Part 29 (1/2)

Lymond was very tired. It was clear in his face, and in the steel undisguised through the velvet of his voice. He wanted Samuel Harvey. He made it perfectly understood that it was a matter of blackmail, and that he had no services but only silence to sell in return.

The Douglas brain moved smoothly behind the statesman's brow. Sir George walked to a cupboard, and as he had done once before, poured two gla.s.ses of wine and moved one across. ”You look as if you've ridden a long way, and to no purpose. I'm afraid neither you nor I nor anyone else will have the privilege of speaking to Samuel Harvey in this world, Mr. Crawford. Harvey is dead..

The other man did not touch his drink; but neither did his precious control fail him. After a pause, Lymond raised his gla.s.s in a steady hand. ”Can you prove it?” he asked.

It so happened that Douglas could, and the proof was convincing because, rare among Sir George's fantasies, the story was true. At the end, when the last servant had left and the man had come to light the tapers, Sir George addressed the Master's cogitating back. ”What will you do?.

Lymond replied without emotion. ”Eat, sleep and spend money, I expect. What else does anyone do?.

There was a little silence. Then Douglas, tilting his gla.s.s so that the wine caught the light, said gently, ”You know Grey is bartering the Stewart girl's life for yours?.

The reaction this time was instant. Lymond spun around, stopped himself, and put his empty gla.s.s on the table. ”No. I hadn't heard.” He stood waiting, his eyes open and unwavering on Sir George while the Douglas, gazing back, extended to these fresh fields his style of gentle apology.

Ironic, in a way, Mr. Crawford. lf you hadn't been quite so clever at Heriot, Dalkeith would never have been attacked..

Lymond heard him without interruption. Sir George, who was enjoying a malicious sense of power, ended. ”Perhaps a life imprisonment in England is the best thing that could happen to her. . . . I a.s.sume you have no romantic urge to offer yourself at Holyrood so that they can send you in her place..

Lymond's face was quite blank. ”If it suits me, I shall approach the Court, however uneasy it makes you..

”And make a killer of your brother and a life prisoner of your benefactress? Not a very economical programme,” said Douglas blandly. ”Suppose we are practical. Are you going to surrender to Lord Grey?.

”Why? Do you want the privilege of sending me?.

For once in his life, Sir George was completely frank. ”Yes. I do. I need Grey's favour, and I have the perfect arrangement ready. A messenger of mine leaves at dawn for Berwick with letters from me to my niece and nephew. I can arrange it so that his safe-conduct allows for one accompanying soldier-at-arms.” He knew the type, knew the gesture would be irresistible; and was disconcerted to find in Lymond's gaze the mocking reflection of his thought.

”The war horse's answer to death by old age and pink-eye. How can I refuse?” said Lymond.

Sir George got up with some deliberation. ”You'll go? You'll go to Berwick tomorrow with my man and exchange yourself for this girl?.

”Do-to the book; quench the candle; ring the bell. Of course I shall go. Why else was I born?” said Lyinond with bitter finality.

2. The Tragic Moves.

Next morning Lymond, swordless, left Edinburgh's Bristo Port with a courier carrying Sir George's letters and Sir George's safe-conduct.

The day was breathless with promise; the cobbles s.h.i.+ning like milk gla.s.s in the quiet; the gables asleep in blanket rolls of mist. In the streets there was no sign of the grumbling, sc.r.a.ped-up army of men who were preparing to face battle in the warm summer weather.

As the first sun fed on the early haze there was a stirring in the houses. Smoke rose from new fires, and a man with water plodded along the High Street alongside a creaking cart, leaving a trail of splashes like silver s.h.i.+llings on the cobbles. Then he leaped to his horse as a small company in Erskine colours plunged past him and drew rein outside Lord Culter's door. Tom Erskine, in its lead, dismounted and hammered on the knocker until it opened.

He was inside for less than ten minutes. Richard, hail out of his tumbled bed, listened to the beginning of the story, and jumped for his clothes.

The Palace had found a spy, cleverly concealed: a man who had heard not only the Council in session but all the subsequent orders for the Queen's escape to France. They had uncovered him, and chased him, and lost him; then captured him finally after rousing hail the town in the middle of the night.

Erskine rattled on, pacing the room. ”The h.e.l.l of it is, he'd already pa.s.sed on what he heard. They know that. They're still trying to get him to say whom he told..

”And if the information has left Edinburgh?” Standing up, Richard stamped himself into his boots, fastening the buckle of his sword belt.

”It's our job to trace it. Quickly . . .” And followed by Lord Culter, Erskine made for the door.

At the Castle, their methods of persuasion were not subtle. By the time Tom Erskine and Culter got there, the spy had Qonfessed. All the plans discussed the previous night had been committed to paper and had been sent to Lord Grey that morning by a special messenger-by a messenger who happened to be going to England under safeconduct with letters from Sir George Douglas.

