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

by Alanna Knight

  'Unpleasant or not, it is certainly the wisest action,' said Tam.

  Marie looked out of the window. 'I must go. There is Adam, patiently waiting for me,' she said tenderly. As though aware of her, the young man looked up, smiled. She waved to him. 'No need to stay out of Adam's way, Tam, or fear his jealous wrath. I have told him all about you, that you are my dearest friend.'

  'And always will be, dear Marie,' said Tam.

  At the door she hesitated. 'I would love to see you again, Tam. May I write to you at Branxholm?'

  He kissed her outstretched hands. 'I would be honoured.'

  Janet was in her apartment, walking the floor impatiently. 'Delays and more delays. Once again we have to await the Queen's pleasure, for she intends to take Prince James back to Edinburgh with her, away from his scheming father's clutches. I trust that she will have no further need of me at Holyrood and that I will be allowed to return to my own home,' she added sourly.

  Tam learned that Dorothy and Lady Morham would be leaving ahead of the royal party. Wishing them Godspeed, he was kissed by Dorothy, the gesture of a trusted friend rather than a passionate lover. He did not let his lips linger, wishing to avoid any display of emotion or arousing false hopes. Mostly his own.

  'Once I have seen Lady Morham safe home, I will be returning to Edinburgh,' Dorothy told him. 'Who knows, maybe we will meet again sooner than we thought.'

  Watching the cavalcade make its way down the steep street, it seemed a long time since he had first encountered Dorothy Sinclair, his only interest then what she might tell him of her sister Anna Throndsen. And even longer since he had cared about solving the identity of Lord Bothwell's would-be assassin.

  Part Three

  Kirk O'Field

  'The matter of the King's death is so horrible and strange and we believe the like was never heard of in any country. He was slain with such a vehemence that of the whole lodging, walls and other, there is nothing remaining not a stone above another, but all carried far away, or dung in dross in the very groundstone. It must have been done with the force of powder and appears to be a mine!

  - Mary Queen of Scots to Ambassador Beaton in Paris,

  10 February 1567

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beaton House in the Canongate. Friday 31 January 1567

  Janet's plans had once more been frustrated by fate, this time in the shape of her favourite daughter, Alice, taken seriously ill in Blackness.

  With Branxholm further away than ever, Janet decided Tam would remain in her family's town house. As there were legal settlements to be drawn up for two of her remaining children and properties to be acquired in Edinburgh, he could make that his goal until Alice had recovered sufficiently for her mother to take her departure.

  'There should be enough to keep you busily occupied,' said Janet. 'Once these settlements are agreed, they will need to be copied and witnessed. Take them up to Walter Pax, near the castle.'

  Tam's eyebrows raised at that. Walter Pax had a reputation as a scheming lawyer and hints that he was an expert on forgery were confirmed by Janet's next words.

  'You have a good legal head, Tam, but your writing is intolerable. We need fair copies of these documents.'

  Preparing to leave the house once again, she said, 'The Queen will be returning from Glasgow bringing Lord Darnley to convalesce at Craigmillar. It is all in readiness for him, well away from any contact with the little Prince at Holyrood. I hope Her Grace will excuse me from being in devoted attendance on this particular invalid,' she added wearily. 'I hear he wears a taffeta mask to cover the pustules on his face. Curing the pox is beyond even my herbs.'

  Now in Edinburgh and with time on his hands, Tam decided to call on Dorothy Sinclair. Directions from Janet's servants were that the district of St Mary's was readily accessible.

  'It is just inside the city wall, sir, overlooking the Cowgate. The whole area is called Kirk O'Field, because of its connections with what was an ecclesiastical foundation before the Reformation.'

  The old servant paused, wondering perhaps whether Master Eildor looked kindly on the ruinous conditions that had been visited upon Catholic churches and abbeys by religious intolerance.

  'It is on slightly higher ground than the Canongate. There are some pleasing gardens as I recall, and there is less noise than we have to suffer.'

