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

by Alanna Knight

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday 8 December 1566. Morning

  Awakened once again by the Mass bell, Tam's attempts at recapturing oblivion were in vain. Below his tower room the castle was bristling with activity, its various functions noisy enough for a small town rather than a royal residence, he thought irritably.

  More bells - damnation! Then he remembered. Today was the Queen's twenty-fourth birthday, celebrated by special but discreet Catholic masses, Protestant prayers in St Giles and throughout the day humbler celebrations in Edinburgh which the Queen would decline to attend on the grounds of poor health. For those closest to her, however, there would be a banquet this evening, a masque with all the pageantry warranted by such occasions.

  A happy thought for six o'clock on a still-black unyielding morning with the usual bitter wind whistling through loose cracks in the masonry, aided and abetted by the draughty keyhole window.

  Tam turned over, cocooned in his rough blanket, and sought a more comfortable place on the lumpy straw paillasse. He closed his eyes firmly, no longer afraid of what the instant of reawakening might reveal.

  He was growing accustomed to his present circumstances, losing his fears that each time he opened his eyes, it would be to find himself reinstated in one of those unpleasant scenes familiar in vivid dreams which eluded him on waking.

  Last night his slumbers had been disturbed by a re-enactment of the events at Duddingston Loch, considering possible and impossible explanations regarding the carter lad's mysterious disappearance. All his theories which seemed plausible he now discarded as baseless, the product of early morning, when nightmares seem considerably more real than reality itself. His mind had scurried back and forth like a rat trapped in a cage, reliving over and over the scene by the water.

  The old man's corpse and the significance of Bothwell's cloak as shroud. The missing cart which obstinately refused to fit any pattern of logic. Unlikely that it had plunged into the water, taking the two live occupants to their deaths. Had there been an accident such as a loose wheel? The carter was young and the woman's prompt actions over her departed 'uncle' did not suggest infirmity. Surely both could have leapt clear. And if they had done so, where was the wreckage of the shattered cart?

  Supposing, then, that the woman had bribed the lad and had even given him a helping hand to dispose of the old man? That was the most promising explanation, the one Tam always came back to, taking into account the dubious character of the red-headed carter, as related by the woodcutters. As for the 'fine lady', evidence from yesterday's visit to Greyfriars kirkyard proved for Tam, beyond any doubt, that she was not the old man's niece, but most probably Bothwell's would-be assassin.

  He might be doing her an injustice, a victim of the carter's greed, her body still in the waters of the loch, trapped by weeds. But he did not think so. He had an intuitive feeling that she was alive and well and somewhere dangerously close at hand.

  But for what reason? And what of Fellows himself? He had vaguely indicated to Bothwell that he worked at Craigmillar. He was unknown to the gardeners and woodcutters. However, Tam reckoned there were many areas near to the castle, such as Niddrie, where Fellows was quite possibly not an unusual name but enquiries from well-spoken persons from the court were unwelcome. Persons like himself, regarded with suspicion by ordinary folk, had ranks closed firmly against them.

  Aware that there were now two missing persons vital to his fine theory - Will Fellows and the Red Crozer lad - whatever his personal fears regarding further investigation of the latter, he felt obliged to return without delay to the woodcutters. Armed with instructions about the whereabouts of the notorious thieving family, he would pay them a visit, no doubt taking his life in his hands by doing so.

  If the fine lady had resorted to bribery, then so too could he, using the lure of Bothwell's purse, and if that failed, the threat of the powerful Earl's wrath should prove irresistible.

  As the noise below increased in volume, reducing any hopes of further sleep, he left his bed wearily, only moderately consoled by the fact that the Queen's birthday celebrations might offer the chance of a little dalliance with Marie Seton. This appealing prospect quite overcame any sense of urgency about tracking down the Red Crozers.

  That, he decided firmly, could be safely set aside until the morrow, for as he descended the stair, the arrow-slits rewarded him with the promise of a surprisingly pleasant day.

  The blackness of pre-dawn had given way to a dramatic sunrise over the landscape, yielding to cloudless blue skies. Edinburgh had decided to show its best possible face for a Queen who deserved some kindness. No easy matter for the celestial weatherman in December to present a day mild as springtime.

