The Wisest Fool mog-4 Read online

  "Her Grace-I do not see her?" Heriot asked. "I must make my presence known, pay my respects. It is to her, of course, that I am sent"

  "Ha!" She looked at him quickly. 'The Queen is not here, sir. She has gone to the Palace of Iinlithgow. To be nearer Stirling and her son. And her daughter with the Livingstones. The King- His Grace sends you back to the Queen? He is… concerned?"

  Noting the sudden change in her tone, the underlying urgency, the man spoke carefully, "He is ever concerned for his wife and consort Should he have especial reason to be, at this juncture, Mistress?"

  "Who knows?" she replied. "See, sir-eat. Here is a capon. Or a duck? Tear me off a leg and I will join you. Wine-do not wait for the servitors. When my father's foolishness in there is over, they will all be in here like a cloud of locusts. Eat while you may."

  Nothing loth, he set to, while the young woman bit into a cold capon's leg with pearly teeth, cheerfully.

  "Mistress Gray," he said, between mouthfuls, "I do not understand. If the Queen is not here, why this present festivity? What is it about? And on whose authority? In the King's royal palace."

  "Well may you ask, sir! This is the third such since you left. I fear that you need not look far for the reason. On the contrary. The Master of Gray is still Master of the Wardrobe and in the absence of the King and Queen he is responsible for the palaces." "But-the cost…?"

  "Should the cost concern my father, Master Heriot? Since he does not pay for it!"

  "The Master of Gray does naught without reason. I think. He is no foolish spendthrift irresponsible He must have a purpose in it."

  "It may be so. He has not confided it to me. Perhaps you should ask him" He chewed in silence for a little.

  "The Master of Gray has, I think, a grudge against the King," he said at length. "For sending him back, at Berwick. Not taking him on to London. It was… less than kindly done. Could this have to do with it, think you?"

  "Spending the King's money on riotous living? I reckon Patrick Gray apt to fly higher than that!" "M'mmm. You are his daughter, and should know!"

  A triumphant burst of music, followed by cheering, heralded the end of the current performance in the Throne Gallery. "Now for the flood!" Mary Gray said.

  Sure enough, like pent-up waters released, the noisy, fashionable, over- or under-dressed throng came pouring through. And in the forefront of the first wave came no other than the Master of Gray himself, just as he had left the play-acting, naked but for his goatskin trews, cod-piece and horse, a bevy of laughing women with him-not the shepherdesses these but ladies of the Court and guests, seeming to be anxious not to be denied the experiences of their Arcadian sisters.

  Patrick Gray, all lissome, smiling masculinity, came straight to George Heriot and his daughter.

  "Jinglin' George Heriot, by all that's wonderful," he cried, genially. "Welcome to our little celebration! How good to see you. I perceived you when I was cavorting back there. And Mary here carrying you off."

  "Then you have sharp eyes, sir. You appeared to me to be fully engaged otherwhere!"

  "Ah, yes. But one can see the hawk as well as the quarry!" Pleasantly but firmly, effectively, he got rid of the ladies for the moment, playfully smacking sundry silken bottoms and promising later attentions. "And where have you sprung from, Master George?" "York," the other answered, briefly.

  "York? Then you have ridden hard, my friend. For the royal train only arrived there on Saturday."

  Heriot's brows rose. "How did you know that, sir? You are well-informed."

  Gray made a smilingly dismissive wave of the hand. Despite all his recent very lively activities, his breathing was wholly under control, his splendid torso heaving only the merest fraction more than normal. A man of medium height and slender build, his body was as beautifully proportioned as his features were fine, and clearly at a high pitch of fitness.

  "The Master of Gray is always well informed," his daughter said calmly. "It is ever something one has to take into account."

  Heriot glanced at her – That was rather curiously put, by a daughter of her father, even in such an unusual relationship as this. "I did not daunder," he admitted. "And so your business, in returning, must have been urgent?" 'The King's business is always urgent, is it not, sir?" The Master eyed him thoughtfully. "His Grace is well? No mishaps? The progress satisfactory-if slow" "All satisfactory, yes."

  Mary Gray tinkled a little laugh. "Information is of more than one sort," she commented.

