The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  "Go, sir-if you have any humanity of your own!" Lady Huntly cried. "Can you not see how you distress Her Grace?"

  The Master bowed deeply. "As you wish, Highness. I but sought your comfort. And that of your family. Should you change your royal mind, I am at your service."

  "It was meant for the best, Madam, I assure you," Fyvie asserted -and sounded honest.

  Together they backed out of the presence. At the door, the Master's eyes caught George Heriot's, and they were icy cold.

  The Queen dissolved into wailing, gulping tears, her weak body racked, and Henrietta threw herself bodily upon her, clutching, kissing, gabbling endearments.

  Mary Gray and the man considered each other. "Tell Her Grace that she acted wisely, my lady," Mary said urgently. 'For the best The best for all. I swear it!" Then she gestured with her head towards the door.

  Outside in the crowded corridor, with the Master's elegant back disappearing down the far stairway, Mary turned almost as cold a glare as that of her father on Herries the Queen's physician. "Your royal mistress needs your attention, Sir Hugh. I'd counsel you to attend better to Her Grace than to some whom you obey so readily!"

  Looking abashed, the plump little doctor bobbed an unhappy bow and hurried within. Alison Primrose, waiting there, was sent in also.

  Moving along to a small dressing-room where they could be alone, Mary sighed.

  "That was a grievous encounter, Geordie," she said. "And near disaster. A fierce test for the Queen. I esteem her more. I think today, than ever I have done. And it was you she trusted in. Only you."

  "We cannot say that. She knows that I am working with you, being guided by you."

  "She does not love me. Has always doubted me. Perhaps because the King speaks well of me. So all the greater credit to you. That she trusts you so entirely, on so great an issue."

  "The wonder of it-since she might well blame me for all her present miscarriage and illness. My advice."

  "That would be folly. She may be light-headed but she is not a fool. She proved that"

  "Yes. And I fear that I have made a potent enemy of the Master."

  She shook her head. "Not of necessity. My father is an ill man to cross. But he does not normally bear grudges. He will fight you, so long as you oppose his plans, fight without scruple. But he will not personally hate you. Indeed he will admire you the more for besting him-and be the more concerned to best you next time 1 He is a strange man-but not wholly bad."

  "It was a cunning move. To get the Prince out of Lady Mar's grip, allegedly into the Queen's but really into his own. This move offers one gleam of hope, I think. It must mean that he is not certain of the old Countess giving up Henry to her son. Else why trouble with this?" "True. But she told you that she would, did she not?"

  "She may not have told him that. She does not trust him, even though her son does."

  The young woman nodded. "And there are more gleams of hope than that, Geordie. This illness of the Queen could be a godsend. Forcing my father to delay his plot You have seen the crowds outside the palace. Waiting to hear how the Queen fares. The people. They do not greatly love her, perhaps-for she has never sought their love. But they like her better than the King, for she is gay and generous. And I swear they feel for her as a mother deprived of her children. Now she is ill, they rally to her. No good time, I think, for the Master of Gray to attack her. To pull down her husband and use her son against her. My father will not overlook that-that is partly why he is here today, I am sure. He may not need the people's support, in his plans. But he will not want their opposition, or active wrath. He is far too clever to risk that. So-he seeks to take the Queen with him."

  "But this only postpones the issue. Either the Queen gets better, the people forget, and all will be as it was. Or-God forbid-she dies. And his way is clear."

  "True. But it gives us time. She will not die, I think. She has recovered from miscarriage before. Time we must use. My father will hold his hand, I believe, while she is gravely sick. So she must seem to remain gravely sick for a time-even if she is truly better." "While…?" "While we ask the King to return, with all speed!" He shook his head. "James will not do that" "Even if he believes his wife's at death's door?"

  Heriot spread his hands. "No. I am sure of this. This of the English succession means everything to him. He has lived for it, all these years-as he has not lived for Anne of Holstein. He will not turn back, at this stage. For anything." "Then the man is a monster!"

  "Perhaps. Judged in one fashion. But not in another, I think. He is a king. Not as other men. The Lord's Anointed, with the fate of two kingdoms in his hands. He will say 'God's will be done!' and continue on his appointed way. Of that I am sure."

