“That is the absolute truth,” Edwin said.
“If Henry made that up, who knows what else he fabricated,” I said.
“Delaney,” Mary said. “Henry is the one who was killed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to Mary. I looked at Edwin. “We need to search the shop again. If those papers are here, we need to find them.”
Everyone agreed.
Edwin turned to Mary. “I know this was hard, this is a difficult time, but thank you. We will search and we’ll let you know.”
“I really hope…” Her eyes filled with tears but she blinked fast and furious. “That it will all be okay. I’m…”
“What?” I said.
“I’m trying understand what Henry was up to, what he was thinking, and what he did shortly before he died. I know that keeping the bookshop open is your priority, but I’d like his killer brought to justice, even if I’m afraid he was in the middle of doing something less than noble. I will tell the police all of this. I will tell the council. I will do what I can.”
Rosie stood. “Lass, can we get ye a cuppa or some coffee? Perhaps a glass of water?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got to go. I need to talk to someone else today.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Who?”
Mary blinked at me. “Oh. Well, Henry’s brother. I believe they spoke the day before Henry was killed. They shared secrets with each other, sometimes.”
I didn’t even for one second consider that I might be stepping over some line, butting into something that wasn’t my business. I stood. “Want some company?”
TWENTY-FIVE
At first, Mary wasn’t sure what to make of my offer. No one was. I sensed everyone’s surprise or maybe it was embarrassment, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know what else I wanted from Mary, but I knew I wanted something. I wasn’t ready to tell her goodbye for the day.
However, I thought she was somehow relieved to have someone with her. Henry’s brother worked evenings at the castle on the hill. I’d been prepared to call Elias for a ride to wherever we needed to go, but it turned out we were only a short walk away. As we made our way, passing Tom’s pub without stopping, I told Mary I’d seen the hypnotism.
“You were there?” she said, genuinely surprised.
“I was. It was interesting. Do you remember being … under?”
“I do. I remember it all.”
“Are you and Lyle Mercado friends?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, Lyle and I have known each other for years. He remembers his past lives too.”
“Who was he?”
“No one famous.”
“No one associated with the queen?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“Mary, do you know he was the one who first planted the seed for not only closing the bookshop but the resurgence of the Burgess Tickets.”
“I don’t think so,” Mary said.
“That’s what Bella Montrose told me. Do you know her?”
“Of course I do.”
“Would Henry and Lyle have been in on this together?” I asked again.
Mary sighed. “No, Delaney, but I could see Lyle doing Henry’s bidding. Lyle is enamored with us, Henry and me. Lyle and I met through the past-lives group, but when we all became friends, it was clear that Lyle thought Henry and I were something special. It’s a terribly vain thing to say, but it’s the truth. If Henry didn’t want to present a new idea that he wasn’t sure he should present, Lyle would jump aboard and do it for him.”
“Does he have any sort of romantic feelings for you?”
“No,” she said after a long pause. “I’m sure of that.”
No matter, I hoped the police were taking a good look at Lyle Mercado. Maybe I’d mentioned his name to Inspector Buchanan.
“You know, I blame Mary of Guise for the whole mess,” Mary said.
“Hold on—who is Mary of Guise? And why do you blame her?” I said as we came upon the castle courtyard, thankfully stopping so I could catch my breath.
“There were a lot of other reasons, but she was Mary Stuart’s mother. Mary of Guise ruled as regent for her infant daughter. And then she died when Mary was eighteen, still in France about to move to Scotland. Died!—right when Mary needed her the most. Mary never saw her mother again after she was sent to France as a child. Mary might have been able to fight those against her better if her mother hadn’t left her. Her mother was trying to forge a better relationship with Elizabeth. She might have accomplished it and helped her daughter. But death was only a half a breath away back in 1560, one tiny scratch gone wrong.”
“Did Mary of Guise die of an infection?”
“There was speculation she was poisoned, but it was never proved. The official cause was dropsy.”
“Dropsy?”
“Too much fluid under the skin, around the organs.”
“Tragic.”
“The queen’s life was one tragedy after another.”
“No kidding,” I said.
Mary’s energetic march up to the castle had tired my calves. I was used to walking around the city, but whatever was fueling her energy felt more like a jog than a walk.
“Mary was young,” I added. “She might not have had the sophistication to deal with Elizabeth.”
“Exactly.”
“How did their meetings go?”
Mary eyebrows came together. “Delaney, they never met, face-to-face.”
“What?”
“No, never.”
“I had no idea.”
Mary turned and faced me. She reached up and held onto my arms. The moment was over the top, uncomfortable, though I didn’t pull away.
“However, I have a distinct feeling that Elizabeth felt that we—she and Mary—would be queens together. I’m so sure of those words, that sentiment, but I can’t understand why.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you have a distinct memory of that? You can be straight with me. I won’t tell either way. I’ll be straight with you, I don’t think the birthmark is much proof, though I’m not saying I disbelieve you.”
