Kindred Spirits: Royal Mile

by Jennifer Wilson

  “That would be much appreciated, Your Grace. I enjoy spending time around the Palace and Abbey, I do not stray very far from here, but he is making my days unbearable.”

  Mary spent the rest of the morning catching up with David and his news. Then, at her request, he escorted her out of the grounds until they reached the Canongate Kirkyard. There the two of them settled onto a low bench, away from the hustle of the Mile.

  “Forgive me, David, I know you do not like leaving the Abbey. But I wanted to talk to you somewhere I knew my father would not overhear.”

  “It is not a problem, Your Grace, after all, this is one of my own rumoured resting places. It is nice to visit it from time to time, and see what options might have been open to me, if I had indeed been moved here from the Abbey.”

  “Yes, it is a pleasant spot. Some of the soldiers also come here occasionally – many of their bodies are buried here, over to the north.” Mary nodded in the direction, where a couple of soldiers were indeed rising from the grass, preparing for their day’s duties. “But I digress. I am sure you will have noticed that my father seems to be struggling more than ever at the moment. I have visited him already this month, and I could barely raise a smile from him. I wondered if you would try to help him, along with Marie and Madeleine? I spoke to them yesterday, and they agree that he seems worse than usual, and both are willing to help.”

  “Me? Well, if there is anything I can do, of course I will try. But I do not know your father very well. He is like me. We keep ourselves to ourselves, keep our own counsel. Perhaps one introvert is not the best person to try and cheer up another introvert? And your mother and Queen Madeleine are hardly the most outgoing of spirits.”

  “Or perhaps it is the perfect solution,” Mary replied, her eyes brightening at the prospect, now that she was starting to grasp a plan. “You are all kindred spirits. You are quiet in death, but I know that in life you were not always like this. You, you were a musician, David, and my father loved the good things in life. And you were my secretary – you forget how well we knew each other, before all this.” She gestured around them, at the odd spirit now lounging on the top of their grave, peering curiously over at the Queen and her secretary. “I know you are the perfect person to help him with this, and I shall not take 'no' for an answer.”

  “You never did,” replied David, with the easy grace of a friendship which had been strong enough in life, and somehow strengthened even further in death.

  Mary laughed. “Which is why I know you will help me in this. A plot which is, in truth, not as yet fully or even partly formed, but I will get there, I assure you.” She glanced around them again, checking that nobody of significance could overhear them. “But back to your problem. Until I get to speak to Sir William, and he speaks to Darnley, perhaps it would be better for you to keep a low profile, even lower than usual, and to steer clear of him. I presume he has not been physically abusive?”

  “No, not yet. But his temper never was far from the surface. I shall do as you advise, and keep my distance until I know the best way to proceed. I wish he would just find his white light and be done with it. It would save us all a lot of bother.”

  As he finished speaking, Mary noticed a small group of ghosts gathering at the entrance of the kirkyard, clearly in the hope of drawing her attention. They succeeded.

  “Greetings,” she addressed them, not recognising any of them at first glance. “May I help you?”

  “Your Grace, forgive us for approaching you like this, but, well, we didn’t think we’d be on your list,” said one of the women, shyly, wringing her hands as she spoke. Mary nodded for her to continue, and with more confidence, she stepped forward. “It’s the Covenanters, Your Grace. They’ve been causing trouble again. And not just to the tourists. To us as well.” She gestured to the others who accompanied her.

  Finally, Mary realised where she had seen some of the group before: they were Greyfriars residents, people she had seen on her visits to the kirkyard. But she hadn’t ever stopped to speak to them, or they had chosen not to approach her. She beckoned them closer, curious as to why they had not spoken to her whilst she was in their own kirkyard earlier.

  “If they are causing a problem, why did you not report this through John?” she asked them, as David rose to give them space.

  “As I say, Your Grace, it is not just the living who have been feeling their presence.” The lady bowed her head, ashamed at having to state her case directly to the Queen, but Mary simply nodded.

  “I understand. And it has already been mentioned to me on this visit. I shall attend this very afternoon, with Sir William. You,” she pointed to one of the younger men in the group, a lad who looked no more than sixteen. Under the attention of the Queen, he straightened, drawing himself up to his full height. “Go to the Castle, if you please, and find Sir William Kirkcaldy of Grange. Tell him I wish him to attend me at Greyfriars at one o’clock this afternoon. He is to be there as the gun fires.”

  “Y-yes, Your Grace,” he stammered, before turning and running out of the kirkyard and up the hill.

  “Please make yourselves visible to me when I arrive, and we shall try to resolve this sooner rather than later,” said Mary, turning back to the rest of the group. “For now, I bid you good-day.”

  She rose, and made her way through the parted group, back onto the Mile, before realising Rizzio was still loitering, not having been dismissed, or even sure their conversation had finished. “David! My apologies. Will you think on my request, with regards to my father?”

  “I will, Your Grace, and I will report back to you if I am able to think of anything more solid,” he replied, sweeping her a deep bow as a goodbye. Satisfied, Mary continued on her way, wandering back up the Mile, dropping in and out of the various shops, glancing over new ranges of goods which had arrived since her last trip.

