Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [197]
One of these, which Gelis might know, was that her sister Katelina had chosen to spend the early evening alone with de Ribérac. And that he had attempted, thus invited, to ravish her. The other, which Gelis certainly knew, was that he, Nicholas, and her sister had spent the later hours at her home alone together. Where he had not tried of intent do anything, but undoubtedly had realised all of Jordan de Ribérac’s aspirations.
Cajolery wasn’t going to work. Neither was charm. Marian de Charetty’s new husband arranged his furred robe and addressed the fat child at his side in a voice which could have been overheard by nobody. He said, “Now be quiet and listen to me, or I’ll tell everyone about your sister and the seigneur de Ribérac.”
She said, “He didn’t!” Her face was scarlet.
“I’ll say he did,” said Nicholas. “And let’s get this over with. One, the demoiselle de Charetty is not going to have a baby. Right?”
“But she will,” said Gelis van Borselen.
“Two, it’s none of your affair, but this happens to be a business arrangement, so she won’t.”
“She could,” said Gelis.
“She won’t,” he said calmly.
“So you’ve got to get rid of Felix,” she said. “At the joust next Sunday.”
He had wondered if some cynical tongue might propagate that idea. He hadn’t looked for it here, at the supper table. He said, “He’ll be all right.”
“You know he isn’t good enough. You tested him specially. Then you bought him all that armour.”
Nicholas said, “So I have to stop him being hurt. Or people will blame me.”
“So you’ve disinherited him?” said the fat girl.
She was demoniac. He said, “Why not ask to see the marriage contract? He isn’t disinherited. He and his mother still have all the profits of the business. If they both die tomorrow, I get nothing.”
Her eyes were on the furred robe. “That’s nice,” she said.
“I have the receipt in my purse,” Nicholas said. “Now stop poking into my affairs and remember that I can hurt your sister a lot more than you can hurt me.”
“You have,” said Gelis.
More food plates arrived and were settled before them. Skilled hands holding wine flasks reached over their shoulders. Nicholas said, “You’ve sent messages to her by pigeon, no doubt.”
“I’ve written,” said Gelis. “She won’t have got it yet. She’s sent you a letter. I’ve read it.”
“Presumably she knew you would,” he said. “Am I to read it or not?”
She had been sitting on it. A much-folded bunch of pages, now shell-shaped with the seal thoroughly burst, was retrieved with a jerk and handed over. He put it in his purse. He said, “Tell me something.”
“What?” said the child.
“Do you consider that the demoiselle de Charetty has hurt your sister as well?”
The face, restored to its pasty norm, stared at him. “What’s she got to do with it? You’re the one who did what you did,” said Gelis van Borselen.
The situation became clear. “Ah,” said Nicholas. “I thought you were expecting me to marry her.”
“Marry her!” said Katelina’s sister. She gave an unlovely laugh. “Ladies don’t marry apprentices.”
Nicholas said, “So you’ll agree that if anyone is the sufferer in this situation, it’s the demoiselle who did marry me.”
Gelis glanced down the table. “She’s a fool,” she said.
“In that respect, perhaps, yes. In every other way, no. Do you plan to hurt her?”
She was shrewd. “You’re safe,” she said. “I can’t do anything, can I, without harming Katelina’s good name, or your silly mistress? But you didn’t enjoy meeting me. You won’t enjoy the next letter from Brittany either, if you get one. And you’ll enjoy it still less when Felix gets killed at the joust, and you get the blame for it.” He drew breath, but she interrupted him. Her eyes were gleaming. “Oh, I know you say he’ll be all right,” she said. “But I can tell you he won’t. And I can tell you why, if you don’t know already. The Scots names have just come in. The names of the Scottish contenders. Including the best jouster they’ve got. Simon