“And Felix,” said Catherine.
“And Felix,” said Nicholas, looking at her mother over her head.
Because very soon after that the news, as a small and delectable scandal, began spreading throughout Bruges, and because, too, as someone said of him, there was the making of a man in Felix, he came back to his house alone that afternoon, and walked through the yard and into his house. There, Meester Gregorio, who had been watching for him, stepped in his way.
“Young master.”
The title surprised him. Then he realised that what had taken place with such secrecy was probably unknown even here. He waited neutrally to hear what the man had to say, his hat dragged off in his hand. Sersanders had lent him his cloak, to cover the ruined doublet and the rest. Anselm had been good, even though his uncle had been one of the traitors. All his friends, when it came to it, had been good, in the end. Any one of them would have put him up for the night. But there was still the morning to face. And their parents’ faces.
Gregorio, who had looked like a man with a message, had apparently changed his mind. He hesitated. Then he said, “Forgive me, jonkheere. I think you have heard some news.”
Felix’s back stiffened. He said, “I see you know of it.”
The man’s angular face didn’t soften. He said, “Merely because I was required to draw up the contract safeguarding your interests. It was your mother’s hope that she would find you here when she came back. As it is, she asks me if you will see her after you’ve seen Nicholas.” He paused. “She’s had a hard and difficult day.”
“Claes,” said Felix.
Gregorio said, “I’m sure he doesn’t mind which name you use. I was to say that he would come to your room if you send for him.”
Send for him. Claes, with his back exposed, waiting patiently for his punishment. Claes, the submissive, who never minded when his schemes failed, or his devices were broken by other people. Until this time, when he would be made to mind in such a way that he would never forget it till the end of his life. Felix began to speak, and then remembered that, to this man, Claes was his mother’s husband. He said, “Kindly ask Nicholas to come to my room in ten minutes. I wish to change. And then I shall call on my mother.” The man nodded and left.
Tilde was in his room when he got there, asleep on his bed with her face swollen with crying. He had the job of wakening her, and then holding her, stroking her hair while she tried to talk, weeping all over again. She was still there when they both heard the tap on the door to tell them that Claes had arrived. Holding his sister, Felix said, “You’re too early. Go to whatever room you are using.”
Tilde, her sobs cut off by the shock, looked at him. He said, “It’s going to be all right. I’ll put it right. Wipe your face and go to your room. Is Catherine there?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Nicholas said she was to stay with Mother tonight. She’s having supper downstairs.”
“Then go, Tilde,” said Felix. “I’ll come to you.”
After she had gone he changed, a little clumsily, into a clean shirt and a clean pair of hose and a doublet. When he opened the door, Claes was standing against the panelling along the passage. Claes said, “You know where I sleep. There’s no privacy.”
Felix held the door open, and let him come in, and shut it. He had never seen the dark doublet Claes was wearing, although his shirt was not very new. Felix said, “I was given the news at the door of the Poorterslogie. Maybe you even arranged that.”
Claes said, “Your mother thought she would find you here. There’s something I want to say, then you must go to her quickly. She needs you.”
“How did you get her to do it?” said Felix. It was hardly worth asking questions. He knew Claes would have all the answers. He’d never wanted to admit how clever Claes was. Neither had Julius.
Claes said, “I expanded the business too quickly. You’ll be ready to run it soon, but meantime she has no one she can trust. She offered me a business partnership in the form of marriage. That’s all it is. I have no share in the business. It’s all hers or yours. I can tell you, since it will be public knowledge, that I respect and honour your mother but that there’s no question of my sharing her room. The family owns the business. I am the family’s companion and factor.”
“How long have you been arranging it?” Felix said.
“It was discussed for the first time last night, and decided this morning,” Claes said.
“And carried out quickly in case I should stop it? I could probably stop it still,” Felix said.
