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

by Alanna Knight

  Tam managed to ride alongside Marie Seton, who confirmed their worst fears. 'She sits for hours at her bedroom window, white-faced and trembling, without a word or a morsel of food passing her lips. All of us who know and love Her Grace fear that not only her body but her mind also will break down,' she added in a fearful whisper.

  This Marie, in deep mourning, as were all the court by Mary's orders, was very different from the happy, laughing Seton he had left such a short time ago, excited and more than a little in love with Adam Drummond.

  When Tam asked after Adam's health, Marie said sadly, 'I believe he is well. He wishes us to marry as soon as the Queen's mourning is ended and her health permits. But, alas, marriage is further than ever from my thoughts now. Since this terrible tragedy the Queen needs me with her more than ever.' She shook her head. 'My place is at her side, ready to comfort and reassure her. She relies on me.'

  'Then follow the examples set by Livingstone and Fleming, who married and remained in her service.'

  'You do not understand. If I marry Adam, it is to be his true wife and mother to his children, the future heirs of Drummond. And that is to be my only home. The break with the Queen must be complete. It is Adam's command and I well know and understand that such is the one condition of our marriage. I must be lady of his house. He must be my first allegiance and I must have no other.'

  'Is he not proud that you should serve the Queen?'

  'He says I have spent all my life serving Her Grace and it is now time that I served a husband. He is quite right, Tam. He has asked me to make a choice, a decision. I must think well upon it.' She shrugged. 'But you see the state of my poor lady. How can I of all people, her most trusted servant and childhood friend, desert her now when she needs me most? How could I be happy as Adam Drummond's bride with such matter on my conscience?'

  'What of Lord Bothwell?' asked Tam, remembering the rumours hinting that he had murdered the king, intending to step into his shoes and rule Scotland at Mary's side. And that they were already lovers.

  Marie gave him an unhappy glance. 'What indeed? Her Grace refuses to believe that he had any part in the King's murder, but who knows? She relies on him, trusts him. Pray God that her trust is not false. But I think she is a little afraid of him.'

  Within sight of Seton, Marie turned to him and said, 'Dear Tam, I am afraid.' She closed her eyes tightly. 'Afraid that I may never see you again. Tell me that my fears are foolish.'

  Tam reached out for her hand, aware that his murmured reassurances were lies. When their ways parted, his heart felt like lead, as with Janet, Dorothy and their escort they continued towards Morham. Tam thought of Marie's words concerning Bothwell and the Queen's fear of him. Was it with greater cause than she would admit even to her close and loving companion Seton?

  At Morham, Bothwell's mother came out to greet them, her anxiety all for her dear friend Dorothy.

  Servants helped her out of the litter and one of the men carried her up the steps and into the house.

  From the garden the small figure of William appeared and rushed towards her, seizing her hand, crying one endearing word, to which Janet reacted with some surprise.

  ‘I had not realized matters had so progressed.'

  Lady Morham smiled. 'So touching, is it not? He holds her in such loving regard.'

  They paused briefly to take refreshments. Eager to reach Haddington, Janet did not contradict Lady

  Morham, who assumed that they were heading back to Branxholm.

  'It will be good for you, my dear, to be home and at peace after all these dreadful days in Edinburgh. Rumour has reached us, of course, but to have lived through such dangerous times.'

  Tam wondered if rumours concerning her son's part in the King's murder had also reached her, but that seemed unlikely, as she discussed the tragedy as if it had already happened long ago.

  With so much personal tragedy, these matters failed to touch the life she had made for herself here in Morham, mere pebbles skimming the smooth surface of a lake.

  Dorothy was carried to the bedchamber she had occupied since her first days at Morham, with William at their heels, holding tightly to her hand. She smiled at him and whispered a grateful thanks to Tam and Janet. Then wearily she closed her eyes.

  Tam escorted Lady Morham downstairs, leaving Janet to give instructions to those who were to look after Dorothy.

  When she joined them again after taking some refreshment, she indicated to Tam that they should leave.

