Unicorn Rampant (26 page)

After that, to be sure, wondering was uncalled for, with everything proceeding in straightforward and predestined fashion. She certainly made both a challenging and a satisfying armful, rounded and smooth but active, demanding, enterprising.

It was a full and educative night, and dawn before she left him for her own room.

Sir William Alexander duly arrived next noonday, with solicitous enquiries from Prince Charles as to his mother's state. He was admitted to the Queen's bedchamber, and when he came out was able to assure John that the suggested arrangement had been agreed. Anne was pleased at the concern shown by her son, and well content that her Gentleman-in-Waiting should share in the task of keeping the Prince informed. The timing was left open—apparently the Queen had no other urgent duties in mind for John— which confirmed that young man in his belief that his appointment had been made, not out of any real need but purely as a gesture to annoy King James.

Alexander had even taken the opportunity to improve on the situation by asking, and gaining, permission to take John with him that day, to show him how to get to Greenwich and where the Queen's house was situated. So they would be off, right away. Margaret thought that this would be a pleasant outing for herself—her duties at Somerset House seemed to be conveniently vague and elastic—and it took both the men's efforts to persuade her that it was inadvisable on this occasion.

John went to his apartment to collect the paper he had fetched from his father's and the King's
Own
quarters at Whitehall. But, although Alexander looked about the room with interest, the younger man forbore to inform him of what had gone on there the previous night—although he did not put it past Margaret herself telling. Then they made for the barge at the steps.

"Can we go straight to St Paul's?" John asked.

"Surely. That was the design. Will your merchants be there?"

"I am hoping so. When I did not come yesterday, it is my hope that they will be the keener. Woolcombe said that he was there most days."

John's hopes as to keenness were not misplaced. They had scarcely mounted the steps to the church-door when Elias Woolcombe came bustling forward to greet them, obviously relieved. He looked a little doubtfully at Alexander but, when John introduced him as Sir William Alexander of Menstrie, Master of Requests to His Majesty, he was suitably impressed.

He led them, this t
ime, through the crowd, not downstairs to the crypt but over to the same side-chapel where John had searched two days before. Again two men sat therein—but not the same two. One rose at their appearance, the other did not.

"Here is Will Cockayne, High Sheriff of this city and Master of our Association," Woolcombe said. "And Luke Cardell, Deputy-Master. This is Master Methven, from Scotland. And another, Sir William . . . ? I did not get the rest, but Master of the King's Requests."

The seated man, obviously Cockayne, nodded but said nothing. The other bowed, especially towards Alexander.

"I am glad to see you, gentlemen," John said. "Sir William Alexander of Menstrie is also from Scotland. And knows of the matter of which we spoke."

"Paper," the man Cockayne said briefly. He was a thickset, florid individual with a bull-neck and a mane of greying hair. "Elias Woolcombe says that you have a proposition to make?"

"Scarcely a proposition, sir. I was sent but to make enquiries. To sound out possibilities."

"He represents paper-making interests in Scotland," Woolcombe put in, much more eager-sounding than Cockayne. "Of which we did not know."

"You mean to say that you did not know that we made paper in Scotland? Excellent paper?" Alexander remarked, politely incredulous.

"No, sir. Not on any scale."

"That is the point—how large is the scale? And what is the quality?" Cockayne demanded. "Sit down." He appeared to be a man of few words but incisive manner.

"As to quantity, sufficient is made to supply our needs. We could make more. And more. And new mills are planned."

"In the valley of the E
sk," Alexander added, knowledge
ably, having been primed on the way. "In Lothian."

"And the quality?"

John reached into the bag he carried and brought out a selection of sheets, which he tossed down in front of Cockayne casually enough. He said nothing.

"Sufficient quality for the King's Grace," Alexander murmured.

Clearly the others were impressed as they handled the papers, passing them one to another. They should have been, for it was the best in the royal archives-room.

"These are excellent papers, all of them," the man Cardell said. "But perhaps too fine for most trade."

"We make lesser qualities, to be sure."

"How much?" Cockayne asked. "How do you sell this? This quality?"

That was the crunch, of course. John had no idea. "I have nothing to do with the price," he declared, as authoritatively as he could. "That is for others to settle. To negotiate. My mission is to discover whether there is any demand for the papers. And, if so, what quantities would be required."

"Before we can tell you that, sir, we have to know the price. Surely you must know what is your normal selling-price? In Scotland?"

"Ah, but in Scotland we have the monopoly. That is something else I have to know. Would there be a monopoly here? It would much affect the price, you will agree."

The three Englishmen looked at one another.

"I take your point," Cockayne said, after a moment or two. "We certainly would not wish the paper to be sold on an open market. Let us say that I believe that a monopoly could be arranged."

"Could
be, sir? I will require to take back more than that!"

"Will be, then, Scotchman—will be, if you prefer it!"

"I do, yes. You seem very sure?"

"I have reason to be."

"You know to whom to go? To gain the royal authority?"

"Shall we say, the Lord Treasurer's authority. Kings do not concern themselves with such matters. Eh, Sir William?"

"Perhaps you are right, sir," Alexander nodded. "But I have heard that my Lord Suffolk is somewhat out-of-favour, and has retired to the West Country."

"So I understand. He remains Treasurer, however. And John Bingley remains at the Treasury—which is what signifies."

"Ah, yes—the Deputy-Treasurer. Lady Suffolk's friend!"

