Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [171]
He had sent word for her to wait. Certainly, she had been made comfortable, with a room for herself and Madame Donati to change in, and chicken and sweetmeats brought steaming to them before the roaring fire. The men of St Mary’s, embarrassed, enchanted; grinning at her; recalling, shamefaced, the day she had shot at them on the road, had personally seen to that. But Jerott could not forget her dismay when Lymond’s message arrived, nor the moment when Plummer, the fool, had said, ‘He’s shooting, against de Seurre and Tait and some of the men, in the snow. Can you see them? This window gives a good view.’ And she watched, silent and hot-cheeked still, while M. le bloody Comte did everything but grow runner beans on his bow, and you could see the Venetian woman smiling at the girl’s back and then round the room as if the child were some doting moppet of ten.
But all the same, when Lymond came in, bright, wet and imperviously cheerful, there was a look in her eyes that Jerott had not seen before, and her confidence, her quick-witted defensiveness, had gone. Jerott had time to think, ‘On my soul, she can’t have enjoyed the roughening-up he gave her? What possible glamour is there in that?’ And then Joleta’s voice, its sibilants so childishly marked, said purposefully, ‘I wish to apologize for—for …’ And, her courage deserting her in the presence of Blacklock, Plummer, Guthrie, and Jerott himself, she became speechless almost at once.
It was never a failing of Lymond’s. ‘For trying to trade on your brother’s reputation? I accept the apology, although as I understood the situation, once I had thrashed you we were even. However. And surely Madame Donati hasn’t come all this way merely to chaperone you through that? Or is she to be our vivandière?’
There was an explosive sound from Mr Plummer, and Madame Donati became yellow. ‘Believe me, Mr Crawford, I am here through no wish of mine,’ said Joleta’s duenna. ‘After your disgusting behaviour at Boghall, I think the child is a saint.’
‘No, no. Her brother’s the saint,’ said Lymond. ‘Look at Mr Blyth, standing like Mohammed receiving the revelations: he’ll tell you. The girl has a temper. Look out; she’ll tear her dollies to bits. Joleta dear, you are forgiven. Go home now, will you? The gentlemen are busy.’
Alec Guthrie, observant on his stool beside the sketching Blacklock, did not move, but Plummer, casting up his elegant brows, made at this point a graceful departure and Madame Donati, blotched with anger, gripped Joleta’s elbow. Joleta did not move, but simply stared, her sea-blue eyes pellucid with unshed tears; then lowering her head so that the golden hair swung over her breast, she let the duenna walk her to the door.
Lymond followed, talking unabashed, and after a moment Jerott strode out as well and seizing Joleta by the arm as, wrapped again in her snow-sodden cloak, she looked down from her mare, said, ‘We don’t deserve such a charming visitor. There is no need for you to go. Mr Crawford does not mean to be serious. There is a bedroom you and the Madonna may willingly have until at least your brother comes back to stay.’
There was a distinct pause. ‘Then it must be yours, dear man,’ said Lymond’s voice with deceptive mildness. ‘For there is none other in the castle that I know of.’
‘All right. It is mine,’ said Jerott shortly. ‘Let me help you down, Mistress Malett?’ And he held out his arm again.
‘But I’m afraid you are in your chamber tonight,’ said Lymond’s voice deprecatingly. ‘Didn’t I tell you? To make amends for contradicting my orders. And three in a bed, Brother, is a touch overcrowded.’
He and Jerott stared at one another. Then Lymond added, the gentleness gone from his voice, ‘We are not in St Angelo now. Mistress Malett has to ride a mere two miles to reach the home of some very good friends of mine who have agreed to put her up for the night. It is, on