Checkmate by Dorothy Dunnett
‘Because I was offered it,’ said Lymond laconically. ‘Aussy tost veu, aussy tost pleust. Also because I dislike untidy wars, as I dislike untidy peacemaking. I am staying in France. Fergie, do you want to go back to Scotland?’
Fergie Hoddim looked surprised. ‘I thought the kingdom of France was to be ruinated if I got any wages. I’ll have to earn my fare somehow.’
The long mouth twitched in a way that had not changed. ‘Alec?’
‘Do I take it,’ said Alec Guthrie, ‘that you want us on the strength here again? I tell you, it’s like working under a weather-cock.’
‘The answer is yes,’ Lymond said, ‘provided you can keep Fergie out of the Chambre des Comptes. He’d be a joy on a plinth as Temperantia, embracing his clock and his spectacles.’
He stood up. ‘I must go. I’m at Marchais just now, and shall be until the army is mustered, but I shall come back when I can.’
They moved to the doorway with him, talking. As they waited for his horse Adam said, quietly, ‘You know Marthe has come back?’
Jerott caught it. He flushed. ‘I’m sure he is interested,’ he said. ‘But we, apparently, are not to ask how Philippa is, or where she is, or why in God’s name he didn’t keep to his divorce in the first place.’ He faced Francis Crawford suddenly, standing stubbornly in his way to the sunlight.
‘If I asked you all those things, would you answer?’
There was a little silence. Then Guthrie said dryly, ‘I think, mon commandant, that you will have to say something, even if it’s only to declare that after all these years, neither your welfare nor Mistress Philippa’s should concern us.’
Lymond said, ‘She is well. She is at Sevigny, and Archie is with her. If you will tell me, Jerott, why you received Marthe back, I shall tell you why I failed to have my marriage dissolved. The rest, I imagine, is more my affair than that of any other man’s, however well disposed he may be. Are you answered?’
‘Yes,’ said Guthrie bluntly. ‘He’s answered. Now go, since that is what you have come to do, and advance the glory of the kingdom of France in the terrestrial globe, without if possible permitting the King or the King-Dauphin within ten full miles of the nearest action.’
And to Jerott, as they watched the banners of Sevigny vanishing: ‘You will have to change your theory,’ said Guthrie, ‘unless you have ever met that look on a greedy philanderer. Adam, what do you know, that you are so silent?’
‘I know enough,’ said Adam Blacklock, ‘not to ask a lot of interfering bloody questions and expect them to be answered. If someone builds a bulwark that high, it’s for reasons that matter, I take it.’
‘I also,’ said Alec Guthrie. ‘But a bulwark may cut off help, as well as interference. Jerott is right. To measure a ladder against it from time to time is justifiable.’
‘Then let’s leave it to Jerott,’ said Danny. ‘The next man with a ladder, I fancy, is going to find himself bounced off and run through the brisket.’
*
The King of France held a review of his army in battle array, the troops numbering sixty thousand in all, and comprising the largest and finest force of foot and cavalry the kingdom had ever mustered. The review line was four miles or longer, and it took three hours to march from the top to the bottom and back again. It was a very hot day.
A force of seven ensigns, headed by a captain of Montluc’s and Adam Blacklock, left Pierrepont for Corbie, marching for two nights and a day without halting for more than a catnap; and entered the town just ahead of the enemy. Danny Hislop departed for Dourlans with three ensigns, and Guthrie, Jerott and Captain de Forcés with seven for Amiens. Fergie Hoddim set off for Montreuil with a small force. With him went de Villars with a larger one, also destined for Amiens.
The comtesse de Sevigny received a letter.
The man who brought it was not known to her, but the superscription, small, clear and level, was in a writing now dearly familiar. She slit the wax, alone in her chamber. He had used, instead of the Russian ring, the seal of Sevigny.
The letter inside was direct as the spoken word, and had no preamble. It told her exactly what he was doing and gave, briefly, an outline of his expected movements.
