THE BELL-HEATHER WAS glowing richly purple on all the Border hillsides as the two friends rode into Scotland, their hearts lifting to the unfailing vehemence, vigour and challenge of their own land after the softer atmospheres and attitudes of the South.
In Edinburgh, however, they did not find overmuch to maintain the uplift of their hearts. They were not long in discovering that none of the principal actors in the dramas, personal and political, with which they were presently concerned, were in fact in the city. Mary Gray and Alison Primrose were both in Perthshire, the former at Methven, the latter at her father's small lairdship of Burnbrae, near Culross, James Primrose's duties with the Scots Privy Council not requiring him to be in the capital at this season. Indeed Edinburgh was empty of much of its gentry and nobility, for this was the harvest season and almost all that class were still closely enough linked with the soil to be returned to their lands for this busy and important period. The Master of Gray was at Broughty Castle in Angus; the Earl of Orkney was said to be away in Orkney itself once more, despite the royal ban put upon such return; and the Chancellor, now Earl of Dunfermline, was at that town, still apparently palace building.
As for Margaret Hartside, she was not in Edinburgh either. According to James Heriot, she was confined captive in Blackness Castle, the state prison near Linlithgow in West Lothian. No, she had not come to him for any moneys, as his brother's letter had said she would; she had not been free to do so, indeed taken straight to Durfermline, under guard, where she had been questioned, and then confined in Blackness.
"Dunfermline?" George Heriot repeated. "Why Dunfermline? Not because the Chancellor is there, surely? This is not so great a matter that the Chancellor must attend to it? Do you mean that she was put to trial at Dunfermline, for some reason?"
"Not trial, no. She has not been tried. Only examined. Questioned. And is now being held. I can only think that she was taken to Dunfermline because it is the Queen's own bailiwick, and this was her servant, accused of hurt to Her Grace." "Strange. Who then examined her? Not the Chancellor?"
"No. Sir Henry Wardlaw, they say. Chamberlain to the Queen, in Scotland."
"And he had the power to imprison her in Blackness Castle? Without trial?" "That I do not know. But Blackness is where she is kept."
James Heriot did not know, either, anything of the Master of Gray's demands on the Crown. This was the first he had heard of it
The enquirers were fortunate in running to earth one notability of some significance in their quest, however, in his town house in the Cowgate of Edinburgh-Sir Thomas Hamilton of Binning, the Lord Advocate. He was laid up with the gout and so unable to travel to his estates meantime. A coarse-looking, red-faced bull of a man, with nevertheless one of the sharpest minds in Scotland, he was a cousin of the Heriots, his mother having been the daughter of Heriot of Traboum, the head of the family. Tam o' the Coogate, as he was known, was not a little surprised to see the Duke of Lennox and his cousin from London, but he greeted them, in his bedchamber, with a sort of wary joviality.
They asked about the Hartside case first, and Hamilton, after a keen glance disclaimed much knowledge of the matter. "I am the King's Advocate," he explained, "and this seems to be a private matter o' the Queen's. It doesna come into my responsibilities- God be thankit, for I've plenty."
"But if she is to be tried, surely you, or your people, would come into it? You are responsible for all prosecutions by the Crown, are you not? And the Queen is part of the Crown, surely?"
"That is arguable, man Geordie. If the Queen chooses to mak private prosecution on her ain behoof, then the Crown needna come into it Nor my Crown Office. And as to trial-is there to be atrial?" "She is locked up in Blackness, I understand, awaiting trial."
"Hph'mm. Awaiting something, maybe. But maybe no' a trial! I heard tell, see you, just between me and you, that the Queen was now very much against a trial, in this matter."
"But… what does that mean? This young woman is arrested, charged with stealing the Queen's jewels-and charged privately, mind you, by the Queen. She denies it-but is sent up to Scotland under guard, examined at Dunfermline, so I hear, not tried. And clapped in Blackness Castle, untried. For an offence allegedly committed in England. This is contrary to all justice, surely? Is there a law in this land, or is there not?"
"Aye, aye, there's a law right enough. But maybe no' quite so convenient a law for Mistress Hartside as that for the Queen's Grace! At the moment she's but taking order wi' her ain servant, making enquiries and the like. It's no' reached the stage o' law, man." "But if there's to be no trial, what is to happen to the woman?"
"Dinna ask me, Geordie. It's nae concern o' mine, as Advocate. You're the Queen's jeweller, straight frae her Court You should ken mair than I do."
Lennox intervened. "But if there is a trial, Sir Thomas, you will be concerned?"
