Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [19]
‘Whose instructions?’ said Nicholas.
The man was unlike any porter he and Marian had employed. Of middle age, weathered and scarred, he had the look of a skilled roving soldier. He said, ‘My mistress is Mathilde de Charetty.’
Tilde, of course. Tilde, Marian’s daughter. ‘And she is not here?’ Nicholas said. ‘Or is here, and afraid to deal with this personally?’ He pitched his voice to carry as far as the house; and stood, ostentatiously relaxed and ostentatiously alone.
Tilde’s voice said, ‘The porter has told you. We prefer not to receive you.’ Her voice, trembling slightly, was deeper than you would expect in a girl of under fifteen. He remembered it from Venice. She had been afraid of him then: afraid that he would push her and her sister aside and take over the business; and he had played on the fear, trying to make her stand on her own feet. If her mother’s workmen remained; if he released (and he had) all the senior company men who were willing to go back to Bruges, the business could prosper.
He had thought, after two or three months, that she would feel secure enough to meet him, at least. He had not expected a public rebuff, and a bodyguard. What was Julius thinking of?
He saw her now, crossing the yard and standing, her hands tightly together, at the porter’s shoulder. Her hair was a duller brown than her mother’s, and she lacked her mother’s bright colour. Just now, she was white. The spectators around him, grown silent, moved and murmured in anticipation. He said, ‘Tilde? I have something to tell you. I have come from the chapel at Fleury.’
‘Is that all?’ she said. ‘I was there before you. If you have something to say, write it down.’
Someone clucked reprovingly, and someone gave a comic groan and a laugh. Without privacy, exchange was impossible. He said, ‘Is Meester Julius there?’
‘He is,’ said Tilde. ‘But he has been forbidden to speak to you. Father Godscalc will not come out either. This is the Charetty business, not yours.’
‘And do my clothes fit you?’ said Nicholas. ‘If not, I should like to have them back. And the other effects in my room, unless you have sold them.’
‘They will be sent to you,’ said the hard voice of Tilde. ‘If they have perished, you will have an accounting. There are some gifts you made to my mother.’
‘Keep them. The rest can go to the Avignon. I shall be there for three days. Thomas wishes to call on you.’
‘Why?’ said Tilde.
‘To serve you and Catherine. Captain Astorre wants you to have his protection.’
‘I have protection,’ Tilde said. ‘A new bodyguard. We have no need of Thomas. Send him back to Astorre.’
‘He is not under my orders,’ said Nicholas. ‘I dare say he will find work of some kind in Bruges. If you want him, no doubt you can find him. Is there anything else?’
‘Where are you going?’ said Tilde.
‘To the Avignon,’ Nicholas said. He paused, about to remount.
She said, ‘No. After that. Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas said. ‘Into business of some sort. I don’t want to compete with you. But we ought to talk if we’re going to avoid it.’
She said, ‘You want to know all our plans.’
Nicholas said, ‘Tilde, I know more about your business than you do. But I’ll leave you alone if you want me to. I do want to collect some things that belong to me. If you let me in, it won’t take me a moment.’
‘No,’ said Tilde. ‘Send your mistress.’
A stir of excitement. Nicholas set his teeth. ‘I would if I had one,’ he said.
‘Your future wife, then,’ said Tilde. ‘She’s here to petition the Duke, but the old man’s too sick to appreciate her. She’s been waiting for you for days. A lady from the duchy of Savoy. She calls herself Primaflora.’
When he got to the Avignon, Thomas was holding public court in the wet, straw-spattered yard. One or two of the listeners around him had strolled off before Nicholas reached them. Among the others were one or two he recognised as old cronies of Astorre and his friends, and one or two he recalled as well-qualified tattlers.