Chapter 21
THE SUN IS WARM AS Elspet turns