The men by the window then came over and I found myself being greeted by James Stewart, otherwise known as Lord Moray, and Lord Robert Stewart, both of them Mary’s half brothers. I learned later that they spelled their surname differently from hers due to a complex family history. Just how complex Scottish family histories could be, I hadn’t yet discovered.
My final introduction was to a short, dark, strong-featured man whose name was James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. Wine and sweetmeats were brought and handed around. Then a slight but marked hiatus in the general conversation told me that I was now supposed to state my purpose in this visit. I assembled my thoughts into what I hoped would be the right order and turned to Mary.
“Madam, you must be wondering why I have presented myself to you.” I used English, knowing that as long as I spoke fairly slowly, most of the Scottish courtiers would probably follow it. “I have no very special purpose. I simply felt that since I was here, and since I believe that you have . . . have heard of my late husband, I should come to offer my respects. My husband greatly admired you.”
“And worked for my interests,” Mary said gently, also now in English, though with a heavy Scots bias. “I never met the Seigneur de la Roche but I knew of his work and was most grateful.” She smiled at me. I think the secret of her charm lay in the fact that when she was talking to you, she always made you feel that her mind was wholly on you, that you were the most important person and interesting person in the world.
“I am being remiss,” she said. “Since I returned to Edinburgh, I have received a report on events here during my absence and I know that as well as losing your husband lately, you have now suffered a further dreadful loss. You arrived in the city to find that your cousin had been murdered and you were among those who discovered his body. That must have been a terrible thing. I can only offer you my condolences, knowing that in such a case, words are of little use.”
“We also heard,” said Moray, in a level voice, “that you had come to Edinburgh in the first place in the attempt to persuade your cousin to return to England—that for some reason you and the rest of his family feared that he might be running into danger. Yet you could not tell the court of inquiry what kind of danger you feared, or from whom you feared it.”
He was a tall, brown-haired man, considerably older than Mary, with a face as watchful as hers was open, and his manner toward me was guarded rather than friendly.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s true. I didn’t—I still don’t—know what his family meant by danger. His parents and his wife wanted me to come after him because they thought only a family member would have any influence with him. I agreed because his wife in particular was much distressed. She has two small children.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mary nod sympathetically and knew that with her at least I had struck a chord. “But none of them,” I said, “altogether trusted me, because although I was married to Matthew de la Roche, I have also served Queen Elizabeth.”
“Yet you are a Catholic?” said Moray, who, as I well knew, was not.
“But English born,” I said. “Many English Catholics are loyal to Queen Elizabeth and so am I. Matthew was not, of course. But I feel I owe loyalty to the sovereign of my country and, as I said, I have served her at court.” I wondered as I said it why I sounded in my own ears like a complete hypocrite, even though I was telling the precise truth.
Mary, however, was nodding. “You spoke at the inquiry of your service at the court of England. You see how well informed I am! I understand your point of view. It is to be respected.”
“Did your attachment to Elizabeth not—er—complicate matters with your husband?” inquired Moray, while his half brother, with an air of neutrality, offered me sweetmeats.
“In marriage,” I said sententiously, accepting some marchpane, “it is sometimes best if the parties simply do not discuss matters on which they disagree. After all, there are so many other things to talk about and share.”
I regret to say that at this point Darnley grinned and winked at me and Bothwell uttered a snort of what I can only call ribald amusement.
Mary, ignoring them, laughed and said: “How wise.” She turned to Mary Livingstone, who had rejoined us. “You must talk with Madame de la Roche before your wedding, my Marie. She has wise counsel for you.”
“Madam,” I said, “I did have one small, personal purpose in coming to your court. If I may speak of it . . . ?”
“But of course! Tell me!”
“It was a terrible shock to find my cousin as I did. I have had nightmares since then. I did know that there were people in Edinburgh that he hoped to see. One of them was Lady Simone Dougal, whose letter of introduction smoothed my path to you. Alas, she had not seen him. I hoped she had—so that I could talk to someone who had spoken with him lately, and take back to his family any news I could of how he was during his last days on earth. But I haven’t yet found the other person. His name is Sir Brian Dormbois and I believe he may be here at your court. If so, is there a chance that I might have just a few words with him?”
