‘I believe,’ said Hooke, ‘those orders were repeated in a letter which was sent to you and others, to inform you of my voyage.’
‘Aye, they were. And I stand ready to obey my king, as always. But I would have him know that what he wrote to us in confidence has already been passed, by a betrayer, to our enemies, for I have seen another letter, written by the secretary to Queen Anne’s commissioner in Scotland, that does also speak about your voyage, and your purpose here. And names the man who travels with you.’
Hooke was speechless. ‘But—’
‘I do not seek to judge the conduct of the Duke of Hamilton, nor would I have you neglect him in your negotiations. I tell you only that the man is impenetrable, and that you would do well to make use of these things I have told you, and be upon your guard, and keep concealed from him all that you may transact with other lords.’
The interval between the time he said that and the time Hooke nodded and replied was little longer than the time it took to swallow, and Sophia could not see Hooke’s face directly, yet she felt in that small moment he had weighed things in his mind, the way her Uncle John had craftily weighed any new development and turned it to his benefit. Hooke’s voice, too, when he spoke, was like her uncle’s in its tone, and for that fault it left Sophia unconvinced.
Hooke said, ‘My Lord High Constable, your counsel is most useful. I do thank you for it, and will take the measures you suggest.’
Sophia had no proof that he was lying, nor was it her place to speak in such a gathering, but had she been a man, she might have warned the Earl of Erroll that His Grace the Duke of Hamilton was not the only person who should not be fully trusted.
‘You look troubled,’ said the countess.
When Sophia glanced up to reply, her embroidery needle slipped under the knot she was working and pricked at the edge of her fingernail, painfully. Clenching her jaw, she succeeded in holding her silence until the sensation had fled, then she said, ‘I am not troubled, I assure you. It is only that this pattern is beyond me, and I cannot make my stitches come out evenly.’
The countess paused, and when she finally spoke her voice was fond. ‘My son did right to trust you. You can tell no lie, my dear, without it showing plainly on your face.’ Returning to her own needlework, she said decidedly, ‘We ask too much of you, to keep our secrets. That is Colonel Hooke’s opinion, and I do believe it true.’
Sophia took a cautious step into that opening. ‘The colonel is a good friend of your family, so I understand.’
‘A good friend of my brother James, the Duke of Perth. They have worked very much in step these past few years, toward a common end. It has been two years since my brother first sent Colonel Hooke across from France to visit us at Slains, and to begin to seek support among the nobles of this nation for our venture. Times were different, then. The Union was a subject only talked about, and none would have believed that it would happen, that the guardians of this country would sell Scotland’s independence for the lining of their pockets. There was then no sense of urgency, as there is now among us. For when Queen Anne dies—and, from her health, that end will come upon her soon—the Stewart line upon the British throne will die, as well. The English mean to give a foreign prince of Hanover the crown, unless we bring King James back safe from France, to take his rightful place. We might have tolerated Mary’s reign, and Anne’s, for they were sisters of the true king, born of Stewart blood, but the throne is rightly James’s, and not Anne’s. It must be his when Anne is gone, for all of Scotland will oppose a Hanoverian succession.’ She finished off a knot with force, and bit the thread to cut it. ‘Colonel Hooke no doubt will have more luck this time in treating with our nobles, and persuading them to come to an arrangement with our friend the King of France, who waits to lend us his assistance should we move to rise in arms.’
Sophia did not question Colonel Hooke’s intent. It was her intuition only that made her suspect his aims might not be as the others thought they were, and intuition, while it served her well, was not enough to justify the accusation of a man she did not know. Besides, ‘He will be leaving soon, he says.’
‘Aye. He starts tomorrow for Lord Stormont’s house at Scone, to see the Duke of Athol. My son was asked to go, as well, but he thinks it unwise that he should undertake that journey, as he has but just come home after a session of more than six months. If he did return towards Edinburgh so soon, and to such an assembly of known Jacobites, it would give the government room for a suspicion that some plot was carrying on. It is enough of a risk that, with the parliament now finished, and the chief men of the nation dispersed over the different counties, Colonel Hooke must hazard himself in traveling through a great part of the kingdom to meet with our nobles. He has a design, I believe, to divide the country into two circuits—to visit one himself, and to desire Mr Moray to go through the other, but my son does view that plan with apprehension, also.’