  There was warmth in the wintry sun and, viewed from high in the castle, the melting snow on Arthur's Seat glistened like sugar on a celebration cake fit for Her Grace's birthday.

  Waiting tactfully until he heard Bothwell emerge from Janet Beaton's apartment, Tam looked in to receive his mistress's orders for the day.

  Janet yawned wearily, regarded him heavy-eyed with no doubt satisfying reasons of her own lack of sleep.

  'Her Grace is feeling much better, we are told, and she will ride on Arthur's Seat, to her favourite place at Hunter's Bog.'

  An hour later a little troop assembled in the courtyard and rode out of the castle, taking the road through Duddingston, by the place where yesterday Tam and Bothwell had encountered the fishermen with their mysterious corpse. All was quiet. There had been no more gruesome discoveries.

  The Queen was in merry mood and Bothwell rode by her side. Often they reined in and exchanged a few words, which was noted by others than Tam. How close they seemed, how pleasant a sound their laughter made, floating back to the rest of the court.

  This moment of joy in the Queen's life was one to be treasured, a time when she could forget her youthful disillusion with a disastrous marriage and fall in love again, know the passion of surrender for one fine perfect hour.

  Let no one deny her that right, he thought, for such was true happiness, never to look ahead, to enjoy and cherish each happy moment the fates allowed us in this brief mortal life.

  At his side, Janet was not enjoying a happy moment. Her conversation was somewhat more acid than usual, her patience thinner. For the first time Tam saw beyond the façade and recognized that her youthfulness was on the wane. Was it realization that she was losing her power over the young Earl or some deeper sorrow?

  Suddenly she turned to him, looked into his eyes, a penetrating gaze of undisguised despair. He turned away hastily, but too late.

  She laughed bitterly. 'I ken what you are thinking, Tam.' And, cutting short his polite protests, 'You are right. I am growing old. I've never admitted it to anyone, but I don't mind you knowing or seeing me as I am.' With a shrewd glance, she added, 'Time and ageing are beyond your control too, Tam. We are out of the same mould. I have long been aware of that.' She shook her head. 'My concern is not at losing Jamie Hepburn. God knows, I've lost him to many women before, younger than me, bonnier by far, but he has always come back.'

  Like last night, thought Tam, and he said lightly, 'Surely the Wizard Lady of Branxholm has spells for such matters.'

  She shook her head. 'I have lost my powers, Tam. I learned long ago that there is no magic against love. Besides, I cannot rival a Queen. So this time, alas, he will not come back to me - ever.' And Tam felt a chill of foreboding as she added in a whisper, 'This time his love will destroy him. He cannot win and he will take the Queen with him to her death.'

  The weather seemed to agree with her gloomy forecast. The azure sky had darkened and heavy storm clouds gathered overhead. A distant rumble of thunder in the air.

  The word was given: 'Enough. The Queen commands that we return.'

  The bright day is over and we are for the dark. Words he had read in someone else's tragedy, Tam thought, as the gates of the castle closed upon them.

  Tam was looking forward to the planned events of t
he evening, knowing that the cooks had been preparing the birthday banquet for several days - and nights. There had been no chance to talk with Marie Seton, since the morning's ride to Hunter's Bog had seen her well to the fore with the Maries, all of them remaining at a discreet distance from the Queen and Bothwell, an effective barrier against the rest of the party.

  Frustrated by having no legitimate reason to catch up with her, without causing undue anger by breaking the rules of precedence, which were strictly adhered to both indoors and out, Tam could but hope that he would have more success that evening.

  On the tables set in the great hall, gone was the everyday fare of pigeons from the garden dovecote, roasted or boiled, and from the fishpond, trout and perch. Home-brewed ale gave place to French brandy and wines as Mary and her court sat down to Lorraine soup, a French soup invented for the Queen, veal-based and rich in almonds, eggs, cream and delicate herbs. This was followed by venison à la reine, her mother's favourite, a haunch of meat soaked in claret for six hours before cooking. Veal or salmon flory, and for those whose lusty appetites could accommodate sweetmeats, caramelized and candied fruits, fruits en chemise, chantilly and caramel baskets.

