The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “I’ll go,” Beth said. “It will take only a moment, and he should not be running loose, for he is quite a valuable dog, you know.” Taking a leaf from Patrick’s book, she added, “I believe he may belong to the falconer’s master.”

  Lady Farnsworth opened her mouth and shut it again. “Very well,” she said, “but hurry. You’ve little enough time without wasting it on that wretched creature.”

  Downstairs, Beth discovered that Thunder was alone, which presented her with a dilemma. When she called, he wagged his tail but kept his distance as if he suspected that, given any opportunity, she might lock him up somewhere.

  “Come, Thunder,” she coaxed again.

  He did not stir a step.

  Knowing she had no more time, she gave up. “Please don’t get hurt or lost,” she said. “l do not want to have to tell Jock that something bad happened to you.”

  She hurried back upstairs, packed the young ladies’ gowns in haste, and managed to be ready only a few minutes after the time Sir Hector had set to leave. Since they had to wait while Lady Farnsworth finished one or two more small things, no one scolded, and the company was soon ready to depart.

  Lady Farnsworth, her daughters, Oscar Farnsworth’s wife, and Martha Elliot all rode palfreys. Beth walked with the men and the porter who transported the ladies’ other gowns in a two-wheeled cart. She did not mind the walk.

  The way was crowded, the atmosphere that of a holiday. Many people wended their way to the castle besides those who would attend the grand ball, for there would be public tournaments, jousting, and wrestling contests, as well as feasting in the courtyards, and later the ball for those of the gentry and nobility who had received the gilt-edged royal invitation cards.

  Beth found the journey through the crowded streets highly entertaining, because they met jugglers and minstrels, showing off their skills. The air was filled with shouting, laughter, and music. At one point, she found herself walking beside Sir Hector, who smiled and said, “It is a merry day, is it not, lass?”

  “Aye, sir.” She hesitated, and then, because he seemed to expect her to say more, she said, “Was his grace pleased with Zeus?”

  “Aye, I’ve never seen the like. Our erstwhile falconer did a splendid job. Indeed, he said you helped him train Zeus.”

  “Aye, sir. One day I must tell you about his first capture.”

  “Tell me now,” he said.

  She did, and he laughed heartily at hearing of the hawk’s turtle ride.

  Just then, a cold, damp nose pressed into Beth’s hand, and she turned to find Thunder beside her. She stroked his head, and since no one objected to his presence, he accompanied them to the castle.

  Passing through the gate, they entered the crowded outer close where pipes skirled merrily, then slowly passed on to the inner close. Acrobats, jugglers, and minstrels performed there, but soon Beth and the family were inside the King’s building, making their way up the wide stairs to the elegant third-floor suite of rooms that they would occupy for the day and evening ahead.

  The ladies refreshed themselves and then set out to enjoy the entertainments. Beth was tempted to explore, but she knew that if she did, Drusilla or Jelyan would be sure to tear a hem or suffer a headache and would certainly report that she had slipped out. Wondering what had possessed her, so casually to consider disobeying Lady Farnsworth’s command, she began to unpack.

  When she had no more to do, time passed slowly, and knowing that Patrick was nearby increased the temptation to explore. She might have cast her fears to the wind, had she known how to find him, but she did not.

  Stirling sprawled across the top of its crag like a sleeping lion, providing a splendid view of Stirling Carse to the east and west. She could not see the River Forth, but she knew that one could see it from the battlement walk. And although she did not know where Patrick’s apartment might be, she knew that the building she was in, the King’s House, did not house the King. The royal chambers were in the New Palace, at a right angle to the King’s House and forming the second side of the inner close. The great hall, opposite the King’s House, formed the third side and the Chapel Royal formed the fourth.

  She occupied some time by shaking out Drusilla and Jelyan’s dresses again and tidying the room, but with little else to do and Martha in the other room with the door firmly shut, time crawled.

  Patrick spent the afternoon dancing attendance on his sister. He had quickly realized that despite Molly’s careful guardianship, Bab had enjoyed too much unaccustomed freedom since their mother’s return to the Highlands. Moreover, her great popularity had gone to her head.