  She bowed to his certainty. "Very well. No doubt my father argues likewise. Then we must seek for the next best. To frighten him with the Queen's health, so that he sends a Viceroy back, with complete royal authority to act in all things in the King's name. That could only be Vicky, next heir to the throne after the young princes. He has acted Viceroy before, when James went to Denmark-the only man who has. With Vicky, and a viceroy's authority, we could halt my father." "Perhaps. But… we have already written to the King."

  "Not that the Queen is dangerously ill. He surely cannot ignore that altogether. Write to Vicky too. He wants to come back He never wanted to go to London. He would live quietly at Methven with me, if James would let him."

  "That I know is truth. He told me. Very well. We shall write to the King and the Duke. They say that Fyvie has already written. I wonder what he said? And we shall seek to keep the Queen feigning illness-even though she betters." He looked at the young woman with mixed feelings, head ashake. "Lord knows where you are leading me, Mary Gray. It is well seen whose daughter you are I"

  ***

  It took many days for their urgent courier-borne letters to England to bear fruit, days of anxious waiting, playing a part fretting-but presumably anxious days for the Master of Gray also, as he waited either for the Queen's state of health to improve, and so not prejudice his programme, or to change her mind about Prince Henry's release. That she seemed to do neither must have been galling in the extreme, as day succeeded day. No sign of betterment emanated from the sick-room, where Anne played her part with a fair realism-and indeed made but slow recovery. What Sir Hugh Herries thought-and told the Master-was not to be known; but he had been joined by two other physicians brought from Edinburgh at Heriot's expense and left in no doubts as to their duty. The Scots people had cause to believe their Queen all but on her death-bed, and discovered for her a new affection and sympathy. Prayers were said for her in every kirk in the land.

  Then, late on the evening of 21st May, a hard-riding, spume-flecked, mud-spattered troop of horsemen clattered up the cobbled hill from Linlithgow's Market Square and into the palace courtyard, the royal Lion Rampant of Scotland borne aloft, and Ludovick, Duke of Lennox, eased himself wearily out of the saddle, and actually staggered in sheer dizziness on the flagstones, one of his companions indeed falling on one knee in his exhaustion and stiffness. A few moments later, however, Vicky Stewart forgot fatigue, anxiety and certainly dignity, as Mary Gray flung herself into his arms and they clung to each other gasping incoherencies.

  It was a while before the Duke was in any state to notice George Heriot standing at his back with a goblet of wine- although his party was not so slow in perceiving similar preferred restoratives. From an upstairs window the Duchess of Lennox looked down on the scene-but did not seek to intervene at this stage. She and her husband knew precisely where they stood with each other.

  "Ha-Geordie!" The Duke took the wine, and gulped a mouthful of it "I thank you. Good to see you. Am I, am I in time? The Queen…?" The other nodded. "And the Prince? And the Master?" "Nothing yet."

  "Thank God! We have killed a dozen horses on our way North."

  "Dear Vicky!" Mary murmured. "All but killed yourself, I think! James would not come?"

  "No. Did you ever believe that h
e would? Nothing will turn him back now. I left him at Theobalds, Sir Robert Cecil's house at Hertford. That is the Secretary of State. But a dozen miles out of London. But there is a plague in the city. He will not enter it. He makes for Greenwich, down Thames." "And have you all necessary authority?"

  "The fullest the King could give me. All powers as Viceroy. To see to the Queen. To collect his children. And to conduct them to England just as soon as Anne is able to traveL" "Authority in writing?"

  He nodded. "Signed and sealed, my dear. At this moment, I am as good as King in Scotland! Where is your father, Mary Lass?" "With the Hamiltons, at Kinneil, but three miles away."

  "He will know of my arrival here within the hour, then. It would not be beyond him to ride forthwith to Stirling. Tonight With Mar, or to Mar. As a last throw. To try to take the Prince. Before I can act." "My thoughts entirely," Heriot agreed. "Where is Mar? I do not trust him-never have. At Stirling?" "He went there, yes. But is now back at Kinneil with my father." Ludovick nodded, and sighed. "It looks as though I must needs go riding again. Twenty more miles. To Stirling.' "Oh, Vicky!"

  "No need," Heriot asserted. "I shall go. Give me a letter. To the Countess. Ordering her, in the King's name, not to give up the Prince to any, even her own son, under pain of highest treason. Till you come tomorrow. She is a dragon, yes-but with her own honesty. And loyal to King James. She will listen to me, I think-with that authority." 'Very well."