Three lines dealt with business: I have no reason to expect serious fighting. If I am wrong, Nicholas has control of all my affairs and will see that you are taken home to Flaw Valleys. What belongs to you in Paris will return to you. Most of my other assets, which have for some time been out of France, will in due course follow you there also.
The next line said: I have no premonition about this. It is only necessary to be practical.
The last lines said: I have tried not to reach you, in this way or another, by any disfiguring sentiment. You know, I think, that my feelings on this are quite different.
Below this and above it was an interval, as if with each paragraph the writer had intended to end the letter, but had been brought, in the end, to add to it.
He had meant, perhaps to leave it unsigned. But below, briefly, he had put the words.
I am thou thy selfe.
And below that, had signed his name: Francis.
The courier waited for her reply, which was bright and trenchant and matter-of-fact, as once had been her diary to Kate, written in the Sultan’s seraglio; for its purpose, as then, was to strengthen, and not to weaken.
In it she put only her daily news, but with a detail which, unlike his, covered several pages. She found time, as she was writing, to be deeply thankful that love and self-respect together had demanded that her days should be full, so that he should find nothing there to add to his anxiety.
Only at the end did she stop and read again, with painful understanding, the words of his final paragraph, and the appeal which, despite himself, they held in their closing phrases.
So she finished, as he had done, in a brief key which was very different.
I have told you the work of my hands. The place of my thoughts you may know by now. For yours, the door of this kingdom is open by day and by night if you will lend them to me.
The second seal, the one used by Nicholas Applegarth, was still in the desk. She lifted it out, and heating the wax, imprinted it on the folded paper so that the first thing he would see, when he touched it, was his own crest of Sevigny. Then, having delivered it to the courier, she went to her room and, her head in her empty hands, sought for him.
*
In Paris on the same day, Master John Elder took steps at last to obey his mistress, and sail back to England.
He called at the Palais de Justice for his safe conduct. Next, out of malice as well as necessity, he visited the Hôtel de l’Ange, and inquired for Lord Allendale.
Austin was out, but Lord Culter received him. Dealing briefly with his inquiries, Lord Culter observed curtly that his mother was ill in her chamber, and he thought it exceedingly unlikely that Lord Allendale would want to leave France at present, with or without Master Eider.
Master Elder clicked his teeth, his long raw face full of affliction. ‘The matter of Mr Crawford. That is, I beg your pardon, the comte de … Or no. The Marshal, is it not, of Sevigny? A name whose renown, I am sure, will bring nothing but credit to the Crawford family. But of course, mixed with sorrow.… Mixed, like all great blessings, with sorrow. The young lady, I am told, ran away from him.’
‘Indeed?’ said Lord Culter. ‘Then you have been misinformed. The comtesse de Sevigny is still at her château.’
‘I have it wrong,’ said Master Elder with contrition. ‘It was your brother who renounced all his offices to stay with his bride—a delightful romance: it had all Paris weeping. And then summoned by the King, of course, felt unable to withhold his services. So the Countess expects him to return?’
‘I think,’ said Austin Grey’s voice from the doorway, ‘you should absolve Lord Culter from answering. None of us expects Mr Crawford to return, but it would not be polite to say so. Did you wish to see me?’
Master John Elder was not unused to
‘That is not true,’ said Austin Grey harshly. ‘Or Lady Culter assures me so.’
‘I hope the poor girl fares well,’ said Elder sententiously. ‘Men of violence are rarely gentle in their dealings with the opposite sex. Children may be denied them. Poor lady. I shall ask Lady Lennox to write to her mother. That is, if you are not to be persuaded to come to England yet? The Commissioners, I am told, are not enjoying the full brightness of the Cardinal’s pleasure at present.’
‘Their privileges, I suppose, could not continue indefinitely,’ Austin said. ‘The war has enforced economies, and the unrest has meant firmer measures to protect the public order. As soon as the English fleet ceases patrolling the Narrow Seas they will be permitted to go. I mean to wait at least until then.’
