Kindred Spirits:
Royal Mile
Jennifer C. Wilson
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer C. Wilson
Photography: Adobe Stock (c) karenm9071
Cover Art: Soqoqo Design
Editor: Sue Barnard
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used for promotion or in reviews. This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously.
First Blue Line Edition, Crooked Cat, 2017
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To Mum and Dad,
for aiding and abetting the stalking of Mary, Queen of Scots, for so long
Acknowledgements
Following Mary, Queen of Scots, became a family joke during various holidays around Scotland with my parents, so my first thanks have to go to them: firstly, for putting up with the joke, and secondly, for subsequently actively seeking out places where she had been, or with a connection. If you believe every tale, she was certainly an active traveller!
Thank you as well to friends who have let me talk about ghosts and Edinburgh a lot over the last year, and especially to Karen and Heather, who put up with this whilst physically in Edinburgh; an extra-tough feat.
Finally, thank you to Stephanie and Laurence Patterson at Crooked Cat Books, for giving me the chance to eavesdrop on a new ghostly community, and to all the other Cats, who have been so supportive since (and before) the release of Kindred Spirits: Tower of London. I am especially grateful to Sue Barnard for her editorial expertise and support.
About the Author
Jennifer is a marine biologist by training, who spent much of her childhood stalking Mary, Queen of Scots (initially accidentally, but then with intention). She completed her BSc and MSc at the University of Hull, and has worked as a marine environmental consultant since graduating.
Enrolling on an adult education workshop on her return to the north-east reignited Jennifer’s pastime of creative writing, and she has been filling notebooks ever since. In 2014, Jennifer won the Story Tyne short story competition, and has read her work at a number of local events, with several pieces available online. She is also part of The Next Page, running workshops and other literary events in North Tyneside.
Jennifer’s debut novel, Kindred Spirits: Tower of London, was released by Crooked Cat Books in October 2015.
Jennifer can be found online at the following locations:
Blog: https://jennifercwilsonwriter.wordpress.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/inkjunkie1984
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jennifercwilsonwriter/
The Next Page: https://thenextpagepresents.wordpress.com/
Kindred Spirits:
Royal Mile
Chapter One
“I will report you, Boots, I shan’t warn you again!” The voice echoed around the empty chamber in the vast caverns under Edinburgh’s South Bridge.
“Ach, you wouldn’t, and you know it. What’ll anyone do about it anyway?” the infamous Mr Boots hollered back at Janet Douglas, Lady Glamis, knowing that the chances were he was right, and she wouldn’t carry out her threat. She very rarely did, after all, especially when their Queen wasn’t even in town to be reported to. Without Mary to keep them in check, most of the Royal Mile ghosts got on with their own business.
“Queen Mary will—” Lady Glamis started.
“Queen Mary will have her own concerns to deal with, rather than bothering to come all the way down here to talk to me.” Boots grinned at Lady Glamis gleefully through his blackened teeth. “Besides, when is she even due back?”
“Later today, actually,” said Lady Glamis, pulling herself up to her full height, determined not to let Boots get to her. After all these years, the man could still rattle her; she always had hated entering ‘his’ patch, even when on a royal errand to request at least some level of peace for a couple of weeks. Thankfully, the news of the Queen’s imminent arrival seemed to quieten him.
“Today? Well, I suppose I could calm things down a bit, or at least wait until one of the more gruesome-loving tours turn up.”
“Please do. In the meantime, do not – I repeat, do not – come near me with your freezing air and stomping boots.” Determined to have the final word, Lady Glamis turned on her heel and vanished through the wall behind her. Choosing one’s physical state was one of the better benefits of being a ghost on the Royal Mile. For one thing, it was useful for getting through the crowds of tourists.
August was always a strange month in Edinburgh. More visitors than any other in the year, it was a party for those who enjoyed their hauntings, and a nightmare for those who preferred a quiet life. Lady Glamis was definitely in the latter camp, despite having gained a position in death as unofficial lady-in-waiting to Queen Mary, whenever she was in town. It was quite ironic, really, she thought, given that she had been executed for conspiring against the Queen’s own father, and Janet’s nephew-by-marriage. King James V was now himself a resident on the Mile, down at Holyrood Palace.
The arrival of Anthony Babington a couple of days before had caused the usual stir amongst the ghosts of Edinburgh’s ancient street, although nothing like the chaos the young man himself had created as he wandered up from Waverley Station, not caring who he drifted through as he made his way up to the Mile. Granted, he stayed invisible throughout, but even the slightest brush against a member of the living was enough to send shivers coursing through their flesh; passing directly through a living person left them feeling they had been suspended in ice. In death, as in life, he continually served Queen Mary without question, always travelling ahead of her, to alert any city of her arrival, mysteriously vanishing, until, uncannily, knowing just when she might call on him again.