  Having secured the agreement of Rizzio and the Queens Marie and Madeleine to her plan, it occurred to Queen Mary that she should at least attempt to formulate one, or all her efforts would be in vain. There were no more major garden parties planned for the year. The main one held by Queen Elizabeth II had already taken place in July, and no other large events were planned for the foreseeable future. The Heritage Open Weekend was just around the corner, where so many usually private placed would be open to the public. But that would potentially cause more harm than good, and certainly wouldn’t draw her father out of his tomb. If anything, having more people about would push him even further into the life of a hermit. They had missed his April birthday; she was rapidly running out of ideas.

  Then it struck her. A party was exactly the wrong thing; what was needed to bring one quiet ghost out of his shell was a calmer, controlled event, one which wouldn’t lead to any large shocks or raucous hauntings. And she knew just the thing.

  The end of the Festival was fast approaching, and with it, the grand finale. This year, it was to be a classical music concert in Princes Street Gardens, accompanied by a spectacular fireworks display. Granted, the fireworks wouldn’t be ideal, but the ghosts could easily slip away before the crowds got too large.

  Suddenly inspired, Mary glanced at a nearby clock in one of the shop windows; she still had time before her meeting with Sir William. She turned and headed back to Holyrood, finding Rizzio still slowly on his way back from the Canongate Kirk.

  “David! David, I have it! Do you have time to talk?”

  He swept her another of his famous deep bows. “For you, Your Grace, I have all the time in the world.”

  “I have an idea to make a start in perking up my father.” Taking his arm, she walked with David down towards Holyrood, outlining her thoughts.

  Chapter Seven

  At one o’clock sharp, the famous Edinburgh Castle gun made itself heard up and down the Mile and beyond. As the sound died away, Sir William approached the entrance to Greyfriars, seeing Mary sitting on the low wall in front of the church, looking across the kirkyard which she herself had established, early o
n in her reign.

  “Your Grace,” he acknowledged her with a bow. Not as low as Rizzio, but with a suitable level of respect, between a pair who had grown close over their shared centuries of history.

  Queen Mary smiled, and gestured to the small, quiet group, again gathered at a respectful distance. “These poor people have reported problems from the Covenanters, Sir William, so I assured them that we would pay a visit, to see if we can resolve the matter.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I have heard tales of hauntings affecting our ghostly residents, and general disturbances of the peace. Would you care to come to the Prison with me, or shall you or I go alone?”

  “Let’s go together – power in numbers, perhaps; let them see we shall not be cowed,” said Mary, nodding for the residents to join them. They made their way to the top corner of the kirkyard, once a notorious prison for those Covenanters who had been captured following defeat at the Battle of Bothwell Brig.

  Approaching the former prison, now nothing more than rows of graves and mausoleums, they became aware of the presence of another group of ghosts on the other side of the gateway. This was permanently locked during normal day-to-day life, and was opened only by prior arrangement for specialist tours. Queen Mary felt herself stiffen, and fought the urge to shudder. These had never been her subjects, had never had a personal argument with her, only her grandson and his offspring having given them cause for dispute. Why then, were they the only group of ghosts which instilled any form of fear in her? Without thinking, she put her arm through the crook of Sir William’s elbow, which he had held open to her throughout their walk.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, forcing confidence into her voice. “Am I to understand that there have been, shall we say, disturbances within the kirkyard?”

  The motley bunch of spirits glanced at each other, and back at the Queen. Few of these men had been part of the original group who had signed the National Covenant in Greyfriars Kirk back in 1638, but they had still adhered to its principles, and had died for their cause. They were not men to be easily intimidated.

  Queen Mary, on the other hand, was not a monarch to be easily ignored.

  “I shall keep talking, because I am sure you are listening, even if you are not responding. Consider this a friendly, but firm, warning, that it would be better for everyone if hauntings and other disturbances were left to those who expect, and even welcome them. I’m sure you agree that the situation would be far more satisfactory than the current arrangement?”

  She scanned the faces of the men in front of her. There was still no reaction.

  “I believe we should take silence for agreement, Your Grace,” said Sir William, his hand instinctively moving to where, during his life, his sword would have rested.

  “I think you are right, Sir William,” concurred Mary, glancing to her companion. “I propose we return to the Castle, but, if you could arrange it, I further propose additional security be allocated to the kirkyard, temporarily at least. After all, if there is no trouble to manage, there should be no objections. Gentlemen.” She nodded at the group of men, now looking even more surly at their admonishment, but still not replying.

  Once out of earshot, Sir William bent his head to speak privately to the Queen. “I will ensure that my strongest contingent is sent here, twice-nightly, for the foreseeable future, Your Grace, if it pleases you?”

  “That will be excellent, Sir William, thank you.”

  They reached the group who had originally requested Queen Mary’s presence in the kirkyard. As one, they bowed to her in welcome.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have spoken to the Covenanters, although, sadly, they didn’t deign to speak to us. Sir William will provide additional watches on the area, but if there are further problems, do let us know. My door at the Castle is always open, and I am a regular visitor up and down the Mile.”

