The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  "I do not know. Nor did Marie. She has no great love for most of her brothers, and Orkney does not confide in her."

  "You think there may be some ploy between them? Orkney and Patrick? Which requires money?"

  "Orkney, all know, is building a great new palace at Kirkwall -even though he has not yet finished his new castle at Scalloway in Shetland. The Kirkwall palace is said to be a wonder, with French architects and craftsmen. It must be costing a great deal of money-and by now he must have squeezed his unfortunate Orkney folk dry. But I do not see why Patrick should find him the money for these. They are none such great friends. But Orkney was at Broughty, two weeks past"

  "He was? We were told that he was back in his islands- although forbidden by the King to go there."

  "Marie was here, at Methven, to see me, then. She had left her brother at Broughty, with Patrick"

  "If there was a link, in this, between the Master and Orkney," Heriot mused, "it might help to explain the other business, of the jewels. Think you they could both be part of the same ploy?"

  "I do not know, Geordie. I see no connection. It is not impossible, I suppose. But-none of this explains why Patrick has waited until now to assail the King for this money."

  "It could be that he kept it in reserve. For a special occasion. He well knows that the King has been ever short of money. And so might despair of ever getting it out of him. But now, the King of Denmark is here-and. involved in this business. The Master could argue that the last thing which James would wish would be for it all to come to light now, during the state visit He might conceive that James would do anything, pay anything to keep it quiet meantime."

  "And James will not?" ' "I do not know. He was very strange. Close. He is almost as cunning as your father, I think. But clearly he does not want to pay the money. Considers that he may avoid it Nor yet will he have it all brought into open court, however."

  "Then I think that you have a notable task on your hands, Geordie!"

  "I know it! And you can offer no help? No good counsel? We hoped that you could, Mary. With your quick wits. And knowledge of your father."

  "I told you. As I see it, Patrick holds all the cards. The King, I think, must needs settle, if he would not have it all shouted from the roof tops." She paused. "If he will not pay the full sum, there is only one venture, which I can see, that you might try. Instead of having the case in the public court, it might be arranged to hear it in commission, A special panel of judges. The King could so order-on a matter of state concern. I do not see that Patrick could lawfully object I do not know the law-but there are special cases tried so. The judges would be sworn to secrecy. So the secrets would go no further."

  "Dammit-quick wits indeed I" Ludovick cried. "Not the first time I've said it! Why did we never think of that?"

  "It would mean that the King would almost certainly have to pay something," Mary pointed out, "If Master Hope is so sure of Patrick's case, the judges could scarcely throw it out altogether. Without Patrick shouting all abroad again, and secrecy lost once more."

  "True," Heriot nodded. "But if the debt is a just one, however ill the ploy, a just payment should be made. I, for one, am not concerned to save King James from paying his just debts. He owes me too much, for that! My concern is to prevent roguery, and harm to the Crown and realm. To prevent all this getting to the ears of the English parliament and the King's ill-wishers there, A commission of judges, sitting in private, is an excellent notion. I do not see that Hope could refuse to accept it, or the Master either. We must get Tom Hamilton on to this."

  "As to the other matter, the Hartside case," the Duke went on. "Do you think that Patrick could have anything to do with that?"

  "I do not see why he should. But nor would I swear that he had not. With my peculiar she, one can never tell!" She shook her fair head. "My heart goes out to this Margaret Hartside. And to Alison Primrose, in lesser degree. I have seen Alison since she came back to Scotland. She told me all that she knew, and of your kindness, Geordie."

  "Kindness!" he snorted. "I was not kind. Nor, in the end, befriended either of them I much blame myself. I should have perceived the trap." "Do you really think the Queen planned it all?"

  "Not the Queen, no. She is not of that sort. But somebody did. And the Queen concurred. Or was forced to concur." "Orkney? Or some friend of Orkney's?"

  "I would reckon so. Although, again, I would not have thought him to be of that sort, either. A rogue, yes, and quite without scruple. But a far subtler hand than Orkney's seems to have contrived all this."

  Eyeing each other, they considered that in silence, while the Master of Gray's grandson swung and laughed, carefree, amongst the tree branches.

