Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [261]
“I have no business. I have no house. I have only the money you owe me and the chance to avenge myself on those who thought I was finished. To bestow on the Charetty business my wisdom and my experience. To regain my capital and return and show those beggars what a successful businessman is.”
His smiling gaze remained on her face, blandly confident. She felt her heart beating. She said, “I am sorry, of course. But you’re mistaken. This business owes you nothing. The debts were on your side. I received payment for them from the Medici.”
The lustrous eyes flickered once. “Ah,” he said. “From young Claikine your husband, perhaps? He collected them in Geneva, after he had successfully half-killed and kidnapped your son. He did not, perhaps, tell you that the amount you were in credit was less than half the sum owed by the Charetty to me?”
Marian de Charetty walked forward. She rested her hand on the tall chair she kept for her visitors, and then moved round and sat on it. She folded her hands. She said, “You had better speak plainly. I have already heard from my husband that he and Felix were in Geneva. And I have since had papers signed by Felix himself in Milan. I am not therefore inclined to believe you.”
“Oh, you may believe I am bankrupt,” said Jaak de Fleury. “The news will be all round Bruges in a day or two. And you may believe that your son called at my house, and that your husband drew a weapon and felled him, rather than allow him to come home to you. Any of my men will confirm it. Even those who fled home and deserted me. Even the friends of this rascal you married.”
“And the signature in Milan?”
“Under duress, I dare say, poor fool. Now, of course, your husband has sent your son Felix to Italy, but so far his efforts to remove his rival have failed. The boy, I am told, survived Sarno. He may not, however, survive life in the Abruzzi alongside Monsieur Nicholas. You will permit me to ask your kitchen for food and hot water? I have ridden, as you might think, a considerable distance.”
Marian de Charetty got up. “I know a tavern that will suit you very well,” she said. “And will give you both food and hot water. I am sorry your business has failed but you are not persuading me, I’m afraid, to rush to help you. You have a brother in Burgundy. I suggest you shelter with him.”
He remained, smiling, where he was. “But Thibault, dear lady, has no money either,” he said. “And a wild daughter to provide for. No. If I have to earn my living, it must be in Bruges. If you won’t help me, I must go elsewhere. To the dyers’ guild certainly. I hear they supported you after the fire. They may find loans for me. Or they may hesitate, when they hear how their gold found its way out of the country in the purse of the servant you married. Until he saw the proofs, your poor son could hardly believe it. He protested most bravely. He was protesting when he fell. The dyers of Bruges will be proud of him, although it may worry your clients somewhat.” Jaak de Fleury shook his head sadly. “After such a fire and such thievery, public confidence in the Charetty company will not encourage investors. You would do better to make me your partner. You will make money. And no disagreeable rumours need ever upset your friends or your business.”
She stared at him.
He said, “You still find it hard to believe me? Take an hour. Ask my men what you like. I shall be here when you come back. Perhaps, on your way, you could bring yourself to send to the kitchens, as I suggested, for some hot water and food? With reasonable speed. Like your little company, your staff does not inspire confidence.”
She said, “I am not only going to question your men, I am going to speak to my man of law. When I come back, I shall have several men with me. You may therefore take one hour, sitting here. I shall have someone bring you a refreshment. I shall remove, if you have no objection, the private ledgers of my company. And I have to