  "I would be glad to have a little information myself, sir," Heriot said evenly. "I found the Lord Lindores in my bed when I arrived at my rooms here in the Palace. Not alone! He declares that you gave him my quarters."

  "Ah, Patrick Leslie does get himself into extraordinary situations," the Master observed easily. "No harm in him-but injudicious, shall we say?" He looked round him, and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "In bed, you say? Hush, then-for one of these delightful creatures who brought me here is the Lady Lindores, my wife's sister. Who knows whether she would… approve! But-better that she did not hear of it from us."

  "No doubt, sir. She will not hear of it from me. I am only concerned as to why you gave my rooms to her husband."

  "Not gave, my friend-merely lent. The Palace is greatly crowded, these days, and all accommodation, much in demand. These rooms were presently unoccupied. And, of course, not your property, only lent also. But, to be sure, Master Heriot, you shall have them back Immediately, if you require them. With my regrets if you have been inconvenienced. Are you to be long in Edinburgh?" "Until His Grace sends for me."

  "Ah. Do not say that you also have been turned back from entering the Promised Land? By our somewhat erratic prince? Has he discovered that there are goldsmiths and money-lenders in London also? As well, as, h'm, rogues I think it was? Are we companion in rejection, Master Geordie?"

  "As to that I know not, sir. Only that His Grace has sent me back to the Queen."

  "The Queen, is it?" That was quick. "Her Grace is to go South? Join the King? Even in her present condition?"

  "In time, no doubt That is understood. Just when is a matter for His Grace."

  "M'mm." Gray did not look put out or annoyed-seldom indeed he did-but undoubtedly unused to finding himself stalled and baffled, he was slightly less sure of himself than usual. His daughter seemed rather to enjoy his discomfiture. "Quite," he said. "To be sure. Her Grace is at Linlithgow." "So Mistress Gray tells me. I am surprised."

  "Never be surprised at anything a woman does, Master Heriot -queer or other. That is part of the delight of them. Now, perhaps I should go clothe myself. Let me know how I may serve you, sir-anything." And on that suitably recovered and assured note, the chief satyr sketched a bow and sauntered off. At once he was engulfed by the ladies.

  "I admire your aplomb, Master Heriot" Mary Gray said. "Not many can deal so with Patrick Gray. He got little or nothing out of that exchange " "And you are not displeased?"

  "Far from it. I have a fondness for my sire. Indeed, I love him dearly. But not all his works. You must have heard as much, surely? From the Queen."

  "The Queen's confidences towards me are of money, jewellery, Mistress, not as to her ladies."

  "I am suitably rebuked, sir! And now, if you are sufficiently refreshed and sustained, perhaps we should go get my letter from the Duke?" "No need for you to come. I will fetch it…"

  "It will be my pleasure, sir. Not only to see who Patrick Leslie of Lindores dallies with in your bedchamber!"

  "I fear that you may be too late for that Mistress Gray. I told them to be out of there before I got back-or I would have the palace guard throw them out" "You did? How splendid!" She laughed cheerfully. "He deserved that-whether the woman did or not. Do you know who she was?"

  "She was plump and generously proportioned, fair of hair, and no child. Nimble for her size, too-unencumbered, to be sure."

  She looked up at him closely, and actually clapped her hands. "You smile, Master George! A small smile, I swear!
You are other than you seem, I think-and I like you. We shall be friends, I hope?" She linked her arm in his, and led him towards the door.

  Arm-in-arm they went downstairs and across the crowded and noisy outer court, Mary Gray not seeming to notice the unseemly horseplay and excesses which went on therein. Though, that she was not wholly unheeding was proved when she drew him into a dark comer and asked if there was a back way into his lodging? At his wondering, she said, "You do not think that we will not be followed, do you? When you did not give the Master of Gray the information he desired. And are, moreover, in my company. I think you will have to learn to watch where you tread, in Scotland now, Master George!"

  Not a little perturbed, he led her inconspicuously round the stable-block, past the wing tenanted by the reprobate Earl of Orkney, and so to the back entrance of his own quarters. Lights still burned therein, but the place seemed to be deserted now.

