Kindred Spirits: Royal Mile

by Jennifer Wilson

  “A plan then, excellent,” said Sir Thomas, clapping his hands together in glee. “What say you, Sir William? The Gardens? I’ll wager some of these young whipper-snappers here will require supervision.” He looked around at the young soldiers, now all back on their feet. Some attempted to look offended, before realising he was entirely correct in his assumption, and, more importantly, everyone in the room knew it.

  Sir William glanced over at Lady Glamis. “I think I’ll see how I feel on the night, and see where the whim takes me, Thomas. I’m sure you will find others to help you – Argyle, for one, I’m sure will volunteer.”

  Seeing William’s line of sight, however brief, brought a smile to Thomas’ lips.

  “Aye, Sir William, you are right, and I reckon Argyle will be good company for the evening. I will speak with him, and make arrangements.”

  “Fabulous. Then we are agreed. Rather than skulking away out of sight, this New Year’s Eve shall see us all out in our finest, even though it will be covered by cloaks.” Mary clapped her own hands together, and smiled at Sir Thomas for confirming the plan. She never would tire of the opportunity to spend an evening dancing and celebrating, and was already remembering fondly the nights of endless dancing she had hosted as Queen, either here, at Holyrood, or even those she had attended whilst away on Progress.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As the second half of December ticked away, the steady stream of visitors diminished only slightly. The main difference now was that people were wandering down from the Castle slightly earlier in the day, as the nights drew in earlier, taking with them the glorious views over Edinburgh and out across the water.

  Decorations grew in numbers, and day by day, the city became more festive. At Holyrood, a great Christmas tree held centre stage in the main courtyard, and the various gift shops between the two royal households became dominated by reds, golds and silvers. Each building seemed to be blasting out the same carols and Christmas classics, albeit in confusingly different orders, and the smell of roasting chestnuts, mingled with cinnamon, lingered in the air.

  Within the walls of Greyfriars, even the Covenanters seemed to have calmed down, with far fewer complaints since Sir William and Mary’s interventions. Only the living fell foul to their haunting ways, and given that most of those living were thrill-seekers, who actively sought out the famous ghost tours, not many of the ghosts worried about them. As Mary sat on a low wall one afternoon, absent-mindedly playing with Bobby’s ears, his master wandered over, chatting cheerfully with the infamous Mackenzie Poltergeist himself.

  “Well met, John, how are you?” Mary called out to the older man, who waved his hand in return. “And Mac – thank you too for heeding our advice, it is much appreciated by all, as far as I can tell.”

  The poltergeist doffed his head to both Mary and John, and went on his way, back up towards the prison. Realising that John would never sit unless she granted him permission, she patted the wall beside her, indicating he should take his rest. Unfortunately, he was beaten to the place by the ever-excitable Bobby. Laughing, Mary carefully lifted the animal onto her lap, so that John could sit beside her.

  “The pesky creature,” he said, ruffling Bobby’s furry head. “He gets away with so much, Your Grace, it’s not always best for people to fuss over him so.” Suddenly realising to whom he was talking, he jumped to his feet again. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I should not speak out of turn. I did not mean…” His words trailed off in embarrassment.

  “Oh, John, I know what you mean. And you are right. Others should stop petting him so. But not me. I have special dispensation, I believe, don’t I, Bobby?” At the sound of his name, the dog looked up, and attempted to lick the Queen’s face. “See, that must be a yes. So, you see, all is well.”

  “We all wanted to thank you, Your Grace, for seeing to it that things should become calmer. It makes things so much more pleasant, knowing one won’t be disturbed by hooligans at every turn. Even the Wizards seem to have quietened. Well, at least Riddell has. McGonagall hasn’t, but when is he ever quiet?”

