Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [168]
She had given her newest legal adviser the room with a table that Julius used. She thanked him and asked him to wait for her to call him. Then she went to her own office and learned, from Henninc, that the pump was mended but the disquiet in the yard was still going on. He made no reference to Gregorio, which meant he was still angry about that. The fact that the pump had been mended by Claes, and that everyone he had spoken to was, apparently, cheerful, meant, surely, that he wasn’t leaving. Which should please young Catherine, even if it didn’t please young Tilde. Marian de Charetty thumped down her ledgers and applied her mind to her business.
Then Felix arrived. He appeared to be in rags because, he said, he had been swept off hunting by the Dauphin’s men. He began to tell her all about that. She suspected, since he didn’t mention Claes, that he had already discovered from Henninc that Claes was back and had not spoken to her. Before she could ask, the new lawyer Gregorio tapped on the door. She had asked him to be present, she remembered. He ought to know what the Louvain branch was doing.
Meester Gregorio had hardly sat down before the door burst open on Felix’s young friend, John Bonkle. The demoiselle de Charetty stared at him. John Bonkle stopped on the threshold and blushed. He said, “Demoiselle. I’m sorry. They said Felix was here.”
“As he is,” said Felix’s mother. “But rather busy, I’m afraid. Is it urgent?”
“No. Yes,” said John Bonkle, who was not notable for keeping his head. “Felix, he’s asking for eight shillings parisis before this evening. I can’t pay that, you bastard.”
Felix’s large, shallow eyes, turning to his mother, showed white.
John Bonkle went pale. “That is – I beg your pardon. Just a manner of speaking, demoiselle. But I can’t pay it, Felix.”
“Pay what? Why?” said Felix.
“Pay you. For him. For her,” said Bonkle. “You know.”
“Pay me for what?” said Felix. He then went slowly scarlet.
John Bonkle said, “I’m sorry, demoiselle … But Claes says I’ve to pay him eight shillings parisis before this evening or else.”
“Or else what?” said Marian de Charetty gently.
There was a silence.
Marian de Charetty rose. She took a key from the bunch at her girdle and, bending, unlocked one of the chests by the wall. From it, she took a bag and set of scales, both of which she brought to the desk. She tipped the bag, and a pile of silver groats poured on to the green baize. She weighed them, discarded some, and found a fresh bag into which she put the coins she had weighed. The scales she placed temporarily on top of a pile of letters obligatory beside which stood a copy of the dyehouse rate card, the prices copied in carefully beside the row of coloured wool samples. It was all very business-like.
“The scales were tested recently,” she said to John Bonkle. “I think you may trust them.” She spoke quite mildly, weighing the bag in her hand. “Do I give this to you, or to Felix, or to Claes?”
“To me,” said Felix quickly.
She looked at her first-born, now grown. She said, “Willingly. But you must, of course, tell me what it is for.”
Silence. Then Felix said, with reluctance. “That is, it really belongs to John. I owe it to him. It’s John’s.”
She looked at John. “Is it?”
Clearly speechless, he nodded.
“Then,” said Felix’s mother, “I am happy to give it you on Felix’s behalf. He can repay me gradually, and I shall ask very little interest. You are satisfied, John?”
John nodded.
“Then goodbye,” said Marian de Charetty. “Now, Felix. Tell me what is happening to the Louvain business. In detail. With all the figures you have brought back with you. Begin from the beginning, and tell us everything.” She thought, knowing Claes, that Claes would at least have tried to prime him. But Claes clearly hadn’t.
By the time Claes trotted into the yard the meeting was over, the office empty, Felix in his favourite tavern, Meester Gregorio returned