Unicorn Rampant (25 page)

John was perhaps less appreciative than he should have been. Obviously he was being taken over by these women, and he did not like that. He would see about this—but meantime he presumably would have to seem to go along with it.

He pointed out that if he was to be lodging here he would have to go back to Whitehall for his things and his horse. She admitted that this seemed to be indicated, and said that she would go and ask the Queen if it was permitted.

"See here," he jerked, "if I am to
be the Queen's Gentleman-in-Wait
ing, I will wait on her myself, not through yourself or other."

"You, Sir John, or other man, will not enter the Queen's bedchamber without being summoned. I may. You have, I think, much to learn!"

"This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "And requiring permission to leave this house. Like some child!"

"You went off yesterday without Anne's leave. She did not like it. You have yourself to blame. Do I go, or not?"

He shrugged. Dipping a mocking half-curtsy, she left him.

He prowled round his fine apartment, something like a caged lion. Here he was, Sir John Stewart of Methven, Keeper and Captain of Dumbarton Castle, treated like some unreliable menial! It was not to be borne. He kicked an embroidered footstool from one end of the room to the other.

The clatter of it had its effect. He forced himself to calm down. This sort of reaction would get him nowhere, he recognised. He must use his head, not his feet. Some men, he supposed, would give much to be in his situation, given position in the Queen's household, provided with excellent accommodation, an attractive young woman readily available. Perhaps he should seek to make the best of it, instead of kicking stools.

So, when Margaret retur
ned, he was rather less unforth
coming. But promptly reverted to stiff arm's-length when, with permission granted to go, she suggested coming with him to Whitehall to help collect his baggage. He could do that very well on his own, he asserted, and marched off.

In fact, having escaped temporarily from Somerset House, he decided on a detour further westwards still. He had scarcely time to go to St Paul's looking for Woolcombe and company; but he thought that a brief call at St James's Palace might possibly be worth making. This was where the Prince of Wales roosted, in what had been Prince Henry's quarters, and where presumably he might find Sir William Alexander. It occurred to John that Alexander might be able to advise him in his predicament.

So he made his way to that small and inconvenient old palace, almost on the edge of the countryside, and was fortunate in catching Alexander just as he was preparing to depart. He greeted John warmly, however, and assured him that there was no haste about his errand. The Prince had decided to go down to his mother's weekend house, which Inigo Jones had built for her at Greenwich, and he was to repair there first and see that all was in order. And what could he do for Sir John?

"I require advice," he admitted. "I seem to be caught, as it were, in a trap. But it occurs to me that others must have been caught in the same way before. You have been at court for long and must have seen it happen. So I seek guidance."

"I would have thought that your father, the Duke, would better guide you?"

"My father is the King's cousin and dose friend. And none can command him save King James. His problems are not mine, nor mine his. Besides, he is gone to this Theobalds."

"And your problem is this of the Queen's service? You feel trapped between the Queen and the King?"

"Yes. The King gives me a task to perform. But the Queen says that I must remain at Somerset House, lodge there and not leave without her permission. I am only out now to collect my things from Whitehall. That Margaret Hamilton is like a watchdog set to mount guard on me!"

"Oh, Meg is all right. She is . . . generous! Give her a kiss or two and a fondle now and then, and she will be your friend. And a watchdog that is a friend is none so ill! Kiss her, Sir John!"

"As do you?"

"Why, yes. Amongst all those countesses and female dragons of the Queen's, Meg is as a well in a dry land! You will find it so."

"A well at which all may drink?"

"Oh, I would not say that. Wells have various functions, have they not? They may be admired, sat by, dabbled in, sipped at or quaffed deeply."

"I see. But that is only a small part of my problem, Sir William. How am I to escape from Somerset House every so often to be about the King's business? Without trouble?"

"Meg Hamilton can probably help you there, too. This business of the King's—what does it entail? Where do you go? Do you have to be away from Somerset House for long at any one time? If not too long, it might be arranged."

"I think that, meantime at least, it need not be for long. To go down to St Paul's, meet people there, discuss certain matters. It need not take so long. Two hours, three."

"I am intrigued—as to what the King requires at St Paul's. It is not to borrow moneys? But surely this could be contrived? It occurs to me that this of the Prince going to Greenwich might be used. The Queen and Charles are close. With Anne ill, the Prince could be expected to be anxious. To wish to hear of her state daily. That is why I was there yesterday. I could come up from Greenwich every second day, and then you come down there every other day. How would that serve? How ill, think you,
is
the Queen?"

"I do not know. At first it was thought that it might be but a sham. But she vomits much, I am told, and her physicians attend her daily."

"Then Charles has reason to be anxious. I think that this could be managed. Greenwich is an hour's sail down-river, a little more coming back. It would give you time enough. For your . . . discussions."

John decided that, since he was going to require Alexander's co-operation, he would have to confide in him to some extent, perhaps to further advantage. Anything else would seem uncivil to a degree.

"The King is concerned about the monopolies position," he revealed. "There is much that is wrong there, he says. So I make enquiries. But secretly."

"Ah, the monopolies! Yes, all know that there is corruption. Fortunes to be made."

"All may know, yes. But the details are not so easy to come by. Not for the King, at any rate. So I have to resort to guile. I make myself as one involved in the paper-trade— one John Methven. In that process the King himself is concerned. In Scotland I visited paper-mills with him. I have managed to arouse some interest, yesterday, at St Paul's, in a representative of the Merchant Venturers—and learned not a little."

"The Merchant Venturers? Are they not the greatest of the monopolists? You have not wasted your time, Sir John! Or Master Methven!"

