Chapter 17
THE STOLEN OVERCLOAK IS FAR too large, heavy on her shoulders.
Katherine, at the other side of the stackyard, laughs. ‘Are you ready, Elspet?’
They don’t have much time – the shadows are growing long and Katherine’s mother won’t stay out collecting seaware after dark. Elspet holds two wax implaisters and a long length of black yarn taken from Mormor’s basket.
‘Walk about the stackyard nine times,’ she calls to Katherine, who giggles with fear and delight. Elspet holds up the wax forms. ‘Then come and kiss me while I wear his cloak.’
Katherine begins to walk around the yard, laughing as she goes. Elspet looks down at the implaisters of Katherine and the Laird of Stenness – and then she gently begins to bind, winding the black yarn around the figures.
There’s a soft knocking sound, growing louder and more insistent. It takes her a moment to leave the stackyard, to realise she’s dreaming. The knock comes again.
Someone needs her assistance – perhaps the widow Ibister’s stomach pains have grown worse; she can take her some of the parnassus grass that grows up at Brodgar.
Or perhaps it’s one of the children in need of comfort – she moves over to make room in her box bed for Gillie or Broden, sleepy but with a surge of love in anticipation of peedie arms around her.
Blinking, she opens her eyes and expects the darkness of her bed built into the wall by the fireplace. She blinks again, confused by the muckle open room, light peeping through the tapestries at the windows. The fine fabric against her skin feels foreign.
Then she remembers – she is Lady Alvah Gordon, in bed at Dunrobin Castle, one of the finest hooses in Scotland.
Henry Colville is locked in the stables outside and the widow Ibister is far away.
She has no idea when she’ll next feel Gillie or Broden put their arms around her.
Opening her eyes fully, she’s filled with longing for home, longing for her children, acutely feels the wrongness of being so far from her homeland and family.
The enormity of the task ahead is overwhelming – her promise to help the Queen of Scotland and, in doing so, win her protection from Patie.
She must succeed – she must become Lady Alvah Gordon.
The gentle knocking comes again, and she looks up as Dilly enters the bedchamber. The other beds are empty – she has slept later than Margaret and Beatrix.
‘Good morning, Lady Alvah,’ Dilly says. Elspet scrambles to sit up. This woman probably knows more about what goes on within these walls than anyone – and probably kens full well Elspet is no fine lady.
‘Lady Jean has asked to see you when you wake. When you’re dressed, you should make your way to her chamber.’
‘Of course.’ Elspet’s eyes dart to the chest where Lady Alvah’s gowns are stored, thinking of the layers of smock and undergown, the tight-fitting bodices, the coifs for her hair.
It’s all well and good when Beatrix and Margaret help her dress – it almost felt like a game yesterday.
It’s quite another to have to dress herself in this elaborate collection of garments every morning before she can get on with her day.
Dilly walks towards the chest. ‘I’d suggest the violet damask, Lady Alvah. There’s a chill in the air today – hairst season is coming. Shall I help you?’
Half an hour later – she’s sure she’ll never grow accustomed to taking so long over the simple task of dressing – Dilly has led her through the sitting room where they sat yesterday, to the room beyond, Lady Jean’s bedchamber. Dilly knocks gently and withdraws with an encouraging smile.
‘Enter,’ Jean calls from within. Elspet hesitantly pushes open the door and peers in.
Jean looks at her impatiently. ‘A lady never vacillates in doorways. For goodness’ sake, enter a room with confidence.’
Elspet straightens up and looks Jean in the eye as she walks in.
The bedchamber isn’t as large as she was expecting.
The dark wood-panelled walls are full of bookshelves, and there’s a bed in one corner draped with gold-embroidered blue silk; a burdis table is trimmed to match in blue and gold, with two upright chairs next to the window.
Jean sits in one of the chairs with a jug of steaming liquid and two cups in front of her.
‘You asked to see me,’ Elspet says with as much poise as she can muster.
‘Sit down,’ Jean instructs, indicating the other chair.
She pours the liquid, which smells strongly of herbs, into the cups.
Elspet leans forward and inhales the steam to identify the ingredients – rosemary, she thinks, sage and something else, something that has turned the water a vivid yellow. ‘What is it?’
Jean smiles. ‘I thought this might interest you. Some of our more common herbs used to improve energy and vigour. And a wonderful ingredient we call saffron. That’s what gives the brew its distinctive colour. It aids general health, of the mind as well as body.’
The countess is knowledgeable about plants and their properties.
Elspet’s shoulders relax as she takes a sip, holding the liquid in her mouth and savouring carefully as Mormor did when she tried anything new.
The saffron must be what brings the unfamiliar floral flavour to the drink.
It’s delicious, sweet with an earthy bitterness in the aftertaste. She takes another sip.
‘I grow the crocus flowers we use to make saffron here at Dunrobin. I’d be happy to show you.’ The countess’s expression is animated and Elspet recognises the contentment that comes with talking of plants and their uses.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Good. Now, we have much to discuss, Mistress Balfour. I want your opinion on what we should do with the infernal man who is now locked in my stables.’
Elspet feels a stab of fear. It’s not just that Henry Colville is a man without kindness or compassion who will inflict the most terrible pain on innocent folk.
He poses an altogether different threat here.
He knows her, can expose her. It’s true, what Beatrix says: the Earl of Orkney won’t want it known she escaped Orkneyjar from under his nose – but they can’t rely on that.
If she’s going to successfully infiltrate court in the guise of Lady Alvah, Colville cannot be allowed to speak freely. As these thoughts roil through her mind, the chamber door opens and Margaret and Beatrix enter.
Beatrix sits down heavily on Jean’s bed, crumpling the blue silk covers. ‘Good morning. You look marvellous this morning, Lady Alvah.’
Margaret walks in stiffly and stands next to the burdis table.
‘We’re discussing what should be done about the Earl of Orkney’s lackey,’ Jean explains.
Beatrix glances at Elspet. ‘He must be sent on his way. The man knows Mistress Balfour’s true identity. His presence jeopardises everything.’
‘He’s not going to leave quietly just because we ask him to, Beatrix,’ Jean says. ‘And even if I did succeed in banishing him from Sutherland, we can’t ignore the possibility he may go directly to court to try and get an audience with the King, no matter how unlikely we believe that to be.’
Margaret clears her throat. ‘I have been giving the matter some thought. While we suspect it is not in the parson’s interests to give away Mistress Balfour’s identity, I’d like to be certain of his discretion.
I believe I may be able to persuade him to return to Orkney – for now at least – and leave us in peace. ’
‘How?’ Beatrix sits up. ‘What do you propose?’
‘We know there is one thing the Earl of Orkney wants above all else,’ Margaret says. ‘Above even the capture of Mistress Balfour. His finances are in dire straits and he must raise a great deal of money. We can make him a tantalising offer.’
‘You’re not thinking . . .’ Beatrix says. ‘Margaret, no.’
Margaret’s expression is one of grim determination. Elspet begins to understand what she is about to suggest and is at once relieved and horrified. This is a plan that has every chance of succeeding, but it’s dreadful all the same.