MORTON was not beaten yet, of course; it was not so easy as that But he found it expedient to retire to his own great palace at Dalkeith – The Lion's Den, as it was called. And all Scotland rang with the word of it, in a surprisingly short time; all Scotland indeed, in consequence, seemed to flock to Stirling -or, at least, all that counted in Scotland – to see the new star that had arisen in the land, to test out the new dispensation, and to try to gauge for how long it might last.
A sort of hectic gaiety reigned in the grey old town under its grim fortress.
King James was by no means overwhelmed by this gaiety. Perhaps, having been dominated all his young life by the red shadow of Morton, he could not conceive of it being ever removed. Morton, and the fear of his vengeance, was at the boy's narrow shoulder day and night Many of those who now thronged Stirling Castle had been Morton's friends, he swore -and doubtless still were. They were only spying out the land for the Douglas's return.
Only d'Aubigny could sooth him – Cousin Esme, dear bonny Cousin Esme, whom he had grown to love with a feverish and frightened and rather sickeningly demonstrative affection that caused titters, sniggers and nudging leers on all hands, but which David Gray, at least, found heart-wringing.
It was Patrick's idea, but Cousin Esme's suggestion and advice, that a move would be the thing – a change of scene and air and company, a clean sweep. Let His Grace get out of this gloomy ghost-ridden prison of a fortress. Let him go to Edinburgh, to his capital. Let him set up his Court, a real Court, in his Palace of Holyroodhouse. Let him start to reign, call a Parliament, be king indeed. Let them all go to Edinburgh.
'Edinburgh…!' James quavered. He had never been to Edinburgh since he was a babe in arms, never been more than a few miles from this rock of Stirling. Clearly the notion was a profoundly radical one for him, full of doubts and fears as well as of intriguing possibilities and excitements. He stared. 'Edinburgh… Edinburgh is near to Dalkeith, where my Lord Morton lives, Esme' He got out
'A fig for the Lord Morton, James! He will be the nearer, to keep an eye upon, mon cher. Edinburgh is the heart of your kingdom. If you will reign, it must be from there.'
'Must I reign, Cousin Esme? Yet, I mean? Would you not reign for me… as my Lord Morton did?' ' D'Aubigny moistened his hps, and could not resist a flashed glance at Patrick. 'Never, Sire,' he said. 'I am but your most devoted and humble servant… and friend.'
'But you could serve me best thus, could you no'? I wish that you would, Cousin Esme?
'How could that be, Your Majesty? I am but a lowly French seigneur – think you that your great Scots lords would bear with your rule through such as myself?'
'I could make you a great lord also, could I no'? I could, I could! I'd like to, Esme.' Urgently, James came shambling over, to put an arm around the other's neck, and stare wistfully at his friend. 'I'd like to give you something – I would that. You said yon time that I had lots to give – titles and lands and honours. Will you no' let me give you a present, Esme? I could make you a lord.'
'You are kind, James. But a title without lands and revenues to maintain it is but a barren honour. I am better as your humble d'Aubigny…'
'I could give you an earldom… wi' the lands and revenues. Could I no'?'
'Dear boy I But… ah, me… though I am humbly placed, I have my foolish pride, James. I come of a lofty line, all unworthily – your own father's line, the House of Lennox. Some new-made earldom might well suit many. But for me – ah, no! Leave me as I am, Sire.'
Those great liquid eyes lit with shrewder gleam. 'It is the earldom o' Lennox that you want, then, Esme?'
'Hmmm. That would be… interesting. But… ah, no! Too much!'
'Unfortunately, there is already an Earl of Lennox,' Patrick mentioned, level-voiced for him. 'Esme's uncle Robert, to whom Your Highness gave the earldom but last year.'
'Yon was my Lord Morton's doing, no' mine, Master Patrick. I but signed the paper…'
'A pity. Though, I suppose that a paper could be unsigned?' D'Aubigny yawned delicately. 'Not that it is a matter of any importance.'
'Aye, I could – could I no'? Unsign it? He is but a donnert auld man, my great-uncleRob. If I gave him somiething else..