  When he caught her fluttering her eyelashes at one young swain over her gold-lace fan, he intervened swiftly, saying, “Faith, lass, cease your flirting, else you’ll be giving him unsuitable notions.”

  “Oh, Patrick, don’t spoil my fun,” she said, tossing her head. “You sound just like Alex Chisholm!”

  “I am glad to know that someone has been keeping a rein on you.”

  “He has no business doing so, however, and I can assure you, I do not heed him. Moreover, sir, any man who sees you at my side, glowering so fiercely, would have to have the courage of a lion to approach me, no matter what invitation he thought I had sent him. Surely such courage should impress you.”

  “Nevertheless, you will oblige me by behaving yourself,” he said. “Casual flirting is unbecoming to one who bears the name MacRae, and I doubt that you want me to take you back up to Molly just yet.”

  The scarcely veiled threat was enough, and although she rolled her eyes and sighed like a martyr, her sunny temperament soon reasserted itself.

  Claud and Lucy perched atop a wardrobe in the room allotted to Drusilla and Jelyan, trying to stay awake as they watched Beth make work to occupy her time.

  “I want tae see these mortals disport themselves at their grand ball,” Lucy said anxiously. “Has your mother said nowt yet about her plan for your Bessie?”

  “Nay, lass, and I dinna mean tae ask her, neither.”

  “But I—”

  “Hold your whisst now! I warrant ye can think o’ a way tae entertain ourselves an we dinna get tae dance.”

  “Oh, aye,” she said, wriggling closer.

  “That’s my lass! I’ll show ye summat I learned in the Highlands.”

  No longer bored, they proceeded to amuse themselves.

  Lady Farnsworth and her sister-in-law returned after dinner, and both ladies napped for an hour. Martha arranged to have food served in the anteroom for herself and Beth, for which Beth was grateful, but they saw no sign of Drusilla or Jelyan until it was time to dress for the ball.

  The two hurried in, delighted with their afternoon’s entertainment but full of demands and complaints. Even so, Beth was glad to have something to do and easily quelled any stirring of her increasingly volatile temper.

  The rooms vibrated with noise and activity, but at last all four ladies were ready, and when Sir Hector and his cousin came to take them to the great hall, the oppressive silence descended again.

  Beth tidied up, trying to imagine what it would be like to dance at a royal ball. Although Maggie Malloch’s hint that she might attend the ball had crossed her mind many times that day, she had not seen even a wisp of white smoke to indicate the little woman’s presence, so she had forced the enticing visions aside.

  “Will it be the pale blue then, or would ye fancy a white, lacy one?”

  “Maggie!” Beth looked around but saw no sign of her.

  “Aye, lass, I’m here,” the disembodied voice said. “Ha’ ye washed your face? We ha’ nae time tae dawdle, and ye’ll be needin’ a mirror so ye can see yourself and decide what tae wear.”

  As the words floated to Beth’s ears, a mirror appeared in the air before her, higher than she was tall and without visible means of support.

  “At last,” Lucy murmured, pushing Claud away and arranging her clothing.

  “Wait, lass, I’m no finished yet!”

 
“Aye, well I am,” she whispered, putting a finger to her lips as she leaned to peer over the rim of the wardrobe. “Now, whisst, for I want tae be sure your mam doesna fail us.”

  Tugging her skirt, he hissed, “Are ye daft? She’ll see ye!”

  “Nay, she won’t,” Lucy said, tugging back.

  Putting his mouth to her ear, he muttered, “Ye dinna ken her powers, lass.” When she ignored him, he slumped, unhappily resigning himself to yet another confrontation with his temperamental mother.

  At four o’clock, Patrick and Barbara retired to dress for the evening ahead, and at six they met again to rejoin the company. By the time the orchestra began to play for the dancing, Bab had accepted invitations to dance from so many partners that Patrick had lost track of them.

  At her imperious command, however, he escorted her into one of the first sets that formed after the King and members of the nobility began to dance. The company was merry, the music lively, and Patrick was pleased to see that his sister acquitted herself well. The hall teemed with brightly dressed ladies and their equally splendid escorts, and even when Bab had perforce to stop accepting invitations, she continued to draw more than her share of admirers.

