Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [239]
‘Madam!’ said Margaret Erskine, breaking every rule of the Court in one grim decision.
And because Tom Erskine’s widow was one of the few intelligent and reliable women about her, as well as one of the better liked, the Queen Dowager stopped, and turning her head said merely, ‘I was not aware that we had given Dame Margaret permission to speak?’
‘No. Forgive me. I crave your pardon, your Grace,’ said Margaret Erskine bluntly. ‘But the Kerrs were sufficiently provoked to have slaughtered every Scott in the Kingdom, whether an army was there to stop them or not. But for the fear of St Mary’s there would have been the same among many another pair of feuding families this year. And but for St Mary’s, last winter, the families around Yarrow might have starved.’
‘I heard about that errand of mercy.’ It was M. d’Oisel’s voice, but he was speaking to Lymond, not to Margaret Erskine. ‘Carried out by Sir Graham Malett, I believe, against orders. We do not deny that some good might have been done. M. de Sevigny, after all, has had the most competent advice. What concerns us, however, is whether he is of a character to profit by it.’
There was a short silence. Presumably everyone present, Margaret thought, breathless with anger and fright, was thinking of Lymond’s notorious behaviour in France during the Queen Dowager’s visit. Everyone there knew that his own brother had since thrown him out. And at Liddel Keep, according to the Kerrs, before the battle which had cost Will Scott his life, Lymond had been drinking. Even Adam Blacklock, when challenged, had with reluctance agreed. The only person who, consistently, had championed Lymond through the last months had been Graham Malett, of whom Lymond—Richard Crawford had said it, and Adam Blacklock, once, and now, faced with all she had heard, she believed it to be true—of whom Lymond was afraid.
And as if she had picked up the thought, the Queen Dowager suddenly added, ‘In spite of all Sir Graham Malett has had to say in your support, we do not consider you either stable or sufficiently public-spirited to control these men in a small country such as this, particularly during those periods when they must be idle—you may rise,’ said the Queen Dowager, and watched with perhaps a shadow of envy as he did just that, from his cramped posture, without faltering.
‘On whose opinion, may I ask, is this estimate based?’ Lymond asked. Behind the masked eyes there was still no hint of feeling.
‘On the accounts of your neighbours and principal landowners. On the talk of your own men. On the observations of men of detachment such as M. d’Oisel here.’ Mary of Guise paused, for the coup de grâce. ‘And of my own observations of your temperament.’
Lymond appeared for a moment to consider, his eyes on M. d’Oisel; then he turned again to the Queen. ‘The principal landowners as you call them, have been educated for years to believe that power and wealth comes not from a well-conducted nation, but from war or litigation with another principal landowner. They resent, naturally, anyone who interferes with this belief. As for my own men—’ Lymond paused. ‘I do not consult his manservant or his chamber-child if I wished a balanced view of, say, M. d’Oisel’s character. They are the subject of his discipline and see only what touches their affairs, and that without necessarily understanding. Nor would I call M. d’Oisel necessarily detached. He stands in relation to the Crown, and the policy of the Crown in this country has been to divide and rule. Indeed,’ said Lymond politely, ‘I should fear all these judgements biased except for your Grace’s, and there I venture to think that some past evidence of … public-spiritedness may yet occur to you.’
Patches of colour in her cheeks, Mary of Guise was unsmiling.