"There is a deal more to discover. The King wants details—names, amounts, goods, sources. So I must learn much from them, if I can. I must lead them on, over this of the paper." A thought struck him. "Perhaps you might help me? And therefore the King? I must seem young to these merchants to seem to speak with any authority. I fear that they may doubt my tale. If you, Sir William Alexander, were to appear with me on one occasion, then it would seem to give me credence. A man of substance."

"Strange that the King's Governor of Dumbarton Castle should require the warranty of such as myself! But, yes—I will come with you, one day."

"I thank you. And you will let me know if this of visiting Greenwich is acceptable to the Prince?"

"I cannot think that it could be otherwise. I will call at Somerset House tomorrow. Do you go there now? I take the barge to Greenwich, so could set you down in passing."

"No. I must go to Whitehall now for my belongings and my horse. I thank you for all your help . . ."

Back at Somerset House that evening, John had his first experience of being an actual member of the Queen's Household. He sat down to an exceedingly dull repast in magnificent surroundings, one of a company of about a dozen women and two other men, both elderly, Edward Somerset, Earl of Worcester, Master of the Queen's Household, and John Chamberlain, her Comptroller. Clearly neither approved of the new arrival—nor apparently had most of the ladies forgotten or forgiven him for the unfortunate wherry-journey to and from Hampton Court. The meal seemed interminable and John felt that he could not be the first to leave the table. The idea of this sort of situation continuing was scarcely tolerable.

When at last a move was made, he found Margaret Hamilton's company a positive relief—bold, provocative but at least lively and cheerful. She suggested a stroll in the gardens, the Queen being unlikely to have any duties for either of them at this hour. She tucked her arm in his, companionably.

So they wandered through the riverside grounds pleasantly enough, while the young woman chattered. She told him that she was now twenty-one years old, how she had been brought up at Shawfield, in Lanarkshire, with six brothers and two sisters, and how when her mother died four years before her father, Sir Claud Hamilton, had brought her, the youngest, to London where he was Gentleman of the Privy Chamber to the King. Then he had died the following year, and, left alone, her uncle the Earl of Abercorn had gained for her this appointment of Maid-in-Waiting to the Queen. She did not greatly enjoy her life amongst all these elderly dames, but managed to find diversions now and again and here and there. At that, she squeezed his arm against her prominent and shapely bosom, and chuckled.

Despite himself, John was impressed by her uncomplaining acceptance of these family complications and bereavements and her lot generally, and asked himself how his own attitude to a much more fortunate life bore comparison?

He was in a more receptive frame of mind then when, passing a seated leafy bower on the river-bank, guarded by somewhat indecent statuary, Margaret drew him towards it, suggesting that they mi
ght sit awhile and watch the to-
ings and fro
-
ings on the Thames. At least there would be no midges to bite them here, as would be the case in Scotland.

He could scarcely say no but would have preferred a seat where the white marble embellishments were less prominent and explicit, especially when his companion herself was sufficiently explicit. She snuggled up close to him, one arm around him, a warm thigh pressed against his own, one shoulder on his chest so that he gazed down the cleft of her breasts which seemed to heave with a life of their own.

John was no prude and had had his youthful amatory adventures in Strathearn; but he was still very much in love with Janet Drummond, however hopeless his case. No doubt Margaret found him somewhat unresponsive.

She asked him about his life and background, but seemed to know already more than he-would have expected. He wondered where she had got her information. Guarded in his replies, she did not glean a great deal more. However, on the physical side she did rather better, for in that position, and holding his hand, somehow without too much encouragement the hand came up gradually to rest upon her chest, and once there tended not so much to rest as to stir and stroke and stray, as of its own volition, an entirely natural reaction. Which, in turn, had its side effects, of course. So that, when after some nibbling at his ear-lobe and tickling his jawline with the tip of a pink tongue, her pouting lips were upturned close under his own, it seemed the most obvious thing in the world to kiss them—as Alexander had advised. And, with the response encouraging, not to say eager, matters proceeded on their predictable course.

How far they would have gone there amongst the foliage and statuary is a matter for speculation, considering that it was a long time since th
at young man had done any woman
ising, thanks to Janet Drummond, and he was entirely normal in his appetites. However, it was Margaret herself who called a halt presently, not in any prohibitory fashion but by announcing that she was beginning to feel cold and that they should go in—which seemed strange in that she did not feel cold to the touch nor in demeanour. Uncertain whether he felt relieved or cheated, John expressed suitable concern and bestirred himself. He offered her his doublet to wrap around her, but learned that this was not necessary.

On their way back to the palace, still hanging on his arm, she revealed that she would have to go to the Queen's apartments to discover whether there were any duties required of her before retiring for the night. Declaring that he could not believe that anything such was expected
of
him,
he gave her a chaste goodnight salute and left her for his own chamber, vaguely dissatisfied.

He was in his bed and feeling less than somnolent when he heard her come back to the next room—any duties she had had presumably brief. He wondered about her, wondered what a young woman like that felt about love and marriage as distinct from this purely physical traffic, wondered what would be expected of him hereafter and whether he had let himself in for a progressive relationship, or merely intermittent, and what Sir William would advise now.

His wondering ceased there, for t
he door of his room opened quietl
y and as quietly closed again. He sat up in bed: It was not quite dark, and he could see a-shadowy figure standing there. No question who it was, however shadowy. In fact the shadow very quickly materialised, and changed shades also, from dark to pale, glimmering white, as some sort of bed-robe was dropped and Margaret, unclothed entirely ran across to launch herself bodily upon the bed and himself, laughing deeply in her throat.