"Precisely, sir. I think that your young friend here may rely on monopoly prices."

"Good," John said. "Then I would think that our Scots prices will work out a deal less than what you are paying the Germans, sir. What is their present price? For quality paper?"

Cockayne looked at Cardell.

"About 120 shillings the packet of five reams, at today's price. It varies."

"One hundred and twenty shillings sterling the packet? And it is sold on the open market at whatever it will fetch? If you gain a monopoly, what price would you think to charge?"

"We would still have to compete with the German paper. And to outsell you they might lower their price somewhat. Unless, with a monopoly, we could have their imports prohibited. With a monopoly I would say that we would double that price of 120 shillings."

The others nodded agreement.

"Two hundred and forty shillings for five reams? Quality paper. Is doubling a usual oncharge in your English monopolies?"

"It varies. Do you do better in Scotland?"

"Likewise it varies with the commodity. We would expect some share in this oncharge."

"That, like the price, would be for negotiation, Master Methven."

"To be sure. Then it seems that this is as far as we can go, at this time. I must now consult with the others."

"Master Methven," Cockayne put in carefully. "We must hope that, by consulting others, you mean your paper-making friends in Scotland—not any other interests here in England? If we are to do business on the best terms, then all this must be kept a close secret. If it leaked out, all could be put at risk. I am not prepared to chaffer and haggle with others. The Association can offer you the best terms, since we are the largest, with most members, all over the country."

"I understand."

"Will you leave these ensamples of paper with us? For us to consider, test and cost?"

"Certainly. Perhaps you will set down the order of their value to you and probable demand, for our guidance? And I will collect it, say, two days hence?"

"Very well. Two days . . ."

There seemed to be no more to say, so they rose and took their leave, Woolcombe escorting them to the church-door.

"That took less time than I had feared," John said, out in the churchyard. "Having Cockayne there in person probably helped."

"A hard man to handle, that! Are you satisfied? Was it successful?"

"Oh, yes—learned more than I had expected. I think that your presence was an advantage. They accepted me the more readily."

"For a man who knows nothing about the paper-trade, I thought that you sounded most expert and confident! King James chose well, I swear!"

"That was but mummery, play-acting, asking suitable questions. What was that of
Lady
Suffolk?"

"Oh, the Countess has this lap-dog, the man Bingley. He does her bidding without question. Suffolk has made him Sub-Treasurer, and so Catherine Howard manages all at the Treasury. She has a better head for affairs than has her husband, all say."

"This is interesting. Is it the Countess rather than the Earl, then, who contrives to cheat King James out of much of his revenues?"

"It could be. Since it seems that this Bingley does the arranging. He is very much her creature. Thomas Howard tolerates him, no doubt finding him useful for filling his pockets
..."

Back at the barge, they proceeded down-river. John had never been thus far and was interested in all that he saw— the great Tower of London, of ominous repute, which disappointed, looking nothing like the mighty rock fortresses of Edinburgh and Stirling, as he had visualised; the marshy reaches beyond, of Wapping and Rotherhithe— which Alexander called Redriff—flat and waterlogged; and then the great U-bend, made up of Greenwich and Blackwall Reaches, still in desperately flat country, with the river ever widening.

When they landed, on the south shore now, John was further surprised when they passed the sprawling ancient palace which Henry the Eighth had renamed Placentia and came to a comparatively tiny house, some distance apart, handsomely built but a mere miniature, in fact with only three bedchambers although with rather fine reception-rooms. Anne had had this built for her a few years before by Inigo Jones, where she could get away from the ongoings in James's huge establishment. The Prince of Wales, who was of a fastidious and rather solitary nature, much at odds with his father's, also found this little retreat to his taste.

His reception of John held no pretence at warmth or even interest. He was obviously regarded merely as a messenger being shown route and destination. Not that this concerned John in any way, who did not find Charles much to his taste either, actually preferring his odd sire. He was dismissed quite quickly, Alexander conducting him back to the barge and assuring him that the Prince was none so ill-natured once one got to know him. He was shy and self-conscious— in fact, he had never really got over early impediments in health and abilities; he had hardly spoken for the first six years of his life indeed.

The barge would carry John back to Somerset House and would call for him again two forenoons hence.

So he returned, to write up his findings for King James in detail, now much fuller and more circumstantial than he could have hoped for a few days earlier, covering several sheets of the good Scots paper. In this task Margaret Hamilton was less than helpful, coming to interrupt him frequently—and, he had to
admit, not entirely un-welcomel
y. And she came to his room, of a night, without fail.

The Queen seemed to have no other duties for him meantime than messenger to Greenwich. She was now evidently a very sick woman—no sham invalid. Even Margaret began to look concerned about her.

Two days later John was back at St Paul's, where he found Woolcombe and Cardell awaiting him with evaluations of his paper samples and some other information which he could add to his dossier. So that, when presently he reached Greenwich again, it was to seek Sir William's advice on the next problem—how he could get to Theobalds Park to present his findings to the King? Alexander said that he would think about it.

The day following, when that resourceful individual appeared at Somerset House, in turn, it was with a suggestion. It was clear that the Queen's deteriorating state should be brought to the King's notice, Charles reluctantly agreeing. He, Alexander, himself had contrived it so that he could not be away the at least two days necessary to reach Theobalds—so what more natural to put to Anne than that her own Gentleman should go? Would he ask the Queen?