"If the Crown prosecutes, yes. But the Queen still has her ain jurisdiction in the regality o' Dunfermline, her jointure lands. She would have the woman tried there. Without bringing the Crown into it."
"That is why she was sent there, for examination? There is strange work here, I think. But Blackness Castle is a state prison. That is not within the Queen's prerogative, is it?" "No, my lord Duke. But it is within the King's" "I do not know that the King is aware of any of this."
"I wonder? The King, I jalouse, is aware o' mair than maist folk reckon-eh, Geordie? Even you, maybe. But I'm no' wanting to ken! What's between, or no' between the King and his lady wife is no concern o' mine. Forby, Blackness Castle doesna come under the Crown Office. You'd hae to see either Dunfermline, the Chancellor, or Erroll, the High Constable. If see you must! I'm dunking there's drumly waters here, best left undisturbed, maybe. By wise men."
"I cannot do that I am involved. Mistress Hartside is alleged to have sold the jewels to me." "And did she?"
"No. Not sold. I took them from her. On trust. Gave her half the value. And have given them back to the Queen, free of charge."
"But you did gie the young woman money for them? A nice point in law, Geordie. You exchanged stolen jewels for money. It might be hard to prove you didna buy them. I'd let yon flea stick to the wa', if I were you, man!" "I believe the jewels were never stolen."
"Ah, well-that's no' concern o' mine. As yet But it might be, Geordie-it might be. In which case, as Lord Advocate, the less you say to me about it the better. We'll change the subject by your leave. Hae you ever suffered frae the gout, my lord Duke…?"
"There is another matter, Sir Thomas," Lennox said, presently. "On which we would value your guidance. That is the King's business-his private business. But we ask on his behalf. It is this of the Master of Gray's claim against His Majesty for a large sum of money. A claim in court, we understand."
"Aye-I jaloused we'd be coming round to that, when I saw you I It's an ill business."
"It seems to be more than that! It appears more of a mystery to me. What moneys are these? And how can Patrick Gray sue James for them?"
The big man on the bed stroked bis thin beard. 'That’ s a large question, my lord Duke. And a long story. One I dinna ken a' the answers to. But the Master can sue, in law. He has proofs, evidences, witnesses, papers. And a right before the Court o' Session. It seems we canna refuse him." "But how-what is it? Some old debt, apparently?"
"Debts dinna just fade awa' because they're auld, my lord!" the Advocate pointed out dryly.
"No. But this must be very old. Why has Gray waited until now to bring it up? And why sue the King, rather than the Scots Exchequer?"
"Because, as I understand it, the King's personal bond is involved. It was something between James and Gray. And his counsel assures that he has papers to prove it Why he waited a' these years, your guess is as guid as mine." "And you have no details?"
"Not at this stage, no. My Crown Office has to be satisfied that there is a case to hear. Beyond that, you canna expect the pursuer to gie awa' details o' his case to me, who will be defending. It's me who will hae to be asking you-or leastways, the King-for details. To mak a defence!"
"His Majesty does not want this matter brought to court," Heriot said. "Indeed, he is determined that it must not be."
"So-o-o? That sounds bad. And easier said than done, now the case has been entered."
"Well, that is your business 1" his cousin pointed out grimly. "You are the King's chief law officer. He commands that there be no court hearings on the subject." "So His Grace has something to hide, eh?" "No doubt But he is the King." "Aye. So he'd settle out o' court? Pay for silence? "
"Not necessarily. Only if he must. And only the minimum. He will certainly not give Gray all he asks."
"Well, that's no' business o' mine, either. I'm the Advocate. I'll fight the King's case in court But it's nae part o' my duties to bargain and haggle wi' such as Patrick Gray about how much he wants to keep his mouth shut I That's a task for others-I rather think you two gentlemen! Is that no' what you were sent up for?" They stared at each other, at a stalemate.
"It would be a help to us if we only knew where to begin" Heriot declared, frustratedly. "James would tell us nothing. And now you!" "Because I ken nothing-or practically nothing, Geordie. But I'll tell you where you can begin, man. Go you and see Tom Hope. He's Gray's counsel. Next to Gray himself, he'll ken mair o' this ploy than anyone, I reckon. He'll maybe no' tell you much-for he's a hard bargainer is Tom. But he has the papers-or some o' them. Unless you want to go to the Master himself? You hae links with Gray, have you no', my lord Duke?"
"Yes. But I see no advantage in approaching Patrick himself, before we have found out a great deal more, sir. You know him- he will talk us under the table 1 Tie us in knots. A man has to know just what he is at, when he deals with Patrick Gray."
