Dagger in the Crown (Tam Eildor mystery no.1)

by Alanna Knight

  A closer glance told him that coarse, pitted complexion, those rough red hands, didn't belong to Anna. But as the women all stared at him, remembering to curtsey, he heard one murmur, 'Ken that's the Lord Bothwell.' And as he hurried away he could imagine the girl telling her companions how he had followed her, calling on her to wait. The women would exchange glances, nodding to one another, pursing their lips, with rape in all their minds.

  As for the girl, it would give her something with which to impress her family and friends. How she was once pursued in Craigmillar Castle by no lesser man than the notorious Earl of Bothwell.

  His second encounter was with a more obliging maid, who immediately recognized him and curtsied: 'My Lord Bothwell.' A bold-looking girl with a sonsy figure and large brown eyes, she gave him a sidelong glance of brazen invitation. 'How may I serve you, my Lord?' she asked softly.

  There was no mistaking what was in her mind as she thrust out big breasts towards him and waggled her hips provocatively. His bad reputation obviously did not worry her. He grinned, wishing he had more time to sample her charms, for she was obviously disappointed when he bowed and dashed away.

  With some concern, he realized the dangers of becoming obsessed about Anna when two other, more sinister happenings aroused his fears. One evening, on his customary walk to Janet's apartments from Peffermill House, he was certain he was being followed. Hand on sword, he had turned, shouting, 'Who is there? Show yourself.' But the footsteps were merely the rustle of leaves in the sudden wind.

  The next night, dark and moonless, footsteps again.

  This time there was no Will Fellows on hand. Again he turned, shouting, 'Halt! I see you!' The shriek not of a virago rushing down at him, dagger in hand, but of a night bird taking flight had a very unsettling effect on his nerves.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday 5 December 1566. Morning

  Heavily embroiled in matters relating to Stirling, Bothwell should have been grateful to find that Tam had resumed his search for Will Fellows. Recalling his encounter on the previous Sunday with the gardeners, Tam set off in search of one Ben Fellows.

  Down the steep slope, beyond the castle walls, the sound of sawing indicated woodcutters at work and led him directly into a clearing deep in forest litter. Logs were stacked everywhere, ready for transport up to the castle, to be consumed by fires eager to warm cold and draughty chambers.

  The timber had been stripped from the nearby forest slopes, reinforced by trees from the woods at the base of Arthur's Seat. Part of the royal hunting grounds of Holyroodhouse, there were strict rules about felling so as not to disturb the deer park with wolves, game birds and wild boar, specially imported from France for the Queen's pleasure.

  As Bothwell approached the clearing, a group of thatched huts showed where the woodcutters lived. One larger than the rest with windows and door suggested that this might be the home of Ben Fellows.

  Work ceased at his approach. Bows, curtsies and bonnets raised greeted this unexpected visit from a man from the court on foot, with no hoof beats to announce his arrival. Looks of suspicion were exchanged. Was he a spy trying to catch them at some unlawful activity? For he was certainly a man of some importance, as they observed from the fur-trimmed cloak and velvet bonnet.

  ‘Will Fellows, which is he?' Tam asked.

  Puzzled looks were exchanged, frowns, heads shaken.

  'Ben Fellows, then. I am told he is the chief woodcutter'

  A man came forward, bowed, twisting the cap in his hand. 'He was, my Lord.'

  ‘Was? What happened?'

  'Dead, my Lord, a week sine. He'd been in sick bed for twa weeks wi' a fever'

  ‘And Will Fellows?'

  ‘I ken none o' that name.'

  A woman listening intently came to the man's side. As she opened her mouth to speak, the man pushed her forward. 'My wife, my Lord, she nursed old Ben.'

  The woman curtsied. 'That I did, my Lord. I nursed him till the hour he died. He was a good man and his guts were rotting away long afore our good Queen came.'

  'In health,' her man put in, 'Ben was a grand worker, for all his withered leg. He never missed a day—'

  The woman was not to be dismissed. 'He was a bachelor,' she interrupted, 'with none to care for him but me afore he finally took to his bed.'

