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

by Alanna Knight

  Treachery and murder had followed, on both sides, with little to choose between who was right and who was wrong, but such doubts were not permitted to the young Henry Darnley.

  'The matter needs more thought. But I agree, son; in principle, that is,' Lennox said cautiously. And, watching the Royal party gather in the courtyard below, 'Agree with her. Say you will go to Craigmillar. Then, when you are in sight of Edinburgh, change your mind. Tell her you have been recommended to this house at Kirk O'Field, that it is in the country and will speed your recovery.' Putting his hand on his son's shoulder, he added grimly, 'Leave the rest to us and, by this time next week, you will be King of Scotland.'

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  East Lothian. Friday 31 January 1567

  Even as Darnley and his father plotted in Glasgow, there was another conspiracy afoot under the wintry trees in the gardens of Whittingham, the Douglas stronghold, where Bothwell, newly returned from Liddesdale, had been summoned by the returned exiles, Morton, his cousin Archibald Douglas and Argyll, husband to Mary's half-sister, Lady Jean Stewart.

  Recently pardoned by Mary, they still smarted under their betrayal by the King over their part in Davy Riccio's murder, and were determined to have their revenge. They were joined by Maitland of Lethington, his absence from the court conveniently excused by his recent marriage and honeymoon.

  There was no mincing pretence at diplomacy here. The lords were forthright, outspoken, with only the corbies high in the trees and the seabirds patrolling the skies to hear their voices.

  Their verdict was unanimous. Henry Darnley, he who would be crowned King of Scotland, must die.

  'There might still be a divorce,' whispered cautious Lethington.

  'Divorce?' They turned on him angrily.

  'Divorce is too mild, too many complications,' said Morton.

  'As long as Darnley exists, he will scheme against her,' said Argyll.

  'Aye, and mark it well, my lords, against us,' said Douglas. 'Our heads will sit uneasily upon our shoulders.'

  'Think of the advantage of being rid of him, having him disposed of permanently,' said Morton, nodding in agreement.

  'The man is diseased. In a few years he will be dead or insane,' said Bothwell hopefully.

  Are we to wait that long?' said Morton. 'Such a crowned king, such a consort even, is a blasphemy before God. Aye, and consider what is in it for yourself, Bothwell.' He paused before adding softly, 'We are your men - we all ken how matters go apace with Her Grace and yourself, and there is no better man to sit by her side and rule Scotland.'

  Aye, who better?" echoed Argyll enthusiastically.

  Bothwell listened but little, well ahead of them, his own secret plans already made as solemnly they put their hands together and swore to rid Scotland and the world of Henry Darnley.

  All that remained was how to achieve this worthy goal.

  Next morning news had just reached Bothwell that Darnley, en route for Edinburgh, had been refused lodging at Holyrood Palace by the Queen's command. With no plausible argument against her excuse that smallpox might affect the infant Prince, even though both were aware of the real nature of his disease,

  Darnley had reluctantly agreed to go to Craigmillar Castle. Then, within sight of Edinburgh, he had panicked. He hated Craigmillar, he said, it was his turn to protest and make excuses. The royal cavalcade stopped, bewildered. Where was he to go?

  He had an answer ready for them. He wished to be taken to a house that had been recommended to him for its good clean air. It was on the outskirts of the town at a place called Kirk O'Field. The tantrums of a sick man were beyond the doctors who accompanied them. With no other option, they had to agree.

  Bothwell reported this latest turn of events to the conspirators, adding, And the house is the property of Sir James Balfour.'

  The lords exchanged glances and could hardly restrain a certain amount of gleeful hand-rubbing.

  'Holyrood would be impossible for our plan. Dangerous too. Wine and long knives can go wrong, can lead assassins to the scaffold instead of the intended victim. We do not want another fiasco like Riccio's murder.'

  'This time we will not choose the dagger or the pistol.'

  And into all their minds came the whispered thought: gunpowder. Blow up the entire house. With Darnley in it.

  'You are Sheriff of Edinburgh, Bothwell. Consider the convenience for the man who has the keys to the castle arsenal at his disposal, who can give orders with no questions asked.'

