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

by Alanna Knight

  Another short wait and he was led into the room he had observed overlooking the street. On three walls, shelves overflowing with documents went high to the ceiling, the lower reaches lined by scribes at work, to the ceaseless scratching of quill pens.

  As Tam explained Lady Buccleuch's wishes to Pax, the man's bland countenance gave nothing away, its grey complexion showing a remarkable likeness to a slate wiped clean. Shrewd heavy-lidded eyes, however, belied his nondescript appearance and Tam was aware that one of the pens nearby had ceased its scratching, its owner's face poised in his direction.

  As he turned, the youth was walking quickly towards the door, his manner so furtive Tam could only conclude that he did not wish to be seen.

  For an instant Tam thought he recognized the face beneath the well-turned-down velvet bonnet and, as the door closed, he interrupted Pax, who asked rather irritably, 'What is wrong?'

  'That young man. I thought I knew him. What is his name?'

  Pax frowned. 'Ned Wells.'

  Tam shook his head. 'Does he live hereabouts?'

  Pax froze. If his face was capable of any expression, then it would have been distrust. ‘I know nothing of his whereabouts, sir. He is merely an apprentice who looks in from time to time when I am overburdened with work.'

  Tam realized that was all the information he was likely to receive. He left, suspecting that Pax knew more than he was giving away with good reasons for keeping his own counsel.

  In that conclusion Tam was right. Pax had indeed far-reaching plans for this particular apprentice. He had already entrusted him with confidential, nay, even treasonable, material purchased at considerable cost from an unknown woman. Heavily veiled, she was anxious to keep her identity secret.

  A man of few emotions, he felt a thrill of excitement at letters which were addressed to Lord Bothwell from a passionate Norwegian lady and from the Queen herself. Valuable properties which met with such approval from his employers that rarely opened purses were eagerly brought out.

  He watched Eildor from the window, frowning. Perhaps Lady Buccleuch's servant was also a spy. And he was not prepared to take chances that might put his own head on the block.

  Janet was absent when Tam returned to Beaton House and he took the opportunity to examine the secret document he had been preparing on the mystery surrounding the attacks on Bothwell.

  Since the red-headed carter involved in the disposal of Ben Fellows' corpse in Duddingston Loch was now alive and well, he could not be the drowned young man whose recovery from the Nor' Loch had so upset the start of the Queen's journey to Stirling.

  Tam, could only conclude that his original premise had been correct and Archie's services had been hired by the 'Spanish lady'. When Jenny had put in an appearance so inopportunely, he was still hoping to obtain some answers to that riddle. But as Archie was obviously terrified of the consequences of his actions, and had doubtless been paid well to keep silent, Tam realized he could have little hopes of any useful information from that source.

  To his account of events, he added further observations regarding Walter Pax's shy apprentice and one or two suggestions which, although fantastic, might eventually throw out possible leads.

  By the time he had finished, it was growing dark and, suddenly bored with the prospect of yet another evening of his own company, he decided to visit Dorothy Sinclair in her new home.

  Aware of the dangers of cutpurses and worse in the twilight hour, he knew he should take a link-boy or torch-bearer if he was to go on foot. But the distance seemed too little to go down to the stable in the mews at the back of the house and saddle up Ajax. Besides, he enjoyed walking. He would take a chance on the criminal fraternity of Edinburgh being still heavily engaged spending their market day's cache of ill-gotten gains.

  The approaching evening was pleasant indeed. A sunset and the first stars in a clear sky above the quadrangle of houses at St Mary's suggested a peaceful place forgotten by time.

  In the tall, imposing building that was Hamilton House, candles were lit in the window. The windows of the Provost's House were similarly lit and there was a scene of activity, of arrivals and departures outside, of torches visible through the long, low building which led from the living quarters into the courtyard.

  He remembered why. The King was now in residence.

  Wheels rumbled on the narrow wynd behind him. Too late to step aside, he held up a hand in warning. The carter, distinguished by the red hair escaping from under his hood, was undoubtedly Archie Crozer, heading straight towards him.