  Patrick did not dance again, because he was in no mood to partake of social banter with flirtatious ladies. Moreover, he did not want to take his eyes off Bab. With no one else there who could call her to order, the lass was perfectly capable of finding some way or another to fling herself into the suds.

  He watched folks pay their respects to the King, who sat at his ease with Oliver Sinclair at his side. The Queen had not arrived, but the Lord Lyon had announced that her grace would take supper with the company at eleven. Patrick also saw Cardinal Beaton, recognizable as always in his splendid scarlet attire.

  Shortly after Beaton left the royal dais, Patrick saw James frown at something Sinclair said. Then, with an impatient gesture, the King turned his attention to one of several beautiful ladies standing nearby. Sinclair turned away peevishly and engaged another gentleman in conversation. The gentleman’s back stirred a sense of familiarity, but it was not until he turned that Patrick recognized his sister’s most persistent suitor, Francis Dalcross.

  When the mirror appeared, Beth saw Maggie at last, for she perched atop the long glass, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, peering down at Beth with one hand cupping her chin, the other hand holding the slender white pipe.

  “Tell me now,” she said. “Which color d’ye think suits ye best?”

  Beth scarcely heard her, for she was gazing in rapt amazement at a reflection so clear that it was as if another Beth stood facing her. Then the serviceable gray gown she wore turned to snow-white silk and then to shimmering blue.

  As she stared, mouth agape, Maggie said, “The blue, I think, but we’ll alter the color tae match your eyes.” The hand holding the pipe twitched slightly.

  Beth gasped at the change that occurred in the mirror.

  The new gown was of iridescent blue-green silk and was the most splendid dress she had ever seen. Its lace-edged, square-cut bodice plunged low, revealing the creamy softness of her breasts, and its long sleeves were the same blue-green material, their upper parts puffed and slashed with cream-colored silk. The skirt, festooned in scallops, revealed a creamy lace underdress over a snow-white silk petticoat. The bodice fit snugly to her waist, the skirt flaring out from a belt of linked gold squares, each one elaborately etched. From the long end, a round golden pomander hung. Her shoes were white silk with little gold heels, and her short gloves were of fine, soft, white kid.

  As she stood speechless, Maggie made another gesture, and the fine, flaxen hair that Beth had twisted into its usual untidy knot came undone and spilled down her back in a soft, silken sheet. As she opened her mouth to protest that she could not appear at a royal ball with her hair down, her image blurred. When it cleared again, her hair was parted in the middle and smoothed away from her face, then caught at the back of her head in a soft, intricately woven knot held in place by a neat, narrow braid that wrapped around it.

  The image blurred again, and this time when it cleared, she wore a French hood of the shimmering blue-green material over a fashionable, soft white velvet cap. Gold lace edged the border of the hood, which covered her hair, showing less than an inch of her part. The style emphasized her peaches-and-cream complexion and rosy lips, as well as her large, black-fringed, gray-green eyes.

  Maggie cocked her head. “Turn about,” she said, gesturing with her pipe.

  Beth obeyed, hardly daring to believe that the wondrous creature reflected in the glass was herself.

  “Aye, but she’s gey beautiful,” Lucy whispered.

  Claud was beside her on his stomach, peering over the edge, his curiosity having overcome his good sense. He saw Maggie stiffen as if she had heard, and he put a finger to his lips.

  Lucy smiled mischievously.

  She had done something, he decided, and whatever it was kept Maggie from knowing they were there. Claud had no idea what sort of spell could affect his powerful mother, but he was glad it seemed to be working.

  “Jewelry,” Maggie muttered, frowning as she made another gesture with the pipe. “Now, what d’ye think o’ that?”

  Beth gasped again, for now the border of her hood, the golden belt, its pomander, and the gold heels of her shoes all glittered with sparkling, inset jewels. A gold knife with a jeweled hilt, a gilded feather fan, and a pair of jeweled scissors dangled from rings on the belt, and around her neck, a gold chain set with diamonds held a pendant shaped like a gold leaf with veins of tiny diamonds. A larger diamond marked their intersection at the stem. But for the diamonds and gold, the leaf looked real. It also looked familiar.

