P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

Dodd found himself being looked sharply up and down.

“Hm. So you’re the Dodd headman that came out for my son with your kin when he got himself in trouble at Netherby,” she said.

“Ay, my lady. Wi’ the English Armstrongs o’ course.”

“And as I heard it, you convinced the Johnston to back you and ran a nice little ambush on the Maxwell to bring the handguns back from Dumfries in the summer.”

Dodd could only nod. How the hell could she know so much? Carey had his eyes shut and his hands clasped firmly behind his back like a boy reciting a lesson.

Lady Hunsdon swung on her husband. “I take a little trip to Dumfries in summer with Captain Trevasker and the Judith of Penryn in Irish whiskey and some vittles for the Scottish court and what do I hear? My youngest son’s doings all over the town although the King’s gone back to Edinburgh and his mangy pack of lordlings with him.”

“Did you sell the cargo?” asked Hunsdon.

“Of course I did, husband, that’s why I went. I knew the Court would have eaten and drunk the place bare. Triple prices for the whisky from my Lord Maxwell, no less.”

She was advancing on Carey now who backed before her with his shoulders up like a boy expecting to have his ears boxed for scrumping apples. Dodd held his breath in mingled hope and fascination.

“Now one of the things I heard was not at all to my liking,” she said, prodding Carey in his well-velveted chest which was as high as she could reach. He flinched. “Not at all. What’s this about Lord Spynie and Sir Henry Widdrington, eh?”

Carey smiled placatingly and spread his hands. “I couldn’t possibly say, ma’am, are they in bed together?”

“All but.” Pouncing like a cat, Lady Hunsdon grabbed her son’s left hand and pulled off his embroidered glove. After a moment when it seemed Carey would snatch his hand away and possibly run for it, he stood and let her look, towering over her and yet somehow gangling like the lad he must have been fifteen years before.

In silence Lady Hunsdon reached for his other hand. Carey sighed and pulled the glove off for her. More thunderous silence. Dodd saw tears rising to Lady Hunsdon’s eyes and suddenly she pulled Carey to her and hugged him.

“Mother!” protested the muffled voice of Carey. She let go at once and turned to her husband.

“We shall set a price of five thousand crowns on Spynie’s head and the same on Widdrington’s,” she said coldly.

“Er…no, my lady,” said Hunsdon, “I think not. Spynie’s still the King’s Minion, though there are hopes of Robert Kerr, and John needs the Widdrington surname to help him rule the East March.”

Their eyes locked and Dodd could see the tussle and then the agreement between them flying clear as a bird. “At least, not yet,” amended his lordship.

“Of course, my lord,” said Lady Hunsdon with the dangerous meekness Dodd had learned to fear in Janet.

Carey was pulling his gloves back on with fingers that trembled slightly.

“Have you seen Edmund?” Hunsdon asked to break the silence. “Doctor Nunez is very pleased with him.”

Lady Hunsdon sat herself down in a carved chair as Hunsdon sat as well. “I talked to him while I was waiting for you, my lord.”

At Hunsdon’s gesture, Carey and Dodd sat on a bench. Hunsdon’s majordomo was bringing in a light supper and spiced wine for them. Carey spoke quietly to him and Dodd saw a small cup of brandy brought and added to his wine. He looked like he needed it and drank gratefully while Dodd helped himself to a mutton pasty.

“Did you plan to put a price on Heneage’s head as well, wife?” asked Hunsdon teasingly as he carved a plump breast of duck with a sauce of raspberries and laid it on her plate. Lady Hunsdon sniffed and pulled the dish of sallet herbs towards her.

“Your sister wouldn’t like it.”

“She wouldn’t,” agreed Hunsdon.

“He mistreated you too, Sergeant Dodd?” Lady Hunsdon said suddenly to Dodd, who had to swallow quickly.

“Ay, my lady.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Ay well, milady, if I was at home the bell’d be ringing and the Dodds and Armstrongs would be riding and the man would ha’ lost a few flocks of sheep and herds of cattle and some horses if we could find them and likely a tower or two burned.”

Lady Hunsdon nodded. “Of course. Powerful long way for your surname to come though, isn’t it?”

“Ay, it is. Your good lord has offered to back a court case for me but…ah…”

“The lawyers won’t take the brief, ma’am,” explained Carey. “None of them will.”

Lady Hunsdon nodded at this.

“Except that pocky young man we met the day,” put in Dodd. “He said he’d dae it since Heneage disnae like him in any case.”

“What’s his name?” asked Hunsdon.

“James…Enys?”

“Enys?” said Lady Hunsdon, “That’s a Cornish name. Where’s he from?”

“No idea. We were worried he might be Heneage’s man so we asked him to come here tomorrow so you could look at him, my lord.” Lord and Lady Hunsdon both nodded.

“Heneage isn’t going to give up just because his last attempt blew up in his face,” said Hunsdon, “and Edmund…”

“…has horse-clabber for brains,” snapped Lady Hunsdon. “At least you did well there, Robin, from what he said.”

Carey inclined his head politely while still studying the floor.

Dodd watched as Lady Hunsdon polished off her wine and nodded at the Steward to replenish it. “So what I’m hearing from you, my lord, is that there’s not a thing we can do to pay back Spynie and Widdrington, and Heneage is more than likely going to have another try at pulling you down just as soon as he can think of something twisted enough.”

Hunsdon inclined his head in a gesture just like his son’s.

“God damn the lot of them,” swore Lady Hunsdon, tapping her fragile Venetian wine glass decisively. “Do you need money, Robin?”

Carey coloured. “Ah…well…”

“Of course you do, look at your fancy duds. Cost a couple of farms just for your hose, I shouldn’t wonder. Well, I had a lucky voyage coming up the Channel, so here you are…”

She threw a bulging leather purse at Carey who caught it and whistled soundlessly when he looked inside.

“Pieces of eight?”

Lady Hunsdon smiled and wiggled her fingers. “We caught a Flemish trader off the Carrick Roads as we came out of Penryn. And you’re not to spend it on clothes,” she added, setting off another near-hernia in Dodd’s abused diaphragm. “Sergeant, don’t you let him go near that devil Bullard and his doublets.”

“No, milady,” Dodd managed somehow.

“Invest it, Robin,” said Lady Hunsdon. “As I’ve told you before, George Cumberland has the right idea…”

Hunsdon was standing again, leaning over to his wife and proffering his arm.

“My lady wife,” he said softly. Lady Hunsdon swallowed the last of her spiced wine, put her hand on her husband’s arm, and allowed him to help her up. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed Lord Hunsdon’s ear as they turned towards the door to the stairs.

Carey put his fists on his knees, stood up and hurried after his parents, caught up with his mother at the foot of the stairs and started whispering to her urgently. Dodd followed them. He didn’t need to hear Carey’s question as he knew exactly what it would be about-the woman Carey was disastrously in love with. She was still married to Sir Henry Widdrington, a jealous husband who had clearly seized the chance to mistreat Carey in Dumfries.

“Mother, how is Elizabeth Widdrington?” asked Carey, “I’m anxious for her. Sir Henry might…”

“I think she’s well enough, all things considered,” said Lady Hunsdon with a worried frown. “She’s very strong. Sybilla’s still furious with me for the ill match I made for her daughter.”