• • •
Of course I could. Mary was as eager to please as though I were the queen and she the supplicant. For the first time I took in how young she was, much younger than I. I did a rapid calculation in my head and worked out that she was only twenty-two, to my thirty.
But certainement, said Mary, switching back to the French tongue, she knew Brian Dormbois. He was a Scottish noble in the service of her uncle Rene and they were both at Holyrood and should be somewhere about. Someone should be sent to find Dormbois and send him to me.
“I will go, madame!” said David Riccio and Henry Darnley simultaneously and Mary laughed at them.
“Are you vying to do my errands? You shall both go, in different directions, and so Dormbois may be found the sooner. Riccio, seek for him indoors and Henri”—she gave Darnley’s name its Gallic pronunciation—“try the courtyards and stables and the mews. He is as likely to be found there as anywhere.”
She picked up her embroidery again and sat there, sweetly amused as they bowed their way out and departed. Then a shaft of sunlight fell across her work, and she glanced up at the window.
“The sun is out! At last! How the gray weather of this land depresses my spirits at times. I have had no exercise today. I will take a turn in the gardens. Come, my Maries. Will you join us, Madame de la Roche? Dormbois can come to you there as well as anywhere.”
With Elizabeth, it would have been an order, while with Mary, it was a request. I chose, however, to interpret it as a command, and accompanied her as she led the way out, beckoning to me to walk beside her. Moray walked on her other side, while Mary Seton and Mary Livingstone followed close behind. I had the impression that these two, although they were not in the least alike, were united in one thing: their deep affection for their mistress.
It was real, that affection, and in time I learned that the other two Maries, whom I had not yet seen, shared it too. Mary Stuart was one of those who engender love. They can do it even while they scheme and plot. She even did it to me. I don’t like to think of that scene of butchery at Fotheringhay. Even the hardened men who carried out the execution can’t have found it easy.
Meanwhile, it was still 1565, long before the happy sunshine was darkened by the shadow of the block. Mary, her strides long and brisk, swept us all down a stair and out into the open. On the way, people appeared with cloaks, which we all hastily donned, because the sun, for all its brilliance, had no warmth.
“Where are you lodged, madame?” Mary asked me as we paced through a formal knot garden, where there would be primroses before long and patches of turned earth were awaiting seedlings. “I hope you are comfortable.”
I began to describe my lodgings, but she interrupted me. “Oh, I know those buildings. But they are mean affairs—they are not for a lady of my royal cousin’s court! There are rooms to spare here; you must lodge at Holyrood while you are in Edinburgh. Have you horses?”
�
�Yes, madam, three of them. They are at a stable in the town. They . . .”
“There are stalls unused in my stables, too. James!”
“As you will,” said Moray, though not with great enthusiasm. “I will pass on your orders to the steward.”
“Stalls for three horses—and there’s an empty suite in the north tower. You know the one,” Mary said. “Bid him have it prepared for guests. As queen of Scotland, I must uphold the Scottish tradition of hospitality. You shall move in this very evening, Madame de la Roche. What servants have you apart from your woman?”
“Just a manservant, who is also my groom, madam. He is the husband of my tirewoman, though. If there is room in the suite . . .”
“Oh, indeed. There are three rooms there. You shall stay for Mary Livingstone’s marriage, for there is only a week to go. Mary, you must show Madame de la Roche your wedding gown.”
“Queen Mary is giving me my gown,” said bright-eyed Mary Livingstone, “and my banquet, and my dowry.”
Robert Stewart and the Earl of Bothwell had followed us out to the garden, though at a more leisurely pace, but now caught us up and drew Mary’s attention away from me with talk of the hawking party, which they had been discussing when I arrived. I fell slightly behind, looking about me and taking in my surroundings.
