The Gowrie Conspiracy

by Alanna Knight

  This was the second killing, or perhaps even the third, if Tam’s suspicions were correct regarding the missing David Rose.

  Chapter Eleven

  Returning from the gardens, considerably shaken by their narrow escape from death, Tam and Tansy found that the Masque had extended its boundaries of carousing and romantic dalliance to their lodging.

  Tam shook his head wearily, in no mood to take on the mantle of genial guest. Nor was Tansy, judging by her shocked face, capable of playing genial hostess.

  Bidding each other goodnight, Tam whispered anxiously, ‘Will you sleep?’

  Tansy shivered. ‘I have herbs for such matters. Goodnight, Tam.’

  Some hours later, when the revellers had retired and the lodging was in silence, Tam lay sleepless, going over the night’s events, his thoughts like a rat trapped in a cage.

  The ‘misfired arrow’ and the poison attempt. The unfortunate groom had been no thief. That one sip of a half full goblet had cost him his life. And Tam wondered how that would be dealt with. How would it be dismissed?

  “The poison was meant for someone else” would hardly be acceptable for those who grieved for him. Or were explanations always ready and conveniently at hand for such emergencies as the sudden decease of a mere royal groom?

  At last the dawn came with cock-crow and the busy chirping of birds beyond the window to put an end to Tam’s tortured thoughts.

  Aware that any hope of sleep was impossible now, he decided to return to the garden with a forlorn hope that daylight might reveal some clues to the assassin’s identity. For Tam was already certain that the man with the crossbow and the poisoner were one and the same.

  Down the spiral stair and out into the gardens once more, no longer regretting lost sleep, he revelled in breathing deeply the fresh pure air.

  Already there was hint of warmth in the sunrise over dawn-wreathed hills revealing bruised grass, a few broken branches, the remains of a chair and some burnt foliage as evidence of the night’s activities.

  His footsteps leaving a delicate pattern on the dew-shrouded grass, Tam noted that the servants’ task of clearing the debris of the Masque had been assisted by nature. Remnants of scattered food and bones from platters had vanished, the night creatures quick to avail themselves of this unexpected feast.

  And with their industry, any possible clues, thought Tam wryly.

  Deciding to have a closer look at the vicinity directly opposite the tree where he and Tansy had stood together, narrowly escaping the assassin’s arrow, he touched the scarred trunk.

  At almost exactly head-height, the archer had been very efficient, with a well-trained eye. Had it not been for Tam’s exceptional hearing, the sound of a released arrow winging through still air, then the marksman would have found his target. Either he or Tansy would have been fatally wounded.

  And Tam had no doubt of the ready excuse prepared for that particular tragedy. A misfired arrow by one of the actors.

  Suddenly he realised he no longer had the gardens to himself.

  Laughter, children’s laughter. And he would have sworn the same children he had heard on the day before the Masque.

  Looking over to the lawns, there they were, a glimpse of five little girls holding hands, playing in a circle together. Hardly had he blinked when they disappeared into the mist.

  ‘Tam!’ He almost leapt into the air at the unexpected voice behind him.

  It was Tansy. ‘What on earth – why are you about so early he asked.

  She smiled. ‘I was about to ask the same thing.’

  ‘Obvious, is it not? ‘

  ‘Sleep was impossible. You did not hear me creep up on you,’ said Tansy triumphantly. ‘You were watching something very intently.’

  Tam shrugged. ‘Some little girls playing – over there. You must have heard them laughing.’

  Tansy shook her head. ‘I heard nothing.’

  ‘I expect they are the gardeners’ children.’

  ‘At this hour of the morning? It is not yet five o’clock.’

  ‘This is not the first time. I saw them the other day, at this hour. It was misty, like now. I presumed they were local children rehearsing for their parts in the Masque.

  They were already in costume.’

  ‘In costume?’

  ‘Yes. Days gone by. Five little girls – ’

  Tansy was regarding him strangely. ‘Tell me about them – ’

  ‘Playing with a ball. The tallest one saw me first, smiled. They all curtseyed very prettily. I bowed. But when I looked up they were gone – swallowed by the mist.’ Pausing for a moment, he added, ‘There was something odd that morning. The air was – ’ and, searching for the right word, ‘I cannot describe it. Different somehow.’