  Heriot stayed only one night at Methven, for he was anxious to be elsewhere-and Mary Gray did not restrain him. Arranging to meet Lennox in Dunfermline in two days' time-for they could spare no longer-he rode off south-eastwards again the following morning, alone, for Culross, leaving his friends to their brief interlude of bliss.

  The Stewartry of Culross, with its ancient abbey, lay on the north shore of Forth, in the small and detached portion of the shire of Perth which thrust eastwards into, the shire of Fife and Fothrif-and looked, in fact, slantwise across the narrowing estuary to Blackness Castle on its headland on the West Lothian shore. Riding by Mutbill and the steep Glen Eagles pass through the green Ochils and down Glen Devon to the plain of Forth, Heriot reached the salt water at Kmcardine and turned eastwards along the shore road. In four or so miles he came to his destination, the small lairdship of Bumbrae on the outskirts of the former abbey lands of Culross, where the Primrose family had been settled for a few generations. It was not a very impressive property, with a somewhat tumbledown house and offices, a few fields and some straggling woodlands; but the situation was very fair, crowning a steep high bank above.the shoreline, where a stream plunged down through a deep wooded ravine almost as a prolonged waterfall, giving the place its name-and with superb views southwards over the firth to the Lothian coast and the hills beyond.

  The shouts of children greeted the newcomer even before the house in its trees came into sight Leading-in the harvest seemed to be in progress-as it was all over Lowland Scotland-and it appeared to be a noisy and exhilarating process at Burnbrae. Horsedrawn sleds, or shpes, laden or unladen, were coming and going from field to stackyard, each in charge of a group of young folk, all of whom seemed to find it necessary to yell at the pitch of their lungs-a heartening scene, but one which might well become wearing. Whether all these were Primroses remained to be seen-but with eighteen others besides Alison, the Privy Council Clerk could muster quite a labour force without hired men.

  The visitor had to rein his mount round to avoid a careering empty slipe on which balanced precariously two girls of perhaps eight or nine years and a boy slightly younger, who nevertheless kept whipping up the shaggy garron to its fastest pace, the whole unwieldy contrivance lurching and skidding over ruts and un-evenness in alarming style, while the children stared at the horseman in frankest interest, the boy continuing to shout joyfully. Heriot nodded to them, grinning, and was about to ride past the field gate when something about the stance of one of the field workers caught his further attention. Jerking his beast's head round abruptly, he rode in after the slipe.

  Alison was dressed for the task in a skirt which was either very short or kilted up for the occasion, with a wide-necked, halter-throated and sleeveless blouse of white linen above and apparently nothing else. Barefoot, tousle-headed, flushed, but gleaming-eyed and the picture of radiant healthy young-womanhood, she stood leaning on a hay-fork and laughing at the antics of a chubby three-year-old with a collie pup. At sight of the horseman she straightened up and began to run a hand through her hah, detaching straws. Then suddenly her hand stopped in mid-air, and dropping her fork, she came racing across the stubble, arms extended, hah streaming, lips wide. The contrast with the last time Heriot had seen her, dressed as one of the Queen's ladies in his office at the
Exchange, London, was extraordinary enough to bemuse the man considerably. Nevertheless, he mustered his wits sufficiently to jump down from the saddle and so was able to catch her as she hurled herself bodily into his arms-catch and hold her heaving, warm, rounded and so very evident person, and clutch her to him.

  "Geordie! Geordie! Geordie!" she cried, into his chest "You have come! You have come! Geordie, my heart-my own Geordie!"

  "Yes," he said. 'Yes." He was grinning stupidly. He could think of nothing else relevant to say. 'Yes, lass."

  Then she was kissing him, a flurry of kisses, at random at first on cheeks and chin and brow, until she settled on his lips, and there clung, mouth opening. He did not discipline himself to any suitable restraint there and then, it is to be feared.

  So they stood, there amongst the stooks and oat stubble, while a notably interested band of children gathered round, to stare and point, comment and giggle.

  Awareness dawned-but Alison at least was not the one to be overcome by proprieties or conventions, especially in a corn field. Loosing herself from his clasp, she stood back-but still held him by the forearms-and gazed at him. "Master George Heriot," she panted, "your devoted… servant… Alison Primrose! This is… I think… the happiest day of my life!"