Holyrood was indeed a very beautiful palace, well suited to Mary, and unlike anything I had expected to find in Scotland. A number of people had emerged from it to do as we were doing and seize a chance of walking in the sun; others were hurrying on errands which no doubt they had put off until the outdoor world was pleasanter. Since I knew he was employed by one of Mary’s nobles, I should not have been taken aback to come face-to-face with Adam Ericks, but I was.
I hadn’t suspected him during the court inquiry but Brockley’s discoveries had most decidedly aroused my doubts. The sight of him instantly brought back the all too vivid memory of that room in the Macnabs’ house, of Edward’s dead body, with its stretched mouth and staring eyes and the blood.
I stopped short and I know I turned pale. Adam had recognized me, as well. His eyes flicked over my face, and hardened. He went past without speaking and I stood still, while Mary Stuart and her companions walked on ahead.
On impulse, I fumbled in my hidden pouch and found the button. Stooping, I made believe to pick something up from the verge of a flowerbed and then, turning, I called: “Master Ericks!”
He halted, looking over his shoulder.
“I think you dropped this,” I said, holding up the button, and walking back toward him. I held the button out on my palm. “I thought I saw something fall as you passed me.”
He looked at it and then at me, his mouth curling in dislike. “That’s none of mine. I’ve lost nothing.”
I stared at him, and he stared inimically back. I supposed he had reason to find me objectionable. He knew nothing of Brockley’s probing, but at the inquiry he had nearly been accused of murdering Edward, and whether he was innocent or guilty, it was bound to annoy him.
I shrugged. Either he had seen the trap and avoided it, or he genuinely didn’t recognize the button. I opened my mouth to say I was sorry to have troubled him, but he got in first, his voice raised in anger.
“I take it that ye want to pin some blood-guilt on me. I’ll hae none of it! Aye, Master Knox is in the right of it! Wummen shouldnae hold rule over men, nor poke their noses into affairs that are none o’ theirs!”
Now I was the one who was annoyed. “I merely asked if you had dropped this! If you think I am trying to pin blood-guilt, as you call it, on you, then you must have it seriously on your mind! For my part, I only want to find the one who murdered my cousin, and since he was my cousin, don’t try to tell me that his death is none of my business!”
“I do tell ye! I’d not lower mysel’ to go creepin’ in at windows in the night, even to rid the earth of a papist. Even to rid it of the pope himself! And now I’ll be on my way and I’ll thank ye not to accost me again in this manner.”
“And Madame de la Roche will nae doot thank you to use more courtesy toward her,” said a voice beside me and I turned quickly, to find an unknown gentleman standing there. Unlike most of the Scotsmen I had seen, he was clean-shaven, and his hair, dark except for a little early silvering (for he was surely under forty) at the temples, was cut neatly short. He was as well tailored as Darnley, his mulberry-colored doublet a flawless fit, and topped by a narrow, open ruff of snowy linen. Despite the cold, he was carrying his cloak tossed carelessly over his shoulder.
“I am Sir Brian Dormbois,” he said. “You were seeking me, I hear. Is this fellow troubling you?”
I opened my mouth to say no, it was just a misunderstanding, but Dormbois didn’t wait for me to answer. “I rather think he is,” he remarked, and without more ado, he caught hold of Ericks, spun him around, and landed a kick on his rear. I exclaimed in protest and Ericks swore at him over his shoulder, but Dormbois stepped forward and Ericks took himself off, though not entirely without dignity, even managing an ironic sketch of a bow to me before walking away. Dormbois picked up his cloak, which he had dropped, and became once more the fashionable gentleman of a moment ago.
“That really wasn’t necessary!” I said, considerably startled. “I irritated him, though I didn’t mean to.”
“I know about him, and you,” said Dormbois. “I knew your cousin Edward. I’ve heard all about the inquiry. Do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“Quite. He and Edward Faldene had had an altercation, so it looks possible. Edward hadn’t been in Edinburgh long enough to quarrel with many people.” His voice was clipped and Scottish but also educated, the accent mild compared to that of Ericks. “You wanted to see me?” he said. “That long lad Darnley came to fetch me to you.”
