Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [278]
“They’re there already,” said Julius.
Chapter 40
ISOLATED IN HIS wooden box, where the triggers for the moment had ceased to act, Nicholas was not only waiting; he was adrift.
He gave no appearance of it, being endlessly industrious on the concerns of his business by day, and taking on himself, by night, the charge of the demoiselle’s happiness.
Marian de Charetty was happy. He had known since their marriage the triple rôle he had played, sometimes as Claikine, the child whom she pitied; sometimes as Nicholas her steward and factor, to be relied on like Julius or Gregorio. And sometimes as a substitute for Cornelis, who would take her burden when she was tired, and whom she could trust, because she was married to him.
He had known, too, what pity could lead to, and loneliness. Because of it, he had kept one private rule since his marriage. It was not a popular one among the girls who thought they knew him.
He no longer suffered a servant’s life, and so no longer, you would say, needed compensations. Instead, he found himself with a new, densely organised career, but no means of relief. He endured it, but not easily. What part this had played in his surrender on the night of Jaak de Fleury’s death he didn’t want to know. But he could hardly fail to see, in the morning, the result of that night spent with Marian: her fresh colour; and the calm with which she spoke lovingly of all that had to do with Felix. To Nicholas she used the same voice exactly. He was to be Felix. He was to receive comfort, and not bestow it.
And so it had continued. The first days for her had been bridal: to wait until nightfall a penance. He had to be wise for them both: to remember that night-long pleasure was something that only the young can withstand for long; to be gentle; to recognise that the relationship must diminish, and settle sooner or later at a level much less intense. He was ready, he thought, to deal with that as well. The real world demanded tolls of all kinds. To drain off his energy, he had the exercise ground and the archery butts to return to. He got Julius to go with him to both, and forced even Tobie and Gregorio into joining.
They didn’t thank him, although once they were there he thought they enjoyed it. He had hoped, for the sake of the business, that they would all three get on together; and for the sake of the business, unloaded on them everything he could think of, so that they got used to helping each other.
They did get on well together. They were roughly the same age, and all professionals. He had expected to be regarded as the outsider, and he was. He thought that once he felt better about a number of things, it would be time to start handling them. And then to make plans.
Soon after that, the alum sanction came through. It was the first of the things he had been waiting for. The arrangements were already poised, and only needed to be put into action. Nicholas set Tobie to do some of that, and went on himself to visit the Hôtel Jerusalem.
He had seen something of Adorne since he came back: there was no need to talk about Felix. Nor had much been said about the death of Jaak de Fleury, which officialdom had dealt with so remarkably smoothly. Since the wedding here in this hall, Margriet Adorne had been a good friend to Marian, sustaining her in the first days of her loss, and helping her now with her daughters.
It was to be expected, he supposed, that Tilde and Catherine, jealous and angry, should want to enjoy what their mother was now enjoying, and should bid fair to run wild with the young of their circle. Someone had to restrain them, since attention and restraint, in the end, were what they wanted. He himself was the one person who couldn’t help. But Marian and Margriet were managing, between them.
Adorne was as glad as he was about the papers from Venice, and they spent a long time making arrangements. Adorne, the long, fair, quizzical face unaltered, was wearing a dark robe and doublet out of deference to his Scottish clients, whose king had just died.