They wrangled, and the room filled up as usual with people and wine fumes and music. Those present had found out, as Roger had, that Nicholas bore no grudges towards friends who had done rather well while he was away. He had come back the same casual, competent man he had been, and bringing his voice. His precious, beautiful voice.
Much later on, when he had drunk enough and laughed enough, Roger sat down beside the voice’s owner and said, ‘Nicol? You’ll get the King to see he can’t go ahead with this Passion thing? It takes ten months to set up something that big, and it can’t be done on the cheap.’
‘I brought a lot of stuff with me,’ Nicholas shouted. He was rousing his new drum into a frenzy, the way he used to do with the old, and everyone else was yelling at him to stop.
He stopped. Roger moderated his answering shout in a hurry. ‘Even so. It would be crazy.’
‘Don’t you want to do all the music?’ Nicholas said. ‘The Dufay of the North? I don’t know about crazy. Getting the King to tamper with Coldingham Priory is crazy.’
‘We need the revenues for the Chapel Royal,’ Roger said, alerted suddenly. ‘Bugger your Passion. I want James’s money for a proper choir and a set of proper musicians.’
‘Contradiction in terms,’ Nicholas said. ‘Say I get both, what’s it worth? Say I get your Chapel Royal and my impossible Passion?’
Roger stared at him. ‘My bloody tropes,’ he said. ‘I’d give you my bloody tropes for the chance of both. Or another drum. But you won’t. It’d be ruinous.’
‘It’s a wager,’ Nicholas said.
Later, when the Burgundian had gone off at dawn with the others, entwined and indistinctly chanting downhill, Roger realised, thinking it over, that Nicholas hadn’t said what he’d pay if he lost.
After two months of it, Gelis had become used to Nicholas returning home late, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober, sometimes in between. It was not to say he was wholly absent. He used the Canongate mansion a great deal, as a base for his work and his meetings. She became accustomed to finding one or other of the resident officers installed at her table: the correct figure of Govaerts the manager, or John le Grant arguing percussively about his multifarious projects, or Father Moriz making known his requirements or the duties of Nicholas, which were usually the same thing. Occasionally a battered man in a black apron appeared and talked German in a hoarse voice with Father Moriz. He was a goldsmith from the Tyrol called Wilhelm.
The men who lived elsewhere, like Crackbene, seldom came to her part of the Casa to eat. There were many of them, she knew; and other projects which were taking shape on the business side of the edifice, where the bureau and counting-house were, and the clerks’ sleeping rooms, and the office of the padrone her husband. It had a separate entrance.
She did not feel unwelcome. The house was well built and meticulously furnished to a high level of comfort; Govaerts, a steward by training, had established an excellent routine and collected a good, willing staff. Her own chambers, and those of the child and his nurses, were fresh and pleasant, and she learned early to value the amiable goodwill of the Berecrofts family, on whose tenement holding their house had been built. Archie in particular had struck up a friendship with Jordan since the first day of the whistle, and often crossed the wall from his house to her own to bring something or suggest something that might divert the child. In return, she let his own son Robin spend as much time as he wished in the nursery. The boy was fourteen and lonely, she judged. Jordan liked him and, more to the point, so did Mistress Clémence.
She saw Nicholas from time to time. His chamber, adjoining her own, contained a bed and a desk and a number of presses for books and nothing else of great interest, although all of it was of good quality. Entering the house the day after their arrival in Leith, he had come to knock on her door and ask after her comfort. He had already called to see Jordan; she had heard their voices together. Now, coming in, he must have read her expression. He said, ‘I admit everything, but I didn’t bring him a present. Will this suit you?’
She said, ‘I see your room is next door.’
He sat down on her fine cushioned settle. He smelled of horse and looked unslept, but quite tranquil. ‘That doesn’t please you? I have a bed in my office, but I can’t pursue my conjugal duties from there. That’s all really that still interests the populace. Once they are reassured, I shall remove myself and my books to my quarters. You should see your face.’
‘I imagine it expresses my feelings,’ said Gelis.