“But you don’t believe me?”
“Something like that.”
She took her hands off my arms but still faced me. “Delaney, when I was four years old, I found some wild violets and brought a bouquet of them into my house. I told my mother I wanted to make some jelly or marmalade with them. She laughed and said that wasn’t how those things were made.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“But at one time, it was exactly how marmalade was made—with the powder of violets into boiling quinces and sugar. To this day I remember being upset with my mother that she wouldn’t let me into the kitchen. It was later when I started studying the queen that I learned that was one of her favorite pastimes. She liked to spend her time in the kitchen making cotignac, which is a marmalade-like creation made with the powder of violets. How else would a four-year-old know such a thing if she hadn’t lived a past life doing it?”
“Maybe someone read it to you in a child’s book.”
“I don’t think so, and I challenge anyone to find such a book. I’ve lost many of the memories, but they used to come at me all the time. Visions, colors, fabrics, smells, people’s faces. When I was twelve, still before I started studying the queen, I started embroidery—and it not only was a passion, I was immediately good at it. Guess who else was?”
“The queen.”
“Exactly. I’m not pulling anyone’s leg. I’m not making anything up. I was Mary, Queen of Scots.”
A tiny ray of sunshine peaked out from behind the clouds and seemed to illuminate Mary, and then it was gone, behind a cloud again. But, for that instant, I thought I was seeing a queen. I knew it could just be all the talk, and I knew she could still be making everything up. But, there’s something different about a queen, and I thought I might have glimpsed that difference. Briefly.
I was still looking at her, processing her words when she emphatically added, “And guess what
I was obsessed about embroidering? Just guess.”
“I have no idea.”
“Cats! That was one of Mary’s first embroideries. Will you believe me now?”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” I said, though I wasn’t exactly sure. “But I don’t want to lie to you either and tell you that I do believe you. I’m pretty open to anything, but this is a big leap to make. And I always feel like there’s usually a believable explanation for everything, Mary. For now, I’m willing to just continue on not disbelieving. Is that okay?”
She looked at me with the same study I had made of her. “It’s uncanny how we look alike.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But it’s not because we’re twins.”
I hoped that made the point I was trying so hard not to offensively make.
She smiled a moment later and laughed once. “Fair enough. All right, come along. I need to see if Henry was at the castle the day before his death.”
“Why?” I hurried to follow her resumed pace.
“He told his brother everything he couldn’t tell me. They were close, and when he felt like he couldn’t talk to me about something, he would talk to Clayton. He would always come up to the castle, where they were surrounded by mostly tourists, by people who probably wouldn’t know he was a councilor. I always joked about Henry plotting battles at this castle just like was done in the olden days.” A ghost of a smile rode over her mouth and then disappeared. “Maybe Henry said something to Clayton the day or days before he was killed that will help find the killer.”
“Will he be here? I mean, he might be home, in mourning.”
“No,” she shook her head, “he’ll be here. He’ll mourn in his way, but it will include a stiff Scottish upper lip and a notion that he can’t miss work for anything but his own death. Henry was the same way.”
“Did you tell the police about Henry and Clayton’s relationship?”
“Of course, but that woman who is heading up the investigation is not interested in what I have to say. She thinks I’m nutty in the head.”
“I sensed she was a good officer though, thorough. Maybe she’ll do okay.”
She sent me another look. “I don’t know, Delaney, the police didn’t much like Henry either.”
“Why?”
“They pay attention to which of the councilors vote to decrease things like police salaries and such.”
“Oh dear. Did something like that just go through?’
“No, not recently, but Henry voted against an increase a while back. Though he only voted against it because he thought they should get more. He had to explain himself several times. People were angry.”
“Angry enough to kill?”
“I don’t know.”
We reached the lines of tourists and Mary led us around, taking us directly to the ticket booth. We were none too popular for it, but once at the counter, Mary just waved at the woman in the booth.
“Och, Mary, what a surprise! So sorry about Henry, love.”
“Ta,” Mary said. “We’re going in, Janice.”
“Aye. G’on,” Janice said before she signaled for the next person in line to step up to the window.
With swift feet I followed Mary as I sent a frown of apology back to the people in the line.
“It’ll do you no good,” Mary said. “We have business to do and we have to get on with it. We don’t have time to wait in any lines.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you have special privileges?”
“I do,” she said.
She was behaving more like the Mary I’d first met. She’d struck me as confident and bossy then, and now too. In between, though, I’d seen sad, apologetic, and unsure.
However, she cleared her throat as if she’d heard herself. “It’s not what you think. I have volunteered at all the museums. I love them, but you could probably already imagine that. Anyway, they all know me and they have all given me the freedom to come and go as I please.”
A privilege fit for a queen.
“That’s wonderful. I love museums too.”
“I’m not surprised.” She paused. “Do you think it’s possible that Edwin has Elizabeth’s notes?”