'I daresay that another earldom would serve him just as well,' d'Aubigny admitted, judicially. 'But… Il ne fait rien. It is a trouble for you, Jamie.'
'No, no. I would like to do it – fine I would, Cousin. You shall – be Earl o' Lennox, I swear it.'
Again Patrick spoke, in the same cool tone. 'Parliament's agreement would be required to revoke an earldom already held, I think, Your Grace. It is not the same as making a new creation.'
'We were suggesting a Parliament, anyway, you will recollect, mon cher Patrick. In Edinburgh,' d'Aubigny mentioned lightly. 'Though the issue is hardly vital'
'But it is, it is, Esme. It is the first thing that I have ever done for you – you that have done so much for me. We shall do it. It… it is our royal will!' James darted glances around like a dog that has barked out of turn. 'And then you can really rule for me!'
David Gray, from his corner, saw his brother consider the Stewart cousins long and thoughtfully.
And so, since Cousin Esme, who was to be Earl of Lennox, advised it, the Court of the King of Scots was moved to Holyrood-house.
David would have taken the opportunity to return to his own life at Castle Huntly, but Patrick was urgent that he should stay with them He needed him, he said, more than ever, for the good Esme was beginning to grow just a little bit lofty and difficult, and someone close to himself Patrick must have. David insisted on at least returning home to inform their father on the situation, since he considered himself still to be Lord Gray's servant, not Patrick's.
At Castle Huntly, however, my lord was just as determined as was his heir that David should remain at the Court; he did not for a moment believe that Morton had shot his bolt; he believed that Patrick needed his brother's level head more than he had ever done; moreover, it appeared to Lord Gray that the cause of the unhappy Queen Mary was tending to be lost sight of – and David should keep the urgency of that matter before his brother constantly.
After only a couple of halcyon autumn days with his Mariota and the little Mary, therefore, David turned his nag's head reluctantly westwards again for Stirling. A more unwilling courtier would have been hard to find.
The first snows were whitening the tops of the distant blue mountains to the north when, on October the twentieth, the royal cavalcade approached the capital from the west A dazzling company, for Scotland, they had passed the night at Linlithgow and now, thankful that, despite their escort of three hundred miscellaneous mounted men-at-arms, no assault by massed Douglases had materialised, they looked at the crowded roofs and spires and towers of Edinburgh, out of the blue smoke-pall of which the fierce and frowning castle, one of the most famous and blood-stained in all the world, reared itself like a leviathan about to strike. King James was staring goggle-eyed at this, declaring fearfully that it was still greater and more threatening than that of Stirling, when a crash as of thunder shattered the crisp autumn air, and set the horses rearing, all but unseating the boy on the spirited black, who cowered, terrified, as the crash was succeeded by another and another.
'Fear nothing, Sire,' Patrick called out, above the reverberating din, laughing. Those are but the castle guns saluting you in right royal fashion.'
'It's no'… no' my Lord Morton…?'
'No, no. Those are your cannon.'
'But… but whoare they shooting at, then?' James demanded, clinging to his saddle. 'Where go the cannon-balls?'
'No balls today, Highness -only noise. Blank shot'
'A barbarous din,' d'Aubigny declared. 'But fear nothing, James – here is no danger, save to our ear-drums! But, see – folk await us before the gate, there.'
