The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  "And Sir Thomas Overbury, She? Does he fit into this, this proper order?"

  "Overbury? What ken you o' Tam Overbury, man? ... That was sharp."

  "Only that I have heard his name linked with Carr's. And it seemed an... unlikely pairing."

  "Overbury is a fell clever man," the King said, slowly. "He is in my confidence. Where did you hear this, Geordie? He keeps awa' frae Court. I dinna want him brought into it."

  "It was my lord of Southampton mentioned the name. Casually enough."

  "Harry Wriothesley did, eh? I'll hae to look into this. Overbury maun be discreet—or he goes! Aye—and that applies to mair than Tam Overbury, Geordie Heriot. You understand that fine, I am sure?"

  "Your Majesty has had long experience of my discretion."

  "Aye well. Mind it Now—it's time for Robin's Latin. Fetch the laddie in, man..."

  20

  THE TOLBOOTH AT Linlithgow was not really apt for major or state trials, being comparatively small, with no apartment large enough for any sort of elaboration or display; certainly no room for any spectators, over and above the necessary judges, assessors, counsel, witnesses and accused. Which was one of the reasons why the affair was being held here, rather than in Edinburgh, in the interests of discretion. Also, of course, Blackness Castle, where Margaret Hartside was for the moment installed once more, for the look of things, was only three miles away and within Linlithgow's jurisdiction. But at least the place was comfortable, almost cosy, with hangings brought to cover the grey stone walls, a good coal fire burning on the hearth, wine on the table, and all bright with the late May sunlight, little of the atmosphere of trial or legalities evident.

  There were twelve people in the room—eleven men and the accused young woman. The four judges were James Elphinstone, Lord Balmerino, Lord President of the Court of Session as well as Chief Secretary; James Hamilton, first Earl of Abercorn; Alexander Livingstone, first Earl of Linlithgow, in whose jurisdiction the trial was taking place—the former guardian of Princess Elizabeth; and Sir Peter Young, one-time tutor and preceptor to the King. All were extraordinary Lords of Session. Crown counsel and prosecutor was the Lord Advocate, Sir Thomas Hamilton of Binning, Heriot’s cousin; and counsel for the defence Master Thomas Hope, advocate, assisted by Master John Russell—who was there mainly to look after George Heriot's interests. In addition, there were two reverend gentlemen, the ministers of Methven and Ceres, there in the capacity of sureties for Margaret Hartside, who had been lodging with one or other of them since her release from Blackness, both being in fact uncles of her husband and both called Buchanan. John Dalziel, the Edinburgh burgess in whose name the necessary deposit of ten thousand merks had been made, was there. Heriot himself was the only witness likely to be required. Finally there was Margaret Hartside herself, subdued, wary but suspicious.

  It took a while for proceedings to get started, amidst all the sociability. Balmerino in particular seemed loth to commence, being apparently more interested in making himself agreeable to Heriot—no doubt in the hope that some of the affability might rub off eventually on King James in London, for he knew very well that his star was far from in the ascendant, and that his former colleagues George Home, Earl of Dunbar and Lord Treasurer, was seeking to pull him down, and had the ear of the King. Abercorn and Linlithgow knew it equally well and were careful not to seem too friendly with Balmerino—and were in consequence the more patronisingly genial with everybody else, save the accused.

  Hope it was, a man not notably sociable, who eventually got proceedings under way by crisply reminding the Lord Advocate that time was passing and that there was the Deacon-Convener's Dinner in Edinburgh, eighteen miles away, that evening. Sighing, and reluctantly putting down his tankard, Hamilton shrugged and bowed to their lordships across the table. All sat down, with the exception of Hamilton himself.

  Clearing his throat, the Lord Advocate read out the dittay, an abbreviated version of the original charge, which outlined the case and ended by accusing Margaret Hartside, former Chambermaid to the Queen, of stealing and/or misappropriating certain jewellery, namely one diamond valued one hundred and ten pounds Sterling, other pearls, precious stones and goldsmith work to the value of three hundred pounds Sterling, all in London, and selling it to one George Heriot, jeweller at the Royal Exchange, London. The said jewellery had since been recovered; but this could by no means be held to homologate or compound the offence.