  “Quite; I don’t believe he knows the meaning of the word. Perhaps we will return to the more genteel hauntings now, I know the Castle’s ghosts have been having some fun again since Hallowe’en, with the usual scaffold building, smells of dung, that sort of thing. Harmless fun again. I mean, the scaffold isn’t Janet’s favourite, but they tend to do it when they know she’s out of the way. It’s one thing haunting the living, but quite another to upset one of our own.”

  The tales of visitors hearing the sound of a scaffold being built out on the Esplanade had been going on for years, thanks to the clever set-up of a couple of soldiers, who had squirrelled away a couple of planks of wood and accompanying tools during building works at the Castle, and lowered them over the walls, so that they could hit them without being observed by anyone on the level above them. Legend had it that it was the sound of Lady Glamis’ scaffold being constructed and piled with brushwood, on the eve of her being burned at the stake; in reality, it was nothing more than bored young men.

  In truth, most of the day-to-day hauntings had taken place away from the more genteel members of the Mile’s court. Such individuals were not particularly keen on associating with the ‘dung ghost’, an unfortunate young man who had tried to escape prison within the Castle by hiding himself in a cartful of dung which was being taken out for disposal. Sadly, for him, disposal involved being tipped down the side of the rock, and having survived his escape, the poor fellow perished in the fall. However many times he had tried standing outside in the rain, in full glorious visibility, or spraying himself with various scents he came across in his travels, the stench had never quite left him, leaving a definite trail behind him wherever he went. Visible or not, this made him even easier to avoid. He loitered around the Castle, hoping some of the soldiers would allow him to join in their haunts, but his ‘act’, as it was, was so unique that he rarely got the opportunity.

  The rest of the hauntings were fairly standard fare. Headless men and women, wandering the streets and closes, a couple of ladies floating around when they thought somebody might be looking in their direction – always known only by the colour of their gown. It was rarely the same woman twice in a row, but simply a string of the Mile’s young women, switching gowns as and when the mood took them. The nobility didn’t often indulge in such frivolities.

  With Christmas approaching, however, more were finding themselves lured into the festivities. As with most holidays, as people relaxed, they were more susceptible to seeing things in the corner of their eye, or a reflection in a window, mirror or polished picture frame. It made things so much easier. And everyone, living and dead, had half their mind already planning their grand New Year celebrations.

  Down at Holyrood, King James was still spending much of his time with his two Queens, Marie and Madeleine. Their haunting activities had calmed down after the initial flurry, and as visitors spent less time around the Abbey and gardens, they moved indoors, generally choosing Queen Mary’s former chambers, or Rizzio’s bloodstain. As James had reasoned, he and Rizzio were only a few decades apart – so who would really know if it was King James V or David Rizzio they saw, hovering above a stain on the wooden floorboards?

  Finding one issue practically resolved, Queen Mary ensured that she visited Boy, and whoever was on the rota to stay with him, at least every other day. As the first snow of the season settled on the cobbles around the manhole cover outside the Tron, she found Sir Thomas taking his turn. He had perched on the edge of the surrounding road, giving the curious impression of being only half a man, his legs vanishing into the nothingness below.

  “Thomas, I do hope you haven’t allowed anybody to see you like this?” Queen Mary asked, as she approached, waving that he did not need to stand.

  “No, Madame, no fear, I just wanted to let Boy know that he isn’t entirely alone, well, that we’re with him in part. I think I’m trying to build up the courage to go down there
, and actually see the lad.”

  “Really? You would be the first to be brave enough. It is a highly commendable notion. Although, if I were you, I think I would ensure I had a couple of people present, just in case anything…untoward…were to happen.”

  Sir Thomas nodded. “I was thinking Kirkcaldy, and a couple of the senior soldiers. That way, too, nobody would doubt the tale when we told it. You know how these young guards can be, telling tales to impress the others, knowing it to be false, and equally, knowing others’ to be just as untrue.”

