"The Courtesan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tranter Nigel)

Chapter Twenty-four

PETER HAY, Lennox's page, came up the winding stairway of the King's tower two steps at a time, his spurred riding-boots stamping and jingling, his sword clanking – despite the edict that no swords were to be carried within the palace. Mary Gray and the Lady Beatrix Ruthven were descending, the former carrying a tambour-frame and the latter a box of threads, for the Queen's embroidery. They met at the first floor landing.

'Mistress Mary! Here's well met,' the young man exclaimed, somewhat breathless. 'I was looking to see you.' Recollecting, he doffed his distinctly battered bonnet. 'Your ladyship,' he acknowledged perfunctorily to the other and still younger girl. 'I'd hoped I'd find you, Mistress Mary…'

'Why, Peter – what's the haste?' Mary asked, smiling. 'What's to do? I thought that you were at Hailes, with the others? And you are all muddy. You… ' Her eyes widened, and the smile left her lovely face. 'Peter – there is blood on your hands! What is it? What has happened? Is something… wrong?'

'Well… no. No, naught is wrong.' He said that without conviction, however. 'A mishap, that is all.' His glance flickered towards the interested Lady Beatrix. 'I bear a message for the Queen. From his Grace. From Hailes Castle. He sent me, for young Ramsay is sick and Erskine gone to my lord of Angus, at Tantallon. I am to escort the Queen to Hailes Castle. Forthwith. The King is to stay there long. Hunting. For some days. But… but I wanted to see you first, Mistress Mary…'

'You are not hurt, Peter? That blood…? Nor, nor any other?'

'No. It is nothing. Not my blood.' He looked again towards Beatrix Ruthven. 'Can I have a word with you, Mistress Mary? Before I see the Queen?'

The younger girl laughed. 'Give me the frame, Mary. I will tell the Queen that you will be with her presently. And shall not mention Master Hay! Her Grace is in the Orangery,' she told the page.

'Thank you,' Mary acknowledged. 'I shall not delay long. Come, Peter.' She turned, and led the way back upstairs to the apartment of the Ladies-in-Waiting.

Hay closed the door behind him, and stood looking at her. His clothing was spattered with mud, and flecked with foam from a hard-driven horse. There was a tension about him that was unusual and not to be mistaken.

'What is it, Peter?' Mary demanded. 'There is trouble, is there not? It is not Vicky? The Duke?'

'No. He is well enough. With the King and Bothwell. It is… other.' Putting a hand into the deep pocket inside his riding-cloak, he drew out a bundle of papers, letters, all mud-stained and dirty, some still sealed, some opened. Laying them down on the table, he pointed to the topmost, opened, soiled and crumpled. 'No doubt I should not show you these,' he said, 'but you have a better head than any I know. Besides, you are in some way concerned. You can tell me what to do.'

Frowning, she looked from the young man to the untidy papers and back. 'What is this? What have you done?'

'I was sent back, from Hailes. With a half-troop as escort. To fetch the Queen,' he explained, jerkily. 'Crossing the Gled's Muir, this side of Haddington, we came on trouble. Fighting. Or the end of it. A bad place it is, for cut-purses and broken men – miles of it, wild and empty. These were robbers – some of Bothwell's own damned mosstroopers, I shouldn't wonder, running loose. Lacking employment. Six of them. They had waylaid and cut down two men. Travellers. They were ransacking their bags. One was opening these letters when they saw us. They bolted as we came up. We were too many for them. They threw down the letters as they went. No doubt they got the purses. Other things, maybe.'

Mary's eyes were on that topmost letter. 'I know that handwriting,' she said tight-voiced. 'And those seals, broken as they are.'

'Aye. As do I. They are the Master of Gray's,' the other agreed grimly. 'One of the travellers was dead. The other died as we sought to put him on a horse. His blood, this is. Run through again and again. The one better dressed I recognised. He was a creature of Sir Richard Bowes, the English envoy. I have seen him about the palace here. The other would be guard and servant. Couriers, clearly. Heading south. For England. With letters and dispatches for the English Court. For my lord of Burleigh and Sir Edward Wotton.'