  They went upstairs, and he looked in distaste at his ravaged bedchamber. He shrugged. "King James was always very careful for lights," was all he said.

  "As his Master of the Wardrobe is not! Patrick is careful for nothing, save the success of his projects. So-the nest is flown!" "I will get your letter. It is with my gear in the garret above."

  When he brought the paper down, she took it and tucked it into a pocket in the folds of her olive-green gown, a simple garment with none of the extravagance of fashion, padding, slashing, bows and deep-plunging necklines. Yet there was certainly no attempt to hide or make less of the shapely woman's body beneath.

  "You will be riding on to Linlithgow, to see the Queen, Master Heriot?" she put to him. He nodded. 'Tomorrow, yes."

  The girl hesitated-and it was not often that this capable and clear-minded young woman seemed at anything of a loss. "I think that I must confide in you," she said, after a moment "And hope that you will be… understanding, thereafter. I believe that you are a man I may trust-and God knows, I can think of no other I can dare confide in With the Duke gone…"

  "You sound, h'm, concerned, Mistress. I do not seek confidences. But if you wish to tell me aught, I think you can trust me to be discreet. It is to do with the Queen?" 'Yes. The Queen… and the Master of Gray!" He looked at her quickly, but said nothing.

  "I cannot speak with certainty," she went on. "You could say that it is all conjecture. That I am a foolish woman imagining dramatics. I cannot prove that it is not so. But I know my father, I know the Queen, and I know the situation. All too well. And I must needs do something to save it, if I may. If I can make you believe me."

  "I know, Mistress, how greatly the Duke of Lennox esteems you. Not only in his love, but for your ability and strength. The King himself speaks of you as having wits almost as sharp as the Master of Gray's own-which is saying much! I shall not lightly doubt you."

  "Many would. For it is scarce believable. Unless you know my father, and what he can do, has done. I think that he has devised a plot, a most shameful plot. To be even with the King."

  "I would not be surprised," Heriot admitted. "He was ever one for plots. And the King treated him most scurvily at Berwick." "Yes. It was foolish of His Grace. Almost wicked, perhaps. And dangerous. For years the Master has held the King in his hands, guiding him-and the realm with him. Almost more powerful than the Chancellor and the Privy Council, claiming only this position of Master of the Wardrobe, yet in fact holding a balance, moving noble against noble, playing one faction against another, the Catholics against the Protestants, Elizabeth against Spain, the Pope. I have hated it, men are no more than pawns on a board to Patrick Gray. Yet he has served the Kirk and the realm well, in his own way. There has been peace of a sort now, for years-Patrick's peace! The country has been spared the savageries of the great lords. And King James saved from disasters innumerable. For one purpose, to one end. The uniting in his one person of the two thrones, the two kingdoms. This has always been what Patrick worked for, to make sure that it was James who succeeded Elizabeth, against all other claimants. In order that Scotland should enter a. new era of peace and prosperity and the endless wars and intrigues between the two should cease. He may have been wrong in this belief-I do not know. But he believed it, worked for it, plotted and all but lived for it, shepherding James to it step by step. And now-this! Cast aside scornfully at the very door of England, while others enter in." She paused, panting a little with her long declamation, moved obviously, proof if that were needed, that she had indeed a feeling for her extraordinary father.

  "I know it. Saw it. And grieved. But the King conceives him a rogue. Has always done so, it seems. And used him, in his turn."

  "And the King is right He is a rogue. I, his daughter, admit it. But a clever rogue, with a great ability. Not the man to make an enemy of!"

  "The King was ill-advised, yes. But no doubt he believes that, in England, on that greater throne, the Master can no longer hurt him."

  "And that is where the King is wrong " She swallowed. "I believe that he, Patrick, intends no other than to unseat James as King of Scots!"

  At the man's incredulous stare, she shook her lovely head. "Hear.me, before you scoff. The King's eldest child, the Prince Henry, is kept in Stirling Castle under the care of the Earl of Mar, and away from his mother the Queen. You know this-has been these six years. The cause of much bad blood between King and Queen. James does not trust his wife with the children, believes her weak and silly-as, in some truth, she is. He remembers how ill he was served by his mother, Mary. Patrick's plan is, now that James has shaken off the dust of Scotland from his shoes, to get Mar, the Prince's keeper and guardian, to proclaim the boy Henry as King of Scots in place of his father and declare no union of the kingdoms." "God in Heaven!"