“I did want to see you, yes. I knew that Edward knew you. I wanted to ask . . . if you saw him before he died.” Carefully, as with Mary Stuart, I trotted out my excuse for asking. “I want to tell his wife as much as I can about the last days of his life.”
Dormbois was shaking his head. “I’d help and gladly if I could, but no, I didnae see him, though maybe I would have, if I’d been in the city at the time.”
“You were with the court in Fife?” I asked.
“Och, no,” said Dormbois, to my surprise. “I’m in command of Rene of Elboeuf’s retainers but I’m not always with the court. I’m often at my home. I’ve good captains under me. I descend on them now and then and put the fear of God into them, but for the most part my life’s my own. I’m no’ dependent on my pay, anyhow.”
He grinned in a disconcerting fashion. He had thick black eyebrows and eyes that were not merely hazel-green like my own but a cold, clear green. When he was amused, they glinted like ice water in sunlight, and he had the kind of grin that slides right up the sides of the face and presents you with a view of its owner’s molars. His teeth were in superb condition. He was extremely attractive and somehow, alarming as well. He also gave me an odd feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, though I couldn’t think when or where.
He sobered. “My home’s outside of Edinburgh, between here and Stirling, and as it chances, I had something to call me back there not long since. My land agent, Jamie Fraser, had a brother to visit him. I wanted a look at the brother. Jamie’s been lame since he fell into a gully while he was stalking deer and broke his leg. I wondered if the brother would make a replacement, if I could get him away from his present folk. But no, Hamish Fraser is just an indoor steward and has no wish to change. Och well. Jamie has good men under him and he knows his business. He can still ride a horse. I’ll make do with him for a while yet.”
“Hamish?” I said. “That reminds me of something—he wouldn’t be steward to a family called Thursby, at St. Margaret’s, just south of the Scots border?”
“Aye, that’d be him. You know the Thursbys?”
“I stayed with them on the way north,” I said. “You know them
also?”
“Och, all the families of any standing know each other, here and in Northumberland. That’s the way it is up here in the north. I warn you, if you go to any banquet or gathering here, be careful what you say. Ask who a pretty girl is, and you’ll likely find the person you’re talking to comes from a family that’s got a feud with the lass’s father. And beware of sharp answers, even to a fellow who’s been impertinent, in case you find that on the other side of you, you’ve got his brother-in-law or his second cousin twice removed. Till you know who’s married to who, and who’s feuding with who, better keep a still tongue.”
“Can I talk about the weather?”
Dormbois laughed, giving me another magnificent view of his teeth. “Aye. Yes, that’s safe enough.”
I said suddenly: “I would like to know a great deal more about Adam Ericks but I don’t know how best to find out. Can you advise me?”
“Ah.” The glinting eyes fastened on me with a keen interest. “I guessed right, then.”
I was nonplussed. “You guessed . . . ?”
“It’s not just a tale of your cousin’s last days that you’re after, is it? Not just a matter of a few word pictures of him to put into his wife’s mind to comfort her. You want to know who killed him. You’ve a feud with his murderer and you’re out to hunt him down. Mostly men’s work, that would be, but you wouldn’t be the first woman to set out on such a quest for want of a man to do it for you. Am I right?”
More disconcerted than ever, I answered him truthfully. “Yes.”
“Well, and why not? You’d make a good Scotswoman, my lass. You think the way any of us would. I know nothing of Ericks, but I can find out more for you, I daresay. If you think it’ll help.”
“I can’t tell, not until the knowledge is in my hands.”
“I’ll try,” said Dormbois briskly. “I’ll see what I can learn this very day. There’s a hawking party tomorrow morning. Queen Mary’s fond of falconry. I’m invited and free to bring a guest. You’ll join it and ride with me? While we ride, I can tell you what I’ve learned.”
A Pawn for a Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court) Page 11