  As it was surprisingly mild considering the date on the calendar, Tam decided to leave Ajax in the stables behind the house and go on foot. Fresh air and exercise would not come amiss.

  Edinburgh's shrieking winter gales were absent and the sun shone thinly but benignly as he made his way through the Netherbow Port. Away to the south of the city, the summit of Arthur's Seat was, for the first time, almost clear of snow.

  His passage into the open country was marked by farm dogs that ran out to greet him and hens that dispersed from his path, clucking anxiously. Overhead the black shapes of corbies hovered, their raucous cries filling the air, lulled by the mild weather into a belief that mating time was at hand and their huge untidy nests were due for another noisy brood.

  The tall trees stretched skeleton-like branches into a blue sky and, at Tam's feet, the first fragile snowdrops brought the promise of renewed life into the black tangle of winter hedgerows.

  He breathed deeply. Soon it would be spring and the anniversary of the evening when he had opened his eyes in Janet Beaton's garden. He was still no nearer to solving the mystery of his own identity, but a year's passing had changed his frantic efforts at remembering.

  Let life drift along, he decided. His present existence was pleasant. He was happy, even content, regarding the gaps in his memory, as a man who loses the use of an arm or a leg comes to term with the fact and learns to live with the inconvenience.

  Climbing the gentle incline leading to St Mary's, he found himself in a pleasant rural scene, dominated by the ruined church from which the district took its name.

  Among the houses clustered around a quadrangle was the old Provost's House, a substantial building on the south side where the ecclesiastics who served the foundation once lived. Behind it lay the Flodden Wall, with a narrow passage or court between and through the town wall, a postern gate leading out into the country.

  The next building, property of Robert Balfour, was the new Provost's House at the south-west corner. Two tall mansions, almost hidden by high walls and at a short distance from one another, belonged to the Hamiltons and the Douglases.

  All this information Tam was to obtain later from Dorothy, who had made a careful study of this desirable area when she rented St Mary's Lodge, with a view to taking a permanent lease of some suitable property.

  He approved of her choice, observing that the area had the peaceful feeling of a cathedral close, protected by the city wall, and beyond it rural scenes of gardens and orchards. This would be the perfect place to bring up her young nephew.

  An enquiry of an old man smoking a pipe in the sunshine indicated there were few newcomers and therefore considerable interest in any new arrivals. He pointed out the house where Mistress Sinclair lodged in St Mary's Close, one of three small cottages, set at right angles to the quadrangle and once reserved for the lesser clergy.

  Tam had some difficulty making his escape from what promised to be a lengthy discussion about the iniquitous decline in conditions within the city since his informant was a lad! At last he walked across the grass to the house with pantiled-roof, crow-stepped gables under dormer windows and a turret housing a turnpike stair.

  Opening the gate of a tiny garden which would be pleasant in summer, with birds twittering in the fruit trees, he walked up the path and tapped on the door.

  A moment later, Dorothy's familiar face appeared, astonishment mingled with other emotions. She stammered a greeting, taken aback to see him again. 'Tam, what brings you here?' she demanded. 'I thought you to be away back to Branxholm by now.'

  For a moment, as he began to explain, he thought she intended to keep him at the door. Then
at last, a smiling welcome. 'Do come in.'

  He followed her through a long, narrow reception room, perhaps the original dining room for the clergy, and up a turnpike stair into a pleasant chamber with deeply embrasured windows, but somewhat sparsely furnished.

  'As you will realize, this is only a temporary abode, until I complete negotiations to settle here. But I like this area. The air is more pleasant and wholesome than in the city.'

  Tam agreed and she went on, 'When next you visit me, I hope to have rugs on the floor and some tapestries for these rather bleak walls. There is much to do. Even for a short stay, I like my home to be comfortable.'

  Although she talked at great length, full of apologies, charming as ever, he had an extraordinary feeling that their former closeness had somehow evaporated. Her voice was strained, her manner distracted - as once her sister Else's had seemed.