‘And, perhaps, take the comtesse de Sevigny back to England with you?’ said John Elder warmly. ‘How that would delight the Countess my mistress! Then, I have to tell you, the coffer entrusted to you by the Palais de Justice is to be transferred to me. You were about to take home at their instance the effects of a deceased English gentleman, so they tell me? Are they here?’
‘In this room. In the corner,’ said Austin Grey, nodding. And stood, displeased and astonished as the secretary, bending over the coffer, read the label and straightened with a long, slow and unscholarly imprecation.
‘Was this the man who is dead?’ said Master Elder. ‘A man named Leonard Bailey?’
‘Why?’ said Austin coldly. ‘Did he owe you money? He was a scoundrel, I am told, if not a murderer.’
‘What!’ said Elder. Then recovering, he folded the shabby skirts of his black robe about him and sitting said, ‘Tell me all about him.’
It took five minutes, no more. At the end, ‘So that is all you know?’ said Master Elder. ‘He was found dead in the Hôtel des Sphères in the morning, having dismissed the servants the previous night, his habit when hiring a woman. On returning, however, the varlets found no sign of a femme usagère, though a horse was missing and later, several coffers of money were found locked, to the servants’ surprise, in a cellar. Then the mistress of the house, whose guest the gentleman appeared to be, was discovered dead in the yard, instead of on an extended visit, as Bailey had given out. It was thought that the store of money came to his knowledge, and that having murdered her for it, he died naturally from overstrain and excitement. Do you believe that?’
‘Why not?’ said Austin Grey.
‘And the horse?’
‘Someone stole it. The house was empty. There was no one to stop them, and the streets were full. It was the night of the Queen of Scots’ wedding.’
‘It was the night M. le comte de Sevigny, Chevalier de l’Ordre, vanished from the wedding festivities in pursuance of Madame, his charming wife Philippa,’ John Elder said. ‘It was the night an elderly gentleman called at Mistress Philippa’s rooms and was given, by arrangement, a large sum of money in four coffers, which represented all the gold she had then banked in Paris.…
‘Suppose a woman did dispose of her person to Leonard Bailey that night. Suppose that, unwisely indulging his appetites he suddenly perished, leaving her in a state of shock and unable to return to her business. Or ailing: so impaired that her husband, Bailey’s pander, was forced to remove her from Paris?’
‘What are you saying?’ said Austin. He was ashen.
‘I wonder if you remember,’ said Master Elder, ‘when we talked of the charming Marthe, who so resembles her step brother the comte de Sevigny? Did it never strike you as strange that such a resemblance should exist between a brownhaired man’s son and his natural daughter, and that both these offspring should have bright yellow hair, while the hair of the eldest, wholly legitimate son should be brown?’
‘No,’ said Austin. ‘I … There are surely several possible explanations.’
‘Several,’ said Master Elder, staring at him. ‘But all of them start with the same premise. If Madame Marthe is a bastard, then the gentleman whose colour she shares is almost certain to share her bastardy. I believe,’ said John Elder, ‘that our eminent friend is not the son of Gavin Crawford. I heard this belief was shared by a distant relative of Mr Crawford’s, a great-uncle called Leonard Bailey. One of the reasons I am in Paris this season is that Leonard Bailey promised the Countess, my mistress, to do what he could to obtain documentary proof that Francis Crawford was not what he seemed to be. He was being paid a large monthly fee to look for some original evidence, or even a copy of it. I have been waiting ever since March to hear from him.
‘Now I know why I did not hear. He found his originals, did Master Bailey; and he auctioned them. And in return for them, he obtained four coffers of money, a virgin, and a grave in unhallowed ground as a murderer.’
*
When, later, he broke into her room, Sybilla thought that her courteous young Allendale was gripped, fever-wild, with a sickness. Then she began to distinguish what, in his hoarse shaking voice, he was shouting, and exerting her own clear, scarifying force of personality made him sit down, and lower his voice, and then take in his trembling hands the strongest drink she could find him.