"Aye. With Tom Hope too, mind. He's the hardest man at the Scots bar-and will hae my office one day, or I'll be surprised! And dinna reckon you can frighten him wi' the King's name For he's challenged a royal case already. He defended those six thrawn divines, back in January just, who claimed that the King had no authority in the Kirk o' Scotland. No one else would take up their case, but Tom Hope did-and near won. Would have won, too, if I hadna carefully picked the judges-though I say it as shouldna'!" Hamilton chuckled. "He's a clever limmer, forby-so watch how you tread wi’ Tom Hope. And dinna say I sent you…"
They had difficulty running Master Thomas Hope, advocate to earth; but eventually they found him down at his new property of Prestongrange, near the Salt-pans of Preston, nine miles down the Forth coast from Edinburgh. He proved to be a younger man than they had anticipated, still only in his late twenties, far from handsome and with an ungainly body, sallow features and dark piercing eyes. He was the son of a rich Edinburgh merchant-burgess, with neither pretence to, nor any affectation of much in the way of gentility. But his shrewdness, strength and striking personality were self-evident. He seemed more impressed by a visit from George Heriot than by the Duke of Lennox.
Clearly, no beating about the bush was necessary, or advisable, with this young man. Heriot stated their case plainly and without preamble. He did not over-emphasise the King's authority, but indicated that where the royal prerogative was concerned, the pros and cons of a case were by no means as straightforward as in normal litigation. It would probably be to both parties' advantage to talk, he suggested,
"What do you want from me, Master Heriot?" Hope asked bluntly.
"We wish to know, in broad terms, what is the case against His Majesty. So that we can judge whether there are any grounds for settlement." "So you wish to pre-judge my principal's case?"
"No, sir. But we represent the King, privately-the Duke, His Majesty's cousin, I his man-of-business. We cannot talk about the case, to you or to any other go-between, because we do not know what is at stake-what the Master of Gray sues for, or why." "You would learn in court, gentlemen 1"
"No doubt. But to whose advantage would that be? Scarcely the King's, certainly. But not, I think, the Master's. Nor yours, sir-to seem to act against your lawful sovereign's interests?"
"I am prepared to hear that burden, in the interests of justice, Master Heriot." "Perhaps. But it cannot be beneficial to your career, sir." "Are you seeking to threaten me? With the royal displeasure?"
"No. Merely reminding you that you also have something to gain by this matter not coming to court. Like the two principals." "I am unaware that the Master of Gray has anything to gain."
"No?" Lennox interpolated. 'Yet you must be aware, sir, that the Master's father, the Lord Gray, is very old, and a sick man. He could die at any time. And the King, with sufficient cause, could declare the Master infamous, to have spoken and acted publicly against his royal person, and so be unfit to succeed his father as a Lord of Parliament."
"Ha! Now we have it!" Hope took a turn to his window, to look over the water to Fife. He came back. "Perhaps the Master has considered such royal reaction, and will make it part of his submissions that no such reprisal should follow the winning of his case 1" "Perhaps. But the judges would probably not dare so to limit the royal authority, sir," Heriot said conversationally. "Not all necessarily being so bold as yourself! So-I think that you should tell us something of the case against His Majesty!"
The other gave a wintery smile. "You are very persuasive, Master Heriot. But then, I always heard that you were a man of parts. Perhaps I may inform you, to some small extent-in my principal's interests." He paused. "This action goes back to events of ten years ago and more. When King James was, shall we say, indiscreet. He was concerned that Queen Elizabeth of England, although obviously failing of health, had not named him as her successor on the English throne. He was afraid that there was a strong party in England which was against his claims, advocating the rights of the Lady Arabella Stewart, and others. So, perhaps in a rash moment, His Grace decided that he must have an army ready to substantiate his claims. To march into England whenever Elizabeth died, and ensure by strength of arms what should be his, as he believed, by right of birth."
"All this we know," Lennox declared. "James tried to raise the soldiers on the Borders. I, as Lord Admiral, was in some way concerned."
"No doubt, my lord Duke. But did you know of the Danish venture?" "Danish? No."
"I thought not. This was, it seems, a close secret. As well it might be. James wanted ten thousand regular trained troops from King Christian, for six months. Only six months. He wrote that he had reason to believe that Elizabeth would die within six months. And so he would need them for no longer."