  His concerns were valid; there were countless examples of ‘tall tales’ amongst the ghosts of the Mile, not least the soldiers. Arriving at the Castle, Palace or any of the other residences in the area after death, many of the young men had been full of bravado, enthralling the younger, more impressionable lads, or the groups of admiring women, with their stories of heroism, daring and, where necessary, cold-hearted guts when faced with the enemy, whoever that enemy may be. All very well and good, until a comrade showed up, one of the enemy they claimed to have run into the ground or, worst of all, their very own commanding officer. That tended to stop tongues being quite so loose in their story-telling. But with the likes of Sir Thomas and Sir William present, anyone who said they had been down into the tunnel would surely be believed.

  “How has he been getting along, anyway?” asked Mary, crouching down beside the grate, and peering through into the darkness. She could just about make out a small shadow, but the child was clearly not looking up; there was no glint in the darkness to suggest he was trying to meet her eyes.

  “On the whole, Your Grace, he stays fairly quiet,” said Sir Thomas, hauling himself up from the ground as he saw his relief arriving. “Some of the young ladies have managed to get a bit more conversation out of him, when they’ve been keeping their gentlemen-friends company. We now know he had a younger sister, and a brother, but we have yet to establish whether the brother was older or younger. Both long gone now, I should imagine, along with anyone else who might have known him.”

  “Yes, I suspect reuniting long-lost family may indeed be beyond us. But still, we should satisfy ourselves with what we have achieved.”

  “We were thinking of putting a bigger group together on Christmas Day, come down and spend some time with the lad, give him a couple of presents from the shops around here. With your permission, of course?”

  Mary’s face lit up. “Sir Thomas! That is an excellent suggestion. And I know the very person who should also attend: we must invite my father.”

  Now animated with yet another plan forming in her mind, Mary carried on as the next soldier took his place, kneeling beside the grate. “Think about it, Thomas: my father has so much in common with the child. He kept himself to himself for so long, hardly venturing out. And yet, he has been haunting again, and some days I could swear it is as though he no longer has a care in the world – for a while, at least. What do you think?”

  “It sounds a marvellous suggestion, my Lady. I had been thinking of some of the soldiers, a slightly more raucous affair, but actually, if we provide some more genteel company, that might do both your father and Boy some real good.”

  “So, we have, what, a week to plan things? I shall speak to David this very afternoon, and set things in motion.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  True to her word, that afternoon, as crowds tucked into their afternoon teas in the warmth of the Holyrood café, Mary met with David Rizzio in the courtyard, smiling at the brave souls who insisted on sitting outside, their coats pulled tight, and snuggling deep into thick woollen scarves.

  “What do you think?” she asked, as she had finished outlining the broad plan.

  “I think it would work. As you say, they have enough in common, and your father has been so different this year. Perhaps he can work some magic on the poor lad.” David smiled at the sight of a family battling the cold, the children wrapped up in so many layers that they seemed to vanish as actual people.

  “I thought Marie and Madeleine could join him, along with you, Sir Thomas, Sir William, and a couple of the gentlewomen. But not Lady Janet,” she added hurriedly, aware that Janet’s presence would be anything but calming for her father. “She can stay at the Castle, in charge of the festivities whilst I am away. We’ve had one successful period of the two of them in the same place at the same time, but I don’t think we’ll enjoy the same luck twice.”

  As they made their way towards the Abbey, Rizzio and Mary compiled the full list of party guests, and the soldiers who would guard them. By the time they found King James, all was agreed.

  “Ah, daughter! Rizzio! Well met, I believe. It is a bitter day, and not many are loitering out here. Still, so much more peaceful on the whole since Darnley has been out of the way of things.”

  Mary and Rizzio shared a contented glance; having her former husband safely away under the Bridge had made both their lives significantly more peaceful. King James seemed to have slipped into a reflective mood, his eyes glazing over and only partly taking in their arrival.

  “He never was the right the husband for you, dearest. Everyone could see that as soon as you married him. Even before, in truth, I suspect, once folk saw which way the wind was blowing in terms of your affections. If only poor Francis had lived, just imagine how different things might have been.”