  'He had twa nephews used to come and help him out betimes. Een o' they might be this Will you speak of,’ said her man. 'We never kenned their first names. They were from the town - across there, ye ken.' He nodded in the direction of Edinburgh.

  'What sort of lads were they?'

  'Big strong lads. Kept their own counsel. But what would you expect?' The woman's sniff of disapproval indicated that they'd thought themselves a mite too grand to mix with country folk.

  Tam sighed. It didn't sound much as if either would be the lad Bothwell owed his life to. However, he had better try to find out more details. They might well be kin to Will, since Fellows wasn't a common name.

  'Did they come to the funeral to pay their last respects?'

  'Nay, he wasna buried in the kirkyard here. That wasn't for the likes o' Ben, it seemed,’ said the woodcutter.

  'What mean you?'

  The man shrugged. 'The minister had been called to say a prayer over him—'

  ‘We hadna long put him in his shroud. He'd been gone just an hour or twa when his niece came for his body,' the woman interrupted.

  'Aye, and a verra grand Edinburgh lady she was,’ put in the man.

  'I was going to tell him that,’ said his wife as he pushed her aside.

  'As I was saying, a grand Edinburgh lady, she came wi' the carter to carry her uncle back to the Greyfriars kirkyard for burial in the family grave. So the minister, Mr Cauldwell, ower yonder telt us.' He indicated a church tower visible through the distant trees.

  His wife smiled, preening. 'I wasna surprised. Ben wasna like the rest of the men here. He had some book-learning and I often thought that he might have known a better life, although he never talked about it.'

  She was still eulogizing, speculating that Ben might have fallen on hard times and proud to have had someone who had been well born working humbly in their midst, when Tam, thanking the couple, prepared to take his departure.

  A wild-goose chase indeed. It didn't sound to him as if Will Fellows had much connection with the deceased woodcutter, but he might do worse than call on Mr Cauldwell, since ministers are often privy to parishioners’' confidences.

  How, for instance, had Ben's niece appeared with such alacrity all the way from Edinburgh just as he died? Someone on a very fast horse must have informed her.

  Or else she was already in the neighbourhood, awaiting the event. With a carter at hand. Which was very odd!

  Invited to share the woodcutters' lunch of cold perch freshly caught - or, as Tam suspected, poached from the castle fishpond - he felt it would be churlish to refuse. He was hungry too and a pot of ale might not come amiss. Besides, there could be other useful information forthcoming. But he was out of luck and soon gave up. The woodcutters were either ignorant about the late Ben Fellows or had their own reasons for silence before this elegant stranger in their midst. So although Tam left with his appetite sated, the identity of Will Fellows remained as baffling as ever.

  On the off-chance that there might be some women's gossip regarding Ben Fellows, Tam fell into step with the woodcutter's voluble wife, carrying her load of logs on a pony cart to Peffermill House. Flattered by his attention, she was more interested in talking about her children and grandchildren, how remarkable they were obviously in the hope that this scholarly man might have some influence at the court.

  Tam left her promising to mention her clever grandsons to the master of household at the castle, and, asking in return that she report to him any further news of Ben Fellows or his niece.

  She smiled but shook her head. 'I doubt we'll ever see the likes o' her again.'

  'What about the carter? Did you know anything of him?'

/>   'Aye.' Her face darkened. 'Een o' a family of thieves over Niddrie way, the Red Crozers. We steer clear o' them. They'll come to a bad end, mark my words. Rough characters they are.'

  'And what manner of lad was this one?'

  'Red hair like carrots. The whole breed have the same brand. Keep a watch out for them, sir.'

  Tam left her thoughtfully. Could this red-haired youth be Will Fellows? He certainly didn't match Bothwell's description of a well-educated youth, even though a bonnet might have concealed red hair.

  On reaching the crossroads, there was Bothwell hurrying down the woodland path from the castle. Doffing his bonnet, Tam said, 'My lord, you are the very man I wished to see. I have been continuing my search for Will Fellows.'

  'Successfully, I trust?'

  'Alas, no.'

