Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [249]
The Dowager didn’t prevaricate. “A little. It concerns Dandy.”
The thin lips compressed themselves. “Of course. What stupidity has he committed now?”
Sybilla said, “Any—stupidity he has committed, he did for your sake. You’ve been a very hard mistress to serve, Catherine.”
“The boy needs hardness,” said the old woman. Her breathing had quickened. “Toughness. Other people run estates and make a success of them—get on at Court—become popular—bring home heiresses. My other son—”
“Dandy did his best for you,” said the Dowager. “That’s what I have to tell you. He felt he could never succeed in—orthodox—ways, so he tried some which were outside the law. Too far outside.”
“He’s in trouble?”
“Serious trouble. If he’s caught.”
“You came to warn him. Is that it?”
“Yes,” said Sybilla. “That’s it.”
There was a long pause. Then, with an effort, the invalid pulled herself up in bed and spoke in her normal voice. “Well!” she snapped. “I suppose he’d better get out of the country. Tell him to come here and I’ll give him money. And he’d better not show his face here again until it’s safe.” She did not ask what he had done.
Sybilla stretched out her two fine hands and took the small, limp, puffed one in them. “He has money. He has gone,” she said. “There was no time to see you. He sent you his love.”
The small hand lay inert in hers; the black eyes were without visible emotion. “Inept!” said Dame Catherine. “Disorganized, as usual. Good riddance. Now perhaps I can get a good paid factor to make the place profitable.”
Sybilla released her hand and rose. “I’m sure you will. You’ll enjoy arranging it. Now, here’s the litter and your maid to help them move you. Slowly and carefully … and you’ll do very well.”
Lady Hunter made no protest at all as, wrapping her in her own soft blankets, they transferred her gently from bed to litter, and laid pillows beneath her head. With a manservant carrying each end the invalid moved for the first time in years across the blue tiles of her bedroom and toward the open door. As they carried her, the sun caught the shimmering cap, the jewels and the bright black eyes and flashed for a moment, before the door closed behind her, on the tears lying silently in the bitter troughs and seams of her face.
* * *
At Midculter, Mariotta and Richard heard the story in silence. As Sybilla ended, her son drew a long breath and said, “The charter chest. Is it really here?”
“Yes,” said the Dowager. There were circles under her eyes and her back, although she held it straight, was tired and aching. “Johnnie Bullo got it for me. It has all the papers on Sir Andrew’s transactions with Carlisle.”
Richard’s eyes met hers. “What are you going to do with them?”
“That is for you and Mariotta to decide. You are the person most injured by him. It’s only fair you should take what redress you can.”
“I don’t want revenge,” said Richard shortly. “I only want to forget about it.”
“You don’t want to publish them?”
“No. Only the paper that affects Francis.”
“Mariotta?”
The girl’s eyes were fixed on Richard. “Oh, no. No. It’s as much my fault as his.”
“Rubbish, child,” said Sybilla. “But I’m glad, all the same. He’s not worth it. Well keep them as surety for his good conduct abroad, and I hope we never hear of him again.”
Richard suddenly dropped beside his mother and tilted her chin. “I don’t think you’ve told us everything. You had no right to attempt a thing like that on your own.”
“Attempt!” said Sybilla indignantly. “It was a tour de force!”
They smiled at one another, and then the Dowager’s expression changed. “Only five days!” exclaimed his mother. “How could I be hard on her?”
* * *
Only five days. Will Scott, sitting bleakly in his father’s empty lodging, could think of nothing more to do. How could he rescue Lymond, even if he were well? Even if he were rescued, how could he force him again into this death within life?
Four days. Sybilla, Mariotta and Richard moved their