Claes said, “No. It’s watertight. In any case, the news will be getting out now, and a reversal would only make things worse without altering the facts. The speed was to cut down the gossip, and also because I’ve got to go to Italy soon, and there’s a lot to be done for the business. I was hoping you would help me.”
“You used to imitate her,” said Felix suddenly. “You used to –”. He broke off.
“That was a long time ago,” said Claes. “I’ve been here since I was ten. Do you think I’d do anything to hurt you all?”
Felix thought of the canal bank and his throat produced a sound that began as an incredulous laugh. He stood facing Claes across the width of the small room. Neither of them had moved from the beginning. He said, “You’ve persuaded her to marry a workman twenty years younger and put him in charge of her business. In front of me. I’m the heir to the Charetty company – she doesn’t need any other man for that. The men won’t stand for it. They won’t work for you. And because you’re only a servant, and one she brought up herself, the city won’t accept any marvellous tale that you’ve married for the sake of the business, will they? They’ll think that she … that she …”
He broke off and said, “I don’t think Tilde will ever go out again.” Then, as Claes for the first time made a movement, Felix said scathingly, “And you say you don’t want to hurt us. You wanted to hurt us all right. All those times you turned the other cheek. All those beatings you took. This is the revenge you were planning, isn’t it?”
He had had a long time to think about it, on the canal bank; on the walk home. He hadn’t said all of that to his friends, because pride wouldn’t let him. But they didn’t contradict him, either, when it came to him how Claes was taking, at last, a wonderful, exquisite retribution. They couldn’t. It was true. There could be no other reason. His mother was an old woman. And Claes, if he put his mind to it, could get most people to do what he wanted. Especially women.
Claes said, “Revenge for what? Nobody’s hurt me. I like you.”
It was the way he always drew the sting; by not fighting. But this time it wouldn’t work. Felix said, “If you like us, why make us a public scandal? My mother a figure of fun? Ruin Tilde’s future and Catherine’s? What do you think I felt outside the Poorterslogie? How do you think I’d feel, standing aside and watching my own servant running my mother’s company? And not even the business will benefit: not if our workpeople won’t take your orders and the merchants turn their backs and make fun of us. Maybe you’re clever, but what experience do you have compared with theirs? You’ll ruin it, won’t you? And then no matter how many shares you’re not taking, there won’t be anything for me or my mother or my sisters.”
Claes said, “If this hadn’t happened, your mother would have sold, or would have married Oudenin.”
“Either would have been better than this,” Felix said. “As it is, we’ll make the best of it. You’ll leave tonight. You can take one of the horses. I’ll give you enough money to get you as far as Geneva. Jaak de Fleury will take you in, I’m sure. You’re his niece’s bastard. If he doesn’t, you’ll have to find work on your own. I’m sure that’ll be easy. You can find someone’s business and run it. Or, now you’ve been taught how to fight, you might find some work with a condottiere. But keep clear of Astorre and our company. You’re not a member of this company any longer. We don’t hire you and we’ve nothing to do with you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it’s clear,” said Claes. “You would have to discuss it with your mother. But what if she disagreed? She holds the purse-strings.”
Felix stared at him. “Are you threatening me?” he said.
“No,” said Claes. “At least, I expect you’d get a job somewhere. You see, for her, you come before me in everything, and always will. But if you ask her to choose between us at this moment, sheer pride will force her to choose me. It would make better sense to try later.”
“My father’s friends … the city will run you out of town,” said Felix.
“Maybe,” said Claes.
“Henninc will walk out.”
“You could get him back, after I’ve been run out of town,” said Claes. “Look. The first mistake, and I’m out, you know that – long before I’ve had a chance to ruin the business. You don’t need to be seen to help or approve. Gregorio can go to meetings with me. I only suggested it because you could keep an eye on me that way. Although I could do with your advice as well. The dismissing of Olivier was the best thing that’s happened in Louvain.”