  'But Darnley plans to have the Queen living there with him. If she has given her word,' Bothwell protested, 'then she will stand by it.'

  Gunpowder was not his way. He would have preferred single combat, the Border justice.

  'She can forestall him, man, deny him access. She is good at that. Good, I hear, at making excuses to keep him out of her bed,' said Maitland, avoiding Bothwell's eyes.

  'Is she to be privy to our plans?' was Bothwell's next question.

  Looks were exchanged. Would that be advisable? Even though she wished to be rid of her husband, she doubtless hoped that natural causes, like the pox, would remove him from her.

  They remembered her well-known hatred of violence, oft-declared, that she 'would rather pray with Esther than take the sword with Judith'.

  'I will not have her put in any danger,' said Bothwell.

  'You are right. We will warn her. That should be enough,' said Argyll.

  'You, Lethington, let her know that she would be ill-advised to sleep in the house with Darnley. Any excuse will do,' said Morton, then, turning to Bothwell, 'Doubtless, you will think of something when the time comes. You have her trust.'

  'Now let us be practical,' said Douglas. 'Are there any events by which we can be certain she will be absent for several hours?'

  'There is Sebastian Pagez's wedding next week, on the ninth of February,' said Lethington. 'He is her favourite servant, a talented lad, and she has promised to be present when he marries her maid Christina Hogg.'

  'Excellent!' Heads were nodded eagerly.

  Only Bothwell looked doubtful. 'I have your solemn word that the Queen will be in no danger?'

  'Not one hair of her head,' said Morton as again they clasped hands, the pledge made anew.

  As Bothwell left them, Morton said, 'Do not be tempted to let your wife warn her too clearly, Argyll. Nor you, Lethington. It is best that she remains in ignorance. Although, with God's help,' he added piously, 'some day she will live to thank us for ridding her of Henry Darnley.'

  Bothwell was uneasy. He feared that Mary, knowing him so well, loving him so well, might see the dreadful deed that was planned reflected in his eyes. And he doubted his own abilities to be natural with her, for he was not good at dissembling.

  But though it was in Mary's and Scotland's own interest, her name and his own must not be linked to her husband's murder. He knew from experience that there were people in Edinburgh, simple people not expected to understand the whirligig of power, who would be shocked at the killing of this outwardly golden youth.

  Their King, twenty years old, whom they saw roaming the streets of the town at night, the proper consort for their lovely young Queen, and father to the future King of Scotland.

  Ordinary folk, Bothwell knew, were sentimental about royal personages, holding them in awe and seeing only the glossy exteriors of God's anointed, unaware of the corruption within. The lives of those born royal, he decided, were like fairy-tales and people hate to be disillusioned, awakened to the terrible reality.

  He feared that the death of the young King, his murder suspected, might see Mary's popularity diminished, and with it an end to his own ambitions.

  He must warn her.

  He made haste from Whittingham to Holyrood and, seeking an audience with Mary, was received almost immediately. As the door closed, he took her in his arms. She made no resistance but clung to him, tears welling in her eyes.

  'It has been so long, so long,' she sighed.

  'Not much lo
nger, my love,' he whispered.

  She sprang away from him, 'The divorce?'

  He shook his head. 'No, Madam. Something more permanent,' he added grimly.

  Horrified, she stared at him, hit his chest with her clenched fists. 'No, James. No,' she whispered. 'I absolutely forbid that!'

  He seized her hands, held them tight. 'Then think of Scotland, I have information that he means to kill you.' He paused, watching her face grow paler. 'You know only too well that it is true and will happen, as God's in His heaven, if you do not strike first.'

  She was trembling in his arms. 'For God's love, Madam, will you throw your beloved Scotland to a diseased boy who will die insane in a couple of years?'

  Released, Mary sat down, her shoulders drooped, her face in her hands.

  'And when Darnley is gone, what of your son? I beg you, if you cannot think of yourself and your own safety, think of the son of your body you have given to Scotland, who must rule this kingdom after you.

  'And think of the jealous lords, the Lennoxes, Arrans and Hamiltons, who will fight like lions over him to gain power, to satisfy their own ambitions, caring naught for this country's future. And think of your half-brother Moray, who will sell out to England if it suits his purpose.'