Pacing out from the archway of the West Port, and dwarfed by the soaring Castle-rock, came a procession of the Provost and magistrates of the Capital, bare-headed and bearing a great canopy of purple velvet and gold lace, under which Majesty, after listening as patiently as he might to a long speech of welcome, rode into the walled city. Crowds lined the narrow streets to see this strange sight – a long in Edinburgh again, after all these years. But they did not cheer. Edinburgh's crowds have never been good at cheering. The guns up at the Castle continued to make din enough for all, however – to the confusion and distress of the two ladies who, in allegory, contended for an unfortunate child before this youthful royal Solomon, who had to shout his judgment at them in between bangs. At the West Bow, a great globe of polished brass was suspended from the archway, and out of this descended a shivering child, as Cupid, naked but for sprouting wings, to present the keys of the city to the King. The infant's chattering teeth, fortunately or otherwise, prevented any speech, and the royal cavalcade pressed on. At the Tolbooth, in the long sloping High Street, however, Peace, Plenty and Justice issued forth, and sought to address the monarch suitably in Latin, Greek and Scots respectively, to the accompaniment of the incessant gunfire – which greatly upset James, who desired to answer back in the appropriate languages, and even, later, in Hebrew, when Religion, personified by a graver matron, followed on; for James, King of Scots, curiously enough, in bookish matters at least, was possibly the best educated youth in Christendom, thanks to the good if stern Master George Buchanan. There being no apparent means of stopping the loyal cannonry, frustrated, the royal scholar had to move on to the High Kirk of Saint Giles, where at least thick walls slightly deadened the enthusiastic concussions – though, before the ninety minutes sermon by Master Lawson the minister was finished, explaining, demanding and emphatically setting forth the royal duty of protecting the reformed religion of Christ Jesus, with thumps and bangs on the Bible to underline his points, James and his entourage were almost grateful for the explosive punctuations from the Castle.
Dazed and with splitting heads, the glittering company staggered out of church, to be led to the Market Cross, where a leering Bacchus in painted garments and crowned with garlands askew, sat on a gilded hogshead distributing slopping goblets of exceedingly bad wine, and an orchestra seemingly and necessarily composed largely of drums and cymbals, competed with the clamour of gunpowder. Almost in hysterics, James was conducted from these down the packed High Street again to the Netherbow Port, or east gate, where a pageant representing the sovereign's birth and genealogy, right back to the supposed Fergus the First at the beginning of the Fifth Century, was presented – and took some time, naturally, since each monarch in a thousand years was represented. The cannonade stopped abruptly, after some six hours of it, in the middle of the reign of Kenneth MacAlpine – presumably having at last mercifully run out of powder; though the entire city seemed to go on pulsing and throbbing to the echo of it for long thereafter.
At last, with sunset past and the figures of history becoming indistinct in the gloom, genealogy died a sort of natural death about the times of James the Second, and the bemused and battered and benumbed Court – or such of it as had not been able to escape long since – lurched and tottered in torchlight procession down the Canongate to the Palace ofHolyroodhouse, and presumably a meal Edinburgh had done its loyal best. 'My God!' d'Aubigny gasped, as he collapsed into a great chair in the banqueting hall, that happened to be the royal throne. 'My God, c'est incroyable! Detraque! What a country…!'
'Would you prefer to return to France?' Patrick wondered. 'No! No – never that!' James cried. 'Och, Esme – are you tired, man?'
'Our good Esme is paying for his earldom!' Patrick observed.
Life at the great Palace of Holyroodhouse, under the green pyramid and red crags of tall Arthur's Seat, was very different from that in the cramped quarters of Stirling Castie. There was room and opportunity here for men to spread themselves, and Esme Stuart,, already being called Earl of Lennox though not officially so by ratification of the Council, saw to it that they did. He had James appoint him Lord Great Chamberlain and a member of the Privy Council, the former an office long out of use but which raised him above the elderly Court Chamberlain and put him in complete charge of the entire Court And this was a very different Court from that of Stirling. Only those might attend who were specifically summoned – and the summons were made out by the Lord Great Chamberlain. Until the Council agreed to the appointment of a new Lord Treasurer, that vital office was in the hands of a deputy, a mere nobody, who did what he was told in the King's name; therefore the Treasury, such as remained of it, was available. Balls, masques, routs and banquets succeeded each other in dizzy procession – if not on the French scale, at least after the French pattern. Women appeared at Court in ever greater numbers, not just as the appendages of their lords, but in their own right, and frequently unaccompanied, a thing that caused considerable scandal and set the Kirk railing. The ladies all loved Esme and Patrick, whatever they thought of the slobber-mouthed James – and Esme and Patrick loved the ladies, but of course.
