Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [210]
“A small remembrance from Mother Hildegarde,” he explained. “I understand it is a favorite remedy of les maîtresses sage-femme. She has written directions for its use, as well.” He withdrew a folded, sealed note from his inner pocket and handed it over.
I sniffed the package. Raspberry leaves and saxifrage; something else I didn’t recognize. I hoped Mother Hildegarde had included a list of the ingredients as well.
“Please thank Mother Hildegarde for me,” I said. “And how is everyone at the Hôpital?” I greatly missed my work there, as well as the nuns and the odd assortment of medical practitioners. We gossiped for some time about the Hôpital and its personnel, with Jamie contributing the occasional comment, but usually just listening with a polite smile, or—when the subject turned to the clinical—burying his nose in his glass of wine.
“What a pity,” I said regretfully, as Monsieur Forez finished his description of the repair of a crushed shoulder blade. “I’ve never seen that done. I do miss the surgical work.”
“Yes, I will miss it as well,” Monsieur Forez nodded, taking a small sip from his wineglass. It was still more than half-full; apparently he hadn’t been joking about his abstention from spirits.
“You’re leaving Paris?” Jamie said in some surprise.
Monsieur Forez shrugged, the folds of his long coat rustling like feathers.
“Only for a time,” he said. “Still, I will be gone for at least two months. In fact, Madame,” he bowed his head toward me again, “that is the main reason for my visit today.”
“It is?”
“Yes. I am going to England, you understand, and it occurred to me that if you wished it, Madame, it would be a matter of the greatest simplicity for me to carry any message that you desired. Should there be anyone with whom you wished to communicate, that is,” he added, with his usual precision.
I glanced at Jamie, whose face had suddenly altered, from an open expression of polite interest to that pleasantly smiling mask that hid all thoughts. A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but I did.
“No,” I said hesitantly. “I have no friends or relatives in England; I’m afraid I have no connections there at all, since I was—widowed.” I felt the usual small stab at this reference to Frank, but suppressed it.
If this seemed odd to Monsieur Forez, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded, and set down his half-drunk glass of wine.
“I see. It is fortunate indeed that you have friends here, then.” His voice seemed to hold a warning of some kind, but he didn’t look at me as he bent to straighten his stocking before rising. “I shall call upon you on my return, then, and hope to find you again in good health.”
“What is the business that takes you to England, Monsieur?” Jamie said bluntly.
Monsieur Forez turned to him with a faint smile. He cocked his head, eyes bright, and I was struck once more by his resemblance to a large bird. Not a carrion crow at the moment, though, but a raptor, a bird of prey.
“And what business should a man of my profession travel on, Monsieur Fraser?” he asked. “I have been hired to perform my usual duties, at Smithfield.”
“An important occasion, I take it,” said Jamie. “To justify the summoning of a man of your skill, I mean.” His eyes were watchful, though his expression showed nothing beyond polite inquiry.
Monsieur Forez’s eyes grew brighter. He rose slowly to his feet, looking down at Jamie where he sat near the window.
“That is true, Monsieur Fraser,” he said softly. “For it is a matter of skill, make no mistake. To choke a man to death at the end of a rope—pah! Anyone can do that. To break a neck cleanly, with one quick fall, that requires some calculation in terms of weight and drop, and a certain amount of practice in the placing of the rope, as well. But to walk the line between these methods, to properly execute the sentence of a traitor’s death; that requires great skill indeed.”
My mouth felt suddenly