  Tam thought the Queen had never looked lovelier. Gone too was the informality of winter dress. She wore white satin, richly jewelled with pearls and diamonds on her gown and in her hair, elaborately dressed by Marie Seton, who excelled in that art which she had learned in France.

  The meal over, the Queen was escorted to her canopy of state, where she sat with Bothwell on the raised dais at her feet. He was leaning on one elbow talking to her, thoroughly at home. Both were oblivious of the shocked court, who regarded this familiarity with revulsion. None but members of the royal family were permitted to sit in the Queen's presence on such occasions.

  Tam also noticed that the Queen's magnificent attire failed to conceal her nervous hands. They were never still, plucking at her gown, toying with her strands of pearls.

  Sometimes her head drooped, a beautiful flower too heavy for its slender stalk. Food and wine were taking their toll. Exhausted, dazed with weariness, she was beyond caring for the court's ritual.

  Tam felt compassion for this still-sick, frail woman whose day of intense activity had been rather too much for her. At her side, Tam observed, Bothwell spoke low, tender, protective and rather anxious, as one would be about a wife. Such behaviour was noted by the onlookers either with nudges and sentimental smiles or with scowls of resentment, depending on where the two sat in their emotions and ambitions.

  At last the signal was given for the evening's entertainment to begin. Those who could be aroused from the effects of the banquet and were not fighting off sleep were amused by a touching birthday masque performed by the Maries, attired in costumes appropriate to the four seasons.

  Tam was enchanted by Seton's Spring, the smallest and youngest of the four as they recited poems to the Queen, addressing her as Diana the huntress, for her love of sport, and Venus, goddess of love, celebrating her beauty, the assuredness of a long and happy reign.

  The Queen, laughing now, applauded louder than anyone as the four shyly curtsied and withdrew from the dais, hustled away by her female fools, who took the stage and made even greater fools of themselves in front of everyone, their blistering comments to the audience's delight.

  Like the Maries, they had been with the Queen in France. Excellent mimics, their behaviour was outrageous, but no one seemed to mind, least of all those whom they were impersonating.

  As the performance ended Seton came to Tam's side. Soon the Queen would retire, but he was hopeful that Marie might be allowed to stay, especially as the wine he was drinking was having an effect on him. And looking at Marie he longed again to hold her in his arms and kiss her. Without a word, he took her hand and led her out of the hall towards where he knew there was a quiet room sometimes used by the queen's courtiers awaiting an audience.

  His heart was hammering but, alas, it was not to be.

  'Marie!'

  They turned and Marie curtsied to the elderly courtier who had followed them. 'Uncle.'

  As he was introduced by Marie, Tam had no difficulty in recognizing her uncle, Sir Anthony Pieris, scowling at him ominously.

  Averting his eyes, as if the sight of Tam offended him, Pieris said, 'I am aware that Master Eildor is Lady Buccleuch's servant.' Laying stress upon the word, he added, 'What business has he with you, niece?'

  Marie shook her head. 'Why, none at all, Uncle.'

  'Let it be so,' Pieris said sternly, taking hold of her arm without a glance in Tam's direction. 'Come with me.'

  Meekly Marie obeyed, curtsying to Tam. He watched them leave and saw her look back quickly in his direction with an apologetic, despairing glance.

  He also heard Pieris, who was rather deaf and therefore spoke loudly to everyone, say, 'You are aware, are you not, niece, that no man is permitted to be alone with the Queen's Maries unless he is married? Her Grace will look very gravely upon this . . .'

  And then they were out of earshot. But doubtless Tam was meant to hear and doubtless Pieris would be reporting the incident to Marie's brother, Lord Seton, who would not welcome the remotest possibility of one of his illustrious family having her reputation sullied by associating with a servant.

  For that was Tam's lowly position, however much he was favoured by the Wizard Lady of Branxholm. In the eyes of the court, he was still and would remain a menial. And what was worse in his own eyes, one who had no past by which he might lay claim to breeding, and no hope of betterment.

