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

by Alanna Knight

  Tam was somewhat taken aback by this suggestion as he followed her into the royal presence, where, bowing low over the Queen's delicate hand, he thought how frail she looked, so thin, her skin almost transparent. As if still haunted by the illness and the stresses she had suffered at Craigmillar.

  When Seton was dismissed to join the three Maries by the window, Tam felt honoured and in awe, but any awkwardness was soon dispelled by the Queen's informality towards him.

  The songs she offered him were in French. She did so almost apologetically and was glad to hear that he had a tolerable knowledge of the language, without telling her that it must also form some small part of his forgotten former life. She sat at the virginal and played a few chords.

  'Do your best with the songs, Master Eildor, they were written specially for me by my dear friend, David Riccio,' she said sadly.

  Tam had struggled through a few bars when the door was flung open without announcement. A man who could be no other than the Queen's husband strode in. A tall golden youth, his outstanding good looks marred by a weak wet mouth, a sullen expression. His character, Tam decided, was written in his face for all to read. The beauty of angels shattered like some unholy mirror by the sickness of evil.

  He rushed over and, ignoring the Queen's hands on the keys, closed the instrument sharply. 'Madam, a word with you.'

  'Later, my Lord. As you will observe—'

  'I observe nothing, Madam, except that you choose to waste your time on matters concerning music, of which you know nothing.'

  There was a faint gasp of protest, quickly stifled, from the Maries.

  'I have my own trained musicians in the court, as you are well aware. They are here to provide entertainment. It is on other matters I wish to speak.'

  He made an impatient gesture of dismissal to Tam, who bowed and joined the Maries. Pretending not to hear Darnley's angry voice, they stared down into the courtyard.

  'I have precedence above all others and when I wish to speak to Monsieur du Croc, it is a royal command. Do not you forget that. You will see to it, Madam, at once! That is my command.'

  The Queen murmured something inaudible to the listeners, in a cold but conciliatory tone.

  'I will not have it, Madam. Do you hear? He has refused to see me - three times, Madam. Three times on some paltry excuse. And that is your doing. You have turned his face against me.'

  'If you will tell me what is your business with the ambassador, then I will attend to it,' the Queen said stiffly.

  'My business, Madam,' he said flatly. 'That is none of yours. Just see to it that I am heard.'

  As he looked towards the window, four of the five heads quickly turned away, but Tam merely bowed. Seeing this, Darnley scowled and, striding over to the virginal, he snatched up the music Tam had been singing from.

  To the Queen he shouted; 'French songs, madam! Is that not an ill choice?'

  'I think not,' she said coldly. 'Master Riccio was my good friend and servant. My conscience is clear of his death.'

  'Good friend and servant, is that so?' And turning to Tam, 'Come here.'

  Tam drew nearer, bowed.

  'And what have we here, another good friend and loyal servant? A well-set-up lad, prettier by far than yon poxy Italian.'

  He moved closer, a hand on Tam's arm, staring into his face. As they were of an equal height, this gesture put him at a disadvantage, for he was used to looking down on those he considered menials. With a forefinger, he jabbed Tam's chest. 'Take care, if you are disposed to be a good and loyal friend and servant to Her Grace. Let it go no further, and mark well that Her Grace's secretaries often come to an unhappy, nay, even a bloody and violent end.' His voice held an unmistakable warning as he added; 'Take heed, make certain that you follow not their example.'

  Turning on his heel, he swept out of the room, the four Maries only just remembering to curtsey as their mistress stood with one hand on the virginal, motionless, staring after him.

  It seemed, as the door closed, that all of them, simultaneously expelled the breaths they were holding.

  The Queen's eyes were not tearful, not afraid, merely cold and angry. The Royal Stuart look that had condemned men and women, guilty and innocent, to the scaffold.

  She summoned a smile for Tam, held out a hand. 'Come again later, Master Eildor. We will continue our practice then.' She nodded in the direction of Seton, who curtsied and escorted him to the door.