  ‘I expect my son will be looking in to see me on his way to visit his dear wife,' said Lady Morham. 'Lady Jean is gravely ill, we hear.'

  This mention of her daughter-in-law's illness seemed to affect her little more than reporting that of a stranger or a servant on the estate. For Tam it all added to the picture of Bothwell's sad lack of filial affection for his mother and responsibility for his son.

  'James will no doubt bring us all the latest news of what is happening in Edinburgh,' Lady Morham continued. 'All these terrible riots. Ordinary people are so unfeeling. We can only thank God that Her Grace was not in danger and has been spared to us.'

  At the door Janet paused. 'Will you give Lord Bothwell a message from me?'

  'With pleasure, my dear.'

  Janet handed her a letter. 'He will ken where to find me.'

  And to Tam, as they rode away, she explained, 'We spent many happy days at Haddington when Jamie was being sought by his enemies. They never thought to look for him in a church house belonging to a priest.' She sighed. 'How long ago it seems, but we loved each other deeply. Handfasted, it was a kind of extended honeymoon.'

  Tam regarded her nervously. He trusted she was not expecting a second honeymoon with himself as a reluctant successor to Lord Bothwell.

  But his main concern was for Lady Jean Gordon. Although he refrained from mentioning it to Janet, he wondered if her thoughts were the same as his own.

  Could it be that Bothwell, if he were guilty of the King's murder, was also in the process of removing yet another obstacle to the fulfilment of his secret ambition, marriage with the Queen?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Morham. Friday 7 March 1567. Afternoon

  The priest's house on the river by the great church of St Mary's at Haddington was pleasant enough, but their stay was brief. Janet, often absent from the house visiting acquaintances, as well as many of her kin within an hour's ride, was aware that Tam was ill at ease.

  His relief was evident on the day she announced that they would be returning to Branxholm, for, according to reports which had reached her from Edinburgh, they were no longer in any danger. They had been forgotten as the angry citizens vented their hatred on Bothwell, adulterer and murderer.

  These events were a far cry from the threats to his life from an unknown woman which had begun that night in November, at Craigmillar Castle, events to which Tam now had the key.

  There were only one or two missing links in that chain and only one person could fill them in for him. It was becoming a matter of urgency and if that person still lived, he had a feeling he would be sent for.

  He hoped it would be soon, as he was aware that his own time was running out. Dreams that were not dreams any longer, but vivid presences with very clear instructions, urged him that his mission was ended. It was almost a year now, soon after Riccio's murder, that he had arrived in Janet Beaton's garden. Now, as they prepared to depart, Janet mistook his silence for apprehension and spoke reassuringly.

  'Have no fears, Tam. The Scotts will protect their own. And there's an army of them around Branxholm,' she said grimly. 'Morham is on our road, shall we see how Dorothy fares?'

  Lady Morham's welcome was warm as ever, but she was unable to conceal her anxiety. Her dear friend Dorothy was far from well.

  'She will be glad of visitors, for her mood is very melancholy and she is sometimes in great pain.'

  They followed her upstairs, to where Dorothy leaned back against the pillows, William playing with a wooden toy at
her side.

  Lady Morham said to him, 'It is time for your lessons, my dear. Your aunt needs to rest.'

  Clambering over Dorothy, William did not notice how she winced. He kissed her and she hugged him briefly, told him to be a good boy and heed his tutor.

  As the door closed, Tam and Janet moved closer to the bed, both aware of how greatly she had changed, and not for the better, in the short time since they had brought her from Edinburgh.

  She looked exhausted, drained. And Tam felt compassion for the ghost of the Dorothy Sinclair he had known in Stirling, that strong, independent woman of great spirit. With considerable tact, Janet pressed his shoulder, indicating that she was leaving them alone.

  Tam took her hand and asked. 'How is it with you?'

  'I survive, as you see.' She smiled wanly. 'I am glad you have come, Tam, to see your poor Dorothy.'

  He was silent for a moment. 'What do I call you now? Is it Dorothy, or Ned, or Will?'

  She shook her head. 'It is Anna. Anna Throndsen.'

  ‘William told us that.'

