"MY LORD OF MAR," the Chancellor said, "I regret it-but it is not possible for you to see the Queen. Her Grace is very ill, and weak…"
"I know that, man! God-all Scotland knows it! The more reason that I see her. I have a letter from her from her lord the King." "I will see that Her Grace gets it at once…"
"No, sir! I will see her. The letter I will give into her ain hands -none other. His Majesty's instructions. And I've messages for her, forby. Frae the King. Take me to her, man." "I fear not, my lord. Her Grace's own royal commands."
"What! She'll no' see me, Mar! Is that what you're after telling me, Seton?" A red-faced, gobbling turkey-cock of a man, John of Mar advanced a threatening step. Only in his early forties, he looked much older, harsh, overbearing, arrogant. 'The likes o' Sandy Seton'll no' keep me frae the woman!"
"I must my lord. I cannot but obey the Queen's direct commands. She said that she would not see you." The Chancellor's voice quavered a little. Sir Alexander Seton of Pluscarden, recently created Lord Fyvie, was a dozen years the other's junior and scarcely a dominant character, slight, slender, modish, good-looking, with the face of an intellectual.
"Christ's Wounds, she did! Well-I have the King's commands, Seton, d'you hear? Whose do you obey-heh? The King's Majesty's ain-or his silly bit puling wife's? Tell me that-you that ca's yourself Chancellor, King's Chancellor-no' his consort's!"
From the background, near the doorway of Linlithgow's Great Hall, the Master of Gray came to his colleague's aid, but calmly, undramatically, as though all was a matter of course. "No call for contest, my lords," he said, coming forward. "Give me His Grace's letter, Johnnie. Her Grace, I hope will not refuse to see roe. Eh, Sandy? And I can, perhaps, persuade her to give audience to the Earl of Mar later, and hear the King's messages. A woman sick must be humoured, Johnnie." Mar grunted but no more; and Fyvie agreed eagerly.
The Hall of Linlithgow Palace was crowded as it had not been for long. The Queen's miscarriage and subsequent grievous illness had brought important folk from the four quarters of the kingdom. The Chancellor had hastened from Dunfermline, the Earl of Orkney from the West, the Master of Glamis, the Treasurer, from Angus-and now the Earl of Mar, newly arrived from England, from Edinburgh with the Master of Gray. Should the Queen die, a totally new situation would arise, with interesting permutations for those in authority. This was the fourth day after the miscarriage.
In a corner of the huge apartment, Mary Gray slipped away from George Heriot's side. "I will go warn Lady Huntly," she murmured. She had come two days before, as an Extra Woman of the Bedchamber whose services might be required.
A small group, with Fyvie and the Master of Gray, detached themselves and made for the private stairway to the Queen's apartments. Unobtrusively, Heriot followed.
Patrick Gray did not fail to notice it "Ha, Master Geordie-I heard that you came here. Promptly!" "I told you, sir, that it was to the Queen that I was sent."
"Quite. You came at a bad moment I hope that you did not, h'm, worsen it, my friend!"
Heriot could have slain the elegant Master for that-for it was precisely that thought which had dogged him for four days and nights. Had he not urged the royal visit to Stirling Castle, might this miscarriage never have occurred? It was a grevious question, and though Mary Gray, Alison Primrose, and even Lady Huntly all united in absolving him, he was not wholly reassured.
At the bedchamber door Sir Harry Lindsay, Master of the Queen's Household would have denied them entry until, in the gloomy stone corridor he recognised the Master of Gray and they exchanged quick glances. Heriot noted that exchange.
In the stifling room, Sir Hugh Herries, the royal physician, Lady Huntly, Mary Gray and Margrete Vinster, a Danish Maid-in-Waiting, stood round the great four-poster bed The Queen lay flat thereon, eyes closed.
"Your Grace-I deeply regret to disturb you," Fyvie said, low-voiced. "But…"
"I… will… not… see… Mar!" The words from the bed were weak, but measured and very definite.
"No, Highness. I told him. But this is the Master of Gray. With a letter from the King's Grace." "I do not want it Oh him."
"My Lady Anne," the Master said, at his silkiest, "as well as the letter, I bring words for your royal ear alone."
A faint negative twitch of the sweat-damp head on the crumpled pillow. "About your son, the Prince Frederick Henry."
That putting of the name Frederick first had its effect. The red-rimmed, heavy-lidded eyes opened, the pale lips parted just a little.
"It is hot in here, over-crowded," the Master went on pleasantly. "Sir Hugh-I think the room should be cleared. Do not you?"
Herries, who owed much, including his knighthood, to the Master of Gray, nodded, and gestured for all to leave.
The Queen's eyes turned, in sudden alarm and appeal, to George Heriot He nodded.
