Unicorn Rampant (13 page)

John was grateful for that—but revealed that there were others who did complain. Unfortunately or otherwise, both Methven Wood and Methven Moss were notable haunts of deer and wildfowl, all but sanctuaries for the game, the greatest in mid-Strathearn. Neighbouring lairds and major tenants or tacksmen, who put their sport before agricultural improvement, were displeased, claiming that he was destroying their hunting and hawking. They could not stop him, to be sure, as he held the baronial rights; but they could and did object that both the chase and the falconry, which was all that some of them appeared to live for, was being spoiled and would be more so as time went on. This troubled him—but he was determined to continue.

The Duke sympathised—and marvelled not a little that he should have produced such a son so concerned with well-doing and improvement. At his age, so far as he could recollect, his own attentions had been wholly taken up with very different matters—such as winning the favour of Mary Gray and seeking at her behest to circumvent the machinations of her father, the Master of Gray; not that he had been very successful at this last. So far as he knew, none of his forebears had demonstrated any great love for soil and people, here or in France, at Aubigny where lay their great estates. So it all must come from Mary and the Grays— although he could not imagine the late Patrick mightily concerning himself with making two grains of corn grow where only one had grown before.

"I think that the King had better not come to Methven, John!" he said, smiling. "He would be torn in two—whether to approve of your efforts to make the land flourish and so make more of his beloved siller; or to frown on your spoiling of his equally esteemed hunting. We will pray that he comes no nearer than Perth!"

"But you—what do
you
say?" his son demanded.

"I say all success to you, lad. You are laird here. If this is what you want to do, then do it. Make your wilderness flourish. Never heed the complainers—in reason, that is. You will not destroy
all
the hunting hereabouts, I swear. There is enough game in these Highlands hillskirts of ours to provide all the sport required
..."

"But that is just the point, do you not see? There are plenty of deer and wildfowl in the foothills and lochans, yes, on the Highland side of the strath, to the north, our side. But on the south side, beyond the Moss, where are most of these others' lands, there is a deal less. The high ground beasts do not come down there, save in snow. So Methven Wood, in especial, is the main refuge for the low ground deer. I tell them, those who complain, that the game will find other places to lurk and breed, at Gask and Dollerie and the like—but they will not heed me, scoff at me as too young to know." He hesitated. "Would you, would
you
speak with them? Or some of them? You they would respect, the Duke of Lennox, the King's cousin.
Tell
them of the need for grain-lands and winter feed, and the wealth it could bring to all the strath. And that there would be plenty of waste and moss and woodland left all along the valley, for the deer and the fowl."

"I cannot go round Strathearn preaching your gospel, Johnnie! It would look devilish odd. Besides, I do not know the half of it. Now that you are a knight, especially honoured by the King, probably they will heed you better."

"Not Lord Madderty. He considers himself a great man. And he is the principal objector
..."

"Ha—James Drummond! Is he your problem?"

"Yes—and the other Drummonds follow his lead. His lands of Madderty, Inchaffray and Innerpeffray flank ours to the south. He . . . disapproves of me. Always has done."

"For more than Methven Wood?"

"Yes."

"Because of your birth, lad?" "Yes."

"I see. Then yes, perhaps I had better have a word with my Lord Madderty." He glanced sidelong at his son. "And, of course, he is father to the fair Janet Drummond we spoke of, is he not? Which could make it. . . awkward?"

John did not rise to that.

"Well, we shall go see the Drummonds. I used to know him well enough, before he was Madderty. Perhaps your mother will come with us."

"I think not. Lady Madderty gives herself airs."

"Indeed? Then the more fool her. Anyone who gives themselves airs in the presence of Mary Gray lacks wits as well as manners
...!"

It was two days later that father and son presented themselves at Innerpeffray. Strathearn, one of the finest broad vales in all Scotland, was some thirty miles long, averaging from eight to ten miles in width, the River Earn, flowing out of Loch Earn, running down the midst, with the Highland mountains crowding the north side. The ancient semi-royal earldom of Strathearn, one of the seven original mormaordoms of Alba, the Celtic Scotland, had been long defunct; but the Stewarts, to some extent the successors, had clung to much of the mid-strath, mainly on the north side, centred on Methven, whilst Holy Church and the house of Drummond shared most of the south side between them. At the Reformation the Drummonds, who had provided two queens for Scotland and several royal mistresses, found themselves in a strong position to grasp the Church lands; and the fourth Lord Drummond became first Earl of Perth. His uncle, James of Madderty, got the Abbey of Inchaffray here, and in 1609 was created Lord Madderty. He began to build a fine new mansion for himself at a sheltered bend of the Earn some four miles west of the abbey precincts, using much of the abbey masonry, near the chapelry of Innerpeffray—itself safe from demolition because it was the Drummond burial-place. Innerpeffray Castle was tall, plain and commodious, without architectural flourish, and still distinctly new-looking despite the antiquity of the building material.

John was fairly silent as they approached, his father noted. Whether this was on account of Lord and Lady Madderty or of their daughter remained to be seen.

Their arrival put Lord Madderty in rather a difficult position—as, of course, was not wholly unforeseen. The adopting of his customary haughty line with John was contra-indicated in the company of the only duke in two kingdoms, the man closest to the monarch. A good-looking man of middle years and high colour, he greeted Ludovick almost effusively, declaring the honour done to his poor house. John he acknowledged only warily affable.

"May I congratulate you, my lord, on your enhanced style and dignity?" the Duke said. "Also on this fine new mansion. Well deserved, I am sure." If there sounded almost as though there might have been a question-mark at the end of that, the other could scarcely take it up as such.

"I would hope nowise to detract from the name and repute of Drummond, my lord Duke," was the best that he could do.