Unlike some of her friends, acquaintances, and even enemies, Mary, Queen of Scots had never been keen on staying in one place. Whilst some spirits found the place where they were happiest, or at any rate the least unhappy, and remained there, Mary was as restless as she had always been, refusing to be pinned down to one location. As time passed, her movement between palaces, castles and other places associated with her life became easier, using at first better coaches, then trains, cars, and now she had even bragged of being the first ghost to use an aeroplane to travel between London and Edinburgh, flitting between the cabin crews’ seats and perching behind the pilots, enjoying the best view in the house. As Mary herself had pointed out, security was incredibly quick when nobody could see you walk straight through, and she was always particularly careful not to inadvertently disturb any of the crew.
Later that afternoon, however, Lady Glamis awaited her Queen on the platform of Waverley Station, flanked for the occasion by two of the smartest soldiers she could enlist from the ranks of the Castle’s ghostly cohort. Even in death, Mary expected to be treated with the respect she had so often been denied in her later years.
“Your Grace,” she welcomed the Queen, dropping into a perfect curtsy in front of her.
“Ah, Janet, thank you for meeting me,” said Mary, taking her hands and raising her back to her feet. “And gentlemen, you are looking as smart as ever – I presume Babington alerted you to my coming?”
“He did, my lady, and we have prepared your usual rooms at the Castle, at your request – yo
u shall not be disturbed by any spirits other than those you require to attend you,” Janet replied to her mistress.
“Excellent. I know the festivities are not to everyone’s liking, but I do enjoy a party, and the Tattoo is always good for entertainment.” Queen Mary nodded to the soldiers, and started making her way towards the station’s exit, not caring, in her non-formed state, who she passed through on her way. As she strode along the still-busy platform, she left a trail of shivers in her wake.
Janet tutted. She never had been one for the showiness of her mistress, but now hurried along to keep pace with the taller woman, who was striding confidently alongside the men from the Castle, encouraging them to update her with any key developments since her last visit, several months before.
“Janet, I presume you informed my fool of a husband that I did not wish to see him during my visit? Although I shall be spending most of my time at the Castle, I will of course be visiting Holyrood to pay my respects to my father.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I sent men down there as soon as Babington arrived, and Lord Darnley has been found and warned to stay away. Mr Rizzio apparently requested an audience, if you have a moment,” Lady Glamis replied, resorting to drifting, her feet no longer able to keep up. “Also, my lady, Boots has been causing problems again. And during the Festival as well. I warned him that I would report him if he did not stop. He did not, so I am doing so.”
“Ah, Boots – I swear he does this deliberately: he can be so charming when he wants to be. I shall pop down to the bridge at some point, see if I can coax him out.” She halted the small party as they reached the crossroads on the Royal Mile. “Ah, back in my capital again – I do so love returning here, wherever else my whims may take me. Now, where first? Holyrood, I think. Shall we?”
Chapter Two
The group turned to the left, heading down the sloping street, passing the array of shops selling a range of Scottish-themed merchandise, tucked in between cafés, bars and museums.
As they passed by the Museum of Edinburgh and the People’s Story Museum, Mary put her hand out to Lady Glamis. “Janet, do we still have young Jack occupied in the Museum of Edinburgh?”
“Aye, my lady, and his behaviour is much improved since you had your chat with him during your last visit. He is far more controlled in his weeping now, and I think he is actually enjoying his new role.”
“Excellent. I saw such potential in him, the poor child. He was wasted, kicking his heels in Mary King’s Close. They have plenty of the living to scare people down there; we don’t need to waste our time.”
Janet nodded in agreement, then braved a question of her Queen. “May I ask, Your Grace, where you have been travelling these past few months? We heard rumours that you were thinking of going abroad?”
“Rumours are entirely what they were, I’m afraid. I got embroiled in several arguments in Westminster, and after that, simply lost the will to go anywhere much further afield.”
“Arguments, Your Grace, at the Abbey?” asked Lady Glamis, as they reached the buildings of the Scottish Parliament, opposite the Palace of Holyrood.
“Yes, and before you leap to the usual conclusions, they were not of my causing. It turns out I was not the only visiting monarch – Richard the Third showed up to visit his Queen, Anne Neville. There was almost a nasty incident with Henry the Seventh and his wretched mother, that Beaufort woman, but thankfully, Anne convinced Richard to leave as quickly as he arrived. I do love visiting the place, but quite frankly, there are too many monarchs for my liking. I left, and spent a few days in Peterborough with Katherine, before coming north.” Mary smiled at the memory of her time with Katherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s first wife, and one of her closest companions outside Edinburgh.
“Did you see Queen Elizabeth in Westminster?”