  And so, next afternoon, when the King's Viceroy arrived at Stirling Castle, with a great train of nobles, gentry and men-at-arms, the drawbridge was down and at the bridge-end George Heriot stood beside the Dowager Countess of Mar, the Prince Henry and the captain of the guard, to welcome him. Heriot was surprised, to say the least of it, to see the Master of Gray, all gallantry and smiles, close behind the Duke, with the Earl of Mar, less smiling-but then that man seldom smiled, though he could guffaw on occasion. Lord Fyvie was also there; but so were Mary Gray, the Duchess of Lennox, the Earl of Linlithgow and other members of the Queen's household. It was a resplendent company for a notable occasion.

  Heriot's rather alarmed glance sought Mary's. She nodded reassuringly.

  Considering all the previous contentions and difficulties, everything now went with almost ridiculous smoothness, as though well rehearsed. Trumpeters blew a flourish, the Lord Lyon King of Arms in his gorgeous tabard read out the style and titles of the illustrious Duke of Lennox and declared his viceregal status, and the entire duty of all in the realm, high and low, noble and common, to put themselves under the authority and rule of the said Duke as they would of the King's Grace himself-and held up an impressive parchment with the royal signature and dangling Privy Seal of Scotland as proof. The Master of Gray led the subsequent cheering. Then Ludovick quietly but firmly declared that he had come, on His Grace's express command, to take over the custody and guardianship of Prince Henry Frederick, Duke of Rothesay and heir to the thrones of Scotland, England, Ireland and France, with the Principality of Wales, from the devoted and excellent keeping of the Countess of Mar, acting for her son, John, Earl of Mar here present, Hereditary Keeper of the royal castle and citadel of Stirling, preparatory to his, and Her Grace Queen Anne's departure for London just so soon as Her Grace was fit for the journey. "God Save the King!"

  When the second round of cheering was over, the Duke dismounted and went to greet the Prince on bended knee, followed by the Chancellor and other great nobles in order of precedence, the Master of Gray coming modestly a long way down the list as mere eldest son of the fifth Lord Gray. This over, and taking the shy boy's hand in his own, Ludovick Stewart held up his other hand and announced that he himself would meantime take up his residence in this castle of Stirling, with the Prince, until the Queen's illness was abated-which, God willing, would not now be long delayed. The trumpeters then blew another fanfare, and Lyon declared that there would be refreshment for all-in the Great Hall for the nobility and gentry, in the inner courtyard for all the others-and pointed to the train of sumpter-horses behind. The cheering developed a new note.

  As the entire great company surged on foot up the hill, within the outer ramparts, to the central citadel of the most closely guarded and inviolate fortress in Scotland, almost in wonder, Heriot, well back from the leaders now, found his way to Mary Gray's side.

  "The Master?" he demanded. "He has changed his tune, i' faith 1 Is it some new device? To deceive us?"

  "He will deceive us, yes-if he can. But I do not think this to be some ginning new trick. My father has many admirable qualities. One of them is to recognise clearly and swiftly when a tide has turned against him. He does not then waste his time and talents in fruitless pursuit of a lost cause. But promptly acknowledges the position and seeks to make the best of it, to steer it his way if he may. Patrick is no small man-or rogue!" "So you think that we have won? That the plot is abandoned?"

  "Meantime, yes. Only postponed, perhaps. Vicky staying here in the castle will make it impossible for Patrick to contrive anything before the Queen is ready to travel. He will, of course, laugh to scorn any suggestion that there ever was a plot. But that matters nothing, so long as it has failed." "And the Master goes unscathed?" "Why, yes. He would not be the Master, otherwise" "And you would not be his daughter"

  "Perhaps. I seek to bring to naught his wicked acts-not the man himself."

  "You are fortunate in being able so clearly to distinguish one from the other!"

  "You blame me? Judge me at fault in this? He is my own flesh and blood." She sounded as though the man's judgment was important to her.

  "The good God knows! I do not. What you are saying is that you wish me to go no further in the matter? With the King, or elsewhere?"

  "No. Not if you so wish. But I trunk you would find it… difficult. The King will want to hear no more of it, I swear. He is almost as clever as Patrick, you see. He will know when enough is enough. Besides, there will be no proof-Patrick will ensure that no least hint or whisper to link him with any plot. It could all have been conjecture, could it not? A figment of a woman's foolish imaginings?"