  The judges nodded sagely, and Balmerino, finding the charges relevant, enquired whether the panel pleaded guilty or no?

  Thomas Hope stood up, and declared that before pleading, he would make formal objection to the presence of Sir Peter Young as one of the judges in this instance. He had every respect for Sir Peter, but would point out that he had long been a domestic servitor and pensioner of the Crown, and therefore in no position to sit in judgment on another domestic servitor in what was inevitably a domestic action within the Queen's household.

  This agitated the judges not a little, spoiling the rather artificially genial atmosphere—as it was meant to do—and after an uncomfortable pause for whispering, Sir Peter, a venerable, white-bearded old gentleman, rose and bowed, said that he accepted the objection and sought their lordships' permission to retire from the case. But, if their lordships agreed, and the Lord Advocate and other counsel had no objection, he would like to remain purely as an observer, since the case interested him. The advocates intimating no objection, Young moved round and sat beside Heriot at the other side of the table.

  Hope then declared that his client pleaded not guilty to the charge of theft or stealing, but was prepared to plead guilty to one of misappropriation of jewellery in her care and of offering them to Master Heriot

  Hamilton announced that, in the circumstances, he was prepared to abandon the charges of theft or stealing and to rely on that of misappropriation.

  Balmerino, hardly glancing at his colleagues, said that he thought that, all things considered, such was a wise decision, and that they would be prepared to proceed on that basis.

  Linlithgow nodded, but Abercorn held up his hand. Would learned counsel kindly define the difference between stealing and misappropriation where the goods taken were then sold to a third party and the money retained by the thief or misappropriator?

  A sigh escaped from Balmerino, Hamilton and one or two others —but not from Hope, who had foreseen this as inevitable. Abercorn had been almost bound to take up a contrary attitude from the other two judges. He was a Protestant—very much so, since his whole fortune and rise to power was based on the grant of the rich abbey lands of Paisley after the Reformation, and he had been created Lord Paisley before becoming Earl of Abercom. Balmerino and Linlithgow were Catholics. The judges had, as ever, been carefully balanced out by the Lord Advocate, Sir Peter Young being a staunch Protestant—which was the main reason for Hope's objection to his sitting. Now the judgment would almost certainly be two-to-one—for Linlithgow, even though uneasy about being too friendly with Belmerino, would not disagree in law with the Lord President. The required explanation to Abercorn was a small price to pay for a favourable verdict

  Hamilton left Hope to make the explanation. He informed concisely that misappropriation was a lesser offence, concerned with intent and ameliorating circumstances, a putting to wrong use rather than an actual theft In this case he could show that his client had no intent to steal; indeed she would have scarcely have taken the items to the Queen's jeweller had she so intended. The defence case, in essence, was that the accused did not in fact sell the jewels to Master Heriot but merely deposited them with him, in return for a sum of money manifestly much less than the saleable worth. Misappropriation, therefore, was a suitable indictment to which they would plead guilty.

  Balmerino asked if Abercorn was satisfied. The Earl declared that he was not.

  A form of trial therefore had to proceed. Hamilton described the accused's position as a trusted member of the Queen's domestic entourage, concurred that the said
jewellery was put in her care, mentioned her secret marriage to one of the Earl of Orkney's gentlemen and recounted her visit to George Heriot's shop with some of the items in her care, where she deposited them and received in exchange the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds. It was the Crown's case that this was a sale, not a pawning, whatever the sum received—even though Master Heriot later gave the jewels back to Her Majesty without charge. This was in no way to the credit of the accused. The panel Hartside was, therefore, guilty of, at the least, a charge of misappropriation, a grievous putting to wrong use of items entrusted to her care. A charge of outright theft, admittedly, would be less simple to sustain, in view of the especially trusted position of the accused, and therefore he was prepared to accept the plea of guilty to the lesser charge.

  Abercorn looked bull-like, and declared that he was unconvinced. It seemed to him that it was the duty of a Lord Advocate to prosecute, not to defend the accused, as he appeared to be doing this day.