  He frowned, remembering. ‘I decided they knew they should not be here.’ And with a laugh, ‘They had not expected to meet anyone and thought I would be angry with them.’

  Tansy did not laugh. She shook her head. ‘They had every right to be here, Tam, and they did want to be seen.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tam with a sigh of relief. ‘You know them?’

  ‘Not personally. But I know who they are.’

  ‘Gardeners’ children? Was I right?’

  ‘No, Tam. But I believe you know their identities, if you think about it.’

  Tam shook his head, bewildered.

  Tansy sighed, looked across at the deserted lawns and said, ‘The five little girls are Queen Mary and her four Maries.’

  ‘That cannot be!’

  Tansy smiled sadly. ‘Queen Mary loved Falkland, she often came as a child to play in the gardens and the woods nearby.’

  ‘Are you telling me – what I have seen – are ghosts?’ Tansy looked at him and said nothing as he went on, ‘It cannot be. These children looked as real – as real as we are.’

  Tansy gave him a tolerant sad smile, said gently, ‘I do not think you, Tam Eildor, with your particular background, can offer a great deal on what is real and what is not. It would seem that there are others as well as yourself who are free to move across time’s barriers.’ She laughed. ‘Although their presences are not quite as substantial as yours.’

  That thought shocked Tam but before he could comment, Tansy went on, ‘I have seen these particular shades too – ’ Pausing, she sighed and added, ‘Several times, and always before some momentous or tragic event.’

  And, looking at him quickly, ‘It is a warning, Tam. If you have any doubts, then let us walk to where you saw them.’

  Tam followed her. ‘Stop, Tansy. It was about here.’

  Tansy looked at the ground. ‘See – although the mist has lifted, the grass is still wet with dew.’ And turning. ‘There are our footprints – a clear track. Now look ahead, there is not a single human footmark, nothing more than a coney’s paw or a bird’s claw to mark the grass where the little girls were playing.’

  Tam utterly bewildered, shook his head. ‘I have never seen a ghost, Tansy. Never.’ And regarding her solemn face. ‘You see into the past?’

  ‘Yes, Tam. And I sometimes walk there. I inherited this – sight – from my granddam, among other things.’ Hesitating she looked at him, as if for a moment she yearned to discuss those other things. Then shaking her head, ‘I do not care to tell any about it.’ And glancing over her shoulder as if she might be overheard. ‘Such matters are dangerous in this court. And I want to be like other people.’

  Holding his arm as they walked back towards the lodging, she whispered, ‘It is not safe to be different, Tam.’

  ‘Does Will know of this?’

  Tansy smiled. ‘He does. He knows and understands, without having any such experience personally.’

  As they went into the kitchens to break their fast, for it was not yet six o’clock and none of the servants were about, Tansy said:

  ‘You must take this – visitation – very seriously, Tam. I beg of you, walk warily. You have been sent a message, heed it.’

  Although his encounter
with the supernatural revealed many things to Tam, it did not help him solve two murders, Mistress Agnew and the poisoned groom. And the murder attempt that failed – of himself or Tansy. To this he added the sinister disappearance of David Rose, where all evidence pointed to his presumed murder.

  Most baffling of all, what was the motive for these murders? Was there some link connecting the victims?

  He was to get part of his answer from Martin Hailes who arrived with Will later that day.

  They were alone. Lady Gowrie was still unfit to travel and Beatrix had remained at Dirleton Castle to take care of her mother.

  Tansy was delighted to see Will again but surprised to see Martin Hailes. Long aware of the old man’s polite respect but faint disapproval of his cousin’s choice of a life partner, she wondered if this unexpected visit signalled some change of heart that she had been accepted at last.

  As she bade him warmly welcome, Tansy did not realise that the object of this change of heart was the desire to inspect the mysterious Tam Eildor.

