Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [90]
‘You are right. I shall convey your compliments to my good friend Macé Bonhomme,’ said Master Nostradamus amiably. ‘Truly, a man may divorce the one from the other at his peril, and even the best are not immune to mistakes. But the wise craftsman learns from his folly.’
He remained sitting there, rubicund and cheerful, his bright gaze moving inquiringly between the Chevalier and the lady he was divorcing. Mr Crawford sat down. For the first time, Mary Fleming noticed, his eyes returned and locked, momentarily, with those of Mistress Philippa. The Countess turned to Master Nostradamus. ‘You make prophecies, sir? You are, then, a caster of horoscopes?’
‘But of course, Madame!’ said the barber-surgeon, smiling.
‘Then if you visit your printer in Lyon, you perhaps exchange visits with others of your profession?’
The barber-surgeon’s beard moved once more as he smiled. ‘Madame, I know everyone in Lyon. I worked there during the plague. There was only one other lady of reputation who also cast horoscopes and she, alas, is now dead. You wished to ask me about her?… I have to visit another case of cocco-lucchia: we might talk about this if you cared to come with me. Disease, they say, is a function of the wrath of God, but in the whooping-cough it seems rather to echo the farmyard … The lady you mean dwelt, I rather think, in the rue Mercière, and had a daughter called Béatris, is that not so? who died in ’26—I remember it well.’
Mr Crawford did not rise. But the Countess got to her feet, and looking at him said, ‘You are not interested, but I still think these things are worth pursuing. May I accept Master Nostradamus’s offer?’
Then Mr Crawford did stand. He said, ‘You know you have a free hand. Go with Master Nostradamus. Ask what you wish.’ Across her head, he was looking at the physician. And Master Nostradamus, Mary Fleming noted, was returning the look with a kind of calm reassurance. Mr Crawford added, ‘I may be gone, unfortunately, before you return. I have to be in Compiègne early tomorrow.’
Brighter than all the salves she had employed that morning, the colour burned in Philippa’s cheeks. She said, ‘I have some news. I had hoped to give it to you. It would save our having to meet again. I know you are busy.’
They disliked one another. It was painful to watch. Mary Fleming shifted uncomfortably. These two would never remain man and wife. Queen Catherine had been shrewder, when she had joked with M. de Sevigny, and reminded him that while he was fighting the English his sweet wife was bereft of company. Could he not arrange a fine suitor for her? He must not be selfish. He had Catherine.
And that was true also. This time, received by the Queen and her ladies, Mr Crawford had paid Catherine d’Albon at last the kind of attention she merited, and she had responded, with cool and graceful formality, as a nobleman’s daughter should. But when his company was claimed by others, Mary Fleming had noticed, Mademoiselle d’Albon’s eyes followed him.
She thought now, for a moment, that he was going to persist in his rebuff. But something of Mistress Philippa’s discomfiture must have reached him; for he said quickly, ‘I beg your pardon. Of course there are matters to discuss. Send for me when you are ready.’
It was, thought Mary Fleming, watching them leave, a pity they had married, and a greater pity that Mary was bent on tampering with them. She would have to warn her mistress. Queen Catherine wanted Mr Crawford at court, with a French wife. And Queen Catherine, in Mary’s view, was more worldly-wise, in this instance, than Mary of Scotland.
*
Returning from her peripatetic interview with Master Michael Nostradamus Philippa was sick, twice, in the privacy of her own room and then, before her