Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [282]
His throat closed. He couldn’t answer her.
Then she said, “I told him that. I thought if he knew that, he deserved to know everything. So I also told him who you are.”
“They spent the night apart,” said Julius.
“Oh?” said Tobie. All anyone could see of Tobie was the rump of his black gown as he knelt on an office stool, peering out of the window.
Julius said, “So why not tell us what happened? Come on. You saw the demoiselle. You told her everything. What did she say?”
“I told you,” said Tobie. He sounded angry. “She wanted to speak to Nicholas first. Then she’ll see me after the service. Then I can tell you.”
Julius said, “But if they spent the night apart …”
Gregorio said, “There might have been all sorts of reasons for that. We might as well wait till Tobie can tell us. Anyway, if he knew anything he wouldn’t be hanging out of the window to see if they go off to Notre Dame together.”
Tobie’s rump remained uncommunicative. Then it jerked. “They’re going!” he said.
Julius bounded to the next window and threw open a shutter. Below, indeed, was a group of well-groomed servants in the Charetty livery, Loppe towering head and shoulders over the rest. His face was expressionless, which Julius had learned to recognise as a bad sign. There were also two horses. Marian de Charetty, in a white headdress and a dark cloak, was already mounted, and, as he watched, Nicholas came out and turned to his stirrup.
Julius came away from the window rather abruptly. Tobie, he saw, had done the same. Tobie said, “It isn’t all that amusing, is it, when you see the effects?”
Gregorio, walking quietly to the window, looked out as well. He said, “They would have to go anyway, to keep up appearances in front of their friends.”
Julius said, “And not only their friends. The noble Simon of Kilmirren will be among the Scots mourners.”
Tobie pulled his hat off. “How d’you know that?” he said.
Julius made a wry face. “Because I pick the right clients,” he said. “Liddell. Secretary of Bishop Kennedy and tutor to the small Scottish prince. They’re all staying at the lord of Veere’s house, and I went there for a signature yesterday. Liddell told me Simon had come for the Mass. Brought his wife, too.”
Gregorio said, “I remember. At the time of the White Bear tournament. My lord Simon was escorting the sister of Reid, the Staple merchant. Muriella, her name was.”
“And no doubt still is,” said Julius. “But that’s not the lady he married. Simon’s been married for nearly four months to Katelina van Borselen. I saw her. Very pregnant.”
“Very pregnant?” said Tobie.
“As I say. I would reckon,” said Julius cheerfully, “that Simon got there about four weeks before the priest did. He’s delighted, says Liddell. Been trying to get children, as we all know, for years. What was that girl’s name?”
“Muriella,” said Gregorio drily.
“No,” said Tobie. “The one he’s thinking of was called Mabelie. Oh, Jesus Christ. Nicholas. He doesn’t know Simon’s married?”
“No,” said Julius, sobering suddenly. “I should have warned him, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, you should,” said Tobie grimly.
Delight was, indeed, the mood of Simon of Kilmirren these days. Waiting while his wife’s servants dressed her to go to Notre Dame, he felt hardly any impatience. He was almost sorry that her train was as long as it was. Swept about and held bunched to her breast as the fashion now was, it hid the rounded, rich swell of her belly.
In which kicked his child. The heir to Kilmirren, now that his father was surely done for, and his wretched miser of an uncle had met his end at last. Kilmirren was his, and the title was almost his, and in due course would pass down to the child.
Katelina was sensitive about the size of the child. Simon didn’t mind.