  Will, too, had been pleasantly surprised that his invitation so often rejected was now eagerly accepted. Martin had an additional reason. His brother-in-law, who lived near Perth, had constantly urged a visit from the lonely old widower since his dear sister’s death.

  ‘It is an excellent time to be absent from Edinburgh,’ Martin told Tansy. ‘The heat is so oppressive and I long for good clean air.’

  Introductions over, Martin Hailes, with a glance at the two lovers holding hands and gazing fondly into one another’s eyes, said tactfully, ‘Would you walk with me a little, Master Eildor?’

  ‘Gladly, sir.’

  For a while they walked in silence and, as Martin took in the surroundings of the royal park and admired the architecture of the Palace, Tam assessed his companion.

  The lawyer, although retired, still clung to the gown and velvet bonnet of his profession. He became it well and Tam realised that Martin Hailes had been an uncommonly handsome fellow in his youth and in old age retained fine bones, thick white hair, a luxurious beard and piercing grey eyes.

  As conventional questions regarding Falkland Palace received conventional answers Tam was keenly aware, adjusting his steps to the old man’s slower pace, that this walk was but a prelude to Master Hailes’ reason for requesting his society and that he himself was under careful scrutiny.

  A lawyer used to asking questions, Martin came to the point as quickly as the decent interlude of politeness allowed.

  ‘I understand that you are from Peebles area, Master Eildor.’

  Warily Tam nodded assent and Martin continued, ‘I was very interested when Master Hepburn said that he had met someone bearing the same name as yourself at Morham Castle when he was living there as a small child with his granddam.’

  Tam smiled. ‘Indeed. So Master Hepburn informed me,’

  There was a pause while Martin studied Tam intently, awaiting an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he went on, ‘I realise that my young cousin must be mistaken. It cannot be the same Tam Eildor, since thirty-six years later, he would be a bearded old man – like myself.’

  Again he waited. Tam shook his head. ‘I have no explanation, sir, beyond those offered by William and Tansy – which I expect are known to you already.’

  Martin gave him a wry smile. ‘Indeed yes. The progeny of Border lairds and reivers outwith the bonds of wedlock.’

  While accepting this as a likely possibility, the most natural and comfortable explanation, he had to also admit that there was something strange about this young man. And what he must take as coincidence – of a double a generation apart – was a matter that caused him considerable uneasiness.

  Since this mysterious kinsman of Mistress Tansy Scott had appeared at Falkland Palace, there had been a murder of someone, William told him, who was a friend of hers.

  Not that he wished to attach anything in the least sinister to the man walking by his side. Martin’s profession had included taking risks regarding his clients’ characters and over the years he had developed an almost unfailing instinct in such matters. Even on the acquaintance of one hour, he would have sworn to Tam Eildor’s honesty. An open countenance with fine features. good-looking rather than outstandingly handsome but with remarkable wide-set eyes that had searching almost luminous depths to them.

  Quite suddenly, Martin realised that there was a quality in Tam he could not lay a finger on and was unable to define. Except that it was not quite natural. It made him uneasy as he recognised that he had long been acquainted with it…

  In the person of William’s mistress!

  Tansy Scott shared with Tam Eildor that extraordinary – something – that marked the two as completely different from the ordinary run of mere mortals Martin had encountered and had dealings with over so many years.

  And it was and always had been, he had to reluctantly admit, this strangeness which accounted for his disapproval of his dear William’s well-being in this stubborn and unflinching devotion.

  ‘How long have you lived in Edinburgh, sir?’ Tam asked.

  ‘All my life. Born and bred there.’

  A short pause and Tam said guardedly, ‘This friend of Mistress Scott –’ ‘The one who was killed in such odd circumstances?’ Martin sounded calm enough but he was extremely agitated by William’s story.

  Anyone connected with Mistress Scott, who might also involve his young cousin, however remotely, merited his deep concern. And he knew a great deal more about death by violence and how the widening circles of evidence engulfed both guilty and innocent alike.

  ‘Did you know aught of Mistress Agnew?’ Tam asked.

  Martin, giving him a strange glance, shook his head.

