'Aye, Lady – that I dare do. I shall do, if it is your wish. And come again. Another day. Happy day. To claim my… reward! Joyfully.' He stepped back a single pace.
Keenly, warily, the Queen looked at him. 'You would do this? So readily?'
'Why yes, Your Grace. For I am no beggar – save of your heart's warmth. Of which I felt the divine breath minutes ago. I agree entirely that pleading for this promised pension but harms the dignity of King James. Mine also, if I were to descend to it. I am glad to be spared that.'
'So-o-o!' He had Elizabeth tapping finger-nails on the edge of her couch now. 'You surprise me, Patrick.'
'Why so, Your Grace?' Almost casually he asked it, and turned to stroll round the back of the couch, so that she must needs turn her head to follow him with her pale eyes. 'Did you deem me happy in mendicancy? Riches have never been a love of mine – and assuredly I cannot prostitute myself for them on behalf of another, even my prince.'
She was silent for a little, but her glance never left his face. 'I still cannot believe that you are so readily dissuaded, Patrick Gray,' she said, at length. 'I think that I know you better than that.'
He sighed. 'My sorrow, that you so judge me, Diana. It is but a woeful end to what might have been the night of nights! A sorry farewell to carry away with me on my long journey.'
'Journey? You would ride, then? Forthwith? Back to Scotland?'
'Why yes, Highness. This very day, since it is now past midnight. Why wait? Such is my lord of Moray's intention, already…'
'You are plaguey quick, man, to get away from me!'
'Not so. It will be like plucking the beating heart out of my breast. But better that than teasing and disenchantment here. The sooner that I dare my prince's wrath for you, as you ask, the sooner I may return -1 pray, to your favour.'
'You think then that King James will permit you to return, in such case?'
Patrick actually laughed a little. 'Indeed it is next to certain, Lady,' he said. 'Why?'
'He is sore in need of siller, as we name it, for his marriage to the Princess Anne. For her Coronation, likewise. For the strengthening of his Royal Guard, that there be no more threats of abduction by lords who might seek to take him, or his queen, into their power. So, if the King gets it not from Your Grace, he must needs seek it elsewhere.'
Elizabeth snorted. 'And who else will give him so much as a single gold piece, man? Not the King of Denmark, I swear. James will be fortunate if he ever so much as sees his wife's dowry, from there!'
'Not Denmark, no. But it occurs to me that he might well turn to France. To King Henri, formerly Navarre.'
'Faugh, stupid – after rejecting Henri's sister Catherine of Navarre? There will be no French gold for James. Besides -would he send you again, Patrick, on such a mission? After returning empty-handed from this?'
'I think that he would, Madam. For only I have the information that he would need for success in it. Valuable information – that would make Protestant Henri look more kindly on my prince. And look askance elsewhere.'
'Eh? What information? What is this, sir?'
Patrick halted in his strolling round that bedchamber. 'Information that I have gleaned, Your Grace,' he said slowly. 'Information that will set Christendom agog! Notable information.'
'Well, man – well?'
'That the Queen of England is proposing to marry Protestant Lady Arabella Stewart, her cousin, to the Catholic Duke of Parma, Spain's Captain-General in the Netherlands, Butcher of the Low Countries!'
'Christ God!' the Queen exclaimed, almost in a croak.
'To be sure,' he nodded, smiling. 'Heigho, Highness -such information is worth… a king's ransom, is it not?'
Elizabeth was having difficulty with her breathing and with her words. 'How… fiend seize you, where… what a pox d'you mean…?'
'I have it, Lady, from a most sure source. Your good Moor, Walsingham, is not the only one with an ear for information!'
'It is a folly! A lie…'
'Folly, mayhap – but no lie. Of this I am assured. On excellent… authority!'
'Sweet Jesu – when I find who babbled…!'