Patrick, however, in all this stirring Court reformation and improvement, devoted most of his efforts elsewhere. To Esme's motto of 'a fig for Morton, mon cher' he did not wholly subscribe; and he spent the majoirty of his time and energy at this stage seeking to circumvent and forestall any move oh the part of the Douglas faction. Considerable funds were required for this purpose, since major persuasion was necessary in more directions than one; for while it was one thing to' attend the new Court and enjoy the King's hospitality, as dispensed by the new Lennox, it was altogether another actively and publicly to turn againt Morton, who sat like a lion ready to pounce from his den at Dalkeith, six short miles away. Certain of the most essential personages in Patrick's plans demanded very substantial inducement indeed to throw in their lot with a regime which, on the face of it seemed unlikely to last overlong. The moneys which he had brought from France dwindled away like snow off a dyke – more especially as a gentleman at Court had to be adequately clad and appointed. Yet d'Aubigny – or my Lord of Lennox, as he preferred now to be called – was markedly unsympathetic, not to say niggardly, in this matter, making light of Patrick's fears and failing to put before the King the necessary papers for signature that would have opened the royal Treasury to his friend.
The fact was that now, Patrick – nor David either, for that matter – never saw James alone. Always Cousin Esme was with him, delightful, amusing, friendly, inescapable Both Esme and Patrick had been appointed Gentlemen of the Bedchamber; but while the former's room adjoined, indeed opened into the King's bedchamber, Patrick found that he and David had been allotted rooms in the opposite wing of the palace, ostensibly on the King's command.
David not infrequently smiled grimly at the situation, and suggested to his brother that both of them would be safer and happier back at Castle Huntly.
Patrick and Esme never quarrelled; they both needed each other and understood each other too thoroughly for that. It was rather that they seemed to be moving in different directions, their sights set at different targets, perhaps.
Patrick accordingly wrote urgent letters to the Guises, Archbishop Beaton, the Jesuits. Money he wrote about, but not only money.
More than once David spoke to his brother about the imprisoned Queen. Was poor Mary any nearer to her release, for their coming, or for all this expenditure of money? Her money – for it was largely the Queen's own French revenues that were being disbursed thus generously. Had Patrick not planned this entire project with a view to convincing Queen Elizabeth that Mary was no longer a menace to her throne and life, that Esme Stuart was to be James's heir-apparent instead of his mother – at least on the face of it? Patrick admitted all that, and declared that it still stood. Only, Esme now felt that it would be more practical to gain power in Scotland first, real power, which would make any announcement about the succession the more telling. This was not an issue that could be rushed…
The projected meeting of the Estates of Parliament was summoned at last, and on the eve of it Esme Stuart arranged a great ball at Holyroodhouse, to which all those summoned to the Parliament were invited. No effort or expense was spared on this occasion, for it was important that all concerned should feel beholden to and enamoured of the young King and his new Earl of Lennox, in view of the nature of the enactments which the said Parliament was expected to pass the next day. Esme, with Patrick's co-operation, excelled himself, and it is probably true that Scotland had never seen the like before. Nothing was stinted; decorations, illuminations, fireworks, musicians, entertainers, tableaux – at some of which the Kirk's representatives present all but had apoplexy – viands, wines, and bedchamber delights for those so inclined. In imitation of the archiepiscopal palace at Rheims, Mary the Queen's fountain in the forecourt spouted wine – and good wine at that, even though such as men-at-arms, grooms and ladies' maids were not made tree of it The Treasury lid had been opened wide, this time.
The evening was well into its high-stepping stride, and the tableau which had been such a success at the Hotel de Verlac, The Judgment of Paris, was just breaking up after a noisy reception composed almost equally of rapturous appreciation and howls of offended modesty, when there was an unlooked-for interlude. Patrick, in his brief and rather shrivelled vine-leaf, as Paris, was laughingly strolling off, with an arm round the delectable middle of Venus, and a hand cupping one of her fair breasts – suitably or otherwise, according to the point of view; Venus was not quite so authentically undraped as had been Hortense de Verlac – but on the other hand she was very much younger, and of a figure more slender and only slightly less magnificent, A Stewart, the Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl of Atholl and new widow of the Lord Lovat, she was almost certainly the ripest plum yet to grace the remodelled Court, a bold-eyed, high-coloured voluptuous piece.