"To be sure. You have much to live up to."

Lady Madderty appeared, uncertain as to who was the elder visitor. John she ignored.

"My lord Duke of Lennox, come north with His Majesty, my dear," her husband informed.

"The Duke—here? My lord, here is surprise. We did not know that you were in Strathearn."

"I left the King at Falkland. You do know my son, Sir John Stewart, surely, Lady Madderty?"

"Sir John?" She stared. She was a gaunt, fine-featured woman, who had once been handsome, Jane Chisholm, daughter of the late Laird of Cromlix, in nearby Strathallan. "Did you say Sir John, my lord Duke?"

"I did. His Majesty, no doubt considering him worthy of the honour, knighted John at the same time as he did Edinburgh's Provost, on his arrival in Scotland. Are you so surprised?"

"No. No—to be sure. But he is young. And, and scarcely
..."
She floundered.

Hastily her husband came to her aid. "This is as excellent as it is unexpected," he declared. "Is it not, my dear?"

"Why, yes. Of course. His Majesty no doubt had good reason for what he did." That sounded less than convinced.

"James always has. Sir John had the privilege of rendering the King some signal services. James was grateful. And, of course, he has a blood relationship to His Majesty."

"H'r'mm, yes." Adroitly Madderty switched the subject somewhat. "We were grieved to hear of the death of your Duchess Jean. And of the two infants. A great loss."

"Ah, yes. That was five years ago and more." Ludovick's second and loveless marriage to the Lady Jean Campbell of Loudoun had been imposed on him by the King for reasons of state and succession, when Prince Henry was sickly and Charles backward. A son and daughter had both died as babies.

"So sad," Lady Madderty said. "Do you consider marrying again, my lord Duke?"

He did not answer but turned to look at his son, to whom as yet scarcely a single word had been addressed. He fou
nd John less than concerned, or
even apparently very interested, his regard very much elsewhere. The Duke, looking in that direction, saw that a young woman was standing just within the doorway of the castle's hall, listening. She was tall and slender, of a dark beauty which was quietly entrancing. Her attitude there seemed modest, patient, almost self-effacing as she watched—which, considering how eye-catching were her looks, was hardly to be expected.

Observing where the Duke and his son looked, Madderty waved a hand. "Our second daughter, Janet. The first is wed to Andrew Wood of Largo, as you may know."

Ludovick bowed to the girl, rather more deeply than he had done to her mother. "I have heard of this young woman," he said.

She curtsied gravely but did not speak.

"Leave us, Janet," her mother said—and managed thereby to make all three men look displeased.

"A pity," Ludovick shrugged. "She added grace to the occasion."

"You will take refreshment, my lord Duke? And Sir John?" Madderty asked.

"A cup of wine, perhaps—no more. We ride on. We have not long."

As Lady Madderty went stiffly to see to this, her husband asked,
"Do
I take it, then, that you have some matter to discuss with me?"

"Yes. Sir John tells me that you object to his cutting down of timber in Methven Wood?"

"I would not say that I object. It is, after all, your property."

"His,
my lord."

"Very well, his property. I, and others, would but prefer that Methven Wood remained as it always has been." "For your hunting's sake?"

"Yes. Methven Wood has always been a refuge for the deer. As has Methven Moss for the wildfowl—and now being drained. We are much the losers."

"That I question. Strathearn has much forest and moss. If the deer leave Methven Wood—and it is being replanted— they will refuge elsewhere in the strath. Your own Machany Wood, or Auchlone. Or even this Wood of Innerpeffray," and he waved a hand northwards. "Or is that too close, too convenient for your own hunting, to allow as refuge? Perhaps you prefer the refuge on
others'
land?"

That was shrewd hitting. The other bridled, but he could not retort as he might have wished. There were some advantages in being a duke.

"None is the same as Methven, which is the largest stretch of the old forest left in the strath. Remove it, and the hunting will, I swear, never be the same."

"We must agree to differ on that. But is there not more to be considered than your hunting? What of grain-growing and cattle and winter-feed, my friend? Do these not mean much to you?"

"I am not a farmer, my lord Duke! I leave such matters to my steward."

"Yet your wealth must come from these, in the first place. From your rents, if not from your own husbandry. It certainly does not come from deer and fowl. All men, even Drummonds, would wish to increase their wealth, I would judge?"

"All this cutting and selling of wood will increase
Methven
's wealth, I accept—but not mine, nor others'!"

"There again I think that you err, my lord. The timber is being sold in order to pay for the draining of Methven Moss. When drained, the Moss will make excellent grain-growing land. And the grain grown there, on well over one thousand acres, will feed vastly greater numbers of cattle over the winter than can now be kept in the strath. Not only Methven cattle but your farmers' and others'. So you will not have to sell them off, half-grown, in October, as now. Does that not make good sense to you?"

"Methven will not sell its new grain cheaply, I think! And why should the Moss grow good grain, because it is drained. It is no more than rank, sour waste, peat-bog and reeds."

"No, my lord—hear me," John urged, his first intervention. "There is little or no peat there. I have tested the Moss in many places. Drilled holes and dug deep. Below the reeds and bog-cotton and mud there is good rich soil. Level and sound and deep, loam and silt brought down over the years by the Cowgask and Pow and Balgowan Waters, flowing to Earn. Drain the water from it, plough deeply, and it will make the best tilth in the strath."

"You hope so, Sir John—but may be wrong. Is it worth destroying Methven Wood and all our sport to find out?"

"It will not destroy your sport, my lord. The deer and fowl are not so easily driven off. I know—for they are eating
my
farmlands bare, and have been doing for years, kill them as we will. I have great deer-drives as you will know
..."