  When he asked after Else, and whether she would be visiting, Dorothy gave him a startled look. 'She has no plans at present. At least not until I have a more permanent residence.'

  As he watched her smiling, her wandering gaze hinted at anxiety and he wondered if his call had been particularly ill-timed and she had - or was expecting - a more important visitor. A lover, perhaps. Tam was aware that he would be sadly disappointed if that was the case.

  So certain was he of having her at a disadvantage, he mumbled some excuse about having to leave directly.

  She laid a hand on his arm. 'No, Tam. You must not go so soon. Now that you are here, I insist that you sit down and take a glass of claret with me. I am afraid. . .'

  Once again, that searching glance around the room, followed by apologies.

  'I am afraid that the house is not quite what I would wish to show to visitors. But it will serve my purpose for the present. If all goes according to plan, I have hopes of making it my home once William is with me. And it seems I have made my choice of a place to live at the right time.' She smiled. 'I am to have a royal neighbour. None other than the King himself. He is to move into the house across the quadrangle. For a few days only, I believe, while he is still convalescent.'

  This was news to Tam. Obviously Dorothy Sinclair's information was more up to date than Janet's. Not wishing to contradict her, he marvelled at the lightning speed with which rumour, however inaccurate, travelled.

  Henry Darnley was preparing to leave his father's house near the Bishop's Palace in the precinct of the Drygate in Glasgow. News had arrived that the Queen, saddened by her husband's illness, was arriving within the hour.

  He watched the servants frantically rushing around, heard his father's shrill commands. He didn't feel up to any of this. Sick, feverish and still quite ill, he did not relish the journey to Edinburgh, which his suddenly thoughtful wife implored him to make.

  He found her insistence that they should resume their marital relations and 'all be as before' rather touching, this appeal to his wounded pride and his sick body. There was, however, as always seemed to be the case in anything Mary suggested, a slight impediment. Until he had made a full recovery from his 'smallpox', as she politely called it, fulfilling to the letter the time of quarantine, he could not possibly stay in Holyrood. When he protested, she said gently that this was not for herself, but for their son.

  'I do entreat you, husband, to give this your careful consideration. Sickness and plague do not spare even infant princes.'

  What did she mean by plague? How could she be so tactless? But he dare not risk the Prince, whose survival was crucial to his own ambitions, his secret plans.

  'I suggest that we stay in Craigmillar.' And, ignoring his sullen, mutinous expression, 'It is for a short time only. The air there is pure and should help restore you speedily to the fullness of health - which will be of benefit to us both,' she added smoothly. Did he detect a sly smile?

  Craigmillar. Darnley tried to avoid the mirror, where the grotesque reflection of the taffeta mask, with its sinister round holes for eyes and mouth, was his protection from the world's view of the pustules that marked his disease.

  Craigmillar?

  And he hardly listened to Mary, remembering the letter his valet, Taylor, had brought a few hours earlier. It was from Edinburgh. From Ned, the youth he loved to distraction. Ned wrote in a beautiful hand, his writing exquisite, like everything else about him, but one word: 'Craigmillar' leapt out at him.

  'Sire, you are warned to avoid Craigmillar. This would not benefit your best interests.'

  He had re-read the letter, cast it aside impatiently. He was apprehensive enough without Ned's warning, wondering had he confided too much in someone who had failed him so far.

  He thought of the fiasco of that night in Stirling, when Ned fought off his kingly advances by whispering that he must be excused as he was presently suffering from an unfortunate condition.

  'You did not get it from me then,’ said Darnley in righteous indignation since the consummation he had longed for was not forthcoming. Then there was the matter of Ned's twin sister. He would rather not brood on that.

  But all had ended well. The sole possessor of Ned's secret, implored not to reveal it, Darnley had realized the power it gave him. He had found a useful ally and, since his identity was unknown, he was free from the scrutiny of jealous lords. Aye, Ned was proving useful as a spy, moving from place to place, from household to household, in the guise of a servant.

