Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [106]
So they were found by Anselm Adorne of Cortachy, come from prison to Roslin to claim a bride, and a child.
By then the music had started: grave, spare statements in harmony of the kind that only Will Roger could induce from a choir, and then only when sung from the heart. Of all those surrounding the catafalque, it was Katelijne Sersanders who first detected the faint patter of hooves approaching outside and who, with a premonition of doom, rose to her feet even before the sound ceased and two men came to stand on the step which led down from the sunlit archway of the north door.
Her brother jumped up. Around them, Oliver Sinclair also rose, followed by Phemie’s cousins and sister and all those others who had come to welcome the child, and to mourn.
Willie Roger, after one glance, slowly swept up one arm, and smoothed the music down into his hand. Silence fell.
Anselm Adorne walked into the aisle, Dr Andreas behind him. With a glimmer of silks, the Archdeacon moved slowly forward and stopped.
Adorne said, ‘They gave me some news at the castle. Is it true?’
Will Scheves was a humane man, and a skilful one. He said, in his quiet, ordinary voice, ‘It is true that you have a daughter. It is true that the mother who gave her day is now at peace with her God.’
‘May I see her?’ said Adorne. ‘May I see my wife?’
She was not his wife. The affirmation, before all the company, was a challenge. In the gentle beams from the high southern windows, Adorne’s face was grey; and he faltered, once, as he walked forward. With a light hand, Dr Andreas guided him to the coffin, from which everyone else had drawn back.
Oliver Sinclair said, ‘Let us leave him with his family,’ and led the others away, so that only the priest and Katelijne and Sersanders were left with Adorne in the circle of candlelight. Behind them, in the dimness, the singing had begun again, tender and close-knit and low.
Dr Andreas came out, and joined Oliver Sinclair where he stood, massive and frowning, in the helpless consternation that gripped them all. In the quietness of the green empty meadowland, with the abandoned masons’ marks under the grass, there existed small disparate sounds: birdsong; the hiss of the waterfall deep in its gorge; the cry of a lamb; the rustle, now and then, of the hanging linen in the warm air. Andreas looked worn.
Sinclair spoke to him quietly. ‘I am sorry. It happened yesterday. One would have wished very much to spare my lord of Cortachy this distress. He came, of course, expecting to see her? The Tribunal has freed him?’
Andreas stirred. He said, ‘He expected to make her his wife. He is free, so far as it goes. He is debarred from office in Bruges. The Duchess has made him her personal envoy, so that he could come for his marriage and stay until he had decided where his future would lie. How did it happen?’ His questing gaze had found the other professional, Dr Tobias.
Tobie said, ‘A premature birth, and a rupture. Everything possible was done for her.’
‘I am sure it was,’ said Andreas. He looked back at Sinclair. ‘I hope you know that my lord of Cortachy was unaware of all this until recently, and has been mortally anxious to make amends.’
‘We are not about to be harsh,’ said Oliver Sinclair. ‘There is a burial to arrange, and the infant’s future to think of. If he wishes to stay here, then he may.’
‘There is also my house,’ said Archie of Berecrofts. ‘Or Kathi and Robin’s. Dr Andreas would be welcome as well.’
‘Or either could come to me,’ said Nicholas de Fleury. He had remained in the background, as he had ever since he arrived at the castle. He was not related to Phemie. His gaze, all the time he spoke, was on the doorway into the church, as his thoughts were on Adorne. He added, ‘He will take this very badly.’
‘It is the final blow,’ Andreas said. ‘You must speak to him. But not at your house. The others will all be there by now. John le Grant was taking them there, straight