On hearing her cousin’s name, Mary stopped and spun on her heel to face Lady Glamis. “I ALWAYS see Elizabeth! I make sure of it. And I make sure that I get into the minds of every single person who visits her grave. Gloriana indeed. The woman is so self-centred, even now. It’s fun to undermine her, remind everyone she wasn’t quite the wonder she wanted everyone to think. My dear cousin Mary Tudor is quite willing to help. But then, so many think we’re the same person anyway.” She was suddenly thoughtful. “Back to the foreign trip though, I thought, one day, I should visit Reims, Paris, conduct a whole French tour, and perhaps take my mother and Madeleine along. Would you be interested in accompanying us, Janet?”
“My lady, I would be honoured. I never visited France when I was alive, and I have barely left Edinburgh since. Yes, I would love to travel with you.”
“Good. Well, I shall go and see if my father is willing to receive me – you may return to your day, and I shall see you this evening at the Castle. The usual plans for my first evening in the city, if you would see to it?”
“Very good, Your Grace, I hope you have a pleasant afternoon.” With the two soldiers at her side, Lady Glamis made her way slowly back up the hill to the Castle, drifting along the middle of the road to avoid the crowds. Mentally, Janet started running through the soldiers she would instruct to be waiting for Queen Mary on her return; a full guard of honour would be there to meet her, celebrating her arrival.
Alone at the gates to the Palace of Holyrood, Mary sighed. Returning here to Edinburgh was always hard, and yet, how could she stay away? It was her city. Despite their sometimes-volatile relationship, the Castle had been held for her, and she had had happy times here, as well as sad. She would visit the Castle later, as she had promised Lady Glamis, but for now, she wanted a couple of hours to herself in the Palace she had known and loved so well, despite certain, particularly painful memories.
“Ah, poor Rizzio,” she said aloud to herself, thinking of her Italian secretary, the cause of one such memory. “I will come and find you later, I promise.”
The Palace had been Mary’s main home in the city during her life, and her too-short reign in Scotland. It would have remained her favourite home in death, if it hadn’t been for her meddlesome second husband. Lord Darnley’s constant nagging and attention-seeking had made her continued residence there insufferable, and she had retreated to the Castle, with the added security a garrison of soldiers could provide her.
Passing through the gates and sidewall of the Palace, Queen Mary made her way to the Abbey, at the side of the building.
“Father?” she called, addressing the large space, currently filled with a bus party making their way around the array of memorials, cameras clicking away at every angle of the ruined walls. “I have come, as I promised.”
Slowly, from the crypt, a finely-dressed gentleman emerged.
“Mary? Is that you? I’ve barely left this place in months. Give your father a hand.”
“Honestly, Father, you should come out more often. You are still young, there is no need for you to hide yourself away like this.” Taking his arm, the Queen helped her father out of the borrowed tomb. His own had been destroyed just a few years after his burial, during the infamous Burning of Edinburgh. Now, he wandered aimlessly between unoccupied tombs, whose former inhabitants had found their fabled ‘white light’ and moved on from this world, or who simply chose to occupy their time elsewhere. “You know, Father, I should not be helping you,” she chided, as he settled himself on his feet. “You are still almost fifteen years younger than me.”
“But you always were more adventurous than I, my dear girl. I watched you, you know, whenever you visited – I’m sorry, you know this.” King James V of Scotland smiled up at his daughter, and reached for her hand. “Thank you for coming to visit. I heard you had gone to London?”
“I did. And much good it did me. Westminster is just so busy these days; too many people, too many crowns, too many egos. It was quieter, just, when I was first taken there. By your glorious grandson.” The Queen smiled at the memory of her son. It was a strange situation in royal families, with generations so out of sync with each other. She was fourteen years ol
der than her father, and in turn, her own son, James VI of Scotland and later James I of England, was fourteen years older than her. It made hierarchies often painfully difficult to establish when families were reunited in death.
“Lady Glamis has been here again,” said James, as father and daughter left the Abbey and made their way out into the gardens, their invisible feet leaving the gravel un-crunched as they passed. “Do tell her not to keep coming back. It was bad enough that she tried to kill me in life, but to annoy me in death is quite something else.”
Mary sighed inwardly at the short length of time it had taken him to get onto his pet topic, of how Lady Glamis was still somehow out to seek vengeance on him.
“Father, considering you hardly leave your tomb, and certainly not the Palace, I hardly think Janet is annoying you. And besides, you did have her burned at the stake. That’s not something you forget easily.”
“She deserved it. She had her chance to save herself, and didn’t take it. And I still think she should stay away from the Abbey. I shall permit her to continue visiting the Palace, if she must, but not when I am within its walls.”
Mary laughed, and steered her father off the path, both carefully ensuring their physical state remained unnoticed. Today was not a day for leaving ghostly footprints in damp grass; today was a day for calm conversation. They settled onto a bench, away from the area open to the public, and watched the people wander by, taking endless photos of the Palace and its grounds.
“How have the parties been this year?” asked Mary, looking towards the lawn where regular garden parties were held, often in the presence of Queen Elizabeth II herself.
“Nice, to be honest. Peaceful people, a good atmosphere, according to those who attended.”
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