As most of the company moved to the door, three remained with the Master and the Chancellor-Lady Huntly, Mary Gray and George Heriot Coolly Gray eyed each of them in turn. None spoke.
"May I remind all here that there is such a body as the Privy Council," he observed, almost conversationally. "In matters of state, the authority of its members is paramount. The Chancellor, my Lord Pyvie, and my humbler self, are of His Grace's Scots Privy Council. And we would have speech with the Queen. Alone."
"I am Henrietta Stewart, and do not leave the Queen's side, for any man," the Marchioness declared briefly.
"I was sent directly to Her Grace by the King," Heriot said. "I shall leave her presence only if she wishes it" "No!" Anne jerked, surprisingly strongly. Mary Gray said nothing-but did not move.
"Very well-since it is Her Grace's wish," the Master nodded -and smiled entirely affably at them all. "Here is the letter, Your Grace. As to the Prince Frederick Henry, I know how you wish to have him in your own royal care. His Grace has seen fit to command otherwise. But in the present situation, of your sad sickness and the King's absence, we of the Privy Council who are left in Scotland, deem that His Grace's royal wishes might well bear alteration somewhat, his commands be… ameliorated. Perhaps, with your royal permission, I could persuade my friend the Earl of Mar to prevail on his lady mother to deliver to him the Prince, out of Stirling Castle. And he to bring the lad here to Your Grace at Linlithgow. It is admittedly, directly contrary to the King's orders. But I personally, with the Earl of Mar and my lord Chancellor here, would accept responsibility."
The swift indrawing of two breaths, the Queen's and Mary Gray's, drew Heriot's swift glance. With Mary he exchanged meaning looks. When he turned to the Queen, she was eyeing him with an agonised questioning, compounded of both hope and fear. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
There was a tense pause. Then Anne spoke. "No," she whispered. "No. Let him stay… where he is." That ended in a sob.
The Master's eyes narrowed, but only for a moment "As Your Grace wishes of course. But… if the Prince knows that you are ill, his mother-and I cannot think that he will not have been told, in merest humanity-then he will be anxious, desirous of seeing Your Highness."
She licked dry lips, her breathing uneven, fevered eyes searching all faces. "No," she got out. "No, no, no 1 Leave me, Master of Gray. Leave me-in God's name I"
"Go, sir-if you have any humanity of your own!" Lady Huntly cried. "Can you not see how you distress Her Grace?"
The Master bowed deeply. "As you wish, Highness. I but sought your comfort. And that of your family. Should you change your royal mind, I am at your service."
"It was meant for the best, Madam, I assure you," Fyvie asserted -and sounded honest.
Together they backed out of the presence. At the door, the Master's eyes caught George Heriot's, and they were icy cold.
The Queen dissolved into wailing, gulping tears, her weak body racked, and Henrietta threw herself bodily upon her, clutching, kissing, gabbling endearments.
Mary Gray and the man considered each other. "Tell Her Grace that she acted wisely, my lady," Mary said urgently. 'For the best The best for all. I swear it!" Then she gestured with her head towards the door.
Outside in the crowded corridor, with the Master's elegant back disappearing down the far stairway, Mary turned almost as cold a glare as that of her father on Herries the Queen's physician. "Your royal mistress needs your attention, Sir Hugh. I'd counsel you to attend better to Her Grace than to some whom you obey so readily!"
Looking abashed, the plump little doctor bobbed an unhappy bow and hurried within. Alison Primrose, waiting there, was sent in also.
Moving along to a small dressing-room where they could be alone, Mary sighed.
"That was a grievous encounter, Geordie," she said. "And near disaster. A fierce test for the Queen. I esteem her more. I think today, than ever I have done. And it was you she trusted in. Only you."
"We cannot say that. She knows that I am working with you, being guided by you."
"She does not love me. Has always doubted me. Perhaps because the King speaks well of me. So all the greater credit to you. That she trusts you so entirely, on so great an issue."
"The wonder of it-since she might well blame me for all her present miscarriage and illness. My advice."
"That would be folly. She may be light-headed but she is not a fool. She proved that"
"Yes. And I fear that I have made a potent enemy of the Master."
She shook her head. "Not of necessity. My father is an ill man to cross. But he does not normally bear grudges. He will fight you, so long as you oppose his plans, fight without scruple. But he will not personally hate you. Indeed he will admire you the more for besting him-and be the more concerned to best you next time 1 He is a strange man-but not wholly bad."
"It was a cunning move. To get the Prince out of Lady Mar's grip, allegedly into the Queen's but really into his own. This move offers one gleam of hope, I think. It must mean that he is not certain of the old Countess giving up Henry to her son. Else why trouble with this?" "True. But she told you that she would, did she not?"
"She may not have told him that. She does not trust him, even though her son does."