  He shook his head, helplessly. "Och, lassie," he said, "you must not speak so. It's it's-och, Alison, my dearest "

  "You came. Came to me. Alison Primrose. All the way from London. Dear God-I can scarcely believe it"

  "Why not? What has London that I'd rather have than this Culross?" "You mean that, Geordie?" That was a whisper. "Aye, I mean it Though, God knows-I fear I should not!"

  "Wheesht, wheesht. Is it your great age again!" She laughed aloud, joyously, and swung around, him as well as herself. "Bairns -here is Master Geordie, I've told you about The King's own man-of-business, no less-and the brawest gentleman at Court, dukes and earls or none! Master Heriot, come all the way to Culross to see us. What do you say to that?"

  They said nothing very coherent to that, but laughed and shouted and jigged, while their eldest sister beamed on them all and on her capture. Then she recollected her attire.

  "And here's me barefoot, and dressed like a tink!" she exclaimed-but did not sound greatly oppressed by the thought. "Heigho-the truth will out, Geordie. This, I fear, is the true me-and no Court lady."

  "Heaven be praised for that 1" he said fervently. "I've had my bellyful of Court ladies. But you lass-I've never seen you looking more lovely, and that's a fact. A joy to behold."

  She bobbed a mocking bow-and her firm young breasts were entirely and bewitchingly evident within her loose white linen. "You can say courtly things, for one who is no courtier, sir! Even though quite untrue! But, come-wherever you have travelled from, you will have ridden far to get here. Yonder is the house, in the trees. No palace-but all yours to command. No, bairns- not you. Stay you all here. Get on with the work, now. This field to be clear before any of you eat a bite of supper. Master Geordie is my friend, and I'll take him to the house. Alone. Away with you…"

  Leading Heriot's horse, they walked to Burnbrae House, Alison explaining that her father had business in Dunfermline and her stepmother had ridden pillion with him to attend to some marketing. They would be back before supper. Meantime there was cold fowl, oatcakes, honey, canary wine, ale, for a hungry traveller. And a room to get ready for him.

  He told her that could wait They had so much to say, to discuss. He would have a bite and a beaker of ale, while they talked.

  The house, a tall L-planned fortalice with a corbelled stair-turret and crowstepped gables, its whitewashed harling flaking off, appeared very much the same within as it did outside, rather the worse for wear, the hall untidy above vaulted basements, its hangings shabby, its furnishings plain and well-worn. But all was clean and comfortable enough-though it was very obvious that there was a lack of money, and that it was inhabited by a tribe of careless children. The single serving-woman was elderly but strong as a horse, and cheerful in a masterful way. Heriot was installed in a crow's-nest of a room at the top of a narrow turnpike stair-which clearly was Alison's own, for he found on the top of the bed-post the gold bracelet with the turquoise feather which he himself had given her, via Queen Anne-a sight that moved him.

  It was warmer out than indoors, that late summer's day, and to get away from the interested servitor, Alison-who had miraculously managed to tidy herself notably in a short time, as well as don shoes-led him out, with the viands on a tray, to a grassy terrace looking out over the Forth, where, in an evergreen arbour beside a headless and moss-grown marble nymph, they could sit in privacy.

  "Blackness Castle!" the man said, nodding his head in that south-easterly direction. "Where your friend is a prisoner. An ill business. Three miles? Four? But far as London-or Orkney- in truth "

  "Yes. A wicked shame. A sin! How often I look across to her, and wish and wish. Poor Margaret. She is not a thief, you know, Geordie. It is all false, untrue. She would not steal, the Queen's jewels, or anything else."

  "I never believed that she did. Or I would not have taken the jewels. She is, I think, being made the scapegoat for others. And you also, to some extent." He paused. "I knew nothing of your dismissal from Court, and being sent back to Scotland, until weeks after you were gone," he assured her. "When the Queen herself told me. And roughly. I cannot remember when I was so angry. It was a shameful thing-and well the Queen knew it. But she made herself adamant, would hear no excuses, listen to no reason. She would not see me alone-dared not, I think. She was set against me. As against you and Margaret Hartside."