  'William!' At her startled gasp, he added, 'He called you Mamma when we brought you here.'

  She smiled. 'My son - I could not bear him to call me his aunt.'

  Tam knew he would never be able to think of her as Anna, although he had known her real identity since Kirk O'Field, and guessed at it even longer.

  She looked at him. 'So you are for Branxholm, Tam? I think you will not come this way again, and if you do, that you will not find me here,' she said sadly, pressing his hand. 'This will be our last meeting.'

  Before he could reply, she said, 'I want you to know the truth, Tam. I missed William and only left him in Scotland believing that he would have a better future with his father, who would care for him, than in a house of women in Norway, with an ageing ailing mother who needed my constant attention. But I was wrong.'

  And Tam remembered those few visits to Morham and how Bothwell preferred to forget he had a son.

  'It all began when I came to Stirling to visit Else after her husband died. I still have a passport to Scotland and I've always loved horses - it is the only safe and comfortable way for a woman to travel, preferably in men's clothes, unless one is to be formally received. So I bought a docile horse and made the journey to Edinburgh, dressed as a man, much to Else's horror. I took a room in a tavern, useful to my purposes later, in the High Street.'

  She stretched out her hand and touched the toy William had left. 'First, I was to visit Magdala's grave in Greyfriars. I named her for my younger sister, an unusual name and in despair. I could not find the headstone. Then I saw that someone had defaced the inscription. A vile cruel deed, no doubt by James's orders, part of his refusal to acknowledge our children. Weeping, I left the kirkyard and stood aside for a procession of riders. James, and at his side the Queen. How proud he was, laughing and happy, and I was so miserable and alone. Our eyes met - he looked through me - and in that instant I knew he did not recognize or even remember who I was.

  'I could not blame him for that. I had been well fleshed, with the womanly curves James found so pleasing. Now my body was flat and shapeless and I was dressed as a boy.' She moved thin shoulders. 'In that moment, watching them ride out of sight, I swore to destroy him to avenge Magdala's death, for I held him responsible. A woman beside me said the royal party were heading for Craigmillar Castle. I decided to follow them.

  'I joined a group of packmen bound for Wooler. Near Morham I left them, rode in and said I had a message for Her Ladyship. Directed to the gardens, there was my little William, playing with a puppy.' Her face softened, smiling at memory. 'In nearly three years how he had grown, a handsome little boy. I ran over, put my arms around him and said, "I am your Mamma, William."

  'Amazed, a little afraid too, he pulled away from me. "You are not my Mamma, you are a man. And I don't like you." He sounded quite grown-up, so cross and offended. At that moment Lady Morham appeared, William ran to her and cried; "Send this nasty man away, grandmother." But before he could say another word I pulled off my bonnet, shook down my hair and said to him, 'Forgive me please, I always ride in men's clothes.

  'Poor Lady Morham, she was bewildered and rather shocked by my appearance. As she sent William off to play, I knew that, half blind, she did not recognize me as Anna either. I had changed so much my secret was safe. For suddenly I knew I did not want my son to know I was the mother he believed had abandoned him. But to be sent away, never to see him again! I had to think very quickly. I said, "I am Dorothy Sinclair, Anna's sister. I have been visiting our sister Else in Stirling."

  'Lady Morham was delighted. She called William back and explained that it had been just a pretend game. When William eagerly accepted me as his new aunt, his grandmother, lonely in a fairly isolated house, suggested that if I was not in any hurry to return to Shetland I might consider staying for a while. This was exactly the invitation I had been hoping for. Soon I was hinting that I intended to remain in Scotland and hoped to persuade Anna to allow me to legally adopt William.'

  'Was she not curious about Anna?' Tam asked.

  Dorothy shook her head. 'After the first few days when I explained that I rarely heard from her, she did not bring up the painful subject of Anna's neglect of William again.'

  Seized by a fit of coughing, she took a sip of water Tam gave to her.

  'Is this too tiring for you?' he asked. 'You do not need to tell me any more.'