  Tam looked disappointed. ‘We know that she was killed. We found her. And for Mistress Scott’s sake, I want to find out who and why,’ he added anxiously.

  ‘So what is your question for me, Master Eildor?’

  ‘Mistress Agnew was midwife to Queen Mary, the king’s mother.’ Tam paused before continuing, ‘Was there any reason, sir, dating back to that time – any rumour concerning the late queen – that might account for Mistress Agnew’s killing?’

  Martin Hailes’ eyebrows raised somewhat at this direct question. ‘Edinburgh was buzzing with rumours which leaked out at the time.’

  ‘Indeed!’

  ‘It was said a document had been signed by two of the women who attended the queen.’

  ‘And what were the contents of this document?’

  Martin sighed. ‘It was said that the queen had had a long and terrible labour. Never strong, she was at the point of death and in her agony would have only Margaret Agnew attend her. She sent her two ladies of the Bedchamber, Lady Reres and the Countess of Atholl, Marie Fleming’s sister, out of the bedchamber and cried out for Janet Beaton –’

  Tam observed the look of distaste on the lawyer’s face at the mention of that name as he went on, ‘The queen had implicit trust in Lady Beaton and, certain that both she and her child would die, believed only that the Wizard lady of Branxton – as Beaton was known and feared – had power to save them.’

  Martin hesitated before proceeding cautiously, ‘One can imagine the panic outside that bedchamber. The sight of Lady Reres and the Countess emerging in floods of tears convinced everyone that the queen was dead, the child stillborn. Grim looks were exchanged among the ministers. As orders were hurriedly sent for the mourning bell at St Giles to be prepared to tell the people of Edinburgh the dread news, suddenly the firmly closed door from which they were banned admission was thrown open.

  ‘Lady Beaton appeared smiling. “Her Grace lives and has beenn delivered of a fine prince.”

  ‘Panic turned to rejoicing. Ministers rushed forward but Lady Beaton refused any admission. She held the door firmly against those whose right it was to view the newborn prince.

  ‘“No one,” she said to lords and statesmen, to all who waited in the outer chamber. “Her Grace is weak, she has suffered de
eply. Now she sleeps. Let none attend her before her royal husband, King Henry. By her orders His Grace must be the first to see his son.”

  ‘There was no argument especially as Lady Beaton stood high in the queen’s regard. And many feared her magic powers. If she had used these powers to restore the queen, then there would be sighs of relief and grateful thanks given to Almighty God.

  ‘For the whole future of Scotland lay on a knife edge that day. Should the queen die, her realm was in direst peril from the might of Lord Darnley’s family, the Lennoxes, who were biding their time for the appropriate moment to proclaim Henry king of Scotland.’

  Martin paused. ‘The queen was delivered at nine o’ the clock in the morning. It was not until two in the afternoon that she presented Prince James to his father, saying “God has given us a son” and swearing before the assembled ministers that Henry Darnley and none other was his father.’

  Martin stopped speaking and Tam looked at him. ‘Was that truly as it happened, sir? As you have told me – is that your opinion?’

  The lawyer shrugged. ‘The only other possibility is that the queen was already dead when her two ladies-in-waiting left the bedchamber.’

  ‘And the child?’

  Martin nodded avoiding his eyes.

  ‘If that was so then there must have been a substitute. Is that what you think?’ Tam insisted.

  ‘What I thought and continue to think, Master Eildor, is that five hours is a very long time to elapse between the birth and the infant’s presentation to his father. Many things can be made to happen in five hours, hours vital, remember, for Queen Mary’s kingdom.’

  ‘But hardly enough time to produce a newborn child,’ said Tam ‘And to get it into the queen’s chamber unobserved.’

  ‘Servants were admitted to the outer chamber, there were quantities of linen, basins carried in and out, watched over by Agnew and Beaton. As for the newborn child, it so happened, as fate would have it, that there was one, not very far away.’

  At Tam’s startled exclamation, Martin paused. ‘Indeed. The Countess of Mar had come from Stirling to be in attendance at the queen’s lying-in. She was not in evidence, however, since a few days earlier she was delivered of a son.’