  Sounds of riotous mirth issued from the hall, drinking and carousing that would go on until the small hours, until those who were able crept away to bed, while others dropped their heads on the table or slept where they fell.

  Tam envied them their oblivion. Sobered by the meeting with Sir Anthony Pieris and his chastisement of Marie, he was in no mood to join the festivities. Making his way through the castle towards the tower and trying to avoid tripping over, or being cursed by more fortunate lovers seeking privacy in dark corners, he consoled himself that Pieris's arrival had been fortuitous.

  Had he come upon them moments later behind closed doors, with his young niece in a compromising situation, he would have had even more to report to Lord Seton.

  That would have signalled the end of Tam's career and his freedom. Servants have rotted in prison and died for less, he thought. And climbing the stairs to his bleak and lonely bed, he wondered where the Queen and Bothwell were at this moment.

  As he walked softly past Janet Beaton's apartment, her door flew open. 'Ah, there you are, Tam. Come in.' She thrust a sheaf of documents into his hand. 'You are to make all haste to Branxholm tomorrow. Matters there seriously need your attention and, I suspect, all your skills. I would go myself if the Queen permitted.' Her manner softened and she sighed. 'I know I can rely on you, Tam. I had not thought to be away from home this long. Would that I did not have to go to Stirling, but the Queen - and my Lord Bothwell - insist that I attend the Prince's christening. They feel that my presence will bring him luck. I cannot think why,' she added with a weary sigh. 'The Queen makes no move these days without my Lord Bothwell and he makes no move - or so he says - without me.'

  'Shall I await you at Branxholm when my work is complete?'

  'Nay, Tam, you are to come to Stirling.' She smiled at his glum expression. 'This is a great royal occasion. A once in a lifetime experience. We rarely see more than one future king of Scotland being baptized in a normal mortal's life. A time to remember.'

  Tam bowed. 'I will leave in the morning. I had intended looking into some matters concerning my Lord Bothwell's safety . . .' He paused, wondering how much Bothwell had told her.

  Reading his expression, she nodded. 'Aye, the carter and the corpse wrapped in his cloak. My Lord Bothwell spared me no details. Indeed, he kept us both awake with some wild imaginings.' She shook her head. 'But I am sure there is a perfectly logical explanation and that none of this has anything
to do with that supposed attack, by some woman or other. I can tell you, I rue the day I reminded him of Anna Throndsen!' She laughed bitterly. 'You need not concern yourself any more, Tam. I try to console him that once he reaches Stirling, it is unlikely that this silly woman his guilty conscience has invented will follow him there. He is making a great drama out of it, but whatever his ideas about her identity, I suspect it is merely some woman he has tumbled in the hay, taken her for a servant without realizing her identity, and she is seeking revenge. Doubtless by now her blood has cooled and she will have thought better of the enterprise.' And, with a shrug, 'Or met some more reliable lover.'

  Tam wished he could believe her, but thought better than to argue. He could put forward convincing evidence that she was wrong, certain that the woman who wanted Bothwell dead did not remotely resemble the description Janet was prepared to accept.

  'You will need to leave early, but not too early, Tam.' She smiled. 'For I have some cheering news for you. Before leaving for Stirling, Seton is going with Fleming to Haddington to visit an elderly aunt, a relative of Maitland's. They will need an escort and perhaps this will not be too onerous a duty for you.' She gave him an arch glance. 'Just a small diversion on the way to Branxholm. The two Maries always look in on my Lord Bothwell's mother at Morham, as it is quite nearby. The Dowager Countess has had a difficult life, with much to put up with - a disagreeable husband who chose to woo the Queen's mother, left her with Jamie and a sister, Janet, who married Her Grace's half-brother, Lord John Stewart. They live at another of the Bothwell strongholds, Crichton Castle.

  'The "Fair Earl", as he was called, on account of his complexion rather than his character, gave Morham and its estates to his wife as compensation, and she has lived there ever since. Her son visits her all too rarely. Her health is poor and she is almost blind, but her mind is as sharp as ever. And she now has the companionship of a small grandson. A lovely child,' she added wistfully, 'and she's devoted to him.'