To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [154]
She said as much to Bel, walking through the principal room of the tower and opening one of the windows. Bel licked her finger and, joining her, removed a spot on one of the painted panes. She rubbed it squeakily dry before answering. ‘You think he wants a title for Jordan.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ Gelis said. ‘And, of course, for himself.’ Bel was looking at her. She waited to see what the old lady had to say.
Bel said, ‘I wouldna quarrel with that. I’ve changed my mind these last days. I’d like fine to see Nicholas de Fleury settled here. And yourself. And the bairn.’
‘Would you?’ said Gelis.
‘Why so surprised?’ the old woman said. She turned aside and shifted a basin, rearranging the flask at its side. Both were of silver.
Gelis said, ‘I slept with Simon.’
‘Everybody has,’ said the old woman. ‘You’ll not do it again. Nobody does.’
‘I kept the baby from Nicholas,’ Gelis said. ‘You were against that.’
‘I wasna against your wedding,’ the old lady said. ‘And he’s got his child now.’
‘You blamed him for Lucia’s death,’ Gelis said. ‘He’s killed others. He nearly killed Simon, and Adorne. He nearly killed me.’
‘Did he?’ said Bel. ‘I thought the fall was an accident.’
‘I wasn’t talking of Hesdin,’ said Gelis. ‘He tried to get me to–’ She stopped.
‘What?’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘What, Gelis?’ The cold light on her face made her look older even than fifty-two. Then slowly her expression changed and, stretching one hand, she shut and fastened the window while she drew Gelis away with the other. Her fists were puffy and small; her touch so light Gelis could hardly feel it. Bel said, ‘Come to the brazier. We’re not going to talk if you don’t want to. You’re saying, if I understand you, that Nicholas is not to be trusted, and I won’t say you’re wrong. But ye came back.’
‘For Jordan,’ said Gelis. There was a painting with a watered silk hanging, and a walnut firescreen, and an inlaid desk with a beautiful hour-glass standing on it. The cushions were of tooled leather with tassels.
‘And you are staying for Jordan?’ the old lady said. ‘If Nicholas makes Beltrees his home, you would stay here? Or if he goes, will you let him?’
‘Let him?’ said Gelis.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Bel. ‘You are holding each other. That much is obvious, even to me.’
They stood facing one another. Gelis turned and touched the basin that Bel had aligned. She said, ‘So what were you trying to do? Beggar him?’
Bel smiled. It was a tired smile, but with a good deal of mischief still lurking there. She said, ‘Just say I was trying to save him from spending it on something much dafter. But I’d help him win to a title. For Jordan’s sake.’
Gelis said, ‘Which Jordan? If Nicholas wants to establish a dynasty here, don’t you think he’ll get rid of both Jordan de Ribérac and Simon? Unless they get rid of him first.’
‘They arena here,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘And he is. Come. Master Oliver will expect us downstairs.’
They did not talk of Nicholas directly again, Bel being, as Gelis knew, an (astute) respecter of boundaries. In the days that followed they gradually fell into something extraordinarily like their old easy companionship, riding, walking and talking on the boundless variety of subjects on which Bel had an opinion, usually provocative. It was a respite. But, as the days went by and Nicholas failed to appear, an end had to be made. Bel made no objection when Gelis announced her departure to Dean, and they rode back to Bel’s house and parted. She had been away for six days.
Returned to Dean, Gelis found that nothing had changed save for the departure of Katelijne in the wake of a summons, it seemed, from her brother. The reason was not crystal clear, except that it had to do with her ailing aunt Margriet. Wiping compassion from her freckled young face, the lady Margaret proposed that Dame