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

by Alanna Knight

  First of all, a lavish grant to the Protestant Church, an effort to seek their support and secure the religious tolerance which was her ultimate desire for Scotland. Three days later, she returned to Archbishop Hamilton the necessary powers to see through her divorce from the King - a move calculated to ease proceedings which would have encountered considerable obstacles in acquiring a papal dispensation. This also greatly pleased the Hamiltons, traditional enemies of the Lennox family, whose dearest wish was to see Henry Darnley brought low and deprived of all kingly power.

  Most surprising was Mary's acceptance of her half-brother Moray's long-sustained request that she put the past behind her and pardon the murderers of David Riccio.

  This move, although going against her own feelings of revulsion, would guarantee Moray's support for the divorce and, more importantly, return Morton and his fellow conspirators from exile, where she could keep an eye on their activities. If they remained in England, it was certain that they would be sought by any who plotted against Mary.

  And that included the wily Elizabeth of England, who had always shown herself eager to make welcome to her realm any enemies of her cousin Mary of Scotland.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mar's Lodging. Christmastide 1566

  Tam observed with amazement the great clamour of activity which attended the Queen's progress from one residence to another. Although her stay at Drummond would be brief, it was accompanied by an army of retainers and even some favourite items of furniture.

  He had not seen Marie alone since they parted on Inchmahome and he hoped an opportunity would present itself before she left with the Queen. He realized that Marie and her three companions would be very much in demand at this time, but he could not overcome an uneasy feeling that she was avoiding him.

  Perhaps that was for the best, even though such noble feelings were tinged with regret and his last sight of her was at Adam Drummond's side, as the young man came proudly to escort his royal guests.

  Tam stayed out of sight, but he need not have done so, for watching the animated conversation between the two as they rode out of the courtyard, he did not think his absence was noted.

  Meanwhile, Janet kept him occupied with Branxholm's legal documents, forever creating new clauses and adding new claims. Their compilations were never-ending, complicated by the demands, legacies and entitlements of six children from Janet's three marriages.

  She was looking forward to the move to Mar's Lodging, frustrated by the draughty castle and the eternal quest to keep warm. The tall houses, some four storeys high, lacked the elegance of the nobles' town residences in Edinburgh. This omission, however, did not greatly concern Tam.

  'What we lack in style, we shall more than make up for in comfort,' said Janet.

  For once the royal parties had departed, there was little attempt to look after any guests who lingered. Despite Janet's complaints, servants stayed invisible.

  Lord Darnley was the last to leave the castle, having been successfully avoided by the visiting ambassadors in whose ears he sought to plant a sinister catalogue of his wife's misdoings.

  Despite a pretence of approval that she had forgiven Morton and the murderers of Riccio, he was outraged at his family being insulted by her concession to Archbishop Hamilton. Had he known the real reason that a royal divorce was behind the proceedings, it would have merited more than the heated and vindictive argument with Her Grace before she left, in which he contrived to humiliate her in front of the Maries, before huffily departing to his father's Glasgow home. Without, it was noticed, ever showing the slightest interest in his infant son's first Christmas or taking him into his arms for a proud father's kiss.

  In the days before they moved from the castle, despite being constantly at Janet's beck and call, and rallying to her uncertain moods, Tam still found time to write down, in case any accident befell him, all that had happened to Lord Bothwell since the first attempt on his life at Craigmillar Castle.

  If Lady Jean Gordon were the guilty party, then Tam had a horror of hearing of some fatal misadventure at Crichton. He felt it was imperative to have documented all the details so far, not only for his own satisfaction but that so doing might also give him clues to those events that concerned threats to Bothwell's life.

  He wrote:

  1. Craigmillar, the attack by an unknown woman with a dagger that Bothwell suspected had been a gift made specially for Anna Throndsen's protection, while they were living together in Brussels.

  2. The subsequent disappearance of his rescuer, Will Fellows.

  3. The unresolved matter of Ben Fellows, who might be a relative of the missing man. His dead body claimed with suspicious alacrity by 'a fine Edinburgh lady' to be taken to Greyfriars kirkyard for burial. Purporting to be Fellows' niece, her description fitted that of Bothwell's assailant. The redheaded carter who assisted her was (according to the woodcutters) one of a notorious thieving family named Crozer.

