Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [146]
“No, no,” I said hastily as Raymond made to duck back into his sanctuary. “He’s told me everything. In fact, he’s been most helpful.”
With some reluctance, Jamie put up his dirk, and I reached down a hand to draw Raymond out of hiding. He flinched slightly at the sight of Jamie.
“This man is your husband, madonna?” he asked, in the tones of someone hoping the answer would be “no.”
“Yes, of course,” I answered. “My husband, James Fraser, my lord Broch Tuarach,” I said, waving at Jamie, though I could scarcely have been referring to anyone else. I waved in the other direction. “Master Raymond.”
“So I gathered,” said Jamie dryly. He bowed and extended a hand toward Raymond, whose head reached a few inches past Jamie’s waist. Raymond touched the outstretched hand briefly and yanked his own back, unable to repress a mild shiver. I stared at him in amazement.
Jamie merely raised one eyebrow, then leaned back and settled himself against the edge of the table. He crossed his arms across his chest.
“All right, then,” he said. “What about it?”
I made most of the explanations, Raymond contributing only monosyllables of confirmation from time to time. The little apothecary seemed deprived of all his normal sly wit, and huddled on a stool near the fire, shoulders hunched in wariness. Only when I had finished with an explanation of the white crystal—and the presumed need for it—did he stir and seem to take on a little life once more.
“It is true, milord,” he assured Jamie. “I do not know, in fact, whether it is your wife or yourself that may be in danger, or perhaps the two of you together. I have heard nothing specific; only the name ‘Fraser,’ spoken in a place where names are seldom named in blessing.”
Jamie glanced sharply at him. “Aye? And you frequent such places, do you, Master Raymond? Are the people you speak of associates of yours?”
Raymond smiled, a little wanly. “I should be inclined to describe them more as a business rivals, milord.”
Jamie grunted. “Mmmphm. Aye, well, and anyone who tries something may get a bit more of a blessing than he’s bargained for.” He touched the dirk at his belt, and straightened up.
“Still, I thank ye for the warning, Master Raymond.” He bowed to the apothecary, but didn’t offer his hand again. “As for the other”—he cocked an eyebrow at me—“if my wife is disposed to forgive your actions, then it isna my place to say more about it. Not,” he added, “that I wouldna advise ye to pop back in your wee hole, the next time the Vicomtesse comes into your shop. Come along then, Sassenach.”
As we rattled toward the Rue Tremoulins, Jamie was silent, staring out the window of the coach as the stiff fingers of his right hand tapped against his thigh.
“A place where names are seldom named in blessing,” he murmured as the coach turned into the Rue Gamboge. “What might that be, I wonder?”
I remembered the Cabbalistic signs on Raymond’s cabinet, and a small shiver raised the hairs on my forearms. I remembered Marguerite’s gossip about the Comte St. Germain, and Madame de Ramage’s warning. I told Jamie about them, and what Raymond had said.
“He may regard it as paint and window dressing,” I finished, “but plainly he knows people who don’t, or who is he looking to keep out of his cabinet?”
Jamie nodded. “Aye. I’ve heard a bit—only a bit—about such goings-on around the Court. I paid no attention at the time, thinking it only silliness, but now I’ll find out a bit more.” He laughed, suddenly, and drew me close to his side. “I’ll set Murtagh to follow the Comte St. Germain. That’ll give the Comte a real demon to play with.”
17
POSSESSION
Murtagh was duly set to watch the comings and goings of the Comte St. Germain, but beyond reporting that the Comte entertained a remarkable number of persons in his home—of both sexes and all classes