”Douglas!” said Culter at this point, and got a nervously irritableglance from the Governor, grey and sleepless in wrinkled day clothes. ”Purely fortuitous, so I'm told. We'll see. Meantime, Erskine- Culter-it's your job to catch that man. He's an hour at least ahead of you. By the Bristo Port. You know what it means if these papers get to Grey..

”They won't,” said Tom Erskine briefly.

* * *Adam Acheson, driving his neat, fast mare as quickly as he dared along the Berwick road with Sir George's letters in his pocket, was a man with no ties and no home. But he had drinking cronies in every inn between Aberdeen and Hull, and he kept them and himself in luxuries by ceaseless industry, a willingness to ride twelve hours at a stretch if need be, and a reticence like a warden oyster.

If he had been surprised to be saddled at the last moment with a companion, he had no special objection. He p.r.o.nounced at the outset: ”I've orders to deliver as fast as possible, and to Lord Grey personally. If he's not at Berwick, we ride on until we get him. I hope you're ready for a hard trip..

The fellow made no difficulty. ”Ride as fast or as far as you like. I'll stay with you.” And side by side Adam Acheson and Lymond cantered in silence under the hot sun.

* * *The same sun, grilling the steel jackets of Erskine's troop, added sting and exasperation to the anxious morning as, without pennants or insignia, Culter and Erskine with a dozen men at their heels galloped south.

The porters at Bristo had given them their first inkling that they were chasing two men: ”a black, brosy yin on a nice bay, and a swack, smert yin on a chestnut.” The first answered the colouring of the man they knew to carry the papers.

At Linton Brig they- stopped again and were lucky enough to find someone who had been up early with a calving. ”Aye, sir: a good while ago, and riding like the hammers. .

At Dunbar they ate on horseback and refilled their flasks, and from a packman, got one more detail. ”It stuck in my heid; they were that different: corbie and doo on the ane twig..

Richard remounted rather quickly and started off; Erskine looked at him sharply but followed, saying nothing.

At Innerwick the description was confirmed; at c.o.c.kb.u.mspath the description was specific. Tom Erskine, listening, watched his companion's face for a moment and then glanced away. Beneath the cold sweat Lord Culter was white, and in his eyes and the set of his mouth lay an exultant and frightened savagery. Smiling, he raised his right arm, and smiling, brought the whip precisely across the heaving rump of his horse.

”I thought so,” he said. ”The man on the chestnut is my brother..

* * *As the two hunted men raced south, followed by their pursuers, a third retinue set out, this time from Berwick: a leisurely caravan, jewelled with flags and fringes. Margaret Lennox was travelling south, and taking the Stewart girl with her.

Since yesterday, and a stormy interview with Lord Grey, Lady Lennox had known that Harvey was dead. And further, that Lady Christian Stewart, now back in Berick awaiting her ransom, had spent much more time with Samuel Harvey than she had allowed to appear. It was then that, with Grey's reluctant permission, Margaret decided to take Christian Stewart to her own home of Temple Newsam.

So it happened that while Lymond and his brother neared the Border, Christian, moving away from them, arrived at Warkworth Castle on the first stage of her weary journey south. There, high above the looped and s.h.i.+ning Croquet she lay safely behind dusty curtains, listening to the dandling of moored boats and breathing the savour of the sea-and wondering if she had given anything away under the ceaseless questioning of the day.

She had told of her encounter with Lymond at Boghail, accounting thus for her interest in securing Harvey's address for him. She had shown mild alarm when told of the dissipations of her prot~g~. She had even, with a bitter effort, hidden her rage and fear when Margaret told her that Francis Crawford was being demanded as the price of her own freedom.

Had he escaped from Threave? If he had, these people knew nothing of it. If he hadn't, then the Queen Dowager, spurred by Erskine and Lady Fleming, would certainly agree to the exchange and Lymond, for nothing, would throw away his life.

Or worse, if he escaped and heard of her plight, he would come of his own accord. She was realist enough to recognize that his code of conduct would demand it, and that he would do no less for Will Scott, or for Johnnie Bulb, or for any dependent of his in the same position.

Next day they reached Newcastle in the late afternoon, and the first voice she heard in her new quarters was that of Gideon Somerville.

* * *In Berwicks.h.i.+re by the same evening the hounds were very nearly up with the hares when the scent ran suddenly cold, and, casting about, Tom Erskine and Culter found traces of a considerable company of horse recently pa.s.sed through to the north.

It was Richard who turned about in the tracks of the convoy and, cutting off the first straggler he could find, made him talk. At dusk he rejoined Tom Erskine, his face ridged with weariness. ”It was a convoy for Haddington. Their scouts took in the two men we're after-Wylstropp honoured the safe-conduct and let them go-but they haven't gone to Berwick..

”They haven't!.

”No. Grey is at Newcastle, and he's leaving there for Hexham to pick up reinforcements from Lord Wharton. Our men are making cross-country for Hexham. One other thing..

”What?” said Tom Erskine with the flatness of apprehension. They should have caught these men before they reached Berwicks.h.i.+re. Now they were adrift on the Lammermoors, with the reel of their journey suddenly doubled in length.