  4. The discovery of Ben Fellows' corpse, brought up by fishermen from Duddingston Loch wrapped in the cloak Bothwell had given to Will Fellows.

  5. The subsequent disappearance of Archie Crozer, perhaps explained by impending marriage and fatherhood rather than something more sinister. Such as the body of a drowned young man recovered from the Nor' Loch as the Queen and Bothwell passed by on their way to Stirling.

  6. The poisoned sweetmeats in the Queen's apartment in Stirling. By someone aware of the Queen's aversion to marchpane and Bothwell's weakness for it. Bothwell was kept in ignorance of this possible attempt on his life and the true facts concerning the poisoning of the Queen's favourite dog.

  7. An arrow at the royal hunt had 'misfired', missing Bothwell by inches. Lady Jean Gordon had been following the hunt. Where was she when this incident took place?

  8. The loose stone in Inchmahome Priory. A stranger to the other pages, who was the thirteenth rider so anxious to avoid their company on the way back to Stirling?

  Tam then made a list of possible instigators of these crimes, real or imagined, by Bothwell:

  Lord Moray, the Queen's half-brother,

  Lady Jean Gordon, Bothwell's estranged wife,

  Lord Darnley, the Queen's estranged husband.

  Their instruments were a mysterious woman and, in Darnley's case, one of his catamites, if the stable boys' information was correct.

  And in theory, according to the promptings of Lord Bothwell's guilty conscience, the woman was Anna Throndsen, to whom he had been betrothed in Copenhagen in 1562. He had taken her dowry, then deserted her and their child.

  When Tam had completed his list, he had come to some curious conclusions, fantastic but within the bounds of possibility.

  He must talk to Dorothy Sinclair. It was imperative that he find out what she knew of her sister's movements and whether she was still in Norway.

  They met finally on Christmas Day in her widowed sister's house in Bow Street. Smaller and vastly more welcoming than the rather sombre Mar's Lodging, it was pleasantly furnished with rich panelling. A broad oak staircase led into rooms hung with tapestries and chairs in Spanish leather, softly cushioned. A long refectory table hinted at lavish feasts.

  Both sisters were seated by the fire when their visitors entered. They rose and curtsied immediately. Both wore white coifs, their hair hidden above bare brows in the fashionable manner. Else was fair in the Scandinavian manner, her eyes pale blue, whereas Dorothy's eyes were a striking rich hazel. Within minutes of that first encounter, Tam also realized that Dorothy was by far the prettier, her personality the more dynamic of the two.

  He had been introduced by Janet as 'Master Eildor, my most trusted servant and master of the household at Branxholm'.

  Lady Morham, who had arranged the meeting, peered at Tam. Her eyes seemed more filmed over than ever and Janet confirmed that she would soon be blind.

  ‘Welcome, Master Eildor, we have met before. Your voice has a pleasant timbre, one not readily forgotten.'

  Tam was introduced to Mi
stress Mowat, who stared at him rather coldly. Perhaps unsure whether one curtsied to a titled lady's servant, however trusted, she merely inclined her head.

  'And this is my dear companion. Mistress Sinclair, of course, whom I believe you met at Morham.'

  Dorothy Sinclair had no such misgivings as her sister about etiquette. She curtsied prettily. Tam bowed over her hand and she looked up at him with those large, brilliant eyes that dominated her face.

  'Alas, Master Eildor, we did not have that pleasure.' And to Lady Morham, 'Remember, dear madam, I was in Edinburgh.'

  Lady Morham nodded vaguely. 'You were indeed, my dear. My memory is not what it was.'

  ‘I met your little nephew William, Mistress Sinclair,' said Tam.

  She smiled. 'A dear child. We are all devoted to him.'

  'He is not with you?' queried Janet.

  'Alas - for ourselves, that is,' sighed Lady Morham.