  He stared at her, there in the crowd, for a moment, and then smiled. "I pray heaven that I may never fall foul of both Grays at the one time 1" he said.

  In the Hall, with the Duchess present, Mary kept away from the Duke's side and stayed mainly with Heriot. It was not long before her father found his way to them.

  "Well, Master Geordie," he said, "This is a happier occasion than at our last meeting. I am only sorry that Her Grace cannot be here. The young Prince is a pleasing child. Good that they will so soon be together again, is it not?" Heriot was speechless.

  'You confuse Master Heriot, Patrick," his daughter said calmly. "We cannot all have your… agility!"

  "No? I think our friend has his own agility, my dear. Never underestimate quiet, slow-spoken men. What but agility would you name his dash to Stirling here, last night, immediately on Vicky's arrival at Linlithgow? I wonder why he deemed it advisable?" "Perhaps he feared some plot?"

  "Plot? Plots are a thing of the past, Mary. It was James who smelled plots under every bed. Extraordinary! Now he is gone, we can forget such childish ploys. It is London's turn 1" He shrugged. "But I believe that I know why our friend here made his so urgent dash." "I dare swear you do 1" Heriot agreed firmly.

  "Yes. You came because you believed that old Lady Mar might not be prepared to yield up the boy to the Duke. Without some small, h'm, sweetening, shall we say? And so you hurried. And need not have troubled, Master Geordie. For I had already done it for you. Through Johnnie Mar. Knowing that Vicky was coming. A duplication of effort, friend. You should have conferred with me."

  "I could describe the situation otherwise, sir!" the other man said shortly. "You say that you knew the Duke of Lennox was coming?"

  "Why, yes. We wrote to James. At least, I prevailed on Fyvie to do so, for His odd Grace is in no state of mind to pay heed to me, at present, I fear. Wrote immediately after the Queen refused to allow
the Prince to be bought to her at Linlithgow urging the King to send up Vicky at once in view of the Queen's severe illness and the possibility of a dynastic crisis. Happily His Grace heeded-though not sufficiently to come himself, of course!" He raised his glance. "Now I see the Duchess Jean hungrily seeking whom she may devour. Vicky neglects her shamefully, do you not agree? I shall go placate her, if I may."

  As the shapely and assured back moved away from them through the throng, Mary and Heriot eyed each other. And gradually a kind of bemusement gave way to mutual smiles, smiles which grew and broadened to silent laughter.

  ***

  It was three weeks later that the royal train entered Edinburgh's West Port to the reverberations of the castle's cannon and the congratulations of the city's Provost and magistrates. The Queen, pale but astonishingly vivacious, sat up in her litter and bowed and waved graciously, Prince Henry and Princess Elizabeth a horse at either side of her-young Charles left behind at Dunfermline with one of his recurring chest troubles. The colourful bevy of the Queen's ladies rode immediately behind, followed by Lennox, the Chancellor and other nobles-but not Mar, whom the Queen still would on no account have anywhere near her. The Master of Gray was there, however, indeed had arranged the entire progress, the mounted musicians and choirs which accompanied it, the tableaux and addresses of loyalty and welcome en route, the excellent commissariat. Even the Queen unbent sufficiently towards him to smile in his direction, devil or none, and admit that he made an excellent master of ceremonies.

  George Heriot was not in the royal train this time-although he was not far away. With the Queen's affairs now all safely in Lennox's hands he had left Linlithgow a week earlier for Edinburgh to look to his own affairs-and not before time. His half-brother James Heriot was industrious, honest and efficient, but rather lacked the imagination and instinct necessary for really successful dealings with the nobility and aristocracy, where judgment, tact and yet a kind of ruthlessness, were absolutely essential. The move to London, temporary or permanent, on the part of so many of their clients, was making enormous demands on the Heriot's finances, as noble families sought to equip, clothe and adorn themselves to compete at the richer English Court, pay for their long journey, and buy or lease houses in London. A great tide of Scots was flowing southwards, hopeful of making fortunes-but they had to be staked; and the Heriots were themselves having to borrow money on every hand, at high rates of interest, to be able to lend it again at still higher. Disaster could strike so very easily if judgment failed and money was lent to the wrong borrowers. Land, of course, was the great security; and Jmglin' Geordie was in process of becoming one of the great landowners of Lowland Scotland, more by accident than design.