  Mary shuddered. 'I will not be involved in murder/ she whispered.

  Kneeling before her, he stroked her cheek. 'You will not even know about it, my love. An unfortunate accident that will be over before he knows it. He will not even suffer.'

  She put a hand to her mouth. 'Not like Davy, for God's sake, No daggers.'

  'No daggers.'

  'No poison.'

  'No poison. We will be merciful to him, more than he would be to you. Never forget that he plans your death and this will be his second attempt. He tried the night he killed Davy, hoped you would lose the child, and your own life. And that he would be King. Have no doubts on that score.'

  She looked at him, knowing it to be true, as he added grimly, 'We plan to thwart his attempts, hoist him with his own petard, before he can do any more damage.'

  Then, caressing her cheek, he leaned over and kissed her. 'But we will need your help to accomplish this matter.'

  Frowning, she bit dry lips as he continued. 'You must accede to his requests. You must play the part of the loving, compassionate wife.'

  'No, James. Never that!' Her eyes flashed anger.

  'We do not intend you to share his bed, if that is what you fear. Do everything save step between his sheets. To the world a loving, tender companion at his sickbed each day. Let him and his family believe he is secure. And that you are falling into the very trap they have set for you.' He stood up, drew her to her feet. 'Then, when the time is ripe, we will give you warning - ample warning. Once you receive it, you must not delay. Not for one moment. You must fly.'

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beaton House. Monday 3 February 1567. Morning

  Tam realized, by the number of mosstroopers bearing the Hepburn coat of arms riding up the Canongate towards the castle, that Bothwell had returned from the Borders. Doubtless news had reached him of Janet's sojourn in Edinburgh.

  He did not long delay in calling on her, somewhat dismayed to discover Tam in residence and learn from him that she was not at home.

  He talked pleasantly with Tam about Stirling and his stay at his sister's home at Crichton over Christmas. Tam gathered that there had been no incidents of a sinister nature, no more mysterious attacks or attempts on his life, while he was on his home territory in the Borders.

  This information was sufficient to confirm his suspicions that since such incidents had taken place in Craigmillar, Stirling and Inchmahome, the assassin must have been able to move easily, unrecognized, in the anonymous mass of servants that followed the Queen's progress from one castle to the next.

  Listening to Bothwell, Tam mentally crossed off Lady Jean Gordon, since Bothwell had survived unscathed from Crichton, where his wife would have had ample opportunity to dispatch her unsatisfactory husband.

  That left his two other suspects, Lord James Stewart, the Queen's half-brother, and her husband, Lord Darnley, as those who might have in their influence and pay the 'Spanish lady' and the thirteenth rider.

  While they were talking, Janet returned and welcomed Bothwell warmly with whispered words and embraces.

  'I cannot stay long,' he said. 'We are escorting Her Grace back to Holyrood from Kirk O'Field.'

  'Can you come back later - this evening?' said Janet.

  Bothwell shook his head. 'She visits her husband twice a day. I have little free time.' He sounded annoyed.

  'So, they are reconciled,' said Janet.

  Bothwell's laugh was sardonic. 'Ye might call it that. On the surface, they present a picture of wedded bliss. Even to Her Grace spending the occasional night under the same roof.'

  'Matters have progressed,' said Janet.

  'Under the same roof, but not in the same bed,' said Bothwell shortly.

  Suddenly aware of Tam's presence, Janet handed him a sheaf of documents.

  'There are the property settlements and my son-in-law's will. I need to have them copied immediately. This is a matter for the professionals. Take them up the Canongate to Walter Pax. He has scribes for just such work.'

  'Walter Pax, eh,' Bothwell said grimly. 'Among his less salubrious occupations he is reputed to be a spy for Lord Randolph, who eagerly passes on information to his English mistress, Elizabeth. Are ye sure he is the right man for your documents?'

  It was her turn to be amused. 'Pax is not a man to fall foul of, but my family papers will tax even his imagination. There is nothing in them that might tempt Elizabeth to waste her time reading. I guarantee she would be asleep within the hour.'

