Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [148]
For an instant, as her visitor paused on the threshold, Philippa thought it was Francis Crawford come to plague her. Then she saw that this was a bigger man, splendidly built, with hair of a brighter yellow and clothes which were simply cheap without Lymond’s expensive restraint. The face smiling at her was pink and pure-skinned, the eyes clear. Philippa, now thoroughly alarmed for a different reason, realized that confronting her was Sir Graham Reid Malett, Knight of the Order of St John, whose letters to her mother she had often read, sending his respects and his thanks for the hospitality Kate had given to his sister Joleta. And here he was, come to call on Joleta’s young friend.
He looked much older than Joleta, but the family likeness was very marked. Stammering (heavens, how Kate would laugh!) Philippa introduced Nell and apologized for her uncle’s delay. He neither blessed her nor became nauseatingly avuncular. Instead he said cheerfully, ‘That girl’s right: there’s the essence of Kate Somerville in you. You don’t deserve to be so lucky,’ and she wondered if Joleta had reported so flatteringly of her mother, or if Graham Malett knew the Border hearsay of the Somervilles. His home, after all, had not been so far away long ago. Then he went on to chat easily about his journey from France in the Queen Dowager’s ships and about his coming reunion with his sister, and she began to see how Joleta, whose quick brain held nothing sacred, could still worship him; and whence she derived some of her startling appeal.
Meanwhile, Philippa herself, making dutiful conversation, was in the grip of a notion. Cumbered with rather less than the usual count of desperate sins, she had been to confession all her life as a matter of course. Since returning from Scotland she had not visited church and Uncle Somerville, fortunately, hadn’t noticed.
The trouble was, a dying man had confided a message to her and she had not conveyed it. Nor had she any intention of doing so. Philippa looked at Gabriel’s calm face and thought that he at least, knowing what Lymond was, would absolve her from placing this weapon in Lymond’s hands.
Her uncle would be here soon: the low murmur of voices in the next room was getting louder and moving towards the door. She said quickly, ‘Are you sick of priest things, or could I ask you something do you think?’
Gabriel didn’t laugh at all; he merely looked interested and said, ‘It’s non-priest things I usually get sick of, don’t you? There’s nothing I like better than putting my wits to work with a friend. What sort of problem is it?’
‘It’s a friend’s, actually,’ said Philippa cautiously, and in words as old as the language of Eden. ‘There’s this man she doesn’t like.’
‘And someone wants her to marry him?’ said Gabriel helpfully.
Startled into horrified amusement, ‘Oh, no! No, no!’ said Philippa. ‘She just hates him. Everybody does. He questions small children and laughs about old ladies who are … who are hurt.’
‘He sounds appalling,’ Gabriel agreed. ‘Womanizes too, I expect?’
Philippa went scarlet. ‘Well … yes. So one believes. So, you see, he doesn’t deserve to be helped.’
‘Who would want to help him?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Oh, some people. There was this man who was dying,’ said Philippa rapidly. ‘And someone told him a secret which if it got known, would cause a lot of pain and misery and would do no one any good, except … except …’
‘The man your friend dislikes so much.’
‘That’s it,’ said Philippa thankfully. ‘And my friend was asked to pass on the secret and she hasn’t. She won’t go to hell, will she?’
Gabriel’s eyes, clear and steady, were fixed on hers. ‘I don’t think I’ve got a very unbiased story, have I? And I don’t want to question you any more, or obviously I’d learn more than you want to tell me. But there are two things you must ask yourself. Did the dying man who passed you the secret recognize that it might be put to some wicked use? And did he tell anyone else?’
‘No, he didn