Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [82]
Already anchored and waiting at Berwick, Crackbene had scattered drink-silver and threats through the fishing fleet and set off at the first word from the south. At Newcastle he found the slime-heavy vessel and boarded it with distaste, discovering Tobie emerging from his shoddy cabin. Tobie said, ‘Mick!’
‘Not much of a seaman, are you?’ said Crackbene. ‘Well, Mistress Sersanders? And these’ll be the young sprouts? How’s your husband?’ And presently, sitting by Clémence at the crippled man’s side: ‘How did we know? We guessed you’d have enough sense to come, and not enough to choose the right ship. I’m to take you to Berwick and wait there for your father and Nicol to join us. It’ll give you a good rest, and some nourishing food. I’ve got some on board, too. I’ll wager Master Tobie’s missed his fried minnows and seethed mutton gobbets. And I’ve got a nice bit of pork belly in lard.’
‘That wasn’t fair,’ said Robin, in his light, gasping voice. He was smiling. Tobie would have been pleased, had he still been present to see it.
‘Oh well,’ said Crackbene. ‘You’re one up on him: you’re not seasick.’
Cushioned and comforted, they were in Berwick in days, and passed from the Karel to Tom Yare’s big house at The Ness, to wait and to recuperate. Tom and his wife made them readily welcome, although Tobie perceived on their faces, in private, the expressions Robin would learn to confront for the rest of his life. And he did not tell Robin, as they rested, what he had learned about Nicholas on the voyage.
Had Nicol not thought to tell them? Crackbene had asked. Well, they had better know now. Remember that little rat Henry? Well, Henry was not only in Scotland, but now living with Nicol after trying to kill him and Wodman. Remember old Jordan, the grandfather? Well, where was he but in Edinburgh, planted over the road, breathing murder. Remember the King’s brother, Mar? Well, Nicol had riled him again, and there he was, wanting his blood.
It had come out, and, to Tobie’s displeasure, it had also come out that Kathi knew this already. Wodman had sent an account of it all to her uncle. But her uncle being in prison, she had opened and read it.
And then, of course, Crackbene had exclaimed, ‘Prison!’ and listened in turn, deeply startled, to the news from their side.
Watching then, Tobie deduced that Crackbene knew nothing of Phemie’s involvement. He continued to watch. In Berwick, later, Yare happened to mention her name, but only to say that Mistress Kathi’s friend had left Haddington, and was now biding with her cousin at Roslin.
So the pregnancy was not public knowledge.
No doubt Kathi had made the same deduction. She never spoke of it. In public, she led Tom Yare rather to talk of what was happening in Scotland, and Yare, responding, conveyed caustic details, in his soft Berwick burr, of the great tournament that was to end the royal English Almoner’s current visit to Scotland. He’d heard her brother was involved with the jousting, and Nicol of course—anything for a ploy—and big Tam and Dob Cochrane and that wee hoor St Pol. Even Davie Simpson had been recruited, they said, to give them the benefit of his grand Archer’s training.
‘So when is all this?’ Kathi had enquired brightly.
But Yare didn’t know. The Almoner wasn’t staying in Yare’s house, thank God, and it was up to the Governor to see to him on his way south. Anyway, even if Nicol or Archie were delayed, Master Robin was comfortable here. They were free to wait here as long as they liked.
Kathi thanked him, with warmth, and so did Tobie. Inside, he felt seasick again. Nicholas. Simpson. That wee hoor, St Pol.
Tobie didn’t like Henry either. Only the wrong people liked Henry. For Henry’s own sake, the boy should have been settled, for life, in Madeira. As it was, he was being used as a pawn. Tobie could imagine Simpson at the King’s ear: ‘Why not let the boy home? What would look better in this élite corps than a golden beauty like Henry?’ The voice of malice which, by chance, had achieved more than the speaker could guess.