Lennox whistled, and Heriot looked appalled. Neither required to be informed what that sort of statement could do to upset English susceptibilities-especially parliament's. There had, as usual, been rumours that Elizabeth had eventually died of poison -such were commonplace and had largely been forgotten. But if it was stated in court that James had actually prophesied such a thing, in 1590, it would sound exceedingly bad. Especially with himself as the beneficiary. Together with projected armed invasion by foreigners of England's sacred soil. King Christian's present visit would hardly end in felicity. "Did James put that in writing?" Lennox demanded.
"Unfortunately for him, yes. And the Master of Gray, who was acting as his go-between, has the letter. The Earl of Orkney, then only Master, was the bearer of the letter." Hope shrugged. "I see that you take the point, gentlemen. But there is more to it than that. The Danish king agreed to send the troops-but, being then in need of money for his wars, required that they be paid for. And some payment in advance. James also, as ever, lacked money. And so it had to be found elsewhere. It is his outlays in this matter, never repaid, which the Master of Gray sues for now."
Taking a great breath, Heriot stared at his friend. If Guido Fawkes had threatened James Stewart with gunpowder, this was almost as explosive a mixture.
'The Master of Gray must well know that any such disclosures could greatly harm his liege lord, indeed the whole realm," he declared. "Although it was kept secret, this was state business- however misguided. And the Master, you say, was involved in it. In a matter of much confidence, to reveal it now, in furthering a private claim for moneys, would be shameful. Indeed, to produce such a letter in court, an exchange between monarchs, could be treason, I think."
"I do not require you to instruct me in matters of law, Master Heriot. I would not produce such letter in court, as evidence; only indicate its existence beforehand, to the Crown, as proof that there is a case to answer. There are other papers which will serve."
"You must be aware that Gray does this only to spite the King, sir? To strike at him, for not having taken him to England with him."
"I am aware of no such thing. I am assured by my principal that he brings the action only to recover moneys owed to him by the King, privately, and refused of repayment Moneys and interest. It is on such grounds that I act for him, on a perfectly lawful issue."
"You will not deny, Master Hope, that if this is so, the matter could infinitely better be settled out of court?"
"Supposing the King is prepared to pay the sum claimed- which hitherto he has steadfastly refused to do." The other raised thick eyebrows. "Have you two gentlemen powers so to settle, on the King's behalf?" They were silent,
"Until you are in such position, I must retain freedom to press my principal's case with all vigour and expedition," Hope went on. "If His Grace wishes otherwise, he has the remedy to hand."
"So you will do nothing to aid your monarch in this, sir? Your monarch as well as ours-and Gray's " Lennox accused.
"Not for me to make any move in the matter, my lord Duke. I am merely the Master's counsel, in receipt of his instructions. He it is you should approach. He is presently at his house of Broughty, I understand." Hope bowed and moved towards the door, the interview evidently over as far as he was concerned.
Heriot took a risk. "Sir-since clearly you are a man of strong principles, not readily deterred by opposition in high places, it may be that you would consider aiding me in another matter? Again in your capacity as counsel. But on my behalf-or leastways, paid by me. For I require guidance in law." The other looked at him curiously, but made no comment
"It is the matter of Mistress Hartside, chambermaid to the Queen. Accused of stealing the Queen's jewels, and now held without trial in Blackness Castle. You may have heard of the case?"
"Heard, yes, sir-but little of detail. Enough, however to assure me that it stinks to heaven! I would not wish to be concerned in any such case of manifest injustice." "Even on Mistress Hartside's behalf?"
"Eh…?" Hope peered at his visitor. "Did I hear you aright, sir?"
"You need not doubt your hearing, Master Hope. The fact is that, although I am the Queen's jeweller-and, greatly presuming, might even call myself her friend-yet I am against her, in this. Or against whatever it is that makes her act so, so much against her usual good nature. There is something wrong here. I know not what but conceive it to have to do with the Earl of Orkney." "An ill man to meddle with!"
'Terhaps. But under the King's displeasure meantime-indeed, under the caution and authority of my lord Duke, here…" "Little as that seems to affect him!" Ludovick put in, wryly.
"My sympathies are with Mistress Hartside," Heriot went on. "I think that she is the innocent victim of some Court intrigue. It is my desire to see that she is aided, cleared of this charge, if may be, and freed from ward." "Against the Queen's wishes?" "If need be, yes. I would not harm the Queen. But I would seek to prevent her further harming this young woman." "And the King?"
"The King, so far, is not concerned in this. If he knows of it, at all The Queen dismissed this woman, sent her under guard to Scotland-although the stealing, if such it was, took place in England-has had her examined by her own Chamberlain in her bailiwick of Dunfermline, and now committed to Blackness. I conceive her rights as a citizen to have been sorely violated." "With that I concur. What do you want of me?"
