Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [63]
“Departed, protesting, with the rescuer. God knows what the man wanted; my impression is he hardly knew himself. All I got out of it were a couple of English names they bandied about; if I had any contacts over the Border I’d follow them up for the devil of it, to see if I couldn’t track down my agile friend. I don’t suppose they mean anything at all to you? Gideon Somerville and Samuel Harvey?”
Sir George admitted they didn’t, and his commiserations were halted by the arrival of Patey, grousing, with Sir Andrew’s finished brooch. Sybilla had seen it being altered. She admired it again, listening still; but the conversation had drifted to less interesting channels.
“… And what duplicity!” said the Dowager much later, describing all this over pheasant at Bogle House to Christian Stewart and her son Richard. “After telling the rest of us the bruises came from a fall from his horse. But of course Dandy is shrinkingly sensitive about money; heaven knows how he manages to shower his mother with diamonds. It must have been someone he was hoping to ransom, poor man.”
“No,” said Richard. “He was going to exchange him for a cousin of his own held prisoner in England.”
The Dowager eyed her son with such gentle surprise that he explained. “Overheard him discuss it at Drumlanrig. He bought the fellow from George Douglas there.”
“Well, I never heard that he had a cousin in England,” said Sybilla; “and even if he has, I don’t see why poor Dandy should have to redeem him. What that man wants is to marry an heiress, although heaven knows I shouldn’t ask Medusa to share her castle with Catherine.”
Richard, she thought, was looking tired. The weeks she and Mariotta had passed at Menteith had been spent by him in harassing activity. He had visited them once at Inchtalla: that apart, it occurred to the Dowager, he had hardly spent a complete day in his wife’s company since the battle.
She had been extremely cross to find him at Bogle House when she arrived there, late, from Patey’s; to learn that he had been released from those activities she had circuitously arranged for him at the castle, and that Tom Erskine, arriving in his absence, had taken Mariotta and Agnes to the games, leaving (perforce) Christian, who insisted on waiting for herself.
She was considering the next move when fate forestalled her: a roaring separated itself from the excitements of the street, wound up the stairs in increasing volume, and debouched into the room at the tail of a disorganized servant.
“Hey!” said Buccleuch, hauling off his hat and nodding perfunctorily at the ladies. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You’ve missed the best of the wrestling!”
“Sir Wat!” said Lady Culter.
“And the jumping’s over!” said Buccleuch, unheeding. “And the running! Where’ve you been? There’s only tilting at the glove, and the ring, and then the Papingo. The butt shooting’s nearly finished, too, and these damned Kerrs are having it too much their own way.” He made for the door. “Come on. Where’s your bonnet?”
“In his room,” said Sybilla, outstaring her son’s sharp glance. “And there it stays. Wat Scott, I knew you had no manners out of your first two wives, but I thought Janet Beaton had taught you how to address a lady.”
“But I’m not here to address a lady,” Buccleuch pointed out unwisely. “I want Richard to—”
“But since you’ve called, and I’m hostess, I’m afraid you can’t avoid it,” explained Sybilla. She agitated her hand bell. “Malmsey or Canary?”
Buccleuch cast an agonized glance at Richard, got no help and tried Sybilla again. “We’re going to miss the Popinjay,” he pleaded.
“I’m not!” remarked the Dowager. “I never liked birds, and still less when they talk—Canary, please, John.”
It all but succeeded; by the third cup Sir Wat was well launched on a detailed theory about hard snaffles and would have been there yet had not Hunter’s face appeared around the door, anxiously addressing Buccleuch and Lord Culter, after a quick bow to the ladies.
“I’ve to bring you both quickly. They’re getting to the Popinjay.”
The look which passed between Sir Andrew and