  Archie stopped the cart just before the horse's hooves made contact with Tam, who had leapt aside and stumbled to the ground, his hands over his head.

  Leaning over, Archie yelled, ‘Are ye bad hurt?'

  Tam picked himself up indignantly. 'No thanks to you. You are in a terrible hurry, man.'

  Suddenly he recognized Tam's face staring up at him.

  'Ye're the mannie Jenny telt me about. Ye tried to bribe me.' He looked at the King's house in terror. Are ye wi' them?' he whispered. 'Is this yer doing?' he added, pointing to the cart. 'Have they sent ye to spy on me?'

  Tam saw that vegetables had now been replaced by two large trunks and a barrel.

  Archie had leapt down in an agitated manner. 'I'll have nowt to do with this. I'm just a carter, I'm not a traitor. It's just one more delivery for me. I have my orders - from the castle,' he added proudly. And with this acknowledgement of importance, he anxiously regarded his load. Carefully examining and tightening the cords that bound them together was a matter of serious concern.

  Tam felt he should offer to help, since he had been partly responsible for this upset.

  'Where are you off to with that load, at this time of night?'

  Archie gave a grunt. Without deigning to reply, he sprang aboard the cart again. As it shot forward, a thin grey trickle of dust was deposited at Tam's feet.

  He picked up a few grains, sniffed it.

  Gunpowder.

  Tam ran after the retreating cart, keeping at a safe distance. Its destination was the King's lodging, where it disappeared through the narrow gateway and headed towards the low building to the right.

  On the evidence of fine folk arriving and leaving through the postern gate in the town wall, the Queen would be visiting her convalescent husband. According to Bothwell, she went twice a day. And with the Queen, the Maries.

  Marie Seton might well be in danger.

  His heart beat faster. He must tell her. He must warn Bothwell. And Dorothy Sinclair should be aware of the dangers of gunpowder in the vicinity of that quiet cathedral-like quadrangle, with its ruined church and its air of antiquity.

  But Dorothy Sinclair was not at home, Tam decided she could wait. She was not in any immediate danger.

  If only he knew where to find Bothwell.

  His progress across the courtyard was challenged by a sentry.

  'I wish to see Lord Bothwell. It is a matter of urgency.'

  Looking past the man, he saw the Queen's horse being saddled. And fortune was with him. At that moment Bothwell emerged from the house, hurrying across the yard.

  'My Lord, a word with you.'

  Bothwell stared into the gloom, recognized him and came forward.

  ‘Ah, Eildor. Will this take long? The Queen awaits me.'

  ‘A word, my Lord. Outside, if you please,' said Tam desperately. ‘A matter that concerns Her Grace.'

  Bothwell followed him into the lane, where quickly Tam told him about Archie Crozer, the red-headed carter, who had not drowned in Duddingston Loch.

  'Just moments ago, my Lord, he drove a cart - which I have reason to believe contained gunpowder -towards the low building at the side there.'

  Bothwell looked in the direction Tam indicated. 'The salle, it's called - where the Queen receives her courtiers, before they're admitted to the King's bedroom.'

  Tam watched Bothwell's reactions. Even in the dim light, they were not as surprised and shocked as he had imagined they
would be by such news.

  'The Queen, sir.'

  Bothwell sighed, put a hand on his arm. 'The Queen is in no danger, Eildor. You have done well to warn me, but you have my word on that.'

  Tam remembered the conversation he had overheard between Bothwell and Janet.

  This was no time for delicacy.

  'Her Grace visits Lord Darnley each day. Is it not true that she spends the night with him?'

  Bothwell winced at that. 'She does not sleep in the same chamber, Eildor. She returns to Holyrood most nights.'

  He put a hand on Tam's arm, said gently to him, 'I do entreat you, forget all this nonsense about gunpowder, put what you think you have seen out of your mind. Rest assured, Her Grace is in no danger and will not come to any harm.'

  And suddenly, sickeningly, Tam realized that there was before him a plot to kill the King. And Bothwell was part of it.