He always had the answers. Whatever passage of thought you turned into, he was there, already waiting. He would have worked out everything. An unshakeable marriage contract. His mother so manoeuvred that she was convinced that this was best, and he would have the rotten job of distressing her. Unless he could show her …
Claes said, “We have to tell the yard and the household before they stop for the night. Your mother will do it. You needn’t be there. But why don’t you go to her now, and make sure that this is really what she wants? If it isn’t, I won’t hold out against you both. You can’t break the marriage, but I’ll leave. Then Gregorio can go and collect people together, and we’ll tell them the final decision. Is that fair?”
“Not very,” said Felix. “You’ve had a night and a day to get her to make up her mind. And weeks beforehand, I’m sure, preparing her for it. I’ve got a few minutes.”
“But you’re her son,” said Claes.
He would go to his mother. He couldn’t think how to get Claes out of his room. He finally just walked and opened the door and said to Claes, “Go and wait in your quarters.” And Claes went, without fuss, as if he weren’t his mother’s husband at all. Felix felt his throat harden again. He waited until he had collected himself. Then he went and tapped on his mother’s door.
To be alone for the first time at seventeen is a frightening thing.
A handful of times, Felix had stood like this outside his father’s cabinet, gathering courage to knock, and go in, and face Cornelis’ anger at some piece of misconduct unbecoming to Cornelis’ only son and adored heir.
Cornelis had never really known what Felix was like. His mother knew, and had cuffed him often harder than Cornelis, but had always been there, in the background, grimly understanding. Even while he rebelled against her, he felt safe. Not any longer. He was so empty that his hand didn’t even shake as he lifted it, at length, to knock on his mother’s door. He just felt cold.
When she didn’t answer he knocked again, not very loud. Then he realised that the sound he had heard before was her voice responding, and that she was telling him, for the second time, to come in. He cautiously opened the door.
His mother was alone in her office, seated behind her big table. Interviewing Henninc, or Julius, she sat stiffly like that, with all the light from the window falling on Henninc or Julius and very little on herself. The only difference now was that she had planted her elbows on the baize and had folded her hands to her lips as if she were blowing to warm them. Above them her eyes, he supposed, were inspecting his changed clothes, his uneven complexion. He didn’t really care if she saw what she had done to him. She deserved to. Then he got a little nearer, and saw that her eyes were shut.
His next steps brought him quite close to the table. Instead of looking, she squeezed her eyes tighter closed. Then she opened them on him, and brought her hands down. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded as if her tongue and the roof-arch above it were stuck together. She said, “Your friend understood you better than I did. Nicholas begged me to find you this morning and tell you everything.”
He stood in front of her. He said, “You would say that anyway.”
Her eyes had never moved from his face since they opened. She said, “Look at me as an adult looks at an adult. Think of Nicholas as an adult would. Think of all you know of him, and me, and yourself. We three do not lie to one another.”
He found he had started to breathe again properly. He straightened a little. He said, “But you didn’t tell me. I suppose in case I stopped it.”
“Yes,” she said. He wished she would go on, and protest, and try to explain, so that he could get angry again.
He said, “So you didn’t care what I felt, did you? You just wanted to get the marriage over before I heard about it. You knew it would be … I would be …”
“I knew that you would find it unthinkable. Yes. That’s why I hoped to arrange things so that you would find you wanted to think about it. Felix, you know Nicholas very well. Do you think he would try to trap me into marriage for his own purposes? Really?”
Claes. Claes, year in, year out at his side. But –
“You see, he’s clever,” said Felix.
Her face relaxed, as if she knew what that cost him to say. She said, “He’s wise as well. If you feel you can hardly hold your head up in public, you must know that he feels the same. He knows what people will say. So do I. So our reasons for doing this must be very strong, don’t you think?”