  Mary smiled and nodded, thinking of the Dauphin: first the young boy she had befriended, and then the young man she had been married to. It would indeed have been a very different life. As Queen of France as well as Scotland, who knows how many times she would have come back to the country of her birth? Perhaps none at all. Her children with Francis would have ruled Scotland, France, and England, bringing all three countries under a single crown, and resulting in a very different history to that known by those countries today. No rash marriages to Darnley and Bothwell, no imprisonment in England, no horrific execution at the order of Elizabeth I and her government. She would have been a grand Queen all her life, reigning from the magnificent palaces of France, rather than the often draughty castles of Scotland.

  “Different, yes, but would it have been as memorable?”

  “What do you mean?” James asked his daughter.

  “Well, let us say my poor Francis had lived. We could have had a string of sons, our dynasty would have ruled France, Scotland and, eventually, England as your grandson did, but, would we have been remembered? Would people have flocked to visit my former palaces, desperate to find out more about me? Or would I have simply been another footnote in history? A Queen, who married a King, and helped create more Kings? There’s nothing special about that, nothing to go down in legend for.”

  “But you would have been the Queen who combined the three kingdoms, the Queen who set in chain the great jointure,” said Rizzio.

  “No, I would have been the wife or mother of the King who combined the three kingdoms. This way, although not exactly showered in glory, I am remembered entirely in my own right, as Queen of Scots, the only woman known by that title, and the great, tragic, romantic heroine. Yes, a wife, three times over, but many people forget darling Francis entirely, thinking only of my time here in Scotland. I might have had more success in life had he lived, but perhaps my place in history wouldn’t have been so assured.”

  “Does it truly matter to you, your place in history?” her father asked, looking up at the ruins of the old Abbey.

  “Not always. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that there was something satisfying, at least, when people cast me as the heroine of the tale, tragically sent to her death at the hands of a jealous and scared Queen of England. Yes, she is remembered as one of the greatest rulers England has ever had, but I’m always there, a shadow in her otherwise glittering tale. And she knows it. Every time I visit Westminster, I know she hates it.” Mary absent-mindedly kicked the gravel at her feet. “I know it’s petty, but sometimes, Mary Tudor and I do have a laugh at Elizabeth’s expense. Even now, she is so obsessed with her ima
ge, and with what people think of her. And there we are, always reminding her that she got her place by chance. She was the daughter of a commoner, whereas we were both truly of royal birth, and that can never be disputed.”

  “Her infamous vanity – a youthful beauty, in her eyes, even to her dying day,” agreed Rizzio. He had heard reports from several people who had been to Westminster. Elizabeth still fretted over what people thought of her, and how she compared to others. She still felt the need to be the centre of attention in all that took place, enjoying the attention danced on her by the young men who now formed her court in the Abbey: poets, soldiers, the great and the good of the kingdom.

  “Ah, but who am I to judge her there?” said Mary, standing and drawing herself to her full height. “After all, did I not dance with a handsome young soldier just days ago, up at the Castle, and enjoy every moment of it? I don’t think any woman can ever truly say she does not enjoy such attention, especially when she is no longer, let’s say, in the prime of her beauty. But enough. Such maudlin opinions do us no good at this time of the year. Father, we came to invite you to a party!”

  “A party? Well, I don’t know…” James’ voice trailed off, as he waved his hand distractedly at the Palace. “I mean, loud parties, lots of people…”

  “Not to worry at all, it is no such thing.” Linking her arm through his, Mary led him back into the inner courtyard of the Palace, explaining the idea of the Christmas Day party for Boy, and how she was hoping he could help.

  “I mean, if you think it would be good for him, for Boy, then I suppose it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to turn up,” said James, staring into the distance. “And you are absolutely sure that Lady Glamis would be nowhere nearby?”