"I want you to discover what her rights may be, in law. What the Chamberlain now intends. If possible, get her out of Blackness Castle. And, if it seems best, insist on her being brought to proper trial." "You would risk that? It could be dangerous."
"The Queen does not want a trial, we now know. Therefore, it could be to Hartside's benefit. It would force the Queen to state her case, at least. Let us know what we fight against. For my own name is involved. The woman is accused of selling the jewels to me." "I see. This might be a costly business, Master Heriot. For a chambermaid's honour " "And my own, sir. The cost will be met, never fear." "Very well Tell me all you know, if you please…"
In a corner of the walled garden of Methven Castle, Lennox and Mary Gray sat on a rustic bench, arms linked and watched their son Johnnie clamber amongst the old apple tree branches, while George Heriot stood nearby.
"Think you, then, that there is any profit in us going to see the Master, your father?" he asked.
"I do not see what you will achieve by it," the young woman admitted. "You will not turn Patrick from his course, save by outwitting him, Geordie. And for all the esteem I have for you and Vicky, I do not think that you will achieve that, face to face. I have never yet met anyone who could." "Except perhaps his daughter!" Lennox put in.
"Nonsense! He can run around me in rings. Only on occasion can I cut across his entanglements-and that is because I can sometimes think as he does, and so can anticipate his next move. Not that I am proud of it…" "Come you with us to Broughty Castle, then, my love."
"I see no advantage in it, Vicky. For any of us-or for the King. As I understand it, Patrick holds all the cards in this sorry game. My only wonder is-why he has not played them before this. Is not this debt a dozen years old, and more? Ever since James threw him over, there at Berwick Bridge in 1603, he could have done this. Why wait until now?" "Is he greatly in need of the moneys, think you?"
"I have not heard so. The Lady Marie has not said so. But, who knows with Patrick?"
"You have not heard of him being especially concerned in any new plots or ploys, meantime? It is unlike Patrick not to be!"
"Nothing important. Although Marie says that there are constant letters and messengers, coming and going, with her brother, the Earl of Orkney." "Ah! "Heriot said. "In regard to what?"
"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.
Lady Burnbrae scurried away in evident agitation, while the laird's eldest daughter eyed her father in a sort of amused exasperation.
The repast which followed was adequate enough, if plain and distinctly noisy. Primrose conversed solely with his guest, ignoring the presence of his family; and his lady, at the foot of the necessarily lengthy table, made no attempt to control the vociferous household. Heriot counted only sixteen of them, so presumably three were either dead or living elsewhere. Alison, every now and again, sought to quell the worst squabbling or other outbreaks of high spirits, but out of a sense of duty, it seemed, rather than any conviction. The visitor found it all rather amusing if somewhat distracting.
That is, until James Primrose, in his best pontifical Privy Council fashion, felt it incumbent on him to impress on his guest the importance of the day's visit to Dunfermline, where he had been to confer with the Chancellor, no less. This, he emphasised, was a frequent occurrence-the Chancellor, of course, acted chairman of the Council. But today's had been a rather special occasion-but very privy, of course. The laird pursed his lips still further, and nodded portentously.
When Heriot did not only forbear to press for details, but actually allowed himself to be entertained by ongoings further down the table, his host saw it as necessary to elaborate, and so to bring the other to a due recognition of the responsibilities and weighty issues resting on the shoulders of the Clerk of the Council. Logan of Restalrig had fairly recently died, it seemed, in drunken squalor and poverty in a house in Edinburgh's Canon-gate, and developments were coming to light such as to flutter many a doocot in Scotland, and outwith it
Heriot pricked up his ears, then. Logan of Restalrig he knew, as did most others, to have been an unscrupulous adventurer in a very big way, allegedly deeply involved in the notorious Gowrie Conspiracy of 1600, as well as in innumerable other unsavoury developments in Scotland over the last score of years. But Heriot knew also that he was a kinsman of the Master of Gray's, and had acted for that Machiavelli of Scottish politics on many an occasion. He had had to withdraw from public life rather hastily after the Gowrie business-but Fast Castle, his eagle's-nest of a stronghold on the Berwickshire cliffs, was sufficiently impregnable a refuge for even King James to give up the pursuit of winkling him out
"Died in poverty, you say? How can that be? He was ever a man of means, with large estates. And if Logan could not line his pockets in a long life time, no man could"
"Nevertheless, he died in poverty," the other insisted, at least gratified that he now had the visitor's full attention. "And has left debts. But not only debts, sir-problems. Many problems. And most delicate." "Which concern the Chancellor and Privy Council?"
