The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [137]
‘You are telling me something?’ said Katelijne.
‘Of course. Marry whom you like and respect, but do not expect to choose whom you will marry. You owe as much to your family. And think a long time before you decide not to marry at all. It may suit Phemie, but for most women a partnership of the soul alone is not enough.’
Katelijne didn’t reply. It was a litany much repeated in the last year. She knew the situation in Flanders: the Duke of Burgundy’s unpredictable temper; the fears of the Flemish towns under him. She knew that, at present, her family were uncertain where best to marry her. That was partly why she and her brother were here.
They might have to depend on their links with this land in the future. It was one of the reasons why her uncle had hoped that M. de Fleury would not come back to Scotland. Katelijne wondered what was so menacing about the fair Gelis van Borselen, and whether any improvement was to be hoped for. A properly impassioned young wife would surely keep M. de Fleury at home. She even questioned Master Gregorio discreetly, as they walked up the stairs.
‘After the Queen’s fleet arrives? I hope he’ll go back,’ Gregorio said. ‘I’ve advised it. Alexandria is safe now: he should go there. But you like it here? The air suits you better in the west?’
‘I haven’t breathed any of it yet: it’s been busier than Haddington Priory. The Countess asked my lady her sister to lend Dame Betha and Phemie and me to help her prepare the state rooms for her husband. Then we have to ride back to Leith for the Royal Danish Arrival. Phemie and I have to sing a new laud, but we can’t tell the notes from the beer stains. I’m making a flute on a lathe. The private rooms are up here. You remember Hearty James, the King’s uncle?’
‘Who?’ said Master Gregorio.
‘James Stewart of Auchterhouse, the half-royal uncle. He visited Veere. His sister married Wolfaert van Borselen.’
‘Oh,’ said the lawyer.
‘I knew you’d be pleased. Hearty James. He got drunk with the rest at Linlithgow. You know. When they pilfered the crates from the Ghost. Was the compensation worth while?’
‘It was adequate,’ Gregorio said.
‘I’m sure. Half the furnishings ended up here. Oh, look!’ Katelijne said. She waited while the lawyer stood and gazed up at the roof, his cap-lappets laid back like dogs’ ears. It had pleased her to discover that he recognised when she was teasing him, and didn’t mind. He was a shy man, not a stiff one, she saw.
They were looking at a tall ladder, upon which stood the King’s uncle, hanging a mirror. At its foot stood his half-niece and M. de Fleury, with Dame Betha and Phemie behind them. Phemie was weeping.
The lady Mary said, ‘To the left. To the left. That is where you say we should have it?’ A pearl had burst from her sleeve, leaving a poke of pink taffeta, and the tips of her fingers were black.
‘That is where the Duchess would have it,’ said M. de Fleury. ‘With the little desk there, and the picture-cloth looped to the right. Gregorio, what do you think?’
Gregorio sneezed. His eyes, like those of Phemie, were watering. He said, ‘Forgive me. There is a remarkable scent …’
‘It’s the mirror,’ said Katelijne. ‘Didn’t you know? Or no, of course, all these things came on the Ghost. The paste reliefs on the mirror are scented. We hope my lord Thomas likes musk. And that is a book-cushion. And that is a firescreen, with inlaid wood tinti e ombrati, stained and shaded. Scorched, that is, in hot salt.’
‘Sand,’ corrected Dame Betha, who was protecting a large covered bell on a standpost.
‘For fine veneers,’ Katelijne conceded. ‘For thick skins, there is nothing like salt. You need a globb nail.’
The royal uncle and M. de Fleury, who were the same age and equally unused to technical jargon, exchanged glances. Mistress Phemie said, through her tears, ‘I have a lozen one. Can you reach it?’
‘Give it me,’ said Master Gregorio, and tossed the headed nail upwards, lappets flying. The royal uncle snatched,