  As Tam told him the results of his encounter with the woodcutters, Bothwell looked increasingly glum. Once or twice he sighed loudly, shaking his head. As he failed to react to the description of the red-headed young carter, beyond indicating that this pack of local thieves were well known, Tam did not pursue any other theories and said, 'Do not give up hope, I beg you, my Lord. While you are in Stirling, I will continue my search.' Bothwell gave him a sharp glance. So the man didn't know of Janet's intention that he should accompany her.

  Tam continued, 'You need have no fears. I will endeavour to solve this mystery and find Will Fellows. I am hopeful that the minister will know of any local lad who is well bred and educated.'

  Bothwell grunted. 'God grant that ye're right. The sooner he is discovered the better, for, I will be honest with ye, Master Eildor, I am fearful that this woman who wants my death might also follow me to Stirling.' And nodding towards the castle, he went on, 'Has it not occurred to ye that she may well be hiding up there at this very moment, even as we speak? God knows, the place is big enough for any to get lost in it who has a mind that way.'

  Tam realized the truth of that. Anyone who looked like a lady or gentleman would be safe enough. And with a sudden intuitive flash, he suspected that Bothwell's reaction indicated he knew more about the woman's identity than he was prepared to admit.

  They walked together in silence. Their road passed a tavern near Bothwell's lodging, much frequented by his small army of Borderers. Pausing, Tam was about to take his leave when Bothwell said, 'If ye can spare the time, Master Eildor, will ye take a sup of ale with me?'

  They entered a comfortable room with a good fire, deserted at this time of the afternoon but with the lingering ghosts of baked pies. The innkeeper bustled forward, recognizing Bothwell, and bowed low as he took their orders, returning immediately with their ale.

  Bothwell downed most of his at one gulp, slammed down the pewter mug on the table and gazed across at Tam very thoughtfully. Silent for a moment, he shook his head, his manner one of considerable indecision.

  Tam helped him out by saying gently, 'You have some idea, my Lord, of who this woman might be?'

  'Aye, Master Eildor. Anna Throndsen. I'm almost certain it's her all right.' He breathed deeply. 'It was the matter o' that dagger Will Fellows took from her and which he wouldna part with, be damned to him. It wasna till later that I kenned why it was familiar. I'd seen it before, since I'd had one identical specially made for Mistress Throndsen when we were in Brussels. Oh, five or six years ago, but I kenned it well.' Pausing, he looked at Tam as if awaiting his comments. 'For her protection, ye ken?' he said hastily. 'She was aye fearful at being left in a strange place wi' only her maid.'

  'A dagger is just a dagger, my Lord.'

  'Not this one,' was the firm reply. 'Twas bejewelled. At great expense,' he added ruefully, for gifts demanded by Anna had always cost him dearly, and none more than this one, it seemed. He shook his head. 'I'd swear it was the same one the lad snatched from her in the nick o' time.' And with a heavy sigh: 'Ye have my word for it, Master Eildor. As sure as I live, I'd swear it's the bitch herself means to kill me.'

  With their mugs replenished, Tam found himself listening to a story that did Bothwell little credit, although it seemed scarcely justifiable to merit murder.

  It began when Bothwell stood against all the Scots noble lords in his support of Marie de Guise, Regent of Scotland, while her daughter, the future Queen of Scots, had married the boy Dauphin of France, in an alliance that had never been consummated.

  The Regent trusted Bothwell and that part of the story did him most credit. She created him Lord Admiral of Scotland, and with Scottish waters harried by English pirates and Edinburgh itself under blockade, Bothwell offered to go to Denmark and enlist the aid of King Frederick's fleet.

  But while Bothwell was on his journey, news reached him that the long-ailing Marie de Guise had died. In an instant the whole political scene changed, and with France and Scotland ready to sign a treaty, King Frederick could hardly be expected to undertake actions hostile to England.

  'It occurred to me,' said Bothwell, 'that I could do worse than pay my respects to the widowed Queen of France before returning home.'

  Tam nodded politely. He could well imagine that the event which had ended one era of Bothwell's life immediately suggested the political expediency of making himself indispensable to the new young Queen of Scots.

  ‘A sorry day when I went to Copenhagen and was introduced into the home of Admiral Christopher

  Throndsen, a high-born Norwegian with royal connections,' Bothwell continued.