The young woman nodded. "And there are more gleams of hope than that, Geordie. This illness of the Queen could be a godsend. Forcing my father to delay his plot You have seen the crowds outside the palace. Waiting to hear how the Queen fares. The people. They do not greatly love her, perhaps-for she has never sought their love. But they like her better than the King, for she is gay and generous. And I swear they feel for her as a mother deprived of her children. Now she is ill, they rally to her. No good time, I think, for the Master of Gray to attack her. To pull down her husband and use her son against her. My father will not overlook that-that is partly why he is here today, I am sure. He may not need the people's support, in his plans. But he will not want their opposition, or active wrath. He is far too clever to risk that. So-he seeks to take the Queen with him."
"But this only postpones the issue. Either the Queen gets better, the people forget, and all will be as it was. Or-God forbid-she dies. And his way is clear."
"True. But it gives us time. She will not die, I think. She has recovered from miscarriage before. Time we must use. My father will hold his hand, I believe, while she is gravely sick. So she must seem to remain gravely sick for a time-even if she is truly better." "While…?" "While we ask the King to return, with all speed!" He shook his head. "James will not do that" "Even if he believes his wife's at death's door?"
Heriot spread his hands. "No. I am sure of this. This of the English succession means everything to him. He has lived for it, all these years-as he has not lived for Anne of Holstein. He will not turn back, at this stage. For anything." "Then the man is a monster!"
"Perhaps. Judged in one fashion. But not in another, I think. He is a king. Not as other men. The Lord's Anointed, with the fate of two kingdoms in his hands. He will say 'God's will be done!' and continue on his appointed way. Of that I am sure."
She bowed to his certainty. "Very well. No doubt my father argues likewise. Then we must seek for the next best. To frighten him with the Queen's health, so that he sends a Viceroy back, with complete royal authority to act in all things in the King's name. That could only be Vicky, next heir to the throne after the young princes. He has acted Viceroy before, when James went to Denmark-the only man who has. With Vicky, and a viceroy's authority, we could halt my father." "Perhaps. But… we have already written to the King."
"Not that the Queen is dangerously ill. He surely cannot ignore that altogether. Write to Vicky too. He wants to come back He never wanted to go to London. He would live quietly at Methven with me, if James would let him."
"That I know is truth. He told me. Very well. We shall write to the King and the Duke. They say that Fyvie has already written. I wonder what he said? And we shall seek to keep the Queen feigning illness-even though she betters." He looked at the young woman with mixed feelings, head ashake. "Lord knows where you are leading me, Mary Gray. It is well seen whose daughter you are I"
It took many days for their urgent courier-borne letters to England to bear fruit, days of anxious waiting, playing a part fretting-but presumably anxious days for the Master of Gray also, as he waited either for the Queen's state of health to improve, and so not prejudice his programme, or to change her mind about Prince Henry's release. That she seemed to do neither must have been galling in the extreme, as day succeeded day. No sign of betterment emanated from the sick-room, where Anne played her part with a fair realism-and indeed made but slow recovery. What Sir Hugh Herries thought-and told the Master-was not to be known; but he had been joined by two other physicians brought from Edinburgh at Heriot's expense and left in no doubts as to their duty. The Scots people had cause to believe their Queen all but on her death-bed, and discovered for her a new affection and sympathy. Prayers were said for her in every kirk in the land.
Then, late on the evening of 21st May, a hard-riding, spume-flecked, mud-spattered troop of horsemen clattered up the cobbled hill from Linlithgow's Market Square and into the palace courtyard, the royal Lion Rampant of Scotland borne aloft, and Ludovick, Duke of Lennox, eased himself wearily out of the saddle, and actually staggered in sheer dizziness on the flagstones, one of his companions indeed falling on one knee in his exhaustion and stiffness. A few moments later, however, Vicky Stewart forgot fatigue, anxiety and certainly dignity, as Mary Gray flung herself into his arms and they clung to each other gasping incoherencies.
It was a while before the Duke was in any state to notice George Heriot standing at his back with a goblet of wine- although his party was not so slow in perceiving similar preferred restoratives. From an upstairs window the Duchess of Lennox looked down on the scene-but did not seek to intervene at this stage. She and her husband knew precisely where they stood with each other.
"Ha-Geordie!" The Duke took the wine, and gulped a mouthful of it "I thank you. Good to see you. Am I, am I in time? The Queen…?" The other nodded. "And the Prince? And the Master?" "Nothing yet."
"Thank God! We have killed a dozen horses on our way North."
"Dear Vicky!" Mary murmured. "All but killed yourself, I think! James would not come?"
"No. Did you ever believe that he would? Nothing will turn him back now. I left him at Theobalds, Sir Robert Cecil's house at Hertford. That is the Secretary of State. But a dozen miles out of London. But there is a plague in the city. He will not enter it. He makes for Greenwich, down Thames." "And have you all necessary authority?"