  "Before you cry impossible, consider. There are many in Scotland who would welcome something such. Many who see the King's departure for England as a blow, a betrayal. Who believe that Scotland will become no more than a mere dependency of England, little better than a great county. That all which has been fought for over the centuries will be wasted, independence gone. Others mislike King James himself and would prefer a child-king who could be swayed to their purposes. Then there are the Catholics-Huntly, Erroll, Angus and the rest-still mighty strong, who had hopes of drawing James back to the old religion -but now, on the throne of Protestant England, they know that to be impossible. They could turn a seven-year-old boy Catholic easily enough!"

  "Yes, yes-I see that. I see that it could succeed. In the hands of unscrupulous men."

  "My father, you will agree, is sufficiently unscrupulous, sir? And remember, but newly on his English throne, James would scarce be in a position to mount any armed invasion of Scotland, to assert his rights. He has left behind in Scotland all the lords he does not like. He should not have spurned the Master of Gray!"

  For moments George Heriot stared, fingering his small beard. 'The Queen?" he asked. "She is not in this? What of Her Grace? She would never lend herself to such treachery?"

  "As to that, I do not know. She is a strange woman and has long held a grudge against her husband over Prince Henry. And the other two children, both of whom he has taken away from her. She sees none of them, her motherhood soured. And now she is pregnant again, and in that state a woman can do strange things. She might prefer her three children, wholly her own, to a husband who shows more interest in pretty young men!"

  "Yes-it could conceivably be so. But-Mar? The Earl of Mar is with the King. In England. How could he be in this? He has always been the King's trusted friend. They were as good as foster-brothers."

  "Patrick may have some hold over him. I know not. But the Countess of Mar, his mother, has the Prince in Stirling Castle and is refusing to allow the Queen to see him. Whether on the King's orders, her son's, or on Patrick's, I know not But Patrick was at Stirling only three days back. He was not kept out!"

  Heriot shook his head. "This is beyond all. If it is indeed so. Could it be but conjecture? Would the Master throw over all he has worked for, overturn his policy ove
r England, merely for revenge?"

  "I do not know. But Patrick loves power. Power for its own sake. And now, suddenly, he sees his power plucked from him. I think he might do this, to regain it. For of course it would be he, not Mar, who would control the boy-King, and Scotland with him. He might believe that he could then strike some bargain with England, to gain the advantages of the union, but himself still holding the balance, the power. Father and son on the two thrones, and himself in a position to call the tune! It could be…" "It could be. But is it? You cannot prove it?"

  "No, I cannot prove it, to be sure. The Master of Gray does not leave his plots open for proof or disproof. But his wife, the Lady Marie Stewart, believes he has some deep plan in hand. We… we work together, where we may. To undo some of the evil of his ploys." She wagged her head, almost helplessly for that capable young woman. "And these great entertainments here in the Palace-these are not just to squander the King's money. I am sure that they are arranged so that Patrick can assemble important men here, confer with them. Important men for his plot, and for afterwards. None will suspect anything of huge intrigue amongst all these masques and junketings." "You make it convincing, Mistress Gray."

  "I could wish that I could not 1 You saw how Patrick was concerned with your coming. How he came hastening. Seeking to hear why the King had sent you. He might well be wondering whether, somehow, word of the plot had reached James. And you were sent to spy it out."

  "The King is only afraid lest the Queen gets into some foolishness. Spends over-much of his money. Or mine. He has had a fright about the English Treasury-which he esteemed inexhaustible. Also he considers that she behaves indiscreetly with young men. That is all. But this-this is a nightmare, beyond all his fears."

  'Yes. A nightmare, in truth. Which I have had to hug to myself for days. Not knowing to whom to turn. Wishing Vicky were here-the Duke. I had no one to turn to, save the Lady Marie. No one who could act…"

  'The Chancellor-the Lord Fyvie? As head of the King's government here, surely he is the one to tell? "