  'He was specially invited to Traquair,' put in Dorothy Sinclair. 'It is a favourite place of his, for there are many other children for him to spend Christmas with. The prospect of Stirling and a wedding have little appeal for a child. Master Eildor.'

  'And he already spends far too much time with grown-ups,' said Else Mowat, who had contributed little to the conversation so far.

  She seemed ill at ease and a little withdrawn. Tam noticed her anxious looks in her sister's direction, as one who fears some indiscretion. Perhaps she found Dorothy's easy manners towards a servant forward rather than friendly, and Tam got the idea that the invitation to Lady Buccleuch had not come from her.

  Mistress Sinclair, however, was clearly enjoying the pleasure of having company. She talked of the Queen, asked about her health and was interested in her visit to Drummond Castle.

  'She has my sympathy, such a dreadful husband,' put in Else. 'Royal he may be, but he is the talk of every tavern-keeper in Stirling. Such behaviour!'

  An uncomfortable silence followed and there seemed no suitable reply to an observation so close to home regarding badly behaved husbands.

  At last Lady Morham said sadly, 'My son is not with you. I was hoping he would spend Christmas with us, but he has gone instead to his sister at Crichton.'

  'I am hoping he will take the time to visit William,' said Mistress Sinclair. 'He looked in on us briefly but, alas, Else and I were visiting friends.'

  Looks of sympathy were cast in the direction of Lady Morham, the much neglected mother, and Tam felt that the details of Bothwell's shocking behaviour were a constant talking point with the two sisters during her absence.

  The conversation then turned to Fleming, the reason for Lady Morham's presence in Stirling.

  As he listened, feeling somewhat bored by a topic seemingly so inexhaustible and exciting for the four women, Tam realized there was no way he could tactfully introduce Anna Throndsen into the conversation.

  At last, as they prepared to leave, he resolved to choose a more opportune moment to call on Mistress Sinclair again. Her manner towards him already suggested that he would not be unwelcome.

  'We return to Morham as soon after Marie Fleming's wedding as the weather will allow,' she said in reply to Janet Beaton's question.

  'I will see Lady Morham safely home. She has a town house in the Canongate, rarely used these days, alas.' The look she gave in her old friend's direction spoke volumes of compassion. 'She has most kindly put it at my disposal when I need it for urgent matters - relating to William.'

  'I understand you wish to adopt him,' said Janet.

  'That is my most earnest hope, to make a home for my little nephew. And to ensure his future happiness.'

  'A matter that has been sadly overlooked by his father,’ was Else's acid rejoinder as the guests took their leave. And they could but agree with her on that issue.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mar's Lodging. New Year 1567

  For Tam the year of 1566 slid pleasantly and uneventfully to a close, and eased itself quietly into the New Year. Soon the royal party would be leaving Drummond and returning to Stirling to celebrate Fleming's marriage on Twelfth Night to William Maitland of Lethington.

  For Tam, this interlude at Mar's Lodging was a purely domestic time of escorting Janet Beaton to visit friends and her many relatives by marriage. Often invited to Else Mowat's home, they played cards with Lady Morham and the two sisters. While their social circle grew wider, Tam also became better acquainted with Mistress Sinclair.

  Janet Beaton, who had an eye for such things, observed that she seemed to seek his company. Twice they met by accident. Once he found her alone in the busy marketplace, unattended by a maid.

  When he remarked upon that, she said, 'Such an unnecessary indulgence,' declining his offer to carry her basket back to Bow Street. 'I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I have been doing so for a long while now, Master Eildor. In Shetland women are more independent, less reliant on men. It is a harsh life, connected with the sea, a cruel ruler of men. Women are used to loss, to being widowed young.' She sighed. 'Many take consolation in having their children by them. I, alas, was not so fortunate. I was left alone and I found the prospect of a bleak, cold, harsh life very unpleasing. I longed for my own kin and you know the rest. I sought out William and my sister Else. And Lady Morham has been like a mother to me.'

  On the second occasion, he had ridden down to Stirling Bridge and was returning through the royal park. Dorothy Sinclair was ahead of him, riding alone and fast. He hailed her and she reined in, waited for him.