  "Yes. By bringing Margaret and those jewels to you, Geordie, I caused the Queen to turn against you. You who have always been her good friend. I did you a great hurt. Oh, I am sorry, my dear"

  He took her hand. "No blame to you. It was the right course you took. The fault is all otherwise. Perhaps I should have been more careful. In accepting the jewels, not questioning the story deeper. If I had refused them, you at least might have been spared banishment from Court. It was your friendship with me, you linking Mistress Hartside with me, which caused your dismissal, I am sure."

  "But it was because of me that you accepted Margaret's tale, and gave her the money so readily, was it not? So in that I am to blame."

  He could not deny it "We should not be debating blame, lass. But what to do to right matters. If only we knew what was behind it all. Have you no notion?"

  "Only that it has to do with the Earl of Orkney-that I am sure. He is an evil, hard man. And the Queen is frightened of him, I swear. I have seen her with him He treats her without respect-and she accepts it from him. There is something between them-and the jewels are part of it."

  "You believe it true? That Anne did indeed give all that casket of jewels to Orkney?"

  "Why not? Margaret's husband, Buchanan of Scotscraig, believed it so-and he is one of Orkney's gentlemen. The Earl, at least, must have told him so. And given him these jewels." "And what is Buchanan doing to aid his secret wife?"

  "I know not. He is, I suppose, in Orkney. I wrote him a letter. But travellers to Orkney are few, and he may not have received it"

  'The Earl, his master, may not wish Buchanan to do anything. For his wife. If this is some ploy of Orkney's…?"

  At a loss, they fell silent, hand-in-hand-until Heriot perceived it, reckoned it ridiculous for a man of his years, and disengaged. He began to tell her all that he had done, or tried to do, so far. Also of the Master of Gray's demands on the King.

  'This man Hope?" she asked. "He is to be concerned in both matters? Do you believe that he can do anything to help Margaret?"

  "My cousin Hamilton, the Advocate, thinks highly of him- although they are often opposed. And he should know. If anyone can aid her, I think he is the man. He is to try to get her out of Blackness meantime, whether or not there is to be a trial. I will stand surety for any sum required-although I told Hope not to give my name, since I am in some degree implicated, and my surety
might not be acceptable. He will arrange it in some other's name." 'You are good, Geordie."

  "Good, no. But money I know how to use. It is my trade. And has its uses. But, again, there is much that money cannot do. And I think it makes me more enemies than friends " "It frightens me," she said. "Your money." "Why, child? Why-a God's name?"

  "All those riches. You so rich a man. We, here, so poor. Not that I mind being poor. But, but…" She jerked away from him, abruptly. "And you are calling me child, again "

  "I am sorry, Alison lass. A slip. I do not think of you as child, believe me-wholly as woman, now. Too much as woman, I fear!"

  "Since I am a woman, how can that be? I sometimes think that you are afraid of me being woman grown, Geordie." 'Perhaps you are right," he said soberly.

  Two small Primroses put a stop to this unprofitable conversation by appearing round the comer of the arbour, with smirks, to announce that their father was back from Dunfermline, and Alison had better come out of there if she did not want to be in trouble.

  Guiltily Heriot started up-but it did not escape him that it was their father, with no mention of the mother, or stepmother, whose arrival was announced.

  This was explained, very shortly thereafter, when Alison brought him to James Primrose and his second wife. Her father was a pink, pot-bellied, self-important little man, round-featured, purse-lipped and strutting-an unlikely sire for his daughter, indeed for his entire lively and uninhibited brood. Lady Burn-brae was small top, but thin, meek, apologetic and self-effacing. It was not to be supposed that her life was of the happiest in that household.

  Primrose greeted his unexpected guest with an uneasy mixture of doubt and respect, indicating that he often had cause to hear of Master George Heriot; indeed in the Privy Council, they had had occasion to take note of certain of his activities. He paused, at that, and gave a penetrating stare, implying unspoken volumes. But he welcomed him under his poor roof-which might not be all that Jinglin' Geordie was used to these days, but was at least an honest man's house. If he had notified them of his coming, they might have been better prepared to entertain him suitably. The gudewife would do what she could-but his, of course was not a courtier's table. He himself had been away on important business at Dunfermline, it must be understood. Etcetera.