Unicorn Rampant (39 page)

They were in plenty of time for the Privy Council hearing at Edinburgh, but imagined that there would be preliminary interviews and proceedings to go through. However, although this might be so, they discovered that little could be done about it all beforehand. The Clerk, James Primrose, was, as before, at his Fife lairdship, and was not expected back much before the meeting on
8
August—and neither of the travellers had any desire to repeat their previous experience of Primrose hospitality. So, while John spent a couple of days with the paper-makers, Alexander actually went off for a brief visit to his estranged wife, who lived with her parents, also in Fife. He never spoke of his marriage, and John did not question him.

John
found all well at the Water of
Leith mills, with Vandervyk settled in comfortably, on good terms with the Germans and apparently spending most of his time in the Esk valley, converting two corn-mills. The work was well ahead, and he hoped that these would be producing paper before the year's end. The existing mills had manufactured the new second-grade paper such as the English appeared to want, and now had quite large stocks of it awaiting export. John worked out with the Germans a satisfactory price for this, remembering but not stating that the King would probably double this price for Cockayne. He then went off to Leith to arrange shipment from that port to London, when the price was accepted. This was all perfectly straightforward and should meet with royal approval. Will Alexander, when he came back from Fife, told John that, as the working partner in all this evidently profitable enterprise, he ought to be earning some fair proportion of the proceeds—but did not succeed in convincing the younger man that he should do anything ab
out it, unless the King himself
suggested it. He looked on all this as merely part of the royal service.

Still with some days on their hands, they decided that it might be advisable to visit Dumbarton and ascertain the situation there, before the hearing. Also to have a word with Sheriff Napier, who presumably would be involved also. So, in the last days of
J
uly, they headed westwards, by Forth, Carron and Kelvin, for the Clyde estuary.

They had a very different reception at the great fortress from heretofore; indeed, when they rode up to the first gatehouse, and were admitted by somewhat uncertain guards, Sandy Graham came hurrying down from the Keeper's House, actually to plead with John to go back to the town, to give him an hour or two, and then to return to a proper Governor's welcome. John saw this as quite unnecessary, but, recognising that his old friend was really concerned about the matter, saying that it would be good for
the new garrison, give them a sense of the flourish of the royal service, which so far had been totally missing, he agreed. He said that he and Sir William would go on to Kilmahew and see the Sheriff-Deputy, then return in, say, three hours.

They found Napier a worried man, disturbed at the thought of the Privy Council enquiry, to which he had indeed been summoned, and apprehensive that some responsibility might fall on him for the long mismanagement of the castle affairs, particularly the misappropriation of tax revenue and royal dues by Middlemas. Without actually stating it in so many words, he made it clear that he feared that the Duke of Lennox, as Governor and High Sheriff, being much too lofty a figure to be saddled with any blame, the onus might fall on himself. John sought to reassure him.

Napier informed that Middlemas had in fact slipped out of the castle one night, with his minions, soon after the last visit, and had not been heard of since, in Dumbarton at least. Where he was meantime was unknown but he had had the insolence to counter-claim to the Council that he had been wrongfully dismissed from his constableship. It was absurd that the Council should even consider such claim against the King's Governor, but apparently it was proposed to do so. He felt that there must be a reason for this, which was not evident.

They took the Sheriff back with them to Dumbarton, in the interests of legal show, and were surprised at the change of scene on their return to the castle. Quite a crowd had gathered outside the gatehouse in the perimeter wall, and trumpets sounded a fanfare as they came up to a ragged cheer. The gates, found to be shut as the three horsemen rode up, were thrown open dramatically, and the portcullis,
which was down for the first t
ime in John's experience, was clankingly raised to more trumpeting. Then, within the vaulted gateway-arch, Sandy Graham appeared, dressed in fine style, with polished half-armour on his chest and sword at his side, a file of a dozen armoured men at his back, one of them carrying a cushion on which were some great keys on a chain. Bowing low, Sandy proffered these to John.

Feeling somewhat foolish and inadequate, the latter dismounted, took the keys and, not knowing quite what to do with them, handed them back to the man with the cushion, nodding. Then he shook hands with Sandy, to more and better cheers from the crowd. Will and the Sheriff dismounted also, and came to shake hands likewise.

"This is all very, er, fine, Sandy," John said. "Most impressive. I. . ."

Graham signed for him to wait. Three more men appeared from the gatehouse, two with fiddles and one with a side-drum, and these proceeded to tune up, before turning round to lead the way into the outer bailey of the fortress and on up the hill. Leaving somebody else to bring on the horses, John and his two companions fell in behind Sandy and followed on, in approximate step, distinctly embarrassed, most of the crowd coming along too.

Once up at the Keeper's House, and thankful to be inside, Sandy explained. For years Dumbarton Castle and its garrison had been hated and feared in the area.

The Duke had seldom looked near it and Middlemas had had everything his own overbearing, corrupt way. Now he, Graham, was doing all in his power to change that attitude. He was deliberately seeking to popularise himself and his men in the town and district—not easy, when there were taxes and dues to be collected—encouraging the townsfolk to come about the fortress. This unexpected visit of the Governor was an opportunity to emphasise the royal connection and authority and to bring some colour to the scene. He hoped that John, Sir John he amended hastily, did not mind and indeed approved?

John reassured him again, indeed congratulated him on his concern and initiative, admitting that he should have thought of all this for himself. Any help that he could give Sandy, he would.