"The fullest the King could give me. All powers as Viceroy. To see to the Queen. To collect his children. And to conduct them to England just as soon as Anne is able to traveL" "Authority in writing?"
He nodded. "Signed and sealed, my dear. At this moment, I am as good as King in Scotland! Where is your father, Mary Lass?" "With the Hamiltons, at Kinneil, but three miles away."
"He will know of my arrival here within the hour, then. It would not be beyond him to ride forthwith to Stirling. Tonight With Mar, or to Mar. As a last throw. To try to take the Prince. Before I can act." "My thoughts entirely," Heriot agreed. "Where is Mar? I do not trust him-never have. At Stirling?" "He went there, yes. But is now back at Kinneil with my father." Ludovick nodded, and sighed. "It looks as though I must needs go riding again. Twenty more miles. To Stirling.' "Oh, Vicky!"
"No need," Heriot asserted. "I shall go. Give me a letter. To the Countess. Ordering her, in the King's name, not to give up the Prince to any, even her own son, under pain of highest treason. Till you come tomorrow. She is a dragon, yes-but with her own honesty. And loyal to King James. She will listen to me, I think-with that authority." 'Very well."
And so, next afternoon, when the King's Viceroy arrived at Stirling Castle, with a great train of nobles, gentry and men-at-arms, the drawbridge was down and at the bridge-end George Heriot stood beside the Dowager Countess of Mar, the Prince Henry and the captain of the guard, to welcome him. Heriot was surprised, to say the least of it, to see the Master of Gray, all gallantry and smiles, close behind the Duke, with the Earl of Mar, less smiling-but then that man seldom smiled, though he could guffaw on occasion. Lord Fyvie was also there; but so were Mary Gray, the Duchess of Lennox, the Earl of Linlithgow and other members of the Queen's household. It was a resplendent company for a notable occasion.
Heriot's rather alarmed glance sought Mary's. She nodded reassuringly.
Considering all the previous contentions and difficulties, everything now went with almost ridiculous smoothness, as though well rehearsed. Trumpeters blew a flourish, the Lord Lyon King of Arms in his gorgeous tabard read out the style and titles of the illustrious Duke of Lennox and declared his viceregal status, and the entire duty of all in the realm, high and low, noble and common, to put themselves under the authority and rule of the said Duke as they would of the King's Grace himself-and held up an impressive parchment with the royal signature and dangling Privy Seal of Scotland as proof. The Master of Gray led the subsequent cheering. Then Ludovick quietly but firmly declared that he had come, on His Grace's express command, to take over the custody and guardianship of Prince Henry Frederick, Duke of Rothesay and heir to the thrones of Scotland, England, Ireland and France, with the Principality of Wales, from the devoted and excellent keeping of the Countess of Mar, acting for her son, John, Earl of Mar here present, Hereditary Keeper of the royal castle and citadel of Stirling, preparatory to his, and Her Grace Queen Anne's departure for London just so soon as Her Grace was fit for the journey. "God Save the King!"
When the second round of cheering was over, the Duke dismounted and went to greet the Prince on bended knee, followed by the Chancellor and other great nobles in order of precedence, the Master of Gray coming modestly a long way down the list as mere eldest son of the fifth Lord Gray. This over, and taking the shy boy's hand in his own, Ludovick Stewart held up his other hand and announced that he himself would meantime take up his residence in this castle of Stirling, with the Prince, until the Queen's illness was abated-which, God willing, would not now be long delayed. The trumpeters then blew another fanfare, and Lyon declared that there would be refreshment for all-in the Great Hall for the nobility and gentry, in the inner courtyard for all the others-and pointed to the train of sumpter-horses behind. The cheering developed a new note.
As the entire great company surged on foot up the hill, within the outer ramparts, to the central citadel of the most closely guarded and inviolate fortress in Scotland, almost in wonder, Heriot, well back from the leaders now, found his way to Mary Gray's side.
"The Master?" he demanded. "He has changed his tune, i' faith 1 Is it some new device? To deceive us?"
"He will deceive us, yes-if he can. But I do not think this to be some ginning new trick. My father has many admirable qualities. One of them is to recognise clearly and swiftly when a tide has turned against him. He does not then waste his time and talents in fruitless pursuit of a lost cause. But promptly acknowledges the position and seeks to make the best of it, to steer it his way if he may. Patrick is no small man-or rogue!" "So you think that we have won? That the plot is abandoned?"
"Meantime, yes. Only postponed, perhaps. Vicky staying here in the castle will make it impossible for Patrick to contrive anything before the Queen is ready to travel. He will, of course, laugh to scorn any suggestion that there ever was a plot. But that matters nothing, so long as it has failed." "And the Master goes unscathed?" "Why, yes. He would not be the Master, otherwise" "And you would not be his daughter"
"Perhaps. I seek to bring to naught his wicked acts-not the man himself."