Down upon this charming couple strode a tall, handsome, and angry figure, unceremoniously cleaving his way through the cheering throng. It was the Captain James Stewart, of the King's Guard, and Commendator-Prior of Prenmay. Reaching them, he smote down Patrick's pleasantly engaged arm in most ungallant fashion.
'Unhand this lady, Gray!' he barked Here is an outrage!'
All innocent amaze, Patrick stared at him. 'Eh?' he exclaimed 'I' faith, Stewart – what's to do?' That was said into a sudden hush.
'Damn you – keep away from her!' the other jerked. And abruptly whipping off his short cloak which he wore in the fasionable style hanging from one padded shoulder, he cast it around Venus's upper parts.
Patrick gazed from him, downwards, and gulped. 'Mon Dieu – you… you have turned her into a pretty trollop now, at any rate! Venus into… into Messalina lacking her skirts!' he gurgled 'Oh, dear Lord!'
There was some truth in that Venus's round pink hips, even with their wisp of net, and her long white legs projecting beneath the waist-length crimson velvet, somehow did indeed look supremely indecent
The banqueting-hall rang to comment, delighted or scandalised, but all was outdone by the loud peals of clear laughter from the lady herself
'Och, Jamie!' she cried 'What a fool you are! Do you… do you think me cold? If so, you are wrong, I vow!' And she laughed again.
'You see,' Patrick said. 'You have mistaken the lady's requirements, Captain! She merits your apologies, rather than your cloak, I think!'
Wrathfully Stewart's hand fell to his rapier-hilt 'Foul fall you, Gray, you Frenchified monkey!' he raged 'Mind your tongue.'
At sight of that dropping sword-hand, David Gray, from his discreet corner in one of the great window-embrasures, started forward – to be restrained unexpectedly by a hand that clutched his sleeve quite firmly.
'Let them be, sir,' a cool quiet voice advised, at his side. 'Let them be. I know yon tall lad – and he is dangerous.'
'So I think!' David tossed back, jerking his arm free. He took two or three more paces, and then paused Esme and the King were hurrying over to the curiously clad trio in mid-floor, and everywhere men were bowing and women curtseying. David stayed where he was, meantime.
At the sight of the King, Stewart pulled himself together, and bowed stiffly, though his face still worked with passion.
Patrick sketched a graceful but capering obeisance suitable for a Greek hero; and the Lady Lovat, starting to curtsey, glanced downwards at her so spectacularly vulnerable lower parts, and then at the blushing faltering monarch, and tossing off the cloak, struck an altitude. James gobbled.
'Captain Stewart,' Esme said coldly. 'I think that you forget yourself. Your duties in His Grace's protection do not require such dramatics!'
Stewart looked only at the King. 'I was carried away, Sire, by what seemed… offensive before Your Highness.'
'Och, it was naught but mumming, Captain Jamie,' James mumbled, keeping his thin shoulder turned on Venus. 'Master Patrick wasna meaning anything…'
'Besides, the Lady Lovat is affianced to my lord of, h'm March, is she not? Well might the former d'Aubigny hesitate over that title. The earldom of March, like his own, was not yet ratified by Parliament; it was one of things to be done tomorrow. The lady's betrothed was indeed the elderly uncle of Esme's, Robert Stewart, up till now Earl of Lennox, who had been persuaded to resign Lennox in exchange for this other title of March. 'What is she to you, Monsieur?' The other did not answer that, though the lady giggled. He sketched another bow to the King, 'Have I your permission to retire, Sire?
'Och, aye, Captain Jamie – but no' that far away, mind.' Majesty nickered his eternally anxious gaze around the crowded hall. 'You'll keep us safe guarded from the Lord Morton…?