There were, needless to say, quite a number of questions, problems and decisions which the new Deputy-Keeper and Constable had accumulated for John to pronounce upon; and these they sought to work out thereafter between them with the Sheriff's and Alexander's advice—after the throng had been regaled on the castle's stock of ale and dismissed. But there was something else which had accumulated and which required attention and decision as to disposal—and this was the money, the King's siller, the royal revenues, duties, harbour-dues and the rest, collected by Sandy, and which he did not know what to do with. Oddly enough, neither did John. This was something no-one had thought to inform him on, had scarcely been mentioned save as to Middlemas's misappropriations in a vague way. Sandy revealed that he now had the large sum of £800 locked up in a chest here, with more always being added. What was to be done with it? Who did it go to? Presumably Middlemas had remitted sums to somebody in authority, however insufficient. But he had left no note of it, no records of any sort. Sandy had had actually to ask the tax-payers themselves how much they owed! Nobody official had approached the new Constable for moneys. There was the linked problem of paying the garrison—Sandy had enrolled eighteen new men—and the costs of maintaining the castle. Since Middlemas had left nothing behind him, Sandy had just had to use some proportion of the collected dues for this purpose—which he assumed had always been done. But he would be glad to have directions.

John turned to the Sheriff. Did
he
have any information or guidance on this? Napier shook his anxious head. This did not come within his legal authority at all. He would assume that the moneys should eventually reach the Lord High Treasurer, but through whom he did not know. It was strange that no demands had come in, either to the Constable or to Sir John. But perhaps settlement was only on a yearly basis? However, the Privy Council undoubtedly would inform them when they met it.

John felt instinctively that he would have to go very warily on this matter. He had an uneasy feeling that perhaps his father knew more about it all than he had revealed. After all, this governorship was not merely an honorary distinction but an office of profit under the crown, so that the Duke must have been getting some profit out of it, however inadequate. From whom did he get it? Had it come direct from Middlemas? Or was it paid by the crown, perhaps by the Lord High Treasurer? Ludovick Stewart was no money-grubber but he lived in some style and must have his revenues in some order. He obtained some income from Methven, of course, about half of the annual surplus there; but that would not go far in keeping up the ducal state. John felt that he ought to have been informed on the finances of Dumbarton, at least. His mother might have some knowledge of the matter. Mary Gray had a shrewder head on her slender shoulders than any of them.

He told Sandy to hold on to the money meantime, and to continue meeting expenses from it until a decision on the proper disposal was reached.

They remained two days at Dumbarton, roosting in the Keeper's House, and making a sort of official visit into the town and port to meet the provost, magistrates, guild-deacons and harbour-master; and John gained his first experience of being bowed to and honoured as the King's representative—which made him feel a considerable fraud. But, for Sandy's sake if no other, he was concerned to make a good impression and all went well. Clearly the new Constable was much approved of in the town.

There were still five days until the date set for the Privy Council hearing so, arranging to meet Napier in Edinburgh the day previous, John and Will set off for Methven.

Mary Gray was, as ever
, delighted to see them—she and
Will Alexander got on well together—and John slipped back into the routine of property-management as though he had never been away. For perhaps the hundredth rime he told himself that this was the life for him, not courts and palaces and cities, or, for that matter, paper or other monopolies. If only . . .

News of Janet was that, although she was well enough and making an acceptable mistress at Dalpatrick, her husband was in trouble. David Diummond had been hunting deer in woodland near Machany when a boar had burst out of a thicket almost beneath his horse's feet, alarming the animal and causing it to bolt. Before he could control it, his mount galloped under a tree with an overhanging bough which David could not avoid and which swept him out of the saddle. He had fallen heavily on outcropping rock and broken his hip-bone and one wrist. In a way, he had been fortunate that the boar did not turn on him as he lay. The wrist had mended, in due course, but the hip had not. It seemed that he was permanently crippled and required sticks to aid him move about, a dire condition for a young man.

John sympathised—but his main feelings were for Janet, married to a crippled man whom she did not love.

Later, he asked his mother whether she knew anything about the money situation at Dumbarton and what proportion his father had received? But she did not know. Tax-farmers usually got about half, she understood—her father, the Master of Gray, had done better, but he was rather a special case; of course they had to pay the expenses of collection and, in Dumbarton's case, the maintenance of the fortress and garrison. That was as much as she knew. She would imagine that the money would go to someone in the Lord Treasurer's office. But she was surprised that Vicky had not told John all about it.

John felt
the same way. Did she think that perhaps his father had felt unhappy about it for some reason? Had something to hide, even?

His mother looked at him thoughtfully, and said that that was not impossible. Vicky was a dear and one of the kindest people alive; but he had some odd notions about certain aspects of living, probably because of
the way he had been reared, semi
-royal, with wealth meaning very little because always readily available. He could close his mind to money matters, she had found out, and to other men's ideas as to honesty. Perhaps all royal dukes were like that, and kings too. She believed that James certainly was.

John nodded. So possibly the answer to his problem lay with the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland or one of his people. The Treasurer was Johnnie Mar, his aunt's husband, John, Earl of Mar, the King's foster-brother and Keeper of Stirling Castle, which made John thoughtful indeed.

The Deputy-Treasurer was Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, he who had had to find quarters for all the flood of English courtiers at Holyrood. He and Johnnie Mar were both members of the Privy Council—so John could have opportunity to speak with them. But—Mary advised him to be cautious about it. Where money was concerned, and men's credit, it always paid to be careful, especially amongst the highly-placed, she suggested.

After three days at Methven, they returned to Edinburgh, and found James Primrose back in his office in Parliament House and giving John curt instructions to appear in the Chancellor's Room there at noon two days later, with his witnesses. No other guidance was given. John got the impression that the Clerk to the Privy Council just did not like him.