“I have no idea,” I said, “but it’s doubtful.”
“Why is it doubtful?”
“It’s hard to imagine that something like that would be overlooked.”
“But it’s possible?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“Do you think you could take an extra look?”
“Absolutely. We all will.”
“Thanks.”
We’d crossed the courtyard and went through the wide entry doors.
“Mary!” A man in costume said as he walked toward us. “Hello!”
Mary hugged him. “Sammy.”
I thought I saw tears in his eyes when he pulled back, “I heard about Henry. Everyone’s heard about Henry. Do the police know what happened yet?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“I’m so sorry, lass.”
“Thank you, Sammy.” She looked toward me the same time Sammy did.
“Is this … you don’t have a sister or a daughter, do you?” Sammy said.
“I don’t. This is a friend who happens to look like me.”
“I’d say. Were ye the queen too?” he asked me sincerely.
“I don’t think so,” I said as we shook hands.
For a few beats, Sammy looked back and forth between the two of us. “Goodness.”
“Yes,” Mary said. “Sammy, is Clayton here?”
Sammy took two more quick looks back and forth and said, “Aye, I believe he is.”
“Can we go on back?”
“Aye, certainly. He’s going tae be as surprised as I am. Maybe more.”
Mary nodded and they hugged quickly again before we turned and started walking deeper into the castle.
I’d been through it a time or two—maybe six or seven—over the last year. There was much to see, though I wasn’t surprised when Mary led us in the direction of the Royal Apartments, which had at one time been home to the queen, and her husband—the one who was blown to smithereens, in fact.
“You do know that the queen gave birth to her only child here,” she said to me over her shoulder.
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Bastard, he turned out to be. Well, not in the official definition. No, he was an arse to his mother,” she said. “However, later, after the queen was cruelly beheaded, it must be pointed out that King James I turned out to be a pretty good king.”
“How was he an ass?”
Mary slowed her footsteps as we entered the Laich Hall with its dark gold embossed wood paneling and magnificent fireplace. “Mary was not in control of her own life, even as she was queen. When Mary gave birth to James, who would be the heir to the British throne, both Mary and the baby had to be protected. They were separated. But it was toward the end of Mary’s life, when she was close to execution that her son wouldn’t come see her, wouldn’t help make a case to save his mother.”
“The end of her life was pretty terrible.”
“You mean her assassination disguised as an execution?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“She was betrayed by everyone, her son included. Well, her servants were still on her side, her four Marys, all of her ladies were named Mary, did you know?”
“I think I heard that.”
Mary stopped suddenly and looked at the walls. I knew that look—something deep that searched for clues to everything that had happened here. I’d had many of those moments in Scotland.
“Can you feel them?” she asked.
“Feel what?” I asked.
“The ghosts of the past.”
I didn’t feel them, though that didn’t make the castle less impressive or less interesting to me. However, it was at that moment that I became one hundred percent certain that if I’d ever lived a past life, it hadn’t been lived in this castle. I knew it, bone deep.
Which made me wonder if Mary knew she had, bone deep.
No bookish voices were talking either.
“I feel the history,” I said. “I don’t feel the ghosts, I’m afraid. I have felt them at other times though, so I get what you’re saying. That sensation is strong, isn’t it?”
“Do you think everyone feels such things?”
“Oh, no,” I said with a laugh.
She blinked at me. “See, it was destined that we were to meet.”
I laughed again. “Maybe. But even though Edinburgh is a big city, we were either bound to run into each other someday, or someone would meet us both and let us know about the other.”
She nodded, but then turned and resumed walking. We made our way through to the great hall. The only great hall I’d seen that compared in any way was Hogwarts. I’d seen a few castles while in Scotland, but this one was done up in its finest.
“Mary was crowned when she was nine months old,” Mary said. “It was the solemnest of all events or ceremonies. And here,” she stopped next to a display case, “the scepter, the crown, and the sword. They were carried behind her. We are not in a position to understand how important these were, but they were mightily important. Look at them. Do they look real to you?”
They were impressive, but … “They look like something that might be found in a costume shop.”
“See,” she said, “sometimes it’s difficult to find the real stuff. Those notes could be in Edwin’s things, right under your noses, looking like something from a costume shop, some forgeries, some scribbles.”
“Point taken.”
“Mary?” Another costumed gentleman came into the room.
“Clayton,” Mary said.
This greeting was somewhat icier than Sammy’s.
“I’m sorry about Henry,” he said stiffly.
“Condolences to you too,” Mary said.
They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. I sensed they were both sad, but trying hard not to be. The family dynamics were strained—Mary and Clayton didn’t like each other, but that was psychology for another day.
“This is my friend, Delaney,” Mary said.
Surprisingly, Clayton only shook my hand and said it was good to meet me. Either he didn’t notice my resemblance to his sister-in-law or it didn’t matter to him.
The Stolen Letter Page 18
