Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [93]
‘No,’ said Philippa. She heard what he said, but over a furious undercurrent of thought of her own. If indeed she had not been so agitated she might have realized that it was unwise to let him sense it.
‘Philippa?’ said Francis Crawford, and halted.
She could not pass him. She stood, her head up, and said, ‘You may be quite sure I shall not stay a moment longer than I have to. I have written Kate that I am coming.’
He didn’t evade her eyes this time, or turn aside, or employ any of the graceful, defensive tricks she dreaded. He said, ‘You once held me, for a term, to a promise, and I honoured it. Will you do the same for me? The time has come for you to think about your own life, and not mine or Sybilla’s. I want you to promise to do nothing more about this. In particular, I want your promise that you will do nothing to try and reach this woman at Flavy-le-Martel. She lives in a battlefield. If you had an army at your back, you could hardly reach her. For all you know, she may be dead already. Let her secrets go with her.’
It was unfortunate. There were some people she could successfully lie to, but Lymond was not one of them. On the other hand, if there was to be no bond between them, there was no ground either for promises. ‘Am I accountable to you?’ said Philippa stubbornly.
He stood without moving, considering his answer. Then he lifted his eyes once more to her face: ‘No. But in the eyes of the world, I shall be responsible if you come to harm through performing a service for me. Even a service I have not asked for.’ He paused and said, ‘I take it that I am not to have your promise. Or that if you give it, you may feel absolved from keeping it?’
‘If I give a promise, I keep it,’ said Philippa sharply.
He drew a breath equally sharp, and let it go. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘Then in this instance——’
‘In this instance, I don’t accept your right to demand any promises, in spite of what you say,’ Philippa said.
‘Did I demand? I tried not to,’ he said. ‘In any case, promises won’t be necessary, or any valiant excursions on your part. Since you think it important, I shall send for the lady.’
‘Send for her?’ Philippa said. ‘To Flavy-le-Martel?’
‘Why not?’ said Lymond. ‘On my roll of expenses is an impressive number of entries against intelligencers. If I can’t extract one old lady from a Picardy farmhouse and have her brought to me, then I have been wasting my money. You will be content if I promise to send you the results of the inquiry? Like you, if I give a promise, I keep it.’
She let it pass, reddening, and followed him uphill through the rubble without demurring further, or noticing that the promise by which he had bound himself concerned the passing to her of Renée Jourda’s information, and not the means by which he might acquire it.
She did not then know, nor did she find out in time, that to dispatch such a mission to Picardy was at that moment out of the question, as it would have been certain death for her had she gone there.
And that, if he had promised her news, there remained only one way for him to obtain it.
*
He left Saint-Germain later that evening, to the displeasure of a great many people. Archie Abernethy, entering while his packing was being completed, was among the more outspoken. ‘The French King’s no’ very flattered that you’re leaving. The Fleming lassie says the young Queen o’ Scots is fleein’. And I passed Mistress Philippa. She was all painted ower, but she’d been greetin’.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lymond. He continued to recline with his feet propped up on the window seat. ‘It’s a general blight of disorientation. I don’t know the time, either.’
The boy strapping up the standards opened his