The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [51]
‘With his disciples around him,’ said Philippa. A man with black eyes and earrings smiled at her.
‘… and the return of England, triumphant, to the See Apostolic upon the devoted petition of Parliament … Don Alfonso.’
‘My Lady Dormer,’ said the man with black eyes, smiling at Lady Dormer. ‘May I assist you? You wish to pass to the royal apartments?’
On principle, Jane’s formidable grandmother never spoke Spanish. ‘There is no need, I thank you,’ she said, her old eyes surveying, in one level stare, all the extravagances of Spanish high fashion. ‘Mistress Jane is not yet due for her service, and Mistress Philippa is here to become acquainted with those more familiar at Court.’ She turned to Philippa, and Philippa met the black eyes, her own well-drilled brown ones quite blank. ‘Let me present Don Alfonso Derronda, secretary to the Prince of Melito. Mistress Philippa Crawford.’
The young Spanish gentleman, recovering from his bow to Jane Dormer, bestowed an even more convolute gesture on Philippa. He floated upright with his rosy lips open. ‘But a coincidence!’ he cried. ‘Mistress Crawford! I have been required to present her to the Prince at the first opportunity.’
The hooded eyes studied him. ‘The first opportunity has not yet occurred,’ said Lady Dormer. ‘When it does, I shall present her.’ Through the chatter of high English voices and the flow of Spanish, halting and fluent, her voice sounded cold. Someone near broke into laughter and a string consort, playing unseen in the fretted room high in the screen, embarked on a galliard. The long room was too crowded for dancing, but the conversation, as if in sympathy, quickened and sparkled. A voice, recently heard, said to Don Alfonso, ‘Let me present her. The Prince of Melito is standing just over there.’
Lady Lennox had appeared beside Philippa. In two more skilful minutes, she and Don Alfonso were pressing through the bright crowd, with Philippa captured between them. At the far end of the room, smiling, Lady Lennox came to a halt, her furred oversleeves swinging, and the young Spaniard laughed and lifted his eyebrows. ‘I see no Don Ruy Gomez de Silva.’
Margaret Lennox allowed her fine eyes to rest first on the Spaniard and then on Philippa Somerville. ‘Because he is changing his costume for cane-play, as you well know, Don Alfonso. You also know that my poor Lady Dormer dislikes him.’
‘She thinks him a cynic,’ Don Alfonso said.
‘As he is,’ said Lady Lennox.
‘A realist,’ said the young Spaniard. ‘Upon the devoted petition of Parliament! How impartial, one wonders, were the recent elections to Parliament, and is it not a coincidence that barely a member inimical to Holy Church and the Queen’s will was returned? Has this stiff-necked people, one asks oneself, really been led back so soon to the obedience of the Church? Last year they denied the Sacrament and married their clergy. This year, as they tell me, all their beliefs have been altered. Can it be true that, as Cotswold lions, the people of England follow the faith of their King: Judaism or Mahometism—it is all one to them? Does Parliament really represent the wish of the people?’
Lady Lennox did not wince, nor move as much as would stir the folds of black velvet laid under her jewel-sewn head-dress. She said, ‘How can you doubt it? What else are we assisting their Majesties to celebrate?’
‘The slicking down,’ said Don Alfonso, ‘of the thread of rebellion.’ Margaret Lennox laughed. ‘Gloomy Spaniard! Will it stay down, do you think?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Don Alfonso. ‘Or perhaps, looking again, we shall see not a single frayed thread, but a yawning black hell-hole of heresy.… If Mistress Crawford permits, might your humble servant take her to the cane-play?’
Philippa switched her obedient gaze to Lady Lennox, who smiled and laid a splendid ringed hand on her shoulder. ‘Mistress Crawford, I am sure, would prefer to be called Mistress Philippa. Her marriage is soon to be null: perhaps Lady Dormer omitted to tell you. And yes, I am convinced that cane-play would appeal to her much