  As it closed behind them, Seton whispered, 'You see how impossible Lord Darnley is. He brought with him from England a band of Yorkshire musicians, five brothers - the Hudsons. He is angry and resentful that they have not been put in charge of the musical entertainment for the royal christening and that the Queen put such matters in the hands of Sebastian Pagez, her valet, who has a talent for organizing masques.' She made an angry gesture. 'The King treats her so vilely, we all hate him for it. We wish he - he - was . . .' She left the word unsaid and went on sadly, 'What will become of her if this divorce does not prosper, we dare not think.'

  Tam said nothing, for he was nursing his own unhappy thoughts regarding the Queen's angry husband and a dish of poisoned sweetmeats.

  'Will you walk with me a little?' asked Marie. 'I am going to visit my dear maid, who has been with me for ten years or more and has never suffered a day's illness until now. I am concerned deeply for her since we came to Stirling. Not even the Queen's apothecary can find a cure for her sickness.'

  ‘A cure? What ails her?' asked Tam, his thoughts full of sinister possibilities about a new maid recommended by Lady Jean Gordon.

  'Pains. A bloody flux. Aunt Beaton has promised to take care of her. I trust it is not something in the air here,' she added gloomily. 'This is a difficult time for a new maid, since she will not have the least idea of my needs and the constant care Her Grace requires. She can hardly bear to let any of us out of sound and sight.'

  Remembering the Queen's pallor, Tam asked, 'I trust Her Grace is in good health?'

  'Reasonably so, but alas, not in spirits. It was here she came to nurse Lord Darnley when they first met. He had fallen ill with measles - and she fell in love with him. An ill-fated day that turned out to be, and for all of us.' With a sigh, she added, 'Stirling has never been a happy place for Her Grace. It was firmly fixed in her mind with disaster. Her mother brought her here as a small child to escape the attentions of the English King, Henry, who was trying to capture her as a bride for his young son, Edward. The rough wooing, they called it.

  'And once, on a short visit, her bed curtains caught fire mysteriously and she almost smothered. Since then she insists that one of us shares her chamber.'

  Tam thought about that too. From what he had just seen, the Queen's vigilance was in order. He would not put it past Darnley to be abroad at night with a lit candle, ready to further his advancement to the throne of Scotland by setting fire to his wife's bed.

  As they walked round the high walls of the courtyard, Marie pointed to the sky. 'See - up there.'

  Above the castle battlements, the wheeling black shapes of birds, hovering, silent and watchful.

  'Corbies, Tam. You have not had time to notice yet, but there are many corbies gathering here.' She shivered. 'Birds of ill omen. I trust that Her Grace has not observed them, for she is much taken with omens, alas. She was very upset as we were leaving Edinburgh, just as we were riding past the Nor' Loch, there was a body being pulled out of the water, a young man. Lord Bothwell rode down and returned to report a drowning accident. Poor lady, we knew she regarded this as an ill omen for the outset of our journey. My Lord Bothwell had difficulty in persuading her that time did not permit us all to troop back to Craigmillar and depart again on the morrow. She had to settle for Masses being said when we reached Stirling. For the safety of all of us.' Pausing, she looked up at Tam wistfully. 'Now you must tell me of your adventures since last we talked together.'

  As Tam spoke of his visit to Branxholm, omitting mention of Morham and of his abduction by the Croz
ers, his mind was elsewhere. The sudden unexplained sickness of Marie's maid was no light matter. The hint of some mysterious sickness could spread like wildfire, catastrophic with so many foreign visitors, ambassadors, princes and retainers, sparing none as it swept through a town.

  Or had the sickness also been induced by poison? Had her maid a secret taste for marchpane, a ruse by which a new maid might be introduced into the Queen's apartments?

  Marie left him staring down into the Lion's Den, wondering how he could interview the maid without arousing her suspicions or her young mistress's curiosity. It was at this point that a messenger approached, saluted and said, 'Lord Bothwell requires your presence. You are to attend him within the hour.'

  Bothwell's apartments were only a degree less splendid than the Queen's. A little more defensive, they provided an excellent and watchful view over the approaches to the castle.

  But at that moment Bothwell was surrounded by tailors, armed with swatches of material, wrestling with documents for every available space on floor and table. An atmosphere of feverish activity prevailed and he was not in a good mood.