'Be not distressed, Your Grace. I would not have Gloriana distressed for… for all the gold in Christendom! If this is something that you would keep privy. None need know, other than myself. Have no fears…'
Elizabeth's voice grated. 'It is done with. A plan that came to naught. That might have healed the breach with Spain. It is past. A thing of Hatton's…'
'But still… dangerous, Madam. Still a matter that could greatly concern King Henri. Or other Protestant princes. Arabella is next heir to the Scots throne after Ludovick of Lennox, her cousin. And therefore to your throne also, Lady. Matched with Catholic Parma, the Executioner – who was carried in a litter over the mutilated corpses of thousands of Maestricht's citizens! Here could be gunpowder beneath the chancellories of Christendom, indeed!'
'Silence! Damnation, man – hold your tongue!' The Queen's slender fists were clenched, and she beat them on her knee. 'How you learned of this – you of all men – I know not. Heads will fall, as a consequence, I promise you! But… no word of it must be so much as breathed. You understand? That is my royal command.'
'I understand Your Highness's feelings in the matter, yes. I can be silent, Diana – silent as the grave itself.'
'Aye. As you had better be! And the price of that silence, Master of Gray?'
He drew a long breath. 'Why, fairest one – nothing. Nothing, at all. Or, at least… very little!' He moved back to the side of the couch again, and stood looking down at her. 'For love of you, Diana, I would keep silence at the stake itself!'
'See that I do not test you in that, in the Tower or the Bridewell – Papist!' she said. 'What is this very little that you want?'
'First, your smile in place of your frown, fair one,' he asserted. 'That before all.' 'All…?' she repeated.
His little laugh was low-pitched, melodious and purely mirthful, as he sank down on his knees again, where he had knelt before. 'In certain matters, I am greedy indeed, Diana!' he told her, and reached for her hand.
'And I, sir, in those things may well be… parsimonious!' she returned. But, after a moment's hesitation, she did not withhold her hand.
'That I will not believe,' he said, shaking his head. 'Let us essay the matter, Your Grace…?'
Although Patrick was very quiet in entering his own chamber later that night, Mary heard him, and jumping out of bed came through to him.
'You have been long,' she said. 'Have you been with the Queen? All this time?'
'Aye,' he nodded. 'You should be asleep, girl.'
'What was this, Uncle Patrick? Why did she send for you? At such an hour. After dismissing us so?'
'Because she is a strange woman, Mary. Strange and cunning. And she thought that she could best me. Test me and best me. The Master of Gray!'
'And did she?'
'She tested me, yes. But I do not think that she bested me.' And he smiled.
She searched his face gravely. 'I would like to hear how that was done?' she said. 'You saw her alone?'
'Oh, yes. But now is not the time for the telling, lass. You should be sleeping. It is only a few hours to dawn – and we have a long day ahead of us. We must by no means sleep late.'
'Tomorrow? Why?'
'Because, my dear, I much respect Sir Francis Walsingham! The sooner that we are on our road back to Scotland, the happier I shall be!'
'Walsingham? Scotland? We are going home? Tomorrow? With my lord of Moray? After all?'
'Aye. Just as soon as I deem the Lord Treasurer to be out of his bed!'
'The Lord Treasurer? And Walsingham? I do not understand.'
'I hold, moppet, a note in the Queen's own hand, ordering the Lord Treasurer to pay me?2,000, being King James's increased pension. I have a notion that Walsingham would by no means approve – and as I say, I have a respect for him and his methods. I prefer to be well on my way back to Scotland before
he finds out. And as you know, he is very well informed.'
'So-o-o!' the girl breathed out. 'You have done it! You have the pension – and doubled it! You have succeeded in your mission, after all? I wonder… I wonder how you did that, Uncle Patrick?'
'Shall we say that I used the gifts the good God gave me? Now – off to bed again, child, and let me to mine.'
Chapter Eleven
THE unexpectedly successful embassage arrived back in Scotland on the cold bright last day of October 1589, to a singularly surprising situation, notably altered from that they had left – indeed a situation without parallel in the country's history. The King was gone.