Then she heard him through to the end, although much of his story she had to guess from half-heard whispers and once, for a long time, he could not speak at all. During the recital she herself became very white, but she sat, her back straight, her hands tightly clasped on the long robe before her, and neither drank herself, nor interrupted until it was over.
Then she said, ‘Much of this seems to be based on assumption. Have you any real proof?’
‘All I need,’ said Austin Grey. ‘I have just been to the rue de la Cerisaye along with Elder. We found the servants with the help of the Célestins. We found the girl who let Philippa in, one day she called to see Leonard Bailey.’ He stopped and then said, ‘You see, it explains why your son knew he couldn’t get his divorce; because the grounds were to be …’
He could not finish. After a bit he went on, with courage: ‘And so he had to leave Paris, too, before Madame Roset was found.’
‘I thought you said the authorities accused Bailey of killing Madame Roset?’ Sybilla said. Her hands shook, and she steadied them.
‘Why should he?’ said Austin simply. ‘Whereas Lymond had every reason, if she knew what Bailey did. Lady Culter … you have been ill … and you must forgive me … but no son of yours could have acted like this, nor, if he did, do I believe you would own him.
‘If Lymond is not entitled to the name he bears, then he has married under false pretences, and there are grounds for annulment which never existed before. I beg you, for Philippa’s sake, tell me. Who is he? Who is he, if he is not Francis Crawford?’
‘He is Francis Crawford,’ Sybilla said.
‘You would protect him?’ Austin said. ‘Even yet? Or is it——?’ He stopped.
‘… myself I am protecting?’ Sybilla said. ‘Perhaps. Certainly, I am speaking for Richard, and for all his family. If Francis bought the proof, as you say, then it is surely destroyed, and whatever shame you bring down on our kin, you will still be no closer to an annulment. None of this is Richard’s fault. Need you ruin him also?’ She paused to collect herself and then went on.
‘There is something else I want to say. You assume that this was done with my son’s connivance. I think that you have guessed correctly. I think that Philippa knew Bailey had those particular papers, and I think that she paid the price he demanded. But, Austin, there is no man on earth who will make me believe that Francis knew it beforehand.’
‘But you don’t know your son,’ Austin said. He looked very tired, with all the violence drained from his face with the colour. ‘Then you won’t help me?’
‘I can’t help you,’ Sybilla said. ‘I can only beg you not to take this to Richard. And to remind you that if Philippa did this thing for Francis, it was a deed of heroic devotion.’
‘And so he has left her,’ said Austin.
He could not understand it, but he could feel her pain, filling the chamber. Then she said, ‘For Philippa, if you love her, you should go home to England now, Austin. Forget us and go home. We have brought you nothing but torture.’
‘I shall go home,’ he said, ‘when I can take Philippa with me.’
*
It was not to be expected that Lymond’s mother would help him. Elder had warned him of that, before he left to take ship for England. ‘And remember,’ Elder had said, ‘I know what this hypocrite is, and so does my mistress. Dig deep. Expose him. Defy all who would stop you. And if, in England or in Scotland, you need a strong arm, you have only to call on us.’
Lymond’s mother did not help him, nor did Lymond’s sister, although she received him in the Hôtel du Séjour and listened to all he had to tell her. At the end she said, ‘So honour would be satisfied if you can prove that Philippa’s husband was not worth her sacrifice?’
The black line crossed his brow, which had come to live there in the past week. ‘She is infatuated. He has abandoned her already, for a bâton.’
‘As you say. I don’t suppose,’ Marthe said, ‘you could begin to be as enraged as I am by that development. But I don’t believe Francis killed Madame Roset.’
‘Why should Bailey have killed her?’ It was what he had said to Sybilla.
‘That,’ said Marthe, ‘is exactly what I am asking myself. Why should Bailey have killed her?’
Chapter 6
Le grand theatre se viendra se redresser,
Les des jettez et les rets ja tendus:
Trop le premier en glaz viendra lasser,
Par ares prostrais de long temps ja fendus.