  He wished he could tell Janet, but it was unlikely she would return from Blackness before morning.

  He stared after Bothwell. He had to tell someone. To warn Marie Seton.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wednesday 5 February 1567. Morning

  Tam slept little that night. By morning Janet had still not returned and, fearing the worst, he hurried down the road to Holyrood, narrowly escaping a heavy shower of sleet and rain.

  He hoped that this early in the day he would be sure of an audience with Marie. When he was announced, she rushed out and greeted him warmly. She was dressed for outdoors and explained.

  'I am glad to see you, Tam, but we are about to leave on our daily visit to Lord Darnley.'

  Sighing as if the prospect did not give her much pleasure, but remembering the conversation he had overheard between Janet and Bothwell, Tam said, 'I understand that matters are now harmonious between them.'

  Marie regarded Tam gravely. 'It is beyond belief, a miracle to those of us who know them, what marvels the King's illness has worked upon their marriage. Her Grace has always a tender heart and they are on the most cordial terms. Lord Darnley is almost pathetically pleased to see her each day. She never leaves his bedside, plays cards and reads to him. Twice she has slept in the room below, and he is to return with her to Holyrood at the end of the week when the period of his quarantine is at an end.'

  Fear gripped Tam's throat as he asked, 'Do you sleep there also?'

  'Nay, he will allow none of us to accompany her. She has the little room below his own. You can see it from here. There are a few steps down to it from the salle! Marie paused and added significantly, 'She has promised to be his true wife again, in bed and board. And truly it seems to us, watching them, as if they had turned back the clock and matters were again with them as they were before - before last year at this time.'

  He realized she meant when Riccio was murdered.

  She continued, 'He leaves here on the morning after Bastian Pagez's wedding to Christina Hogg on Sunday.'

  The night planned for Darnley's murder, thought Tam grimly. But how could he begin to tell Marie that he had reason to believe the house was mined with gunpowder. What of the panic that would ensue? He might even be arrested himself.

  No. He must rely on Bothwell to tell the Queen the truth. He could not bear to entertain even the slightest suspicion that she might also be involved. And he thanked God that none of her Maries ever stayed with her at the King's lodging.

  He realized he was hardly listening to Marie any more, as she said, 'All has worked out very well, after the great fuss Lord Darnley made about not going to Craigmillar.' She sighed. 'The move to Kirk O'Field caused everyone a great deal of trouble.'

  'In what way? Surely they were prepared for him?'

  Marie shook her head. 'Not at all. His last-minute decision was very inconvenient. Craigmillar was in all readiness. Then on the very outskirts of Edinburgh he suddenly decided he wanted to go to this place away on the south side of the city, right in the country. Everyone tried to dissuade him, but he was determined. So beds and furniture had to be hastily removed from Craigmillar for his convenience—'

  'A moment, Marie. You mean that he did not know before he left Glasgow?'

  'No. Maybe he brooded about that horrible raven that followed his litter all the way from his father's house. Maybe that stirred his guilty conscience and made him fear Craigmillar, where all had been prepared for him.' She looked at Tam. 'I wonder if ravens have souls?'

  'Why do you think that?'

  She shuddered. 'Because the horrible bird refuses to leave him. It has settled on the roof of the Provost's House. It might well be poor Davy come back to haunt him.'

  'Seton, Her Grace is ready.'

  Summoned, Marie took her departure.

  He bowed over her hand and she whispered, 'Come again and see me, Tam. Once the Queen is back in Holyrood, we will have more time at our disposal.'

  Deep in thought, and none of it agreeable, Tam was walking past the gates of Greyfriars when he saw a woman emerge from the kirkyard. A woman in deep mourning, wearing a hood. But despite her back being turned towards him, some ten yards away, there was something in that walk, in the proud carriage, that he recognized.

  He began to run towards her, shouted, 'Dorothy!'

  She turned and gasped out, ‘Tam!'

  'I thought it was you, but I have not seen you in mourning before. I called at your lodging,' he began, and then said, 'I trust this is not a sudden bereavement.'