  Darnley recalled their last meeting, their conversation in his apartments at Stirling Castle. The last of the fireworks marking the events around Prince James's christening had faded, leaving only the acrid fumes of gunpowder thick upon the frosty air.

  As the wooden fort disappeared in smoke and rubble, that was when the remarkable uses of gunpowder first occurred to him. Here was a more efficient way of disposing of one's enemies than the overworked royal methods of poisoned wine or a bloody knife. There were no mishaps with gunpowder, no witnesses remained to make accusations.

  Ned had sat at his feet listening. There was a saying he had overheard, allegedly from the Earl of Morton: 'the king is sic a bairn that there is nothing told him, but he would reveal it.'

  Realizing the truth of this, Ned was clever and, with no secrets between them, Darnley confided that his dearest wish was to rid himself of Mary and Bothwell, whom he hated and despised.

  Ned whispered that his mother had a small farm on the outskirts of Edinburgh, near a place called Kirk O'Field. There were many old houses in the quadrangle of the ruined church. His mother had worked as a servant long ago in the old Provost's House.

  Darnley listened intently.

  Ned's mother had told him that because of the uneven foundations of the area with its many hills, the lower level of this particular house, once a receptory of the ecclesiastical buildings, was built across vaults.

  Ned paused and gave him a significant look before adding carelessly, 'Vaults have certain uses and they can be undermined.'

  With gunpowder. That was the unspoken thought in Darnley's mind. But how was he to convince the Queen to choose such a humble dwelling?

  Ned smiled. 'Tell her that you have heard the air is good and wholesome and will speed your recovery. Tell her that you long for peace and quiet - and reconciliation with her, away from the court.' His glance lingered on the taffeta mask. 'And from men's vulgar curiosity, sire.'

  Darnley gave him a sharp glance, but Ned continued. 'Once she is in agreement, you must then play your part well, sire. That you still love her to distraction. She will forgive the past. I hear from my sister, she who is maid to Mistress Seton . . .' Pausing, he gave Darnley a coy look which changed the snort of indignation into laughter. ‘I am told that Her Grace is softhearted, ready to forgive her enemies, saying Masses for their souls. Take advantage of that, sire.'

  Darnley sighed. 'God knows, I have tried, with little success.'

  ‘Try once more, sire,' Ned insisted. 'There is much to be gained. Once you have her to sleep in the house, - drugged with wine if necessary, for such matters can easily be
arranged,' he added smoothly, 'your horses in readiness, you slip out and your servant, Taylor, whom you can trust, and myself will light the fuse.' Ned clapped his hands. 'Boom! It will be all over and you, sire, will be Scotland's rightful King.'

  Darnley had put the plan to his father, with some diffidence. But Matthew Lennox, after a certain amount of frowning, biting of lips and exclamations of consternation, doubt and fear, agreed.

  He could rely on the support of the Lennox clan to further his son's legitimate right to the throne and to their own advancement,

  The matter was urgent, since the infant Prince had been removed from the nursery at Stirling to the safety of Holyrood. Mary had learned that the Lennoxes had a ship anchored in the Clyde watching her movements and in readiness to remove Prince James from her custody at Darnley's instigation.

  Lennox nodded. 'Kirk O'Field. I know the area you speak of. Perhaps it is a good choice for our purpose, The Provost's Lodging would suit us well. The Balfours own several of the houses and Sir James is in charge of the arsenal at the castle.' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'Balfour owes me a debt of gratitude,' he added grimly, 'and he is no friend to Mary, although she believes so, which is greatly to our advantage.' He shook his head. ‘In my mind, the house has only one disadvantage. It is dangerously close to the cursed Hamiltons and you well ken, son, that we have no reason to love one another.'

  Darnley nodded, having been brought up from his earliest days to appreciate the reasons for this feud, stretching back over many generations, when the Hamiltons had considered themselves the rightful lords of Glasgow.