Back at his window, David looked interestedly at the young woman who stood there alone, and who had sought to restrain him. She was dressed much less impressively than were most of the ladies present, but simply, tastefully, in ash-grey taffeta embroidered in silver, that went very well with her level grey eyes and sheer heavy golden hair.
'Your pardon, lady,' he said. 'I intended no discourtesy.'
'And I no presumption, sir,' she answered gravely. 'I but feared that, unarmed as you are, you might have fared but poorly with that long fellow. He is Captain of the Guard and an ill man to cross. And… and the Master of Gray can look after himself very well, I think!'
'He was not, h'm, clad for such encounter!' David mentioned.
She smiled, fleetingly. 'Perhaps not. Yet I think that the Master is fairly well appointed, however he is clad!'
'Umm.' He considered what that might mean. Both of them had the same sort of level grey eyes.
'I was Watching you, during yonder fool's-play,' she went on. 'I saw that you were concerned – and not for Captain Stewart, I think. Can it be that you are a friend of the beautiful Master Patrick?' Her glance, encompassing his own severely plain and inexpensive attire, seemed to question the possibility of such a thing.'
'Aye,' David said briefly. 'You could call me that.'
'Then, I think, my estimation of Master Patrick rises a piece,' the strange young woman declared.
Warily David eyed her. He had not seen her before, he thought By her dress she might be a daughter of one of the country lairds attending the Parliament, or even the attendant of one of the great ladies; yet not in her style and manner, which was calm, assured, and spoke of breeding. He could not deny liking what he saw, whoever she was, and the cloak of secrecy and restraint, which he had come to wear like a second skin, drooped a little.
'I should not call myself his friend,' he amended then, rather stiffly. 'He names me his secretary. His servant would be more true, for I am no clerk.'
'Yet you do not look like a servant – nor sound one!'
'I am the Master of Gray's half-brother – but in bastardy. David Gray is the name.' He could not have stated why he told her.
'I see,' she said slowly. That accounts… for much.'
Mistaking her tone and pause, he flushed a little. 'I am sorry,' he said tardy. 'You should not be talking, Mistress, with a servant and a bastard. I…'
'And something of a fool!' she interrupted calmly. 'Who am I to look askance at bastardy or poverty, Master David Gray? Not Marie Stewart – even with her Queen's name.'
'Stewart? Another…?'
'Aye. We are a prolific clan. In especial my branch of it! And not always over-particular – like yonder naked hizzy whom Master Patrick and Captain Jamie seem to find to their taste! I am the daughter of Robert Stewart, who tomorrow, for some reason that I have not divined, is to be made Earl of Orkney.'
David swallowed. 'You mean… the Lord Robert? The Bishop of Orkney? The… the King's uncle…?
'In bastardy!' she reminded, smiling.
'And you, you…?
'No,' she told him, gravely. 'By some chance I was born in wedlock. One of the few! But that makes me no better – nor richer – than my bastard brothers and sisters' She snapped slender fingers. 'So much for legitimacy! And now, Master David, since you are so close to the dazzling and all-conquering Patrick Gray, perhaps you will tell me why my peculiar father is being given an earldom tomorrow?
'I… m'mm… I do not rightly know, lady. Save, it may be, that he testified against the Lord of Morton over the English bribes.'
'Rich recompense for biting the hand that once fed him!' she observed dispassionately. 'I believe that there must be more to it than that Could it be that, bastard as he is, my father is near enough to the throne to rival… someone else? And so has to be bought off?'
David moistened his lips, uncomfortably. 'I do not know, your ladyship. I cannot think it'
"There is talk,' she went on, 'of someone being named successor to our sorry young King – someone who has none of the royal Stewart blood. Could it be that since my father has the blood, even though illegitimate, he is to bought off with this earldom?
'I do not know,' David repeated.
'And tell me, sir, should such indeed be true – about the succession – how long is my poor feckless cousin the King likely to live, think you?
Shocked, David stared at her. 'You do not mean…? You are not saying…?'
