Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [383]
She gave him a lying, sensible answer, and went to seek Crackbene. The Prioress Euphemia was with him. The Prioress said, ‘I believe your son has noticed the soldiers. We should talk. Come, Master Michael.’
As was only right, the chamber of the Prioress Elizabeth had become the chamber of the Prioress of Eccles. North Berwick might be supported by Formans and Ramsays, but Euphemia Graham was the granddaughter of a king and the niece of another; half-sister of the late Bishop Kennedy; cousin of the King’s three uncles and of the Princesses Eleanor and Annabella and Joanna and their powerful husbands; cousin of the first wife of Wolfaert van Borselen, and so related to Gelis. Related to everyone, but now isolated on the stark rock of age, and reft from her present charge because of its suspect situation.
Entering her room, Kathi sat, Crackbene beside her. Dame Euphemia, elevating her chin, had indeed some resemblance to an article on a rock: perhaps a malignant heron. She said, ‘You should have been told. I assured your M. de Fleury that you were the niece of your uncle, and could withstand a little anxiety. You were brought here to remove one of you from temporary danger. To make doubly sure, M. de Fleury also provided the armed guard found by your son: it is not desirable that others should know of it. It is merely an extra precaution.’
Crackbene said nothing. He had obviously known. It wasn’t worth being angry. If Nicholas and Crackbene had arranged this, then they trusted the Prioress. Unless, of course, the Prioress and Crackbene were lying.
Kathi said, ‘I am glad you think I can stand the truth, for I should now like to have it. Who was in danger?’ She thought she knew. Now, unexpectedly, it crossed her mind that it might be herself, from someone who wished to influence her uncle.
The Prioress said, ‘I thought you and your friends had discussed this. There have been serious attempts against the life of M. de Fleury, and his son is thought to be another possible victim. It is safer here for Jordan than Edinburgh.’
Kathi said, ‘How did you hear of this, Reverend Mother?’
The chin tilted again. There was a wart on it. ‘From M. de Fleury and your uncle,’ the Prioress said. ‘Your uncle has been seeking the man—disloyal to the King—who contrived the sad conflict at Castle Heaton. He suspects that man, or the person who paid him, to be the cause of other disruption. A paper found in the King’s chamber, apparently.’
‘But my uncle doesn’t yet know who it is,’ Kathi said. ‘Or not when I saw him last. Do you perhaps know, Dame Euphemia?’ Her heart had started to thud. In the Floory Land—away from the Floory Land—so many arguments, so many angry discussions. Who was it? Who was it?
And cravenly, now, to herself: You didn’t want us to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want the responsibility. Don’t tell me.
The Prioress gazed at her, buckled into starched linen, her brows formidably arched. She said, ‘Certainly, I believe that I know. Your uncle discovered that M. de Fleury’s visit to York was known beforehand to the Duke of Albany’s most fervent follower, Jardine of Applegarth. He was at York. He has land in Lochmaben, and his father owns Jardinefield, three miles to the north of Upsettlington. Applegarth has always suspected Lord Cortachy and M. de Fleury of subverting the King. He regards M. de Fleury, especially, as having betrayed Albany’s friendship.’
‘But—’ began Kathi.
‘But, you would say, this does not accord with the picture of long aggression against M. de Fleury, and even his son. Therefore, there must be at least two culprits: Applegarth and the man who encouraged