  'How good to see you so unexpectedly, Master Eildor. Shall we race back to the castle?'

  He laughed and told her she would soon outride him, that he was a very inexpert horseman.

  She looked puzzled. 'I find that hard to believe, Master Eildor. You seem so very accomplished at everything.'

  He patted Ajax's neck. 'You are very kind, but this is not one of my skills. And that I manage at all without disgracing myself is thanks to this good beast's tolerance and patience.'

  She sighed. 'I love riding. I love the speed and the exhilaration of being free in the open air. Perhaps one day you will come to know that marvellous feeling.'

  He bowed. 'Perhaps. Meanwhile, please continue without me. I shall not be offended.'

  She laughed. 'As you will, Master Eildor. I will bid you adieu until we meet again. Soon, I hope.' And she was away.

  He watched her go. 'Riding like the wind' was the phrase that came into his mind. Glorying in movement, free from the convention that demanded a lady be accompanied out of doors.

  He decided then and there that Dorothy Sinclair was a most refreshing acquaintance and a day came when he called on her and found her sister absent. Her greeting included a cheek to be kissed in welcome.

  'Am I being too forward, Master Eildor?' She smiled at him. 'It seems right and natural to kiss you, for you are so good to all of us. And I feel that there is a bond of friendship between us in the short time we have known each other.' She stood back and looked at him gravely. 'You have the face of a man I would trust. A good friend - and a bad enemy.'

  Tam bowed. 'I will endeavour to remain the former and never the latter.'

  He liked her and the friendship was true for Tam. It seemed as if he had known her a long time. Such had been his feelings with Marie Seton too. But this was different. There was no danger to be encountered here. Dorothy Sinclair was a mature woman who knew her own mind and, as he had observed, possessed an independent spirit. Cultured, well spoken - a charming voice with only the faintest hint of an accent - more knowledgeable than her sister Else, who, he gathered, had lived a more restricted life.

  When Dorothy's husband was alive, she had travelled with him to many places in Europe. Resourceful, she relied on no one, a trait Tam admired and one, he was certain, that belonged to the more enlightened world temporarily lost to him.

  One day she told him that Else, who tended to avoid their company was perhaps jealous of their easy ways with each other.

  'Else was alwa
ys awkward with men. Her marriage was not successful and her husband had left her poorly off.'

  Dorothy then rather triumphantly confided, ‘I believe she has formed an attachment for you, Tam.'

  Tam was surprised, since they had hardly shared more than a few polite words and when he arrived she immediately absented herself.

  Dorothy laughed. 'That is her way. As I told you, she is very shy with men and unused to being in their society. We come from a large family of daughters and she did not have good fortune as I did with my suitors.’

  'You were both more fortunate than your sister Anna, I believe.'

  She sighed. 'So you know all about poor Anna. My Lord Bothwell gave her no respite in his wooing. He was determined to have her and he was - is - a man of considerable charm when he chooses to exert it on ladies. And it was the dearest wish of our father, the Admiral, that we should all marry Scotchmen. So, of course, there was rivalry among us when the Lord Admiral of Scotland came to our home. We heard a cruel rumour later, when it was too late,’ she added bitterly, 'that it was Lord Bothwell's boast that he could have had any one of us in his bed. But Anna had most to give, the largest dowry, and she was the cleverest and the most exciting.'

  Looking at her and remembering Bothwell's description, Tam said, ‘I find that hard to believe.'

  'It is true, believe me. Beside Anna, the rest of us were pale shades.'

  Perhaps if they were all as colourless as Else, she might well be right, thought Tam.

  'I understand he abandoned her after William was born and she went back to Norway.'

  'He abandoned her - and William - and stole her money,' Dorothy said heatedly.

  'Have you seen Lord Bothwell since you came to Scotland?'

  'No, and I have no desire to,' she said sharply. 'I shall avoid meeting him face to face at all costs. When he came to see his mother, I hid in a closet,' she said. 'The way he treated poor Anna was despicable and unforgivable.'