  “This is a larger version of the leaf on my baby bracelet,” Beth said.

  “Aye, sure, for it be that same one,” Maggie told her. “I ha’ made it bigger and put it on a finer chain. I do think ye be ready now tae go downstairs.”

  “Yes!” Lucy hissed. “Come on, Claud; now we can dance!”

  “Wait,” he muttered when his mother stiffened again.

  “What?” Lucy demanded impatiently.

  “We’ll bide a wee yet,” he murmured, nervously watching Maggie.

  “I am to go to the ball by myself?” Beth felt her delight and her courage slipping away. “I do not even know where to go!”

  As she spoke, a knock sounded at the door.

  “I ken fine that ye’ll need a page,” Maggie said, and the door opened to reveal Wee Jock o’ the Wall, wearing fine silver livery.

  “Jock!”

  He bowed with exquisite grace, his eyes twinkling, but he spoke not a word.

  Beth looked at Maggie in astonishment. “Can he see you?”

  Maggie grinned. “Dinna fash yourself. He canna see or hear me, and when his part in this be done, he’ll remember nowt. But he’ll act like himself wi’ a few extra manners and graces, and he’ll be about when ye ha’ need o’ him. But afore ye go, I ha’ some few things I’m bound tae tell ye.”

  “But—”

  “Dinna interrupt. Ye’ll go tae the ball, as I promised ye, but ye must promise summat tae me in return.”

  “Anything.”

  “Aye, sure, but sithee, ye shouldna make boundless promises. I ask only that ye say nowt o’ the source o’ your finery, and nowt o’ the wee folk or me. An ye do, your fine garments and jewelry will vanish, and ye’ll be standing in your smock, wherever ye be. D’ye mark me words?”

  “I do,” Beth said. “You may be sure I will not speak about this.”

  “There may be them who will press ye and press ye hard.”

  Thinking of Patrick and what his likely reaction would be, Beth hid a smile. He would press for information, but she would enjoy keeping her secret, and if he grew angry… She smiled then, looking forward to another match with him, one where for the first time since she had realized he was not a commoner she would feel properly dressed for the part.

  “I’ll say no
thing,” she said firmly.

  “Good,” Maggie said. “There be but one more thing. Ye must return afore your two young ladies do, so ye’ll be where they expect tae find ye. If ye fail, I canna answer for the consequences, and they may be dire.”

  “I’ll remember,” Beth said.

  “Then awa’ wi’ ye now, and ha’ a pleasant evening!”

  “Now, Claud?” Lucy demanded eagerly.

  “Now,” he said.

  “One moment, ye two,” Maggie snapped.

  Claud sighed. He had known it was too good to be true.

  “Come out where I can see ye,” Maggie ordered sternly.

  Claud looked at Lucy. Was it possible his mother could not see them?

  Lucy gestured toward a draped table, and he followed her as she floated down to it and scooted under the drapery. She pushed him out again.

  “H-here we b-be, Mam,” he stammered.

  Maggie glanced at the top of the wardrobe and back at them. Then, giving herself a shake, she said, “Dinna stand gaping, lad. Follow the lass and try tae keep her safe, but wi’ out interfering overmuch. I ha’ done enough.”

  “Where will ye be, Mam?”

  “Jonah Bonewits be missing, and nae one kens where tae find him. I’ve a notion he’s taken a hand in this game, so I mean tae track him down.”

  Chapter 17

  Nell entered the great hall, now turned into a magnificent ballroom, and hesitated before approaching the royal dais. James had said he wanted to enjoy at least one dance with her and had promised that the Queen would not put in an appearance until suppertime. Even so, Nell could not draw too much attention, because the Queen could make a deadly enemy. A woman alone was overstepping the mark as it was just by being there, and James knew it. Nevertheless, his wish was as binding as his command, so here she was.

  Keeping her eyes straight ahead to avoid diversion, she eased her way through the crowd until she knew she was in plain view from the dais. She had already seen James, surrounded as always by powerful men.