"You are fortunate in being able so clearly to distinguish one from the other!"
"You blame me? Judge me at fault in this? He is my own flesh and blood." She sounded as though the man's judgment was important to her.
"The good God knows! I do not. What you are saying is that you wish me to go no further in the matter? With the King, or elsewhere?"
"No. Not if you so wish. But I trunk you would find it… difficult. The King will want to hear no more of it, I swear. He is almost as clever as Patrick, you see. He will know when enough is enough. Besides, there will be no proof-Patrick will ensure that no least hint or whisper to link him with any plot. It could all have been conjecture, could it not? A figment of a woman's foolish imaginings?"
He stared at her, there in the crowd, for a moment, and then smiled. "I pray heaven that I may never fall foul of both Grays at the one time 1" he said.
In the Hall, with the Duchess present, Mary kept away from the Duke's side and stayed mainly with Heriot. It was not long before her father found his way to them.
"Well, Master Geordie," he said, "This is a happier occasion than at our last meeting. I am only sorry that Her Grace cannot be here. The young Prince is a pleasing child. Good that they will so soon be together again, is it not?" Heriot was speechless.
'You confuse Master Heriot, Patrick," his daughter said calmly. "We cannot all have your… agility!"
"No? I think our friend has his own agility, my dear. Never underestimate quiet, slow-spoken men. What but agility would you name his dash to Stirling here, last night, immediately on Vicky's arrival at Linlithgow? I wonder why he deemed it advisable?" "Perhaps he feared some plot?"
"Plot? Plots are a thing of the past, Mary. It was James who smelled plots under every bed. Extraordinary! Now he is gone, we can forget such childish ploys. It is London's turn 1" He shrugged. "But I believe that I know why our friend here made his so urgent dash." "I dare swear you do 1" Heriot agreed firmly.
"Yes. You came because you believed that old Lady Mar might not be prepared to yield up the boy to the Duke. Without some small, h'm, sweetening, shall we say? And so you hurried. And need not have troubled, Master Geordie. For I had already done it for you. Through Johnnie Mar. Knowing that Vicky was coming. A duplication of effort, friend. You should have conferred with me."
"I could describe the situation otherwise, sir!" the other man said shortly. "You say that you knew the Duke of Lennox was coming?"
"Why, yes. We wrote to James. At least, I prevailed on Fyvie to do so, for His odd Grace is in no state of mind to pay heed to me, at present, I fear. Wrote immediately after the Queen refused to allow the Prince to be bought to her at Linlithgow urging the King to send up Vicky at once in view of the Queen's severe illness and the possibility of a dynastic crisis. Happily His Grace heeded-though not sufficiently to come himself, of course!" He raised his glance. "Now I see the Duchess Jean hungrily seeking whom she may devour. Vicky neglects her shamefully, do you not agree? I shall go placate her, if I may."
As the shapely and assured back moved away from them through the throng, Mary and Heriot eyed each other. And gradually a kind of bemusement gave way to mutual smiles, smiles which grew and broadened to silent laughter.
It was three weeks later that the royal train entered Edinburgh's West Port to the reverberations of the castle's cannon and the congratulations of the city's Provost and magistrates. The Queen, pale but astonishingly vivacious, sat up in her litter and bowed and waved graciously, Prince Henry and Princess Elizabeth a horse at either side of her-young Charles left behind at Dunfermline with one of his recurring chest troubles. The colourful bevy of the Queen's ladies rode immediately behind, followed by Lennox, the Chancellor and other nobles-but not Mar, whom the Queen still would on no account have anywhere near her. The Master of Gray was there, however, indeed had arranged the entire progress, the mounted musicians and choirs which accompanied it, the tableaux and addresses of loyalty and welcome en route, the excellent commissariat. Even the Queen unbent sufficiently towards him to smile in his direction, devil or none, and admit that he made an excellent master of ceremonies.
George Heriot was not in the royal train this time-although he was not far away. With the Queen's affairs now all safely in Lennox's hands he had left Linlithgow a week earlier for Edinburgh to look to his own affairs-and not before time. His half-brother James Heriot was industrious, honest and efficient, but rather lacked the imagination and instinct necessary for really successful dealings with the nobility and aristocracy, where judgment, tact and yet a kind of ruthlessness, were absolutely essential. The move to London, temporary or permanent, on the part of so many of their clients, was making enormous demands on the Heriot's finances, as noble families sought to equip, clothe and adorn themselves to compete at the richer English Court, pay for their long journey, and buy or lease houses in London. A great tide of Scots was flowing southwards, hopeful of making fortunes-but they had to be staked; and the Heriots were themselves having to borrow money on every hand, at high rates of interest, to be able to lend it again at still higher. Disaster could strike so very easily if judgment failed and money was lent to the wrong borrowers. Land, of course, was the great security; and Jmglin' Geordie was in process of becoming one of the great landowners of Lowland Scotland, more by accident than design.