‘I suspect I knew them already,’ said her husband. ‘Your chastity will remain strictly inviolate. I shall come to see Jodi, and you and I shall make some ceremonial visits. Inquisitive ladies will send their chamberlains to you, and I expect you will bring yourself to visit them. You have horses and servants and money, your own and mine, and must use it all as you please and go where you wish – so long, of course, as you are discreet. Alonse will tell you what I am doing and when we have any mutual engagements. If you want anything, tell him, or Govaerts, or me.’
He rose without haste, preparing to leave. She said, ‘As you have devised, so it shall be done.’
‘I should hope so,’ he said. The door closed. She felt like an overwound wheel, as after all their meetings alone. There had only been a handful since Hesdin and all had been equally brief, tailored to the span of their mutual tolerance. The span would lengthen, no doubt, as their nerves calmed, or their indifference strengthened. At present the ark of their marriage was secured by a line made of hyphens.
She lay in bed listening for many nights after that, learning how often he came home and when, and in what condition. She won, in time, the reticent acceptance of Govaerts, but failed with Alonse.
In October, when it was known that, despite everything, Anselm Adorne was coming to Scotland, Katelijne Sersanders paid her first visit to the Ca’ Niccolò in the Canongate since its owner’s return. She carried a cage with a parrot.
Being inquisitive but not having a chamberlain, she had already examined both the child and its mother from a distance. She approved of both, but thought that M. de Fleury’s rearranged marriage would have a better chance of success if the person who purloined his son did not feature in its earlier stages.
Before coming at all, she had consulted four different people at Haddington. Her brother Anselm held that Gelis the wife was a bitch, but that she regarded Kathi as no more than an officious young meddler, which is what she had been. Her friend the equable Mistress Phemie thought that it was time for a friendly, impersonal call so long as Kathi didn’t make too much of the child. In this Kathi concurred. Will Roger, the royal musician, emerged from working on the high notes of the lady Margaret and the chest notes (deeply rewarding) of the servant nurse Ada to express doubts.
‘I thought they were reconciled,’ said Kathi, puzzled. She was learning to knit. ‘Just because she isn’t sharing his business …’
‘More than his business,’ Roger said. ‘Who the hell taught you that?’
‘Bishop Tulloch’s housekeeper,’ Kathi said, sticking her needle back into her waist and beginning to flicker her fingers again. ‘What do you mean? I heard they were together.’ The son of Archie of Berecrofts came to Haddington for his lessons.
‘Well, tell me what you find out,’ said Will Roger sarcastically. ‘But pick a time when he’s sober.’
She laid down her needles. ‘Ah.’
‘It may just mean he’s happy,’ said Roger. ‘In fact, he is happy. Don’t go and spoil it.’
The last person she consulted was her physician. Dr Andreas said, ‘Of course you must go. But remember. You are bad for each other. No escapades.’
She had smiled. ‘I’m not fourteen any more, Dr Andreas.’
And he had gazed at her with the intentness he sometimes applied to his charts before saying, ‘Katelijne, there is a fourteen-year-old in the oldest of us; in men like M. de Fleury as well. Let it sleep.’
Walking up the turnpike stairs and from room
to room of the Ca’ Niccolò, Katelijne saw immediately that nothing had changed – something unremarkable when a man moved into a woman’s home, but unusual when the other way round. The manservant called Alonse walked before her, courteously bearing the cage. The parrot under its cover was silent, although it had once belonged here, and occasionally still repeated a phrase of M. de Fleury’s, as well as the wrangling voices of the family Boyd. When the manservant halted, it was not to introduce either her host or her hostess, but because he faced a white-coiffed, white-aproned woman who could only be the child’s nurse.
The woman said, ‘I am Clémence de Coulanges, demoiselle. I shall see to her, Alonse. Give me the parrot.’
‘You know about it?’ said Kathi, pleased. The woman, thin as a scaffold, had the same look as Phemie Dunbar: a tutelary look. It could be good, or it could be bad. If she had survived eight months with M. de Fleury, it was probably good. Kathi added, ‘Perhaps you would give it to Jordan? I’m really here to see his mother and father.’
‘M. de Fleury is away,’ said Mistress Clémence. ‘He thought you might bring the bird. Madame is here. I have to take you to her in the orchard.’