  Bothwell laughed as she continued. 'They are mere domestic matters, but we are in such a tangle of affairs at Branxholm, so threatened by legal intricacies, that I can let nothing go without making doubly sure I have documentary evidence.'

  She looked at Tam. 'You will be grateful for my trouble, I assure you, when you are steward once again. Now you may leave us.'

  Tam walked up the High Street thoughtfully. As it was market day, the luckenbooths at St Giles were busy, the odours of flesh, human and otherwise, strong indeed.

  Pushing his way through the crowd, he suddenly found himself face to face with the last young woman he ever wished to see again. A never-to-be forgotten cloud of red hair. Jenny Crozer.

  There was no possibility of avoiding the encounter, although he would have turned on his heel and fled if he had dared. As she scowled at him, he noticed that in the huge basket over her arm, with its ribbons and fairings for sale, there also nestled a newborn baby.

  Tam bowed politely, making way for her, his hopes that maybe she did not recognize him doomed when she smiled.

  'Aye, 'tis yersel', the bonny man who didna want to marry me.'

  Tam was spared the embarrassment of thinking up a suitable answer, when another bright red head popped out of the crowd, leading a horse-drawn cart laden with vegetables. Dear God, the Crozers were here in force, he thought, as Jenny pointed to the newcomer.

  'There's ma man. He got held up, but he was in time to make our hand-fasting legal, and to get me ma granny's legacy.'

  So this was Archie, alive and well, thank God, thought Tam fervently. But his belligerent scowl spelt trouble.

  Tam peered into the basket. 'That's a fine wee lad,' he said pleasantly.

  'Lass,' Jenny corrected as Archie loomed large.

  Tam bowed. 'My compliments to you both.' And, aware that there would never be a better opportunity to question Archie about the Spanish lady and Ben Fellows' reappearing corpse, he asked, 'Will you take a pot of ale with me?'

  Archie needed no second bidding. Telling Jenny to look after the cart and see no one stole any of the vegetables, he followed Tam into the tavern across from the church.

  With ale in front of them, Tam said, 'I wonder if you can help me?'

  Archie star
ed at him suspiciously and Tam realized this was not going to be easy. 'I am looking for a lady.'

  Archie’s eyes widened. 'A lady?'

  'Aye. One that you took into Edinburgh in December. My cousin,' Tam added hastily, accompanying that lie with a silver coin slid across the table.

  Archie pocketed it first, then said with a coarse laugh, 'I'm no in the business o' pimping, if that's what ye're after. At least not for a paltry coin.'

  Tam shook his head. 'You misunderstand.'

  Archie prepared to stand up. 'I dinna misunderstand. I ken what ye're on about. I dinna ken any ladies.'

  'I think you will remember this one. My cousin was taking an uncle of mine for burial from Niddrie, where he died, to Greyfriars kirkyard.'

  Archie's expression changed, his face wiped clean of all expression. 'I ken no such lady. I know nowt about taking corpses anyways.' And, leaning towards Tam in a threatening manner, 'How d'ye ken it was me? Did she tell ye?'

  'Archie!' Jenny was at the door, shaking the basket and trying in vain to quell the baby's roars, out of all proportion to its minute dimensions. 'A laddie has run off wi' some of the vegetables. He wouldna pay me. Ye'll have to come. I canna tak' care of everything.'

  Conscious that Archie was regarding him narrowly and the suspicious scowl was not in any danger of disappearing, Tam watched them leave and quickly followed, immersing himself in the crowd. Hopefully before Jenny could give an account to her angry husband of their first meeting.

  Doubtless the story she had originally told showed Tam as a pathetic coward, a poor weedy specimen and he feared there might be domestic strife ahead when Archie realized that his wife's account differed from the evidence of his own eyes.

  Tam's second encounter that day was even more disconcerting. Walter Pax's tall house near the castle with its windows staring over the city, must have given Pax's spying activities a useful vantage point, he decided as he climbed the stairs. After some little time he was admitted to an antechamber hung with portraits and tapestries that produced the illusion of a wealthy private residence. A clerk appeared regarding him with suspicion, until he uttered the magic words 'Lady Buccleuch'.