  Bridling, Hamilton pointed out that it was, in fact, the Lord Advocate's duty and privilege, and solely his, to decide on charges levelled. And certainly not the judges, whose duty was to decide on whether or not the said charges had been proved. That only, with sentence.

  Balmerino hurriedly agreed that this was so. But he suggested that, for the Earl of Abercorn's benefit, they might hear Master Hope's defence of the panel, despite the plea of guilty.

  Hope was nothing loth. He declared that Her Majesty had entrusted the said jewels, with others, to the care of the panel, as he could establish by a letter from the Queen's own hand, had thereupon forgotten them. The items were therefore, at the time of the alleged offence, pro derelictus. To dispose of them, by depositing them, for a token payment, with the Queen's jeweller —which the defence declared firmly to be no sale—could not be a theft, since the jewels were in truth lawfully in the accused's possession. The fact that it was to Master Heriot that the accused took them, and that she did by no means flee with the money or otherwise absent herself from her duties thereafter, substantiated that the panel felt no guilt. She was now, however, prepared to plead guilty to the lesser charge, out of her love and duty to Her Majesty, recognising that her action had been foolish without being criminal. Witness and productions could be brought to all these averments. There the defence confidently rested.

  Everybody looked at Abercorn, who frowned, puffed, shrugged and intimated that he accepted the situation, especially as it seemed to be the Queen's own wish.

  Balmerino nodded relievedly, muttered something to Linlithgow, and then announced that His Majesty's Court of Session found the accused Margaret Hartside guilty of the charge stipulated. In view of the fact that she had already served a considerable period in ward, however, they would limit sentence, in mercy. The panel would pay the full sum of the jewels' worth, even though they had already been restored, namely four hundred and ten pounds Sterling, by way of amercement and fine. And she would be condemned to perpetual exile in the Isles of Orkney, in the care of her husband. This for judgment. God Save the King !

  As they all stood up, Heriot permitted himself a sigh of relief.

  "Who pays the fine?" old Sir Peter Young murmured in his ear, with a chuckle. "You needna have unseated me, Geordie! I'd have agreed the judgment."

  "Perhaps, sir. But we could not be sure."

  "And you're willing to pay twice ower for those gewgaws, eh ? And smile to do so! There's mair to this than meets the eye, I'm thinking."

  'The motto of my house is 'I Distribute Cheerfullie'," George Heriot pointed out, mildly.

  * * *

  When Heriot had engineered this Hartside trial for the month of May 1608, his main preoccupation had been to create an excuse and official reason for getting away from Court, for a much more personal concern—his own wedding. James's odd finances, and desire to have his banker constantly at hand, made such escapes to Scotland difficult to arrange. On this occasion the King, needless to say, had found some other services for his friend to engage in while he was at it—his unconcern with the Queen's problems being remarkable. Unfortunately the monarch was not the only one in a position to be awkward about George Heriot's affairs, however. James Primrose meantime was also a factor to reckon with. Alison had written tearfully more than a month earlier, to say that her father had gone back on his word—or, at least, that he was now insisting that the marriage be postponed for still another year. He said that he could not meantime dispense with his daughter's services; that he found himself in no position to raise the five thousand merks dowry for another year, and that anyway, in his judgment, Alison was still too young for marriage. The fact was that his wife was ill and he required the girl's attendance at home to look after the invalid, his house and the enormous brood. And he was in a position to enforce this delay, unhappily, since his daughter was still under the legal age of consent So, however little Heriot cared about the dowry, wedded bliss was still not yet.

  His beloved, therefore, was no longer to be sought, with Mary Gray, in pleasant Strathearn, but skied and tied in frustrating domesticity at the top of the tall tenement town house in Edinburgh's Lawnmarket, nursing an ailing stepmother and seeking to manage an unruly household of high-spirited children, while she coped with the moods of a preoccupied sire, who, by the very nature of his office and employment was going through a most difficult period. He was not really an ill-natured or particularly selfish man, although inclined to pomposity; but, with some reason, he felt, and proclaimed, that her problems, though real enough, were truly minor, ephemeral, and in no sense comparable with his own.