A door opened behind her. ‘But since you are here,’ the nurse continued calmly, ‘I am sure that Master Jordan would like to be presented. Jordan, this is the demoiselle Katelijne Sersanders.’
‘Demoiselle Kathi,’ said Katelijne. The child came forward, instantly friendly. Since Venice, his resemblance to his father had grown. She knew he would not remember her. He smiled, nevertheless, with both dimples, although his eyes were already fixed on the cage.
‘Bonjour, demoiselle Kathi,’ he said. ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’
‘It belongs to your father,’ said Kathi. ‘I hope he will let you have it.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mistress Clémence. ‘We shall place it here, Jordan, and you and I will show the demoiselle Kathi how to reach madame your maman in the garden.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kathi, turning to follow. The child, parting from the cage with reluctance, ran ahead. She added, ‘He looks well.’
‘The climate suits him,’ said the nurse. ‘Children are resilient creatures, so long as they receive sensible treatment. He has made a great friend of the boy Robin.’
Kathi grinned. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘there is nothing you don’t know about me. The parrot swears.’
‘In Greek and Spanish, I am told,’ said the nurse. ‘As yet, Master Bouton is not conversant with these tongues.’
‘Bouton?’ said Katelijne.
‘His father’s name for him. Mademoiselle?’
The nurse had stopped walking. ‘Yes?’ said Kathi.
‘Forgive me, but as the lady Margaret’s attendant, you must visit the Castle at times?’
‘The King is fond of his sister,’ said Kathi slowly.
The woman lowered her gaze. ‘And you, like M. de Fleury, speak the tongue of the Queen, and so must be especially welcome at Court.’
‘I have met the Queen once or twice,’ Kathi said. ‘I expect M. de Fleury knows her much better.’
‘He is at the Castle now,’ said the nurse. ‘The King likes to bring them together. The King has asked to see Master Jordan tomorrow. I am to take him to their chambers.’
‘And the lady Gelis?’ said Kathi.
‘Only the child. As mademoiselle perhaps knows, the Queen … is young.’
She said nothing more. Kathi looked at her. She said, ‘You will be with Jordan?’
The woman said, ‘Perhaps not all the time.’
‘I see,’ Kathi said. ‘When do you go?’
‘In the evening,’ said the nurse. ‘After supper. It is late, for a child.’
‘We are often there in the evening,’ Kathi said. ‘My mistress will snatch any excuse to attend a feast, or a dance. If we happened to be there, I might see you.’
‘It would be an honour,’ said Clémence de Coulanges. ‘If there is any change, the lad Robin makes a good courier. You know it is his dream to be a page to M. de Fleury?’
‘I should never have guessed it,’ said Kathi wryly. She paused, to gather her courage. She said, ‘Mistress Clémence. You were at Hesdin. What happened?’
The woman’s eyes met hers directly. The woman said, ‘You were in Alexandria, I believe, when M. de Fleury was told that his wife might be dead?’
It was put as a question. Perceived as an answer, the implication took away speech. ‘Hesdin was an accident,’ Kathi observed at length.
‘Hesdin was an accident, deeply regretted. Here is Jodi and this is where we must leave you. Beyond the door is the courtyard, and the archway leads direct to the garden.’
‘Thank you,’ said Katelijne. The nurse inclined her head and retired, the child racing ahead. She had not expected her to smile; in that one discreetly contrived meeting, Clémence de Coulanges had conveyed and gathered all that either of them needed to know. Her mind thronged, Kathi walked down the stepped slope from the mansion.
She had met the adult Gelis van Borselen only twice: the last time on that fraught night in Venice. Since then, so far as was known, Gelis had kept silence about the whole episode. The initial fault, after all, had been hers. And Kathi’s part in uniting M. de Fleury with his son had been less, on the whole, than that played by the lawyer Gregorio and Margot now his wife, or by the doctor, Tobias.
She was prepared then for civilised behaviour. She was unprepared for a young woman she hardly recognised as Gelis van Borselen seated under the trees, lightly gowned in the warm autumn air, her fair hair parted over her shoulders. Archie of Berecrofts was sitting beside her.
He scrambled to his feet. ‘Kathi! I thought you were bringing the parrot. ‘
‘I did. Robin and Jordan can teach it together. Unless you mind?’ She smiled down at the pretty woman below her.
