Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [278]
Instead of leading them to the chapel, the Abbot took them down to a cellar. Below that was another. It was full to the echoing roof with large boxes. ‘How careless of me. He will be waiting. Now where …?’ said the Abbot, to himself.
Adorne, smiling, took the candle from him and touched the flame to others planted about the large, uneven chamber. Nicholas said, ‘You’ve been here before.’
‘I haven’t had time to tell you,’ said Adorne. ‘We were only shown it the other day.’
We. A muffled banging echoed from the end of the cavern. Adorne said, ‘Abbot?’
‘I hear it,’ said Henry Arnot. ‘Ah. There they are. Good.’ He delved into his skirts like Lang Bessie and lifted out a prodigious steel key. It didn’t bleat. Holding it, the Abbot trotted past what he had been looking at, which was a stack of brass handguns.
‘What!’ said Nicholas.
‘The Queen thought she should have some,’ said Henry Arnot over his shoulder. ‘Not my field. I needed an expert.’ There came the squeal of the key, and the rumble of a door beginning to open, followed by the Abbot’s voice showering someone with apologies. The someone came in, punctuating the flow with short, Teutonic reassurances. You could tell who it was, under the dirt, because he strode through the low door without stooping.
‘Oh!’ said Father Moriz, gazing at Nicholas.
‘It’s all right; you don’t need to worry; he’ll take them,’ said Abbot Henry. Adorne, damn him, was looking entertained.
‘Nicol will?’ said Father Moriz. He sounded cautious. Placed in the candlelight, he coughed as the Abbot pattered round him, shaking his tippet and banging off dust.
The Abbot gave him a final blow and stepped back. ‘Your M. de Fleury. The Council’s secret adviser to the Queen.’
Father Moriz’s pleased exclamation coincided with Nicholas’s fevered disclaimer. He scowled at Moriz, and at Abbot Henry, and finally at Anselm Adorne. ‘When did that happen?’ Nicholas said.
‘Before you arrived at the meeting. I’m sorry,’ Adorne said. ‘I know you’re tired of handling people. But—’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘You speak her language. She likes you. You would have access to the young Princes—’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘What am I, bloody Ada?’
Moriz was examining the guns. Rare in the company of Henry Arnot, there was a short silence.
I want the teachers sprung of your line to help instruct the poor fools sprung of mine. I mean to match you, child for child.
Except that they were not just his children: they were all children.
The Abbot said, ‘Well now, Nicol: don’t be daft. You’ll forgive me if I call you Nicol? They told me in Stirling you’d jib. Your friend said that, if you did, I was to send you to see her and get sorted.’
The little bugger. ‘My friend? In Stirling?’
‘You’ve got so many with that kind of relationship? She’s been away, not wanting to court lawyer’s questions. But if you were to go now, with the guns, you would find her. Bel of Cuthilgurdy. Who in Heaven’s name else?’
Who, indeed. She had been hiding from Julius. Moriz, who would realise that as well, had turned and was looking at them both. Nicholas said, speaking slowly because he was thinking so fast, ‘Of course, being in Stirling, you would know her.’
Arnot nodded to Moriz. ‘Have you seen all you want? Shall we go?’ And, picking up the original candle, continued to Nicholas: ‘Not as her confessor, more’s the pity, but as a real friend to the monastery. Not all mothers feel that way, but she was happy for John. I can’t tell you how sad we felt when we lost him.’
Adorne looked puzzled, but Moriz was genuinely astonished. He said, ‘Bel of Cuthilgurdy’s son was a monk at Cambuskenneth?’
The Abbot said, ‘No one mentioned it? Of course, the Charteris family now have the title, but after John’s father died, Bel was generous with her gifts to the Abbey. It was kind, for they were young, and not very long married.’
Adorne still conveyed friendly interest.