  The fact was that Scotland was falling into a condition bordering on anarchy—the rot stemming from the top, not the bottom. And this was not so much reflected as concentrated in the Privy Council, of which Primrose was the unfortunate secretary and factotum. The ancient kingdom had undergone many crises in its long history; but never before had it suffered by having no

  resident monarch or regent, no undoubted voice of authority nearer than four hundred miles away—a vital matter in a highly monarchical form of government. Long-range control just did not suit Scotland, either its institutions or the character of its people. Added to this, the Reformation, later here than anywhere else in Christendom, was still not settled and secure. Lacking decisive on-the-spot direction, it could, and looked as though it might, suffer overturn, and Catholicism be re-established. A large part of the nobility and aristocracy had never changed; many who had, had done so only in name, to gain former Church lands—and some of these were now frankly toiling back to the old religion; and the vast Highland area, with certain Lowland hegemonies also, were still predominantly Catholic. The Kirk, deliberately weakened and riven by James's policy, and the imposition of bishops again, was split, and its aggressively left-wing Presbyterian faction harsh and out-of-sympathy with most of the people, and therefore not the bastion of Protestantism it could have been. In consequence, the Privy Council, made up so largely on a hereditary basis, but with the bishops an added and uneasy dimension, was split, not so much down the middle as in three warring sections. And, as it happened, its presently most influential members were on the Catholic side —the Chancellor, Dunfermline, and Secretary of State and Lord President Balmerino—to Protestant James Primrose's discomfort and distress. Moreover, in all this ferment, the dark hand of the Master of Gray was at work, skilfully stirring, suborning, dividing, a hidden hand but with much gold in it, most evidently. Small wonder if Alison's father was in no frame of mind for domestic distractions.

  There was no room for Heriot in the already overcrowded Primrose house in the Lawnmarket, and he had long given up his grace-and-favour quarters in Holyroodhouse. So he lodged meantime with his half-brother James, above the shop in Beith's Wynd opposite the Lesser Kirk of St Giles. The ancient walled city of Edinburgh was a positive warren of tall tenements, lands, closes, wynds and beetling masonry, all huddled together on the narrow spine which ran down from the castle to Holyrood, with deep valleys on either
side. James Heriof s house was, in fact, no more than two hundred yards from James Primrose's—although there were some dozen storeys of difference.

  To gain any privacy the betrothed couple found a problem, in these circumstances. In Alison's own house there was never a room unoccupied; and James Heriot's was smaller, and little better. His brother rapidly had enough of sitting amidst the noise of the Lawnmarket house's cooped-up, racketing children, and when the girl could escape for a little, they took to meeting in the unromantic and constricted ambience of the little office behind the Beith's Wynd goldsmith's booth. Admittedly it had on many occasions in the past been graced by the monarch's presence; but it was scarcely a lovers' nest.

  These all too brief interludes were not wholly taken up with dalliance and matters of no concern to other than the parties involved, however. Alison was well versed in current affairs, had sharp ears and shrewd wits. Although scarcely so keen an interpreter of matters politic as was Mary Gray, she was an able observer of the scene, and because of her father's employment and friends, in a position to overhear much and gather more. From her, Heriot learned that Lord Balmerino was thought to be tottering to a fall. Dunbar, it was said, was determined to bring down his former friend, coveting the complete rule in Scotland. To bring down the Chancellor also—but this was considered secondary. The odd circumstance was that the Master of Gray appeared to be abetting Dunbar in this—even though Balmerino was a Catholic and Dunbar a Protestant. The now commonly spoken of Catholic resurgence, master-minded by Gray—it was not so much a plot as a movement—appeared, strangely enough, to be going to jettison the most powerfully-placed Catholic of all, Balmerino, the Chief Secretary. No doubt Patrick Gray had his reasons—one of which might well be the unpaid fifteen thousand merks due to the late Robert Logan's estate; but then, equally, Dunbar's eighteen thousand was likewise unpaid, and Gray, an heir-general, was, if not actually working with Dunbar, seemingly on a parallel course. It was all a great mystery.