  Tam wondered nervously if the kindness bestowed on him by Janet Beaton on his arrival last night was the cause of the deep frown that creased Bothwell's forehead.

  Bothwell swung round to face him, thumped down the document he had been studying and said, 'So ye're back, are ye?' He led Tam over to the window embrasure. 'And ye have news for me - good, I hope.'

  'What sort of news, my Lord?'

  'Ye ken fine. About the bitch - have ye found her yet?'

  Poison attempts in the Queen's apartment had swept aside Bothwell's other problem and in confusion Tam's thoughts drifted to canines. Were there some in the kennels at Branxholm that he was supposed to mind?

  He stared at Bothwell, who demanded, 'Ye ken fine who I mean. Mistress Throndsen. Did yon sister o' hers tell you aught about her that would help?'

  Tam shook his head and explained that Mistress Dorothy had been absent from Morham when he had called a second time, but that he had understood from my Lord's mother on their first visit that she was in touch with her sister Anna, at present in Norway. Bothwell scowled as Tam added, 'I understand that Mistress Sinclair is at Traquair at present. With William, my Lord.'

  It was Bothwell's turn to stare. For a moment, Tam realized, he had not the slightest idea who William might be. Then he recovered. 'Oh aye, the wee lad. Trust he's in good health,' he added heartily, to which Tam could only respond that it was so, as far as he was aware.

  Bothwell harrumphed and nodded vaguely. 'Grand wee lad, right enough. But naught about yon other matter?'

  Taking this to refer to the still-pressing matter of the now distant attempt on Bothwell's life and the disappearance of Will Fellows, Tam launched into the story of his ambush by the Crozers.

  Bothwell's laughter cut him short. 'Aye, aye - the lads told me how they rescued you from an unco' violent end. Trussed like a chicken, they said.'

  Much to Tam's discomfort, he could hardly restrain his mirth. His lads had obviously found the incident a cause for considerable merriment, worth relating with, he did not doubt, fitting embellishments.

  Composing his face with difficulty, Bothwell said, 'Aye, and a lass much in need of a husband, we gather. A mighty narrow escape, Master Eildor.' He tut-tutted and shook his head. 'Well, well. It explains why the lad disappeared right enough, wi' such a young harridan to deal with. We need not concern ourselves any further about him. Doubtless he'll have returned and made an honest woman of her and father to her bairn by the time we get back to Edinburgh.' His face took on a brooding look. 'At least I'll be safe enough here from yon bitch,' he said slowly.

  Tam hoped he was right and that his prickling sense of disaster was wrong. For had he been a gambling man, he would not have sunk many coins on Bothwell's bet that he was rid of whoever wanted to kill him.

  From the evidence at Morham, Anna was in Norway. Danger from that source was non-existent, except in Bothwell's guilty conscience, but the poisoned marchpane indicated that someone - here in Stirling, as well as at Craigmillar - wanted him dead.

  And if, as he suspected, that person was masquerading as one of the mass of servants in the royal train, nothing could have been simpler for her - or him - to follow and remain hidden in the castle. Searching out a killer would be as difficult as looking for any proverbial needle in the haystack.

  Bothwell was surveying the scene of activity in the room behind them, studiously avoiding eye contact with a tailor frantically bowing in his direction. 'Ye see how it is with me - ' He made a hopeless gesture. 'All this . . .'

  Tam immediately offered his services. 'If I can help in any way, my Lord.'

  ‘Aye, if I think o' something ye might do, and if Mistress Beaton can spare ye. Did she mention that Her Grace had a wee bit o' an upset as we set out from Edinburgh?'

  Tam realized this must refer to the drowning incident, as Bothwell went on, ‘Aye, most unfortunate at that particular moment. Just as we rode past, there'd been a young lad fished out o' the Nor' Loch. As Sheriff of Edinburgh, I rode down, but they'd sent for the Town Guard. I was told it was likely a suicide. Her Grace wanted to know what had happened, but I spared her finer feelings, said it was an unfortunate accident, a boat overturned.' He shook his head, his face grim. 'No matter, she turned to omens and the like, as females will.' He then repeated what Tam had been told by Marie: 'If time had allowed, she would have had us all trail back to Craigmillar and sit on our arses until the morrow.'

