...A shadow of doubt flickered over his mind.Whose house was this and why this entertainment? He had been expected, or someone like him.An old campaigner took what gifts the gods sent, but there might be questions to follow.There was a coat of arms on the plate, but so dim that he could not read it.The one picture in the room showed an old man in a conventional suit of armour.He did not recognise the face or remember any like it...
1
He raised his eyes to see the far door open and three men enter.The sight brought him to his feet with a start, and his chair clattered on the oak boards.He made an attempt at a bow, backing steadily towards the fireplace and his old coat.
The faces of the new-comers exhibited the most lively surprise.All three were young, and bore marks of travel, for though they had doffed their riding coats, they were splashed to the knees with mud and their unpowdered hair lay damp on their shoulders.One was a very dark man who might have been a Spaniard but for his blue eyes.The second was a mere boy with a ruddy face and eyes full of dancing merriment.The third was tall and red-haired, tanned of countenance and lean as a greyhound.He wore trews of a tartan which Mr.Lovel, trained in such matters, recognised as that of the house of Atholl.
Of the three he only recognised the leader, and the recognition sobered him.This was that Talbot, commonly known from his swarthiness as the Crow, who was Ormonde's most trusted lieutenant.He had once worked with him; he knew his fierce temper, his intractable honesty.His bemused wits turned desperately to concocting a conciliatory tale.
But he seemed to be unrecognised.The three stared at him in wild-eyed amazement.
Who the devil are you, sir?" the Highlander stammered.
Mr.Lovel this time brought off his bow."A stormstayed traveller," he said, his eyes fawning, "who has stumbled on this princely hospitality.My name at your honour's service is Gabriel Lovel."There was a second of dead silence and then the boy laughed.It was merry laughter and broke in strangely on the tense air of the room.
"Lovel," he cried, and there was an Irish burr in his speech."Lovel! And that fool Jobson mistook it for Lovat! I mistrusted the tale, for Simon is too discreet even in his cups to confess his name in a changehouse.It seems we have been stalking the cailzie-cock and found a common thrush."The dark man Talbot did not smile."We had good reason to look for Lovat.
Widrington had word from London that he was on his way to the north by the west marches.Had we found him we had found a prize, for he will play hell with Mar if he crosses the Highland line.What say you, Lord Charles?"The Highlander nodded."I would give my sporran filled ten times with gold to have my hand on Simon.What devil's luck to be marching south with that old fox in our rear!"The boy pulled up a chair to the table."Since we have missed the big game, let us follow the less.I'm for supper, if this gentleman will permit us to share a feast destined for another.Sit down, sir, and fill your glass.You are not to be blamed for not being a certain Scots lord.Lovel, I dare say, is an honester name than Lovat!"But Talbot was regarding the traveller with hard eyes."You called him a thrush, Nick, but I have a notion he is more of a knavish jackdaw.I have seen this gentleman before.You were with Ormonde?""I had once the honour to serve his Grace," said Lovel, still feverishly trying to devise a watertight tail."Ah, I remember now.You thought his star descending and carried your wares to the other side.And who is your new employer, Mr.Lovel? His present Majesty?"His glance caught the papers on the table and he swept them towards him.
"What have we here?" and his quick eye scanned the too legible handwriting.
Much was in cipher and contractions, but some names stood out damningly.In that month of October in that year 1715 "Ke" could only stand for "Kenmure"and "Ni" for "Nithsdale."
Mr.Lovel made an attempt at dignity.
"These are my papers, sir," he blustered."I know not by what authority you examine them." But his protest failed because of the instability of his legs, on which his potations early and recent had suddenly a fatal effect.
He was compelled to collapse heavily in the arm-chair by the hearth.
"I observe that the gentleman has lately been powdering his hair," said the boy whom they called Nick.
Mr.Lovel was wroth.He started upon the usual drunkard's protestations, but was harshly cut short by Talbot.
"You ask me my warrant 'Tis the commission of his Majesty King James in whose army I have the honour to hold a command."He read on, nodding now and then, pursing his mouth at a word, once copying something on to his own tablets.Suddenly he raised his head.
"When did his Grace dismiss you?" he asked.
Now Ormonde had been the Duke last spoken of, but Mr.Lovel's precarious wits fell into the trap.He denied indignantly that he had fallen from his master's favour.
A grim smile played round Talbot's mouth.