  Tam soon gathered that the two admirals, one old and the other young and ambitious, got along splendidly. Bothwell also made himself popular with the junior members of the Throndsen family, son Enno and the five of the seven daughters who were unmarried and still at home.

  'No easy task finding husbands for them,' sighed Bothwell, 'these horse-faced, prim young lassies. I dinna ken about the two who were fortunate enough to find Scottish husbands. One married a middle-aged widower, the other a Shetlander. And Anna never lost an opportunity to impress upon me how much her parents favoured Scotland, how kindly her father would look upon another Scotsman as a son-in-law.

  'I should have guessed then what she was about. Aye, Anna was clever, I'd give her that. She spoke several languages and wrote a good hand in French. She'd been acting as her now ailing father's secretary. For some while she had handled all his business affairs, and she was cataloguing his library and papers, as well as helping her mother rule over the household and arrange suitable marriages for her sisters.'

  He paused, biting his lower lip before continuing. Anna wasna the bonniest. There was little to choose from, but there was a mention of a dowry of forty thousand crowns which went with her. Any man would be tempted,' he added by way of apology. ‘And I was in desperate need of money. It meant I could pay off my debts at home, where the coffers were empty. Besides, the men I had with me were getting restless. A lot to entertain them roundabout, ye ken, in the way of womanflesh and liquor, but no money to pay for it all.

  ‘A rich marriage would solve a deal of problems, and the lady was willing - aye, more than willing.' He laughed shortly. 'Eager, even. So we were formally betrothed - with hand, mouth and letters, as they say, I offered Anna and her parents to hold her as my lawful wife. In return I received her father's congratulations and her dowry.

  'It didna last long. Not one whit as long as Anna's undying affection. She clung to me like a limpet, man, she dogged my steps, followed me everywhere - even to Scotland, and when I brought back our young Queen from France, the bitch made it plain that she was coming too, determined to present herself at the court as Countess of Bothwell.'

  He made a helpless gesture. ‘And what would I be doing, what sort o' a picture would I present at court wi' a pregnant wife in tow?' He laughed harshly. 'Trouble was, I had no desire to be married, and she was the last lady on earth I would have willingly chosen. She had scant charms to beguile me. She was full o' plans, for her two sisters to be brought to Edinburgh, especially her favourite, Dorothy, who lived in Shetland.'

  He shook his hea
d. Aye, she saw her life here as turning into one great family party, at my expense.' He paused, frowning. 'There was a bairn, ye ken. A fine wee lad, William, my heir, if I'd made yon betrothal legal. I suppose she thought that would bind me to her further. But it didna.'

  Looking at Tam, he added apologetically, 'The boy is here, ye ken. Bides wi' my mother at Morham, near Haddington.'

  'You see him often?' said Tam.

  Bothwell shrugged uncomfortably. 'Not all that often. I ken naught about bairns and I havena time at present to be a good father, no time to spend on a five-year-old. My mother'll see he's brought up well. She's good to him and will see his education is well taken care of.'

  Glimpsing Tam's expression and guiltily sensing disapproval, he said, 'Man, ye ken how it is with me. I have a lawful wife now. And - and the Lady Buccleuch - your mistress,' he added as an afterthought.

  There was a short silence before Tam summed it all up by saying, 'So you think Mistress Throndsen is here, that she's back in Scotland and trying to kill you?'

  'Aye, that might well be the way of it, for I canna think o' any other woman who would do me ill.'

  Tam suppressed a grim smile. The way Bothwell treated his women, he could think of quite a few, including his lawful wife, Lady Jean Gordon, who would have been his own prime suspect.

  'Well, what think ye, man?' Bothwell demanded.

  Tam shook his head. It sounded an unlikely story, but who was he to question the motives of vengeful women. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, or betrayed, or scandalously ill-used.

  Grudgingly, he was forced to admit that Bothwell certainly had charm when he wanted something. He recognized in that guileless smile the boy at heart and the charmer who never gave up, allied with the sheer physical power of the man of action and its devastating effects where women were concerned. To all accounts even the Queen of Scotland was not immune.