The Burgundian's tale

The Duchess’s anger evaporated. ‘No, no!’ she said gently. ‘However upset Judith may have been by Fulk’s tidings, she would never have let anyone force her into something she didn’t want to do. Judith has always been very strong-willed. When I left for Burgundy, twelve years ago, I did my best — and so did Veronica — to persuade her to accompany us. We told her that with Edmund Broderer dead, she had nothing to keep her in England. (There were no children of the marriage.) She resolutely refused. She said she couldn’t go back to being a seamstress after being mistress of her own establishment.’

‘An understandable point of view,’ Duke Richard murmured, still staring into the heart of the fire where the flames, blue and red and orange, licked the bark of the pine logs, filling the room with a thick and heady scent. He leaned forward, throwing two more logs from the pile at the side of the hearth on to the blaze.

‘You should have summoned a lackey to do that,’ the Duchess reproved him sharply. ‘Understandable? Perhaps, but Veronica said that during the six years she and Fulk lived with Judith and her husband, her sister never ceased to complain about the smallness of the house — don’t forget that the twins had been used to living in palaces — the smell from the river and the dampness and chill in winter. I expected her to be as eager as Veronica to accompany me to Burgundy.’

Duke Richard regarded the Duchess thoughtfully, but said nothing. It was left to me to point out that there was all the difference in the world between being dissatisfied with one’s lot and exchanging independence for a life of service.

‘Veronica didn’t think so,’ was the indignant rejoinder.

‘But she hadn’t been independent,’ the Duke demurred, once again entering the fray. ‘After a very brief marriage, she had lived for six years on her sister’s and brother-in-law’s bounty. She had simply exchanged one form of servitude for another.’

‘I’m sure you do Judith an injustice, Dickon! She would never treat her sister like a servant.’ The Duchess was outraged.

Her brother smiled and again refrained from stating the obvious; that being the poor — or poorer — relation in an affluent household like the Broderers’ was almost bound to entail some form of subservience.

‘Did Mistress St Clair offer you any particular reason for declining your request?’ I asked, choosing my words with care. It was plain that even after twelve years, Judith’s refusal still rankled with her former mistress, who had been used for most of her life to commanding loyalty amongst those she regarded as ‘her’ people.

The Duchess grimaced petulantly. ‘Oh, the usual high-flown nonsense about owing it to her late husband to carry on his work. Although it seems now that this young cousin of his was perfectly capable of doing so without Judith’s assistance.’

At this, Duke Richard suddenly forced himself up and out of his chair, as if he had taken about as much as he could stand.

‘My dear,’ he said, and his voice was tight with suppressed irritation, ‘you’re being unreasonable.’ He forced a smile. ‘You talk as if Mistress St Clair had no duty to anyone but yourself.’ He went over to his sister’s chair and took one of her hands in both of his, raising it to his lips. ‘Now, it’s late and we are all tired. It’s been a very long day. You must be exhausted after all your exertions. You were the brightest star of every event and everyone loved you. But you must get some sleep so that you can dazzle us all again tomorrow.’

I had never thought of the Duke as an accomplished courtier, but he certainly knew how to handle the Duchess, who was positively purring like a cat that had been given a dish of cream. I guessed she had always been susceptible to flattery, and the mature woman was no different from the girl. It made me wonder how accurate her assessment of Fulk Quantrell’s character really was. Had he truly been the charming and affectionate boy she had portrayed in speaking of him to me? Or did he simply understand how to ingratiate himself with a lonely, childless woman, the victim of a loveless marriage?

The Duke opened the door and shouted for a page, who was instructed to see me safely out of the castle. The Duchess again graciously proffered her hand for me to kiss, but said acidly that she trusted I would have discovered the identity of the murderer of her dearest Fulk before her return to Burgundy in seven days’ time. (Her tone implied a doubt and a mistrust of my abilities that annoyed me.) Duke Richard, on the other hand, much to my astonishment and also to that of his sister, embraced me like a friend.

‘Take care, Roger,’ he said. ‘Loyalty such as yours is a difficult commodity to come by nowadays.’

My mind was still reeling from this unlooked-for demonstration of royal affection when the last of a series of doors and gates clanged shut behind me and I found myself out in the London streets, making my way back to the Voyager.