Heriot was waiting at the West Port, behind the Provost and Council-one of whom was brother James, representing the Incorporation of Goldsmiths and Hammermen. Mary Gray spotted him while the address of welcome was going on, and with tableaux to follow and prolonged delay inevitable, dismounted and slipped from her place at the Master's side-she would not ride with Ludovick, of course, the Duchess being present.
"So, Geordie," she greeted, "you came to watch the show. It is good to see you." She had to shout to be heard above the bombilation of the cannon-fire from the castle directly above. "And you. You are the fairest thing I have seen in seven days I"
"Tut-Geordie Heriot essaying flattery. Why? Do not say that you need Mary Gray? Did you get my message? About the new Queen's ladies?"
"Yes. I sent word to have them held at Berwick Though I think that will scarce be popular. But, if there is to be trouble, let it be over the Border. Where, h'm, trouble-makers cannot add to it!"
"That makes good sense. The Queen is adamant. She will have no more ladies save of her own choosing. Especially English ones."
"It will be difficult James has sent up the Earls of Sussex and Lincoln with this bevy of countesses and the like. Carefully chosen to play faction against faction, the Cecils against the Howards, Cobham against Raleigh. The old game he learned so well here in Scotland. Nullifying their influence."
"So Vicky told the Queen. But she will have none of it. James can make a political tourney-ground of his own Court, she says- but not of her's. A plague on them all, says Anne! This period away from the King has made her a deal more independent, to be sure. She is a changed woman." "Scarcely a joyful augury for London!"
They fell silent for the Queen's brief speech of thanks, almost inaudible because of the gunfire. Then the tableaux commenced, angels presenting keys, elves offering gifts, a dragon spewing claret and other typically leaden municipal flights of fancy. At least there were no Latin monologues, de rigueur when the King was present
At last they could move on to Holyrood-although there were further but briefer ceremonies en route, to each of which the Queen listened and responded with unvarying and courteous patience, very different from her royal husband who would have been cursing all angrily long before this.
"Think you that Anne has discovered that perhaps the people's love and esteem can be a thing of value?" Heriot wondered. "She did not used to be so patient"
Holyroodhouse was a different place from Heriot's last experience of it. All was formally correct, decorous, tidy. The guard was evident, punctilious, the staff attendant, discreet Even Heriot’s quarters in the wing had been cleaned up, with some fresh skin rugs and new hangings and items of furniture. The Master of Gray clearly did not do things by halves. The Lord Lindores seemed to have disappeared.
There followed some days of hectic activity for the royal entourage, in preparation for the great journey to London. Anne was now determined to enjoy the experience and to travel in a style worthy of her position-whatever more modest arrangements Lennox had envisaged, on the King's instructions. The Queen had no idea of economy, and finding herself suddenly in a strong position, with Lennox having a viceroy's powers yet unwilling to say her nay, spent money like water. That it was in the main George Heriot's money, since the Scots Exchequer was emptier than ever after Gray's extravagances, was neither here nor there. That she was egged on to a great spending by the Master of the Wardrobe went almost without saying. She ordered night-and-day work on a most splendid travelling coach to be completed by George Hendry, bought scores of the finest horses to be found in Scotland, and embarked on an orgy of clothes-buying for herself, her children, her ladies and servants. Nothing was too good or too expensive-satins, silks, taffetas, cloth-of-gold and silver, furs, jewellery and accessories. It was all, undoubtedly, partly a counter-gesture after the sorrows of Linlithgow and partly a making of hay while the sun of her husband's absence shone, and his restraining hand was replaced by Cousin Ludovick's easy one.
To be sure, James had partly himself to thank for it all. Queen Elizabeth, parsimonious on most matters to the point of meanness, had been wildly extravagant as to her own personal adornment, and had left behind her, amongst other things, more than two thousand splendid gowns. The King had promptly commandeered a selection of these and sent them up, with his choice of English ladies-in-waiting, for his wife. Anne's reaction had been, perhaps predictable, exploding in a feminine fury anent cast-off clothing, insults and the like-with the consequence of Heriot's urgent instructions for the English ladies and their escort to be halted at Berwick meantime.
Heriot’s own reaction to this spending was ambivalent He sympathised with his liege lord in the South to some extent, and put in a word of caution now and again, countering the wildest flights of prodigality. On the other hand, he felt for Anne, recognised that to date she had been sorely crimped and held in, and agreed that a queen entering her new and rich domains for the first time should be adequately dressed for the occasion. Also, of course, it was all apt to be good business for himself, a point of view he by no means overlooked. It might be some time before he recovered all his capital-but he would see that it was safe and the interest proportionate.