"Just that. His papers are, h'm, highly dangerous. And some have already got into wrong hands. Wrong hands, sir."
"I see. Yes, I agree that if Logan of Restalrig kept papers, they might well prove awkward for some folk. But why the Privy Council?"
"Because, Master Heriot, certain members of the Council are much involved. Even His Grace the King! And the Lord Home, who is one of Logan's heirs at law, a kinsman and a member of the Council, is for suing certain other members, who are, it seems, Logan's debtors. The Master of Gray, once a member, and also a kinsman, likewise."
"The Master does keep cropping up," Heriot observed. "A man of much initiative. And a friend of Fyvie's-or rather, Dunfermline's, the Chancellor!"
"Precisely, sir. But then, so are the Lord Balmerino and the Earl of Dunbar, the King's former and present Secretaries of State." "And they come into it?"
"Unhappily, they do. The Earl of Dunbar it was-as Sir George Home of Manderston-who bought Fast Castle from Logan. Also Gunsgreen and Remington estates. And has not paid eighteen thousand merks of the purchase price. And Lord Balmerino, who as Secretary Elphinstone bought Restalrig itself, and still owes fifteen thousand merks."
"Whe-e-ew! I did not know that Logan had sold his estates. Why should he have done that? A rich man? "
"That interests the Privy Council, sir, likewise. For the Lord Home claims that Logan was forced to it by these two friends of the King. On pain of them divulging some informations against him. And that they then refused to pay most of the purchase moneys. Moreover, the King's own name is said to come into it. His Grace is said also to have received some of Logan's moneys. Lord Home and the Master of Gray have these papers, and wish f or… restitution"
Heriot was silent, as his mind sought to cope with all this, and all that it implied. Primrose glanced at him, almost anxiously.
"You do not believe me, sir? I assure you that it is absolute truth, and greatly distressing the Chancellor. Logan, it seems, left his papers in care of a notary in Eyemouth, near Fast Castle. One George Sprott And he has handed over some, at least, to Lord Home and the Master."
"I do not disbelieve you, sir. I but perceive that Scotland is in sore need of a strong hand to govern it-not an absent one, four hundred miles away in London "
"As to that, sir, I do believe that the King's accession to Elizabeth's throne was… unfortunate. But my lord of Dunfermline is quite capable of governing the country, with the aid of the Secretary of State and the Privy Council. Quite capable, sir."
"I rejoice to hear it," Heriot shrugged. "The Earl of Orkney does not, by any chance, come into all this?"
"The Earl of Orkney?" Startled, the little man stared at his guest, and then away. "The Earl of Orkney, sir-I cannot say aught of the Earl of Orkney. That is a, a different matter. My lips are sealed-sealed, do you hear? Moreover, the Earl of Orkney is the King's cousin."
"The King has a number of cousins I" Heriot mentioned. "His grandsire, James the Fifth, being a very potent prince! I but wondered, since the Master of Gray was concerned, whether Orkney might not be also? They are brothers-in-law."
"I can say nothing about the Earl of Orkney, Master Heriot," Primrose jerked, and pushed back his chair. "I… I have no knowledge of his affairs."
His guest inclined his head-but looked keenly at the laird as he did so. The man was suddenly frightened. He had been eager enough to talk, before; had all but babbled, and of matters which some might have considered secret to the Privy Council. Orkney's name had changed all that Thoughtfully Heriot followed his host out to inspect the new dovecot being built, with its hundreds of stone nests.
Later that evening, with the children, even Alison banished to bed, and the diffident Lady Burnbrae retired also, Heriot was on his way upstairs likewise when James Primrose summoned him into the little withdrawing-room off the hall, where a log fire smouldered, convenient for the laird-who had contracted the unpleasant new West Indian habit of burning tobacco weed in a pipe and sucking the smoke-to light and relight the evidently not very combustible mixture.
"Master Heriot," he said, settling down, and puffing with considerable determination. "I presume that you have come to my house with the purpose of seeking from me my daughter Alison's hand in marriage?"
Heriot swallowed audibly. "I… er… ah," he said. "Well, sir. I, see you-I am so very much older than she is…"
"Yes, she is very young, sir; In my opinion, as yet too young to marry. Although a man of your mature years would no doubt make the best husband for her. I am prepared to consider it, sir. But not for a year or so."