At Berwick-upon-Tweed, when the travellers first heard these tidings, they by no means believed them. But resting overnight at Fast Castle, the eagle's-nest stronghold on the Coldinghamshire cliffs of Patrick's freebooting cousin Robert Logan of Restalrig, they learned the truth of it. James had left Scotland eight days before. Word, it seemed, had eventually reached Leith that the Princess Anne's convoy of eleven ships, buffeted, battered and dispersed by contrary gales, after having been no less than three times within sight of the Scottish coast, had finally put back to Norway, abandoning all hope of reaching Scotland that season. James, quite desperate, had decided that there was nothing for a true lover, chivalrous knight and kingly poet to do, in the circumstances, but to set sail himself, go fetch his bride, and challenge the Devil and all his malign works of witchcraft in a heroic royal gesture that in due course would make the most splendid epic of all. Despite the astonishment, disbelief, alarm and unanimous disapproval of his advisers, the King was adamant – and urgent. He had ordered the most suitable ship in the harbour of Leith to be made ready for sea, and had appointed a Council of Regency to govern the realm during his absence, and on the 22nd of October had set sail for Scandinavia, taking Chancellor Maitland with him, his chaplain Master David Lindsay to perform the marriage ceremony, and sundry others. By now, he might well be in Norway.
Even Patrick Gray was quite overcome by this extraordinary news. Eventually, however, he smiled, he chuckled, he began to laugh – and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. The Earl of Moray was less amused, especially when Logan could by no means recollect his name amongst those nominated for the Council of Regency.
They set off for Edinburgh without delay next morning.
In the capital city they found a most curious state of affairs prevailing. James, in his delegation of authority, had been more astute than might have been expected. He had, with rather remarkable cunning, selected for various offices of government just those nobles who, because of mutual suspicion and rivalry, could be relied upon to counter-balance each others' influence and thus preclude any probable bid for power by a faction. Ludovick, Duke of Lennox, was to be viceroy and President of the Council of Regency; but lest any should seek to use that very young man too ambitiously, as Vice-President was appointed, of all choices, the madcap Francis, Earl of Bothwell, another cousin of James, whose fiery and unpredictable behaviour could be guaranteed to keep everybody on the alert. The chief military power was put in the hands of the Lord Hamilton, no friend of Bothwell's, and another contender for the heirship to the throne. Sir Robert Melville, a rather dull soldier but incorruptible, was appointed Acting Chancellor; but lest he be not sufficiently Protestant, Master Robert Bruce, chief minister of Edinburgh at St. Giles, was added to the Council with especial responsibility for the Kirk. And so on. Despite his hurried exodus, James undoubtedly had given these dispositions much thought. Perhaps he had been contemplating something of the sort for some time.
There were no special appointments for either the Master of Gray nor the Earl of Moray.
The Lady Marie welcomed Patrick and Mary back warmly. The Master of the Wardrobe's own quarters in the north wing of Holyroodhouse had at last become ready and available while they were in England, and Marie had removed there from her father's crowded establishment nearby. Here was space, privacy, comfort, with even a private stairway from the great courtyard, and a room for Mary's own use. After months and years of making do in cramped and inconvenient lodgings, Marie rejoiced in this domestic bliss, and asked no more than that her little household should settle therein quietly and enjoy it, during this unexpected interval of Court inactivity.
But it was not to be. Patrick Gray was not the man for settled and domestic bliss.
'I am sorry, my dear,' he told her. 'But this is no place for us, meantime. With the King gone, I should be but wasting my time in Edinburgh. There is much to be done elsewhere -especially at Broughty Castle. Many decisions await me there…'
'Not Broughty, Patrick!' his wife protested. 'Not that great gloomy, draughty pile! To dwell in! Winter is almost upon us…'
'It will be less gloomy now, Marie, I promise you. And the draughts somewhat abated, I vow. I love such no more than you do. But it is my house, my inheritance – thrown in my face by my father! I intend that he shall rue the day that he fobbed me off with Broughty!'
'Yes, Patrick – but we need not go to live there. Not yet. In winter. When we have this fine lodging here. You can visit Broughty, yes – to see how the work goes. But that need take only a day or two. We need not all go…'
'I fear that we need so, indeed,' he assured her. 'And get there as quickly and secretly as may be. Do you not realise, my heart, that I have here with me two thousand English pounds in gold? A vast fortune indeed. Half the lords in Scotland, not to mention lesser men, would sell their very souls for a tithe of it! That gold, and my life with it, must be protected, must it not? Once it becomes known that I have it – and Moray, I swear, will not fail to let all know that our mission has been successful – men with long knives and empty purses will be after it, and me. Nothing is more certain. So much ready money has scarce been seen in Scotland before. It must be placed in safety – and swiftly. And I can think of few places safer than in Broughty Castle, where only a few men might guard it against an army.'