At last the coach was ready and a start could be made. On a sunny forenoon of early June, the great cavalcade assembled in the forecourt of the palace, with the Chancellor, the Lord Lyon and remaining Privy Councillors and officers of state, the leaders of the Kirk, the city fathers of Edinburgh and a large part of the townsfolk, there to see the Queen and Prince off to a new life in England-the Princess Elizabeth was unfortunately confined to her bed with some sudden childish ailment and would follow on later; while Prince Charles was still at Dunfermline, considered too weakly for the long journey.
It was a felicitous occasion. None would have thought that, only a few weeks before, the country had been in the throes of a dynastic crisis and treasonable plot combined, moreover with all the main characters concerned here foregathered-except the Mars, that is, the Earl having ridden off alone to London, to ensure that he got his own story first into his royal foster-brother's ear.
Lord Fyvie made a valedictory speech, ending with a short poem he had composed especially for the day-it was not every Chancellor who could do the like. Then the Master of Gray presented parting gifts for the Queen and her children, jewellery, loving-cups and silver caskets, expressing in flowing eloquence the warm regards and true love of all, including his most humble self, for their royal mistress and her delightful offspring, and their pro-foundest good wishes for the future-praying only that in the new-found bliss in the South they would not forget leal and loving Scotland.
"Her Grace perhaps has not got quite such a short memory as your sire implies!" Heriot observed to Mary Gray, as he stood with her and Alison Primrose, watching from a suitably retired position. "I wonder where the money came from for those gifts?"
"Not from Patrick Gray's coffers, you may be sure. Nor yet, this once, from George Heriot's. But it is a good sign-my father covering up any lingering memories of a supposed plot, the royal family's most faithful servant!" "You think the plot quite abandoned. There is still Prince Charles left in Scotland. Might not he serve as puppet King of Scots, instead?"
"I think not. He is too sickly and feeble. Fyvie believes that he will not live. He would be no use for Patrick's purposes-disaster if he died in his hands. No, I believe that plot is dead, and now being effectively buried. But my father will yet have his revenge on the King, if he can-nothing surer. So I will watch closely here in Scotland-and do you so in London, Geordie. Patrick will have his minions there also, you may be sure." Mary was not travelling South with Lennox-of her own sorrowful but sure decision. The Duchess was going, inevitably, part of the Queen's train. Moreover, Mary had her young son to look after at Methven Castle, little John Stewart of Methven, to whom his ducal father had made over his Scottish home and lands-in reality as a gift to his mother. Ludovick would hasten North from London just as frequently as he could, that was certain; and, who knew, once James was well settled on his English throne, he might well have less need of Lennox, and he could come back to Scotland more or less permanently.
And so formal farewells were taken, and amidst more cannonade the royal column set out from Holyroodhouse, the great coach creaking and mmhling, drawn by eight matching white horses, George Heriot and Alison Primrose riding together well in the rear of the brilliant company. The Chancellor and many of the nobles would see the Queen on her way as far as the Border.
But not Patrick Gray, he already had a bellyful of Berwick-upon-Tweed. As they watched the others go, he and his daughter turned and exchanged a long glance.
"As our beloved monarch would say-absens haeres non erit! the man observed conversationally. "Or again, perhaps-aut non tentaris aut perfice!" she capped it
"My clever daughter 1" he acknowledged, bowing. "If you and I could but work in harness, what might not we achieve?"
After an overnight halt at the Hamilton castle of Innerwick, they came to Berwick on a dove-grey, windless noon, to more cannon-fire-and a confrontation. Here, George Heriot moved up the column discreetly, near to the Queen's side, where Lennox welcomed him thankfully. For here, held back from Edinburgh, waited the aheady offended Earls of Sussex and Lincoln, with the Countesses of Worcester and Kildare, and the Ladies Scrope, Rich and Walsingham, sent North by King James. With the newly knighted governor, Sir William Selby, they waited in a brilliant group at the Scots Gate of the old grey-walled town.
Anne, who had been at her most gracious all the way, bowing and waving to the people, beaming on local demonstrations, kissing children, at sight of this party, and of the canopied horse-litter, splendid with the royal arms, which accompanied them, froze in her saddle-for she had quickly found coach-travel on bumpy, dusty roads uncomfortable in the early June heat, and reverted to horseback like the rest of the company. As they reined up only a short distance in front of the bowing magnificos, she called, in clear, ringing tones, "Who are these, Duke of Lennox? Not Berwickers, I vow! I told you-I will have no more women imposed upon my household by His Grace, or any other. I have had a sufficiency of that!"
