vault with the cressets flickering, and the grotesques peering down at them from the arched caissons over their heads. She said, ‘You were here too, with Jerott. When she prophesied that your father’s two sons would never meet in this world again.’
‘A depressing encounter,’ Lymond assented. ‘Do you suppose that Marthe too has discovered that revelation is a participation of the Eternal Divinity? I take it that marriage to Jerott has made her a Christian. What it has made Jerott, of course, is another matter entirely.’
He had met his brother again: Philippa knew that. Passing through Scotland on his way home from Russia Lymond had had an encounter with Richard, third baron Crawford of Culter, which had ended in blows because, again, Francis Crawford would have nothing to do with his own bastard son, or his family. Summoning her considerable moral fibre from the wilting reed-beds of apprehension, Philippa Somerville forbore either to twitch or to apply to Lymond’s arm for reassurance. Lymond did not like to be touched: she had found that out a good while ago.
He was, however, reasonably prescient in other directions. He stopped and looked at her, just at that moment. ‘Wrestling with ghosts, after the manner of the Antabatae? It’s a merchant’s house now, not a temple of high Gothic fantasy. All that is going to be required of you, I fancy, is a great deal of social ingenuity for which, as everyone knows, you have a certificate.’
Philippa looked at him, her qualms replaced by another kind of misgiving. ‘If you are going to be malicious, I shall walk out. Jerott and Marthe once saved your wits for you.’
‘Lethaeo perfusa papavera somno. Now you mention it,