  She sighed deeply, recovering her composure. 'Sadly, this is the anniversary of my dear husband's death, Tam,’ Her eyes filled with tears. 'I always bring out my mourning again. It is what he would have wished.'

  Tam was surprised. This was far from the convention-defying he had come to expect from the unsentimental Dorothy.

  'He is buried in the kirkyard here,’ she said.

  'I understood he drowned at sea.'

  She smiled sadly, wiping away a tear. 'That is so, but his body was washed up at Leith. His boat sank in a storm offshore, when they were making for Edinburgh.'

  Tam took her hand, which trembled in his. 'My condolences, Dorothy, on your sad day.'

  'Yes, it is sad, Tam.'

  'May I escort you back to St Mary's?'

  'My thanks, but no.' She brightened. 'You must excuse me, but I am in a great rush. I have my lawyers to see. Little William's adoption. There are always more papers to sign. The procedure seems endless.'

  As their ways parted, Tam watched her walk across and disappear down a close. Curiosity led his footsteps into the kirkyard. He could see no stone that might relate to John Sinclair. And then he felt a certain compassion. Perhaps having a monument was more than his widow could afford. He had presumed, wrongly, it seemed, that she had been well provided for, a woman of property.

  Retracing his steps, he remembered the version of the tragedy related by Lady Morham: a ship sunk after being attacked by English pirates off the Scottish coast. Maybe it had survived long enough to continue its voyage before the storm . . .

  Suddenly he stopped. He had reached the infant's grave he had stood by that first day when he came in search of Ben Fellows' burial. How long ago that seemed.

  'Magdala, beloved daughter of—and sister—'

  He paused in front of the stone with its mutilated inscription, remembering how cruel it had seemed. But the morning's rain had restored some of the lost names, which now stood out boldly:

  He crouched down to read them.

  The parents' names remained barely decipherable, but as he looked bleakly into the falling dusk he knew who it was he had seen earlier that week in Walter Pax's office.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kirk O'Field. Sunday 9 February 1567. Morning

  Tam arose early that morning and was already outside the Provost's House long before the church bells in Edinburgh had begun their weekly summons.

  Unable to sleep, his thoughts had returned repeatedly to his last meeting with Bothwell and the latter's insistence, when he tried to alert him to the possible danger t
hreatening the house, that the Queen was in no danger.

  If this was so, as Bothwell had assured him, then the target was the King. And tonight was the last chance. It had been carefully planned for when the Queen would be absent at Pagez's wedding and was unlikely to return to sleep in the King's lodging, on whose roof the raven had taken up permanent residence. A mournful sight, its cawing echoed through the daylight hours as it hopped back and forth along the apex of the pantiled roof, resisting every attempt to scare it away and leading a charmed life. For it had become target practice and the object of many bets from those on sentry duty.

  But oblivious of pistol shots from keen marksmen, it merely cawed indignantly, took off into the air and, before they could give a dissatisfied grunt, settled back to its hopping, minus one or two floating feathers that drifted groundwards.

  Observing the latest attempt by the soldiers on its miserable life, Tam decided there could scarcely be a greater foreboding of disaster, But what was he to do about it when the signs were that a worse human tragedy was in the offing?

  He was in a dilemma of his own. He could scarcely spend the entire day vigilant in the open air, chilled to the bone by a brisk north wind with flurries of snow, keeping an eye on the house before him, so still and silent on a Sunday morning.

  Shivering, he realized the necessity of finding some sheltered place, preferably indoors, from where he could keep watch and be ready to warn the Queen.

  The obvious place was Dorothy Sinclair's lodging, so it was at her door he presented himself.

  Dressed for the outdoors in her furred cloak, she seemed a little taken aback to find him on her threshold. Her welcome lacked its usual warmth. Had Tam been less preoccupied with more urgent matters, he might have considered it cool in the extreme. Hardly what he had been led to expect by the close friendship that had existed in Stirling and the eager invitations to extend their relationship once Dorothy settled in Edinburgh.