  'What was this suicide like?' Tam asked.

  Bothwell shrugged. 'They said he was young. I didna care to inspect. The matter was in hand, it was none o' my business.'

  Tam said nothing, but he went away very thoughtfully, wishing Bothwell had been a little more interested and a little less in a hurry to notice if the drowned lad had red hair, and was the missing carter Archie Crozer, a 'suicide' that might be murder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tuesday 17 December 1566. Five in the evening

  Grateful for Lady Buccleuch's influence at court, Tam had a seat beside her in the gallery of the Chapel Royal, an excellent viewpoint overlooking the altar.

  For the past hour they had been seated, waiting for the christening to begin. They were not impatient, since there was much to observe and comment on, although the heat from several hundred candles was already almost overpowering, the atmosphere heavy with smoke and the smell of hot wax.

  Inside the chapel, and from every church throughout the town since dawn, carillons of bells had been joyfully and sometimes tunelessly, proclaiming this royal pageant, as crowds assembled and townsfolk lined the route that would be taken by the great and famous. Necks were craned hopefully for a glimpse of the wicked Queen Elizabeth of England, godmother to the Prince James.

  Disappointed that she was not after all to appear in person, they had to make do with her envoy the Duke of Bedford. Despite the pomp of an escort of eighty horsemen, as a Protestant, the noble Duke would feel obliged to remain outside the chapel during the ceremony.

  His retinue also included the magnificent Sir Christopher Hatton, the famous 'frisking' dancing partner of the English Queen, and there was considerable interest in this part of the procession. As it slowly wound its way through the steep, narrow streets towards the castle, the waiting crowds' tired eyes and aching legs were also rewarded by the splendid sight of the royal horses, caparisoned in cloth of gold adorned with silver fringes.

  Surging forward for a closer view, the spectators made the streets even more inaccessible for the important townsfolk, baillies and constables. All jostled impatiently for precedence over foreign diplomats, and fists were seen to be raised, blows exchanged and angry challenges issued on more than one occasion, while unseen inside the castle frantic last-minute preparations had also raised tempers and grievances among servants and courtiers.

  Now the great moment had arrived, the sound of trumpets announced that the Queen was about t
o appear.

  Tam and Janet had an uninterrupted view of the ceremony over the baptismal Cloth of Estate of crimson velvet, edged with gold. The massive gold font gleaming with precious stones was Elizabeth of England's christening gift to her royal godson.

  'That must have cost a fortune,' whispered Tam.

  'Aye, and from a monarch not known for her generosity, whose motto is "‘Tis more blessed to receive than to give",' murmured Janet. Considering the splendour all around them - the silks and satins and glittering jewels of the congregation - she added, ‘‘Tis a very different scene from Her Grace's own coronation in this very chapel, in forty-three. Nine months old, she was.' Janet shook her head. 'A very drab and parsimonious affair, and accounts of it made her all the more determined that her son's christening should be an occasion to be remembered by the whole of Europe. Let them see that a Scottish Queen who is also the Dowager Queen of France can light up this cold and barren land, scorned by many. Through her endeavours they will take back with them a vision of Scotland as a great country, a power to be reckoned with, and herself as glorious as any other monarch in Europe.'

  Tam refrained from mentioning the rumours he had heard that twelve thousand pounds Scots was being raised by taxation in Edinburgh to pay for the christening.

  Janet continued, 'See her noble lords, all those in splendid new garments especially created for today, and at her own expense. Take a good look, Tam. Some are in cloth of silver, others in gold, and by her command each man rather above than under his degree,' she added.

  Tam caught a glimpse of Lord James Stewart, Earl of Moray, the Queen's crafty half-brother, magnificent in green and gold, Argyll in red and silver, Bothwell in blue satin and silver.

  They stood by the door, their splendour entirely lost on the congregation. Since strict adherence to the Protestant faith made it an offence in their eyes to attend a Catholic ceremony, all intended to remain outside.