Gelis van Borselen said, ‘Not at all. The parrot seems to have become an integral part of our lives. Come and sit. I am told Nicholas expects to be here. We have been talking about this prodigious Play he is evolving for Christmas. Will your uncle be here in time? Perhaps he or your cousin will act in it.’
Kathi sat on the rug beside Archie. ‘He should be here, but I don’t think he’d take part. Jan isn’t coming. He has to get back to Rome.’
‘And the Earl and Countess of Arran?’ said the other woman.
‘No one knows. But you’ve heard that the second Boyd baby is born, a daughter this time?’
‘Just as weel,’ said Archie cheerfully. He picked up a well-riddled apple and tossed it. ‘A wheen too many knaves round the Scots throne already. Is Nicholas directing the Play? I thought he’d got Tom Cochrane over from Beltrees.’
‘He has,’ Gelis said. ‘And another man, his factor in Renfrewshire. Oliver. Oliver Semple?’
‘You haven’t met him?’ said Kathi. ‘But you’ve been to your castle at Beltrees? M. de Fleury has taken you?’
‘Not yet,’ Gelis said. Her eyes, of a very clear blue, held a look of perpetual amusement. ‘Should he? Is it worth seeing?’
‘It ought to be,’ said Archie. ‘No, that would be clyping.’
‘Go on,’ said Kathi. ‘Tell her.’
‘It’s a fine, ample tower,’ said Archie, obeying good-naturedly. ‘Theiked with skaillie, and lined with panelled joined work throughout. Nicholas saw to the building, but left Govaerts to manage the gear. Cochrane put up a scheme, and a neighbour-woman offered to help him. Bel. Bel of Cuthilgurdy. You know her?’
Bel had been in Africa with Gelis and M. de Fleury. Gelis said, ‘Yes, I know her. And so?’
Archie said, ‘So Bel and Cochrane got the notion they were outfitting Cafaggiolo. When Govaerts was sent all the bills, he thought the Bank would have to sell up to pay them. I never heard what Nicholas said when he found out. But you ought to see it. And the wee fellow would like it just fine.’
‘Go and see it,’ Katelijne said. ‘If M. de Fleury won’t take you, we shall. Or Master Cochrane. There’s a lake, and
meadows and hills. It’s a beautiful place.’
‘Oh, I know the district,’ said Gelis. Beneath her smiling gaze, Kathi fell temporarily silent. Of course she did. It was close to the home of Jordan de Ribérac and Simon his son. Kilmirren was at present unoccupied, but it was not hard to imagine why Nicholas de Fleury had not encouraged his wife to return west.
But that was behind them, or should be. Kathi said, ‘Go to Beltrees. Take Jordan. Get M. de Fleury to go.’
‘And become a country laird?’ Gelis said. ‘It would suit the Vatachino, I suppose.’
‘Business isn’t everything,’ Kathi said.
‘Tell Nicholas that,’ said Archie; and then flushed with embarrassment. ‘But of course –’
‘But of course, at heart Nicholas is a family man,’ Gelis said.
Kathi took her leave presently. M. de Fleury had not succeeded in arriving, if he had ever intended it, and she was not invited to meet the child she had once helped to steal. She thought, looking back as she left, that perhaps Robin’s intuition was right, and this softer Gelis, the Gelis of Bruges and their courting days, might truly mean that she and M. de Fleury had mended their marriage.
If not, it meant something else, that she would rather not think about.
Next time, leaving Haddington, Katelijne Sersanders needed no special advice, since the King’s youngest sister, the fount of all royal information, was travelling with her. It had not been difficult to arrange an excuse to visit the Castle. Will Roger was adept at deception, and Margaret’s only stipulation had been that if she were going to dance, she should not have to talk to her miserable namesake, the Queen. It was going to be Kathi’s job to do that, in sign language.
It was a little unfair on the monarch. After two years of marriage, her grace the Queen’s grasp of English was reasonably good: she had some phrases off pat. This is a disgrace was one of them. This would never happen in Denmark was another. Her frame of mind was not due to lack of material comforts, esteem or loving attention; rather to an excess of some of these things. The King needed heirs, and she was childless.