Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [36]
In the middle was her manager Henninc, in cuffed hat and sideless coat that reached to his calves at the back and his knees at the front because of his belly, which had not got any smaller. Because of her food or her wine, she was not sure which. But an honest man, Cornelis had always maintained. Plodding, with no head for figures, but honest.
The need for a man with clerk’s training was what had led to the appointment of Julius. There he was. A sturdy stance, but one that avoided defiance. Or deference, if it came to that. Too handsome by half, Cornelis had grumbled at the hiring. Not from any distrust of herself: he knew better than that. But that blunt, heavy-boned face with its slanting eyes and nose so straight it might have been broken – that could cause trouble among burghers’ wives as well as the girls in the house and the market-place.
But in fact, Meester Julius had given no trouble. Either his discretion was absolute, or the opposite sex had no part in his calculations. Nor, even more mercifully (it appeared), had the same sex. At the same time, he had been a fool with Felix.
And there her son was, dashing out of the house with a stupid hat in his hand and his crimped curls bouncing. No less gaunt – was he wasting: what kept him so puny? No less boisterous. No less …
Dismounted, she stopped him with her voice before he could reach her. “Felix de Charetty, return to the house. When I wish to speak to you, I will send for you.”
Hurt eyes: the mutinous lip beginning to bulge. Then he lowered his gaze and said, “Yes, my lady mother,” and turning, walked with dignity back to the house. Good.
Now her own daughters had dismounted and were standing behind her. Tilde and little Catherine, demure, obedient; shooting glances from under their hoods. Look at us. Grown women with husbands to find.
“And Henninc,” said the widow. “You are well? Come to my office in five minutes.” She took her time. She ran her eye over all her workers, all her servants, and acknowledged their bobs and their curtseys before she brought her gaze round to her notary. “And the good master Julius. Can you spare me some time, a little later?”
“Whenever you wish, lady,” he said. He inclined his head.
“And your troublesome apprentice?” she said.
Henninc said, “Claes is indoors, demoiselle. The magistrates wished him kept indoors until you arrived.”
“No doubt,” said the widow de Charetty. “But there was no need to agree with them, surely? Unless of course the town intends to recompense me for the loss of his labours? Or was this your arrangement, Meester Julius?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “I fear,” said the notary, “that the magistrates would accept no appeal. If I may, I shall explain when we speak.”
“So you shall,” said Marian de Charetty. “And so shall the apprentice Claes.” And nodding, disengaged the clasp of her cloak and walked across to her door, her daughters following.
Her steward, panting, reached it in time to set it open for her.
Felix went up to the attic where Claes sat on his pallet, fiddling with a knife and a lot of wood shavings. Felix said, “Mother’s home. Henninc and Julius first.”
“Warm or cold?” Claes said, tilting the box he was working on. Claes was always making toys, and other people broke them.
“Freezing,” said Felix heartily. He was a little pale.
“That’s a parade for the yard,” Claes said comfortably. He squinted along an angle and, taking his knife, niggled at something. “Tell the truth and don’t rely on Julius. He can’t cover up all the time, and Henninc will have to come out with it all anyway, to save his own skin.” He put his contraption on the floor and poked about till he found a small wooden ball.
Felix said, “It’s all very well for you. You’re not her son and heir. The honour due to your father’s fair memory. Future of his beloved business. Goodwill of the clients and the