Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [105]
Lady Hunter’s brittle fingers played with her rings. “In these days of opportunism, Andrew has little to commend him to an heiress, either in fortune or appearance. Unlike his brother.”
Forgetful, Mariotta contradicted. “Oh, surely not? He has everything to recommend him.… There must be pretty girls by the score who’d give the nails off their fingers for him.”
“Oh, yes. Plenty of those. Ballaggan can’t afford that kind, however,” said Lady Hunter. “Pretty girls with no dowry are for the hedgerow, not the altar. We are not all as fortunate as Richard.”
“Dear Catherine: yes,” said the Dowager. “How lucky that we are all rich and beautiful. Otherwise we should be so affronted. Do you drink everything in those bottles?” And the conversation was safely transferred to physics, and from there to herbs, on which the old lady was expert and, in her own acid way, entertaining.
Mariotta listened, more interested than she had hoped to be; Agnes, within reach of a lethargic Cavall, amused herself by parting its fur idly with her slippers; and neither did more than give fair ballast to the conversation until the Dowager, gauging swiftly the amount of time to be filled before Sir Andrew might come, got to her feet saying something bantering about vaults.
The bite returned to Lady Hunter’s voice. “If you were bedridden as I am, Sybilla, you wouldn’t care for all the affairs of the household to lie about for servants to read. As I’ve told you before, these recipes are worth money: there is no call to be careless with them. The keys are behind you.”
The Dowager disappeared, and after a sizable interval returned in time to disentangle Mariotta from an appalling inquisition into the state of the linen at Midculter. With her she brought the promised book of recipes, which lasted safely until Sir Andrew came in.
Mariotta, watching him, found her defences rising on his behalf. She knew him already as a kind and ready confidant. No one, looking at the fine hands and good carriage, could say he was uncomely; no one listening to the warmth of his voice could find him displeasing.… Poor Dandy.
The evening passed and then, as the invalid slept early, they went their separate ways. But not before Mariotta contrived to have a word with Dandy alone.
In his private study, he installed her gently in front of the fire. “Two minutes; and then I’m going to pack you off to bed. So you finally broke the news to Richard?”
“About the baby? Yes, Dandy. With magnificent results. For a week now, no air is pure enough and no whim too foolish for the mother of a Culter.”
“And the presents are still coming?”
Mariotta nodded, and touched a small and very fine string of pearls around her neck. “They just appear in my room.” A nervous giggle overtook her. “Lymond can’t know yet about the baby. What am I supposed to do? I’ve no way of returning them.”
Sir Andrew got up and, crossing to the fire, kicked the logs with his boot. “Mariotta, my heartfelt advice is to tell Richard about it. I’m willing to help all I can, but you must know how he’d feel if he thought you felt driven to confide in someone outside the family, no matter how well-intentioned we both are. And this business of Lymond is serious.” He turned and said soberly, “Tell him, my dear. It need cost you nothing: you have, surely, all the jewels that you want and you, of all people, have had a chance of judging exactly what the Master is.”
Waiting, Sir Andrew of a sudden looked sharply at the girl’s face. Then she said, playing with the pearls, “He isn’t unattractive, Dandy. If he hadn’t been forced into outlawry by a single mistake, all those years ago …”
“A single mistake! Do you know how many died and how many were taken prisoner at the battle of Solway Moss?” exclaimed Hunter with sudden savagery. “Do you know how many years he had been spying for England before