Mary shook her head. 'How cruel! How wicked a deed! God rest their souls. But…' Stepping forward she picked up the top letter. 'This, of Patrick's, was with them?'

Hay nodded. 'It was within an outer paper. Both opened. The outer was in a different writing. And with plain seals. Addressed to the Lady Diana Woodstock. In care of the Lord Burleigh, Lord Treasurer, at the Palace of Saint James, London. This other was within it. I knew the hand. I have seen many letters from the Master to the Duke. It was sealed with the Gray seals. They had been broken, also.' He paused. 'I can well guess to whom it is written!'

'Yes.'

'Read it.'

Troubled, the young woman searched the other's face, before, clearly reluctantly, she conned the letter. It read:

'Dearest and Fairest Lady,

I acknowledge, with devotion and gratitude, the last sum of?500 remitted by the usual source. I have put it, like that which went before, to good and effective use. I think that you will not deny it. Unlike certain other doles which of your kind heart you see fit to dispense, these remittances are put to excellent purpose, for your causes as for mine. As I take no doubt but that your good Master Bowes, newly knighted, will sufficiently inform you. Now I hasten to acquaint you that all is well, very well, in the great matter which we planned. The ineffable Bothwell fell most sweetly into the trap, and now struts the stage, calling himself Lieutenant of Scotland, no less. Believing that all the event was his own doing, he now works mightily and happily his own doom. Meanwhile, as foreseen, he works also our ends for us, most obligingly. The Papists are put down. Parliament may no longer be packed with mock bishops and prelates. The Hamiltons are in fullest flight. It will rejoice you to know that the unmentionable Maitland is at last unseated, and I have plans to keep him so. Cockburn, his lumpish good-son, likewise. Your siller is well spent, Lady?

As for your esteemed young coz, he is, I promise you, learning his lesson. I am in a position to know, for he places his fullest confidence in your unworthy servant, privily informing me of his secret mind, little knowing who was the architect, with your aid, Fairest Dian, of his present humbled estate. He will flirt no more with Huntly and Spain, of that rest assured. Nor will he again allow any lord to dominate your mutual borders, once Bothwell is down. So your peace is buttressed on two fronts. I continue with his instruction, and shall not spare the rod, like a good tutor, should need arise. As advised.'

Thus ended the first sheet of paper. Mary looked up, to meet the other's gaze. Her dark eyes were clouded, as though with pain. She said nothing.

'Read on,' Hay urged, handing her a second sheet. 'This was within the first.'

Almost as though it might burn her, Mary took it. This read:

'I used the threat of Hamilton's desire for second place in this kingdom, with the ire at Moray's death, to unite the Stewarts and bring all this about, Madam. Alackaday, perhaps I something wronged poor Hamilton, who has insufficient wit I fear to desire anything thus vigorously, other than a wench and a flagon. But the fact is that our friend the young Duke is more truly smitten with that same sickness. He supported the enterprise the more readily in that he desires to see the Hamiltons laid low and his own claim to second place and heir established. Indeed, it goes further than this. I have reason to know that, once his claim is accepted – Parliament has remitted it to the next sitting – he plans to have your poor coz proclaimed insane and crazed, and unfit to reign. Himself then as Regent. Then, later, King in his stead, no less. I fear that the lad has grown over-ambitious. Can you, great Diana, contemplate Esme D'Aubigny's son as heir to England? But fear you not. I shall deal with Master Vicky in due course. I have my plans prepared.

A further dispensation of your liberality would much aid me, I would mention.

Meanwhile, may the good God prosper all your affairs, as they now prosper here, and grant you health and well-being to match your wit and beauty. Until these poor eyes feast upon your loveliness again,

I remain, sweet lady, your humblest and most devoted servant and adorer,