'I but asked a question. I thought that the Master of Gray's secretary might have been able to answer it'
This alarming conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Master of Gray himself. Patrick, clad now in his silver-gilt satin, came sauntering up, smiling brilliantly right and left – but David knew, from something about his bearing, that he was upset
'Davy,' he said, low-voiced. 'Where is Stewart? The Captain? I cannot see him. I must have word with him.'
'I would have thought that you had had words enough with him…' David began.
"Tush – this is serious. Stewart is too important a man to us to quarrel with – yet, And he is aggrieved already.' Suddenly Patrick became aware of the young woman at David's far side. He bowed, all smiles again. 'Ah, fair lady,' he said. 'Here is Beauty herself! And I am ever Beauty's most humble servant'
'I doubt it, sit,' Beauty said briefly. 'Eh…? You flyte me, madame. Beware how you flyte Patrick Gray!'
'I do not flyte you, sir. I do nothing for you – save prevent you seeking the Captain! He passed through yonder door into the ante-room, not long since.' '
'Oh. Indeed. I see. Thank you. As I say, your servant. Come, Davy.'
'Fare you well, Master David,' she said. Though I doubt it… in the company that you keep! And trust not my father, earl or no earl!'
David shook a worried head, and hurried after his brother.
'Who was yon sharp-tongued jade?' Patrick wondered, making for the ante-room.
.'The Lady Marie Stewart, daughter to Lord Robert, that's to be Earl of Orkney.'
'So-o-o! The beggar-man's brat – or one of them! So that is who she is? But she's handsome – I'll admit she's handsome.'
'May be. But I do not think that she likes you, Patrick.'
'Say you so? We'll see about that! You wait, Davy – wait and see!'
The Captain was not in the ante-room. They sought him in the long corridor.
'You said that Stewart was aggrieved?' David mentioned. 'Other than over the woman. What meant you by that?'
'There is bad blood between him and Esme – our noble lord Earl of Lennox! You know that. Tomorrow Parliament is to assign the forfeited Hamilton lands that Morton has been enjoying, to Esme, and h'm, in a small way, to my humble self. It seems that the Captain is something of a Hamilton himself – his mother was daughter to the Earl of Arran – an unlovely scoundrel to claim as grandparent! So now our warrior mislikes the dear Esme the more!'
'With some reason, perhaps?'
'Reason, Davy, and the game of statecraft, are not related. Come, we must find our friend and soothe him with good words. Possibly even with some small Hamilton property somewhere. A pity – but we cannot afford an open rift. Not yet Tonight's affair was folly – quite stupid. Over that strumpet! Already I have heard people whisper. We walk too delicately to seem to fall out; Or all is lost.'
'All being…?'
'Why, Davy – the cause of the Queen. And the Master of Gray I What else?5
'I am happy that you remembered the Queen!'
'But of course) lad. Now, you take yonder stair, and I'll take this. We must find him, and quickly. He is a headstrong fellow'
'You find him, Patrick – not I. Do your own soothing. I have better things to do, I think.'
'You have? You are going back to that wench of Orkney's?'
'Not so. To my bed. And I would to God that bed was at Castle Huntly!'
The next day, after a record short sitting, the Estates passed some godly business ofthe Kirk, redistribution ofthe Hamilton lands, ratification ofthe three earldoms of Lennox, March and Orkney, and the appointment to the Privy Council of the Lord Great Chamberlain and the Master of Gray. The Lord Ruthven, Greysteil had arrived at Court unbidden, but coming to his nephew, attained entry – if not an enthusiastic welcome. He was a reformed man, it appeared. Now, most suitably, the Council appointed him Treasurer – a man with a good sound respect for money. Patrick, who undoubtedly arranged the nomination, declared that he lent the new regime both respectability and continuity, as well as a sound Protestant flavour – even though James and Cousin Esme were less impressed. Morton, even if his shadow flickered constantly across the proceedings, was not once mentioned by name, even by Ruthven.
In a day or two, David did indeed return to Castle Huntly, to see his wife delivered of a fine boy. Almost without discussion and by mutual consent, they named him Patrick. In due course, even though he had promised himself otherwise, the proud father returned to the Court He could not help himself, it seemed.