“The business,” said Felix. He said it flatly, and not with the disbelieving contempt he had felt, when he had feelings. He said, “He said just now it was to keep the business straight until I could run it. As if I would want it this way. As if my father would have ever, ever asked you, expected you … to …”
“Marry one of his apprentices,” his mother ended for him. He heard her draw a deep breath. She said, “No. Your father would never have wanted that. But your father is dead. I am here. My life, too, has to be lived. It is not even the company that your father made; it is quite a different one, and will grow more different still. I want to stay with it; spend my days thinking about it. But I couldn’t do it without help. Until you are ready, there has to be a man close to the business. Felix, I don’t want a man who will take your father’s place. I only want a friend.” She paused. She said, “And it will be known, I promise you, that Nicholas is only a friend.”
He felt his face burning again, because such denials should be remotely necessary. It sounded so reasonable. Except that he was the heir, and Nicholas was hardly older than he was. And Nicholas, everyone knew, was his servant.
His mother said, “Men have different gifts at different ages. Sometimes we must stand by and see others take the prize, but our turn will come. It would be a small spirit which would hold another one back. In Nicholas, you and I have a friend. In you I have a son. What can ever change that?”
Something moved on his cheek, but he couldn’t imagine that he was crying unknowingly. He said, “Just now, he said that he would leave if you wanted it. He said that I shouldn’t expect you to choose me instead of him at this moment, but I could ask you, and you might, later on.”
His mother didn’t answer. Then she said, “How could I choose you instead of him? You are my son. Wherever you are, you are chosen. And Felix, how are you better off if Nicholas leaves, with all his opportunities lost, and the company fails, and my way of life has to end? Is that the way a man takes his place in the world?”
He knew then from the cold at his chin that he was crying. He said, “It was at the Poorterslogie,” and pursed his lips against the pain in his throat. He glanced, through flickering eyes, at the table and saw that she had lifted her hands again to her mouth, and then to her brow. Under their shadow she said, “I would go through this whole day again, to spare you that. You should have been told. I was wrong. To be fair, I should be the one really to leave. Perhap
s one day you and Nicholas will decide to leave me. I deserve it.”
Below her hands, her lips had twisted as if in a wry smile. But then she took her hands down, and he saw that her face was striped with tears, and that the tears ran over skin already shiny with weeping. Then he was beside her, and they had their arms round each other, and their wet cheeks were pressed together. It was the first time ever that she had admitted to being wrong. Adult to adult. She had said so.
Somewhere during the disconnected exchanges that followed, he heard himself telling her that he wanted her to be happy. Somewhere in the same passage, he learned, without anything being said, that some of his mother’s happiness was bound up with Nicholas. It was not entirely news. It was what, after all, had been behind much of his misery. But he had shared Nicholas before, especially with women. His head on her knee, he let her stroke his hair until her composure came back. Then he said, “It’s done, I suppose. If you really want it, I’ll help you.”
An adult could afford to be magnanimous. He was her son, and chosen. She was a woman, and weak enough to need the help of Claes, his servant. He could spare her that. Of what, in detail, it would entail: of how, in detail, he was to face the events that lay ahead, he would rather not think. Today, his poor mother could rely on him.
He waited for her to drop a kiss on his brow. She hesitated, and then just massaged and patted his shoulder, as he got to his feet. Her eyes were wet and anxious, watching him. He sniffed, and bent over and kissed her firmly instead.
Chapter 28
MESSER GREGORIO, working quietly with one eye on his open door, heard his mistress’s step and had already risen when she came into the room. It was to request him, as arranged, to summon all her workers and her household to the biggest of the dyesheds and to put a box there, beside the pay-trestle, for her to stand on. She spoke calmly and without a tremor, although her lids were a little red. She added, “Henninc will help you. I have asked him to come to my room so that he may receive the news first.” Impeccable. Impeccable from beginning to end as a piece of sheer human management. Only the deferred breaking of the news to the son had been a mistake. One could hardly see how the son’s own servant could remedy that.
Dorothy Dunnett - [House of Niccolo 01] Page 42