'But it is the King's money, Patrick. Bestow it in the royal treasury…'
'A pox, Marie – that is the last place I would place it! Who has the keys of the royal treasury? My Lord Treasurer, the Master of Glamis, one of the biggest rogues in the land! No, that is not a temptation I mean to put in our friend Thomas Lyon's way! Nor in the way of any in the Council, God save me, with the King far in another land!'
'Ludovick would look after it. He is the King's representative, and honest.'
'Ludovick is young, a mere boy. He is honest, yes – but can be cozened. No – it goes to Broughty, and we go with it. Forthwith. This very night I shall go down to Leith to find a boat that may take us there. Safer, more secretly, than the long journey by land…'
'You are sure, Patrick, that you intend that all this gold shall come out of Broughty Castle again, into King James's hands, in due course?'
Patrick frowned. 'If that is a jest, Marie, it is but ill-timed,' he said coldly.
Mary Gray intervened, from the fireside where she had been listening quietly to this exchange. 'It will be good to be back in the Carse again,' she said. 'You will take me with you, Uncle Patrick? I shall go home to my mother and father at Castle Huntly. I am longing to see them again…'
A servant knocked at the door to announce the presence of the Duke of Lennox.
Ludovick came in hurriedly, breathlessly, having run up the stairs. His eyes, shining, turned immediately to Mary, before he recollected his duty to the Master of Gray and his wife.
'I was at Dalkeith, when I heard,' he declared, 'that you were returned. I came at once.'
'Ha – the ruler of Scotland in person!' Patrick exclaimed. 'My lord Duke, we are indeed honoured by your condescension in seeking out our humble abode.'
Ludovick's plain freckled features actually flushed a little. 'I came as soon as I heard,' he said, awkwardly. 'I rejoice to see you back. I… I have missed you greatly.' Once again his glance slid round to Mary.
The Master came across and put an arm around the
younger man's shoulders. 'I will not ask, Vicky, which of us you have missed most!' And he laughed.
'Why, I…I…ah… ummm.'
The girl came to his rescue. She rose, and curtsied to him. 'How good to see you, Vicky,' she said. 'It was kind of you to come, and so quickly.'
'Mary!' he got out, and reached for her hand in a grab rather than in any viceregal gesture. 'You are well? So beautiful! I have wearied for you. It has been so long…'
'We have only been gone for a month, Vicky.'
'It has seemed more, much more.' Clearly the young woman's absence in England had had a great effect on the Duke, had served to confirm and crystallise his emotion with regard to her. A new urgency had come into his whole attitude.
Patrick did not fail to perceive it, and stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'I am sure that Mary is flattered, Vicky,' he said. 'But… you must have other matters on your mind, meantime? Matters of state. As President of the Council…'
'It is damnable,' the young man burst out, 'that James should saddle me with this. Men are at me all the time, to consider this and agree to that. It is papers and parchments and charters, every day – signing, always signing and sealing. Ink and sand and sealing-wax…!'
'Poor Vicky!' The Lady Marie smiled at him. 'When all that you want is a good horse between your knees, and hounds baying!'
'Aye. And… and… ' Ludovick looked at the younger woman.
'As well that Mary is going home to Castle Huntly then, perhaps.'
'Eh…? Going…? To Castle Huntly? You are not going away, Mary?'
'Why yes, Vicky. Meantime. It is time. I have not been home for three long months. I long to see my father and mother. And Granlord…'
'But your place is here. At Court. You are one of the Queen's ladies.'
'The Queen will not be needing me for months, to be sure.'
'But… you should not go. You have been away for toe long, as it is. I… I…' The Duke drew himself up. 'I could forbid you to go,' he said, thickly. 'I am Viceroy. I rule here, meantime.'
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