  Her offer was answered by a chorus of “Thank you, Your Grace,” as one by one, they all nodded their thanks.

  Leaving the kirkyard, Mary looked over her shoulder towards the top corner. “I still think they will continue to cause trouble, William,” she said, sadly. “They are the only group we cannot seem to bring under some sort of control.”

  “Hopefully they’ll quieten down now they’ve had an official warning,” Sir William tried to reassure her. “It might just work, showing a bit of authority over them.”

  The street was still busy as they made their way out and back along to the Mile, dodging the larger crowds to avoid any inadvertent hauntings.

  “Are you still looking to attend the Tattoo tomorrow evening, for a change of subject, Your Grace?”

  “Well, weather-depending, yes; I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow,” said Mary, looking up at the sky, and hoping the promised clear day would hold. The Castle loomed into view, and as one they vanished through the main gate.

  Chapter Eight

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Lady Glamis called to the monarch, as she left the Royal Palace first thing the next morning. “Are you still satisfied that you will be attending the performance this evening?” She repeated Sir William’s question of the previous evening. Although the Tattoo ran for almost a month, the ghostly residents of the Castle tended to select one performance to attend en masse, however many others they might choose to attend individually.

  “Yes, I think the weather will stay true, don’t you?” replied Mary, holding her palm upwards and staring up at the grey-blue sky. The sun was already starting to burn away the light drizzle, not letting it become full rain on the warm August morning.

  Janet nodded. “I certainly hope so – will you be wearing your extra jewels then?” In preparation for a positive response, Janet had already collected the small chest in which Mary had gathered a number of extra pieces on her first return to Edinburgh, as soon as she was able to after her death. Thankfully, she had been quick enough for them to still take on her new form, and she now had easily the greatest collection of jewels in the Castle. It was her only regret that she had not been able to take back the crown, but at least she had had the guidance of Queen Katherine of Aragon to explain how the system worked, and how she could utilise her first few days and weeks most efficiently. Mary had never forgotten Katherine’s kindness. The former Queen, having heard of the planned execution, had travelled to Fotheringhay to welcome Mary into the afterlife.

  “I think I shall, and once I have made my choice, then feel free to borrow a couple of items yourself. We shall shine this evening, and make those soldierly gentlemen look positively dull in comparison!”

  Taken aback at her mistress’ jovial nature, Janet could not help herself but enquire as to the reason. “You seem in a particularly good mood this morning, Your Grace?”

  “I am – I think Rizzio will be the man to help me cheer my father. Despite the frustrations of the Covenanters, I am looking at the positives from my day. I will have a quiet day today, but I am keen to divine a plan of attack, as it were. If you can attack somebody into cheering up… I am sure that you can, if you go about it in the right way.”

  “I agree, Your Grace, and I am glad to hear you so cheered. I was planning on wandering down the Mile today, out of sight, no haunting, just to catch some of the street performers. Would you care to join me?”

  “I would, thank you. I am not keen on some of the smaller venues, but I would like to see the street-acts, and perhaps attend one or two shows in the larger auditoriums? We can do without the guards today; it shall just be we two. Perhaps we could visit Madame Vernelt on George Street, ask her to help us pick something elegant and divine for this evening.”

  “That sounds lovely,” said Janet, clapping her hands together. Madame Jane Vernelt was a quiet spirit, occasionally seen walking to and from her former dressmaker’s shop on George Street. A popular ghost with the grand former ladies of the court, and even with Queen Mary herself, she still helped them look their best, in death just as she had in life. “Shall we make a move?” Janet continued. “I believe
some of them start early.”

  Janet peered around, checking whether any other ghosts were starting to make themselves known. Currently, it was just her and the Queen. She smiled to herself, pleased to have some time without anybody else petitioning the monarch. Mary nodded, and to Janet’s surprise, linked arms with her, as they made their way through the Castle and out the main gate.

  At ten o’clock, the Royal Mile was only just starting to come to life, with cafés and shops opening their doors, the racks of gifts and souvenirs beginning to line the pavements. Some may derisively label it ‘tartan tat’, but it brought crowds in their thousands to the street to buy mementoes of their visits. During one particularly heady August Saturday, half the ghosts of the Castle had made themselves visible and poured out of the place, down the streets, each donning one of the myriad of hats available: everything from Loch Ness monsters, to Highland Cow horns, and ginger wigs. Onlookers had stared open-mouthed in shock at the crowd of what they presumed were street entertainers, dancing along the street, laughing and joking, playing tricks on unsuspecting members of the public.

  There would be none of that this morning, as Janet and Queen Mary started their stroll down the Mile, pausing here and there to check the latest goodies in the jewellers or more fashion-based shops. Outside St Giles, a group of tourists was starting to form around a young man, currently balancing a lit torch on his forehead, watching the flames dance as he leant backwards, desperate that the flame wouldn’t fall.

  “Now, Janet, some of our younger colleagues would be tempted to try and make him drop the torch, don’t you think?” Mary whispered in Lady Glamis’ ear, leaning in conspiratorially.