Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [73]
“Oh, aye,” Jamie muttered, his tone of voice leaving it open whether this was acknowledgment of fact, or merely an expression of polite indifference. He had the order before him, and was signing each page with excessive care, crafting the letters rather than scribbling them, as was his usual habit. A left-handed man forced as a boy to write right-handed, he always found letters difficult, but he seldom made such a fuss of it.
“You do not share your cousin’s sympathies in that direction, then?” Hawkins sat back a little, watching the crown of Jamie’s bent head, which was naturally rather noncommital.
“Is that any concern of yours, sir?” Jamie raised his head, and fixed Mr. Hawkins with a mild blue stare. The plump merchant returned the look for a moment, then waved a podgy hand in airy dismissal.
“Not at all,” he said smoothly. “Still, I am familiar with your cousin’s Jacobite leanings—he makes no secret of them. I wondered only whether all Scots were of one mind on this matter of the Stuart pretensions to the throne.”
“If you’ve had much to do wi’ Highland Scots,” Jamie said dryly, handing across a copy of the order, “then ye’ll know that it’s rare to find two of them in agreement on anything much beyond the color of the sky—and even that is open to question from time to time.”
Mr. Hawkins laughed, his comfortable paunch shaking under his waistcoat, and tucked the folded paper away in his coat. Seeing that Jamie was not eager to have this line of inquiry pursued, I stepped in at this point with a hospitable offer of Madeira and biscuits.
Mr. Hawkins looked tempted for a moment, but then shook his head regretfully, pushing back his chair to rise.
“No, no, I thank you, milady, but no. The Arabella docks this Thursday, and I must be at Calais to meet her. And the devil of a lot there is to do before I set foot in the carriage to leave.” He grimaced at a large sheaf of orders and receipts he had pulled from his pocket, added Jamie’s receipt to the heap, and stuffed them back into a large leather traveling wallet.
“Still,” he said, brightening, “I can do a bit of business on the way; I shall call in at the inns and public houses between here and Calais.”
“If ye call in at all the taverns ’twixt here and the coast, you’ll no reach Calais ’til next month,” observed Jamie. He fished his own purse from his sporran and scooped the small column of silver into it.
“Too true, milord,” Mr. Hawkins said, frowning ruefully. “I suppose I must give one or two the miss, and catch them up on my way back.”
“Surely you could send someone to Calais in your place, if your time is so valuable?” I suggested.
He rolled his eyes expressively, pursing his jolly little mouth into something as close to mournfulness as could be managed within the limitations of its shape.
“Would that I could, milady. But the shipment the Arabella carries is, alas, nothing I can consign to the good offices of a functionary. My niece Mary is aboard,” he confided, “bound even as we speak for the French coast. She is but fifteen, and has never been away from her home before. I am afraid I could scarce leave her to find her way to Paris alone.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” I agreed politely. The name seemed familiar, but I couldn’t think why. Mary Hawkins. Undistinguished enough; I couldn’t connect it with anything in particular. I was still musing over it when Jamie rose to see Mr. Hawkins to the door.
“I trust your niece’s journey will be pleasant,” he said politely. “Does she come for schooling, then? Or to visit relatives?”
“For marriage,” said her uncle with satisfaction. “My brother has been fortunate in securing a most advantageous match for her, with a member of the French nobility.” He seemed to expand with pride at this, the plain gold buttons straining the fabric of his waistcoat. “My elder brother is a baronet, you know.”
“She’s fifteen?” I said, uneasily. I knew that early marriages