  She took his hand. 'Dear Tam. I want you to know the truth. It is important that you do not judge me too harshly. I could have continued my deception indefinitely, but first of all I had to destroy James Bothwell. So, pretending I was going to Edinburgh to look at property, I headed to Craigmillar Castle. Stopping for refreshment at a tavern near Peffermill, I fell into conversation with a young Frenchman called Paris, body-servant to Lord Bothwell, who lodged at Peffermill House nearby with some of his mosstroopers. He was puzzled by my fine horse and accent, so I told him some story about tracing relatives in Scotland and that I was looking for employment. He suggested there was always work for a horse-keeper in the castle stables. His advice was correct and proved a good vantage point for observing James's habit of walking up the lane from Peffermill to the castle.'

  'And that was when the idea of Will Fellows came to you,' said Tam. 'When you used this,' he added, throwing the dagger he had found in her lodging in Kirk O'Field on the bed.

  She stared at it. 'How did you get it?'

  'I searched the house while you were absent.'

  'So careless of me and so very ungallant of you, Tam.'

  Ignoring that, Tam said, 'That was your first mistake.'

  'Mistake? How so?'

  'In Stirling I confided in you about the attacks on Bothwell by an unknown woman with a dagger and you said, "Daggers are not unique, not even a lover's special gift." Read the inscription. "To Anna, a love gift from J. H." How did you know that? I certainly hadn't told you.'

  'We all make mistakes, Tam.'

  'Like getting rid of Ben Fellows' body in Duddingston Loch.'

  'I can explain that. James giving Will his cloak with the Bothwell insignia was a grand gesture, but one that revolted me,' she said with a shudder. 'I had to get rid of Will. When I overheard the carter - Archie Crozer - who brought logs to the kitchens, telling the horse-keepers that the old woodcutter Ben Fellows had died that morning, and I'd gathered from them that Archie would do anything without question if he was well paid, I became the old man's niece and paid Archie well to assist me. Taking a chance that a decomposed corpse being found much later wrapped in James's cloak would persuade him that his rescuer, Will Fellows, had also been murdered.' She paused, frowning. 'I was hoping that by then James would have remembered the dagger and that his guilty conscience would suggest the mysterious woman was Anna Throndsen.'

  'Not his guilty conscience this time,' said Tam. 'It was Janet Beaton who put it into his head.'

  She laughed. 'And unknowingly did me a great service. Did
you believe her, Tam?’

  'I was not convinced. There were others with greater motives, including Lady Jean Gordon, his wife.'

  Tam noticed how she winced at that, but he continued. 'Unfortunately for your plan, Ben Fellows' body was recovered almost immediately, while the wreckage of the cart, its live occupants, a woman and a horse had all vanished without trace. And I began to suspect that Lord Bothwell's rescuer and the would-be assassin were one and the same person.'

  A bout of coughing seized Dorothy. Behind them the door opened and Janet appeared. Eyes closed, the sick woman lay back against the pillows.

  'You must not overture her, Tam. She must sleep. I have something here to ease her pain,' she whispered. Leaning over the bed, she said, 'This will make you feel better, Dorothy.'

  A few sips. 'What a pleasant taste,' she murmured.

  And as Janet moved away and Tam stood up to follow her, she said drowsily. 'Let him stay. Just a few more moments. Please stay, Tam. Promise.'

  'I promise.'

  Her eyes closed.

  'Stay, Tam. You promised.'

  Tam had returned to the bedchamber two hours later and, thinking Dorothy still slept, was about to leave again. Unaware that time had passed, she took his hand.

  'I could have killed James the day he stood under Walter Pax's window in Edinburgh.' She looked at him thoughtfully. 'You were with him. Perhaps I should have killed you both.'

  'Perhaps that would have been best.'

  For a moment she stared at him, as if considering. 'I had become Ned Wells. I needed money desperately and some of my father's associates in Norway had trading agreements through Walter Pax. They were honest men, but they discovered that Pax was not. That he was a forger. I decided to pay him a visit. I wrote a good hand and I had to forge my father's signature often when his arm became paralysed and he left me in charge of his business ventures. He had debtors and was afraid of losing our home and leaving his family penniless.