Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [46]
Sir Oliver said, ‘I am sorry, all the same, to have so squandered your valuable time. To have first-hand news of Burgundy must make you the most sought-after merchant in Scotland. I hardly dare keep you to put my own questions.’
Payment in advance. Fair enough. Nicholas settled down.
The short exposition he produced was that which, with appropriate variants, he had already delivered to the Abbot, the Lords Three, the King, the Royal Guard and Big Tam Cochrane, even, with music. It had provided a valuable study in reactions. Oliver Sinclair did not react: he asked one or two charming questions to indicate that he was still willing to listen, and at the end fell into a long silence, which Nicholas didn’t bother to break. Nicholas had mentioned Adorne, and the trust placed in him by the little Duchess of Burgundy. The Sinclairs dealt with Adorne’s nephew, Sersanders. Nicholas remembered that he still had to visit Sersanders, and wished, with sudden violence, that he were somewhere else. He drank off his wine.
‘Yes. I see,’ said Oliver Sinclair, as if he had spoken. He stirred and, leaning over, refilled Nicholas’s cup. ‘So you yourself have come back without plans. But you might one day wish to set up a trading house? With Sersanders and the Conservator, perhaps? Or with me?’ All his teeth, although uneven, were intact, even back to the molars. They said there wasn’t a girl in Orkney his father hadn’t bedded, and he was the same.
Nicholas said, ‘That is not why I am here. I am troubled by what I hear, and what I see in the King’s apartments. I wished to ask my lord’s advice about his grace the Duke of Albany.’
‘Do you think this is a subject for you?’ Sinclair said. The courtesy was unimpaired.
Nicholas said, ‘If I may risk my lord’s displeasure. The death of Burgundy threatens all existing alliances. Your peace with England has brought many benefits. His grace the King and his advisers wish to maintain it. The ladies his sisters and the Princes his brothers may not agree, but only Alexander of Albany is of an age or of a …’
‘Maturity?’ Sinclair suggested. His expression had not changed.
‘… of a maturity to act on his feelings. May I speak of his marriage?’
‘You appear to be speaking without restriction,’ Sinclair said.
Nicholas began to experience faint feelings of gratitude. He said, ‘The King’s marriage deprived your father of the earldom of Orkney, but brought him compensations, including Albany’s marriage to your lady half-sister. Had the Queen proved to be childless, Albany’s sons might hope to inherit the throne. But she has not, and so the Duke has become restless. Either he seeks power at home, or through some great foreign marriage.’ He paused.
‘So?’ said Oliver Sinclair. He signed to his attendant, who left the room. His manner changed to one more precise. ‘So perhaps you should know that his sons my nephews were never eligible to inherit the throne. And that the divorce which, no doubt imminently, will separate the Duke of Albany from Catherine will, by its nature, bastardise the same boys and the child she is carrying now. I have to say,’ added the lord of Roslin, tenting his fingers, ‘that I cannot greatly blame Sandy. Like her brother, the woman is addled.’
‘I had heard,’ Nicholas said.
‘And you are suggesting what?’ Sinclair said. The door opened ‘Ah,’ said Oliver Sinclair. ‘Come in. Master Nicol, let me reintroduce you to one of the several of my sisters who are not addled. Betha?’
Betha. There, as Nicholas sprang up and turned, stood the rotund and positive lady who had been the mainstay of the royal nursery; who had reared the King’s sister Margaret at Haddington Priory, when Kathi, Adorne’s niece, had attended her. Betha, widowed, stouter, with her three daughters doubtless married, and now brought in to inspect him, or more likely chastise him. She said, ‘Who dunted your face?’
‘Not I,’ said her brother. ‘Master Nicol is well able to take care of himself. He is about to tell us why we should allow him to become the mentor and close