"H'rr'mm." Lennox cleared his throat "It is a welcome, Highness…"
The Earl of Sussex intervened smoothly, but authoritatively as befitted one in blood relationship to the late Elizabeth. "We warmly greet Your Majesty, on His Majesty's royal commands, to this your kingdom of England, the fairest jewel of Christendom's crown, opened like a pearl-oyster for your royal delectation. A pearl without price set in a silver sea, to which nothing you has ever seen may compare. To ascend this jewelled throne is a bliss beyond all sublime…"
"Your rhapsody, sir, does you credit-but I think you exaggerate!" the Queen broke in briskly. "How know you that your England is so much better than other lands? Have you visited them all? You came to Scotland, yes, for my son's christening- where, I would remind you, I have been Queen for a dozen years! Did you mislike it so? And have you been to Denmark? To Norway, where my brother is King. Speak to that which you know, my lord."
Sussex was far too great an English nobleman to look put out, but he could and did look pained. "I rejoice that at least Your Majesty recognised me, Sussex," he declared stiffly. "And this is my lord Earl of Lincoln, Henry Clinton, member of the Privy Council and valued servant of Her late Majesty. And here is the Countess of Worcester and the Countess of Kildare, appointed Your Majesty's principal Ladies-in-Waiting by King James. And the Ladies Scrope, Rich and Walsingham, also of your new household…" "No, my lord," Anne said briefly. He stared. They all did. "I… I do not understand, Madam?" "I would have thought it sufficiently simple, sir. I choose my own ladies." "But… His Majesty…" "I do not seek to help choose the King's gentlemen for him!"
The other earl, Lincoln, an older man, spoke up. "Majesty- these ladies only desire to serve you. They are of the most eminent in England."
"No doubt, sir. Or, leastways, serve the King. I thank them- but have my own ladies. If I wish to add to their number, I shall make my own choice."
The youngest of the waiting ladies, a dark-haired, vivid creature, tried a different approach. "Majesty-I am Frances Howard, daughter to Effingham-or Nottingham, as he now is-the Lord Admiral. Wed formerly to Kildare. We have brought with us a great store of the late Queen's gowns, dresses, robes for your use. Rich clothing of notable worth. I was Her Majesty's Mistress of the Wardrobe."
"Indeed, Countess? And you conceive me, Anne, to be the repository for your late mistress' cast-off clothes?" the Queen asked, coldly. "Must I, your Queen, wear another's discarded wardrobe? 'Fore God, woman-watch how you speak!"
"No, Madam-no! I swear that is not the way of it." The Countess looked shaken. "Believe me, these are not cast-off. Many have never been worn. Her Majesty was, was improvident in this. She ordered great numbers of gowns, three of a kind most frequently. Wore one once and discarded the others…"
"So may a queen behave. If Elizabeth, why not Anne? Am I to play the frugal hausfrau of this so rich jewel of Christendom's crown, to make up for Elizabeth's improvidence?" "Not so, Majesty. But…"
"Your Highness," the older Countess of Worcester intervened hurriedly, "these gowns are very splendid. Seeded with pearls, hung with jewels, decked with gold and silver…"
"Were they laden with the riches of the Indies, I would not wear another's clothes!" Anne declared. "I am the Queen."
A little back from her side, George Heriot coughed. "Your Grace -these gowns may have their uses," he suggested, in a murmur. "You need not wear them. You could bestow them as gifts. Cut up, they might serve many purposes. As at masques and entertainments. The jewels you could have cut off. Used otherwise. Jewels are never at second-hand-as I should know! Indeed, you could perhaps sell them to me! And thereby, h'm, something improve our account 1" That was little more than a whisper. "Ah," Anne said.
"Master Heriot speaks good sense, Cousin," Lennox put in, lightly confidentiaL "You could start by giving one of the gowns to me! I swear I'd find a use for it! I am not so rich that I could not do with a few English pearls." "You have a rich wife, Vicky."
Lennox glanced round to see how near was his Duchess. "Jean's riches are her own, Cousin, not mine."
"Very well," the Queen decided. "I accept the gowns. See you to them, Master Geordie. But-I will have no ladies-in-waiting other than my own choice. All-understand it."
Sussex bowed. "As you will, Majesty. Now-may I present to you your Chamberlain, Sir George Carey," and he waved a hand towards a resplendent youngish man, of a pale beauty, standing a little apart. "Son to my Lord Hunsdon, in cousinship to Her late Majesty, and brother to Lady Scrope here…"
"God's death, sirrah!" the Queen exploded. "Have you taken leave of your wits! There is my Chamberlain, Sir John Kennedy, riding behind me." "The King, Madam…"
"The King is in London-and I am here! Remember it, my lords. Enough of this. Vicky-we have lingered sufficiently long. Have our trains move on. Bestow these, these emissaries from His Grace somewhere. They may join us. But not over close to my person! Let us be on our way…"
Anne of Denmark's crossing of the Border was almost as dramatic as her husband's own-and just as alarming for her English subjects.