The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [133]
‘What are Beltrees?’ asked Gregorio.
‘Singular. It’s the name of a towerhouse and an estate. Julius and I thought you’d be shocked, so we didn’t send you the accounts.’
‘This is the Kilmirren land that you filched?’
‘Some of it. I’ve added a few hundred acres. All undeveloped and waste. And the tower was too small: I’ve refurbished it. It’s on a hill. It’ll be cold.’
Gregorio was silent. A project so large, and none of the accounts had been sent to him. He assumed he knew why. He said outright, ‘How long are you staying in Scotland?’
‘As long as it takes,’ Nicholas said, ‘to finish all I want to do. But you don’t need to watch me.’
Chapter 19
THEY SET OFF at dawn, an impressive cavalcade, and arranged to break their journey at Boghall Castle, as Nicholas had suggested. Govaerts, sent ahead to solicit hospitality, would certainly be successful.
Robert, Lord Fleming, knew Nicholas. Gregorio, in turn, knew something of him. The lordship might be new, but there had been Flemings in Biggar for three hundred years, and half of them traded in Bruges. Gregorio wondered, in a resigned way, if there were pretty daughters or granddaughters.
It was a thirty-mile ride which yielded, as it transpired, a particular balm of its own. For once, Nicholas initiated little, and those around him could retreat into their thoughts and savour the landscape they rode through. Rushing streams; undulating valleys between soft, sunlit green hills; grey stone towers and thatched cots hazed with peat smoke; the bleating of sheep and of goats; herds of cattle filing to milk; the cry of a hawk, circling above in the blue air – all of it delighted Gregorio; filled him with singing pleasure, and then with an echo of contrition, for his partner in pleasure was not there.
The castle, when they reached it, was large and old, with a stone bridge crossing the moat. Riding over it, Gregorio carried with him the single piece of advice Nicholas had troubled to give him. ‘The old man is aged early and shaky, but son Malcolm knows the time of day, more or less. You talk to Lord Fleming and leave Malcolm to me.’
Malcolm came out into the courtyard to meet them. His doublet, creased from the coffer, was a better one, Gregorio guessed, than he would normally wear in the country, and his hat had a feather. He was short-legged and dark and probably not quite as old as he looked: the cares of managing his father must have taken their toll. He said, ‘I had not time to warn you. Perhaps you do not object. But Anselm Sersanders has just arrived. Sir Anselm Adorne’s sister’s son.’
Nicholas reined in and, after a moment, dismounted. He said, ‘I have no objection, unless you have. I was told he was in the north. The new Observatine Friary, and Maryculter.’
‘He came south to visit his sister at Dean. You are going there?’
‘Katelijne and I are good friends,’ Nicholas said. ‘And although you may have heard of a mischance, I hope Sersanders won’t hold it against me. Besides, Gregorio here is exhausted, and I have told him too much about your good claret. We may rest here tonight? I promise there will be no unpleasantness.’
‘I was sure of it,’ said Malcolm Fleming, and led the way in.
Gregorio, dismounting stiffly, handed his horse over and caught Nicholas up. ‘What are you doing? You half killed his uncle!’
‘I know. Tutto e fritto,’ said Nicholas de Fleury, and emitted a wail, absently, in a whisper.
The Great Hall of the Flemings was reached by a flight of stone steps and had tall windows and a fine fireplace glowing with resinous flame in the twilight. The top of the tower was in sunlight as yet: from its battlements, Gregorio imagined, one could see half lowland Scotland and the uplands of England as well, not to mention the neighbouring keeps he had glimpsed.
In the room were no nubile daughters but two young grandsons, John and David, who made their bows and were taken away, leaving only the chaplain, who rose to be introduced. Distant laughter came from a parlour. Malcolm