"Indeed. Yes. I see. You will understand, Burnbrae, that I have not spoken of this. Said anything of the sort To Alison"
"Quite right Proper. As her father, I should expect you to approach me first Now-as to the matter of dowry. You will not be expecting any large sum, Master Heriot, I am sure? I am not a rich man. And have many daughters to provide for."
Distinctly bemused by his sudden translation towards marriage status and negotiation, Heriot wagged his head. "No, no. Of course not, sir. I had not thought of it The matter had not occurred to me."
"Aye. Well, then-no doubt we can come to a satisfactory arrangement" He pursed his lips. "I shall, of course, expect you to settle a substantial jointure upon my Alison, sir. A man in your situation could do no less. Substantial." "Oh, quite. Quite." "Have you any figure, or properties, in mind?" "Well, no. The fact is, sir, I have scarcely considered anything of the sort."
"But it is most necessary, Master Heriot You are a man of affairs, of means. These important matters must be given due thought, and dealt with in good time. Beforehand. A proper marriage settlement is the basis of every satisfactory match, none will deny."
The other opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it He drank a gulp of canary instead.
"Consider it well, then, my friend," Primrose went on, "so that I may draw up proper settlement papers, as is right and due. Meantime, sir, I drink to your betrothal." He raised bis tankard.
"You are, h'm, very kind. Very. Be assured, Burnbrae, that I shall give this matter much and suitable thought"
"Aye, do. Then I give you goodnight, sir. And shall look to see you my goodson" in a year or so. I hope that our association may be to our satisfaction and profit, aye profit, sir."
As George Heriot stumbled up the narrow, winding stairway to his lofty bedchamber under the roof, he had already begun the process of deep and extended thought. Indeed his contemplations extended far into the night, in that bed which was Alison's-of which he was much aware-his head seething, his doubts questioning, his judgment seesawing-but his heart singing.
In the morning, the man found himself loth to meet Alison's eye across the breakfast table. But the girl was her usual cheerful, laughing self, and no constraint was long possible. Certainly no serious discussion did or could take place in such circumstances and company. His host was silent, preoccupied, frowning, presumably ruminating on matters of state. Heriot contented himself with trivialities.
It seemed to be taken for granted by all concerned that the harvest leading-in process should continue at full strength-as indeed would be happening all over the land, with good weather therefor a by no means normal state of affairs. Heriot was far from averse to a day's hearty and healthy labour in the harvest field, in good company-especially when he realised that the laird, with a mind about such matters, would be otherwise engaged. In shirt and breeches, sleeves uprolled and hay-fork over shoulder, he sallied out with Alison and the rest of the Primrose clan, equipped with baskets of cold meats, pitchers of milk and flagons of homebrewed cider-and, in fact, thereafter enjoyed one of the happiest and most satisfying days of his life, a day of wholesome and essential physical effort, sunshine, laughter and companionship. His back ached and his arms were limp before the end of it, and the sheaves grew heavier and heavier, but that was a small price to pay for those well-spent hours, hours wherein his mind quietly settled itself, and he came, without any cudgelling of wits, to see his way reasonably straight before him, his good way.
It was evening before he had a chance to be alone with Alison, when, shaking off the last of her ever-present family, the young woman led him, walking, down to the shore of the Forth. And now he found himself strangely reluctant to broach the subject which so closely affected them both. There was a risk, he felt, that it might alter, mar, the day's happy companionship.
It was the girl herself who brought it up, presently. "Geordie," she said, as they picked their way over the rounded pebbles of the beach, "last night my father packed me off to bed with the others, as though I had been a child. He does not usually do so. I took it that he wished to speak with you, alone. He has spoken openly to you, at the supper table, about his precious Privy Council affairs, caring for none of us. So it could not be that I wondered if it could be about me?" She wrinkled her nose. "If I had been sleeping in my own room, I would have crept down the stairs to listen at the door! But I was in a room with four of my sisters-and they would have come with me, you may be sure! Did he speak about me?" "He did, yes." 'To what purpose?" "He… ah… well, spoke of your future."
She drew a deep breath. "That is what I feared, Geordie-I do not know what he said-but I know my father. You are not to pay any heed to what he said, do you hear? He is a good man, but trying at times. And, and very full of himself. Forby, a lawyer-and he thinks like a lawyer! You are not to consider what he said about me and my, my future. You understand?"
"I am sorry about that, my dear" he told her, smiling a little. "For he told me much that was good to hear."
"He did? I can scarce believe that! Oh, he loves me well enough-but I swear that is not what he would tell you, of me. Did he, did he…?" "He did for me, lass, what I think I would never have had the courage and wit to decide for myself. He, h'm suggested that I should ask you to marry me. In a year or two's time."
They had both halted, there on the shingly beach, gazing at each other. The girl was absolutely silent-but her breathing was heightened, her lips parted, her eyes bright "Well, my dear?" he asked.
Still she stared at him A pink tongue-tip came out to moisten those lips. "You mean it?" she whispered.
"To be sure, I mean it. I mean it, I hope for it, I pray for it, lass."
"Oh, Geordie-at last. At last!" And she flung herself into his arms.
On the open shore they embraced, oblivious of who might be watching. It was some considerable time before anything like coherent and rational converse was resumed between them.
"I do not think… I doubt whether… it comes to me that you did not answer my question, young woman!" the man declared, at length, somewhat breathlessly. "I asked, you may recollect, whether you would marry me."
'Think you that I would say no, sir? When I have been seeking to bring you to the asking, this year and more! Never fear, I shall not let you go now that I have you I Now, or ever. I would wed you tomorrow, if I might "
"Scarce so soon, my love," Heriot demurred. 'Your father's condition of agreement is that we must wait a year or so. As indeed the wiser part of me accepts as best-the part I think with, not the part I feel with 1" "Why?" 'Your father conceives you too young…"
'That again I Mercy-you men! You judge all by years and months. As though that was important. What do you know of women and how their age should be judged?"
"I do not claim deep knowledge of your sex, no. But this I do know-that I was wed too young, before."
"Oh," she said. 'Yes, of course." That brought her up short. "I am sorry."
"No need to be. Christian and myself-Christian Marjoribanks =-were wed when she was little more than a child in years-and I, though turned twenty, was young, young. The match was arranged by my father and her guardian-for she was an orphan. We scarce knew each other. Nor ever did learn to know each other, properly, as we ought Perhaps I did not try sufficiently hard. If our marriage lacked much, the fault, no doubt, was mine-for she was fair and good and should have made what is called an excellent wife. But I was young. I thought that I knew all…"
"So that is why you were ever so concerned about my age-or lack of it, Geordie? I understand now. But we are not all the same at similar years."
"No. But marriages are for life. And a man that a girl of your age might think to wed, joyfully, she might find intolerable when she is older. And that, my dear, I think I could not bear!"
"Geordie-how can I convince you that I know my own mind? Have done, since ever I met you that day in Linlithgow Palace. I am no child-and have considered a plentitude of young men. And not so young. You know what it is like at Court. Many would have wed me-apart from those who merely wanted my body. And some were what, no doubt, my father would name a good match. But I kept myself for you. I knew that you were the man for me, Geordie-although I dreaded your riches. So-why wait months and years now?" "Because your father would have it so, lass-and, however little of a child you may be in truth, you are far from of due age. And, to speak fair, I also would have to wait, Alison lass-the wiser side of me. For me to take you back to London and the Court as bride, now, would serve neither of us well. It would seem a defiance of the Queen. And though I might care little for that, in one respect-it would mean that you would not be received at Court That would be difficult, since I must be at Court myself, as the Queen's jeweller and the King's man-of-business. It would come between us. In time, this folly will be resolved, or will subside. A year or so, my heart-it would be best. Meanwhile, we are betrothed-which is a joy…" "Betrothed? Are we?" 'Your father says so. He drank to our betrothal last night!" "Ah! He did? Geordie-did he… did he talk about money?"
The man cleared his throat. "A little. As was to be expected. A father has duties in this respect…"
"Do not seek to spare him, or me!" she charged. "I know him. He will see you as a rich catch, I swear! A source of siller, to bind to him! This is what I had feared, dreaded. I will have none of it -do you hear? I will not be sold, chaffered over, like a heifer at a market"
"Sakes, lass-never think it! When you are my wife, you will receive a jointure, as is suitable. So that should I die, you would have a sufficiency. Think you I would not insist on that?" "And that was all? No shameful bargaining? "
"None. You are your own woman, Alison Primrose-and always will be, as far as George Heriot is concerned. That I promise you." "Dear Geordie! Why are you so good to me?"
"I could tell you that, perhaps. But it would take a long time, ghl. You would have to be very patient, to hear it all. Are you a patient young woman? I think-I think it might be better if I told you while sitting down! Less… wearying. You see yonder bushes, and the grassy bank between? As good a place for a long accounting of your attractions to me, attributes and delights- do you not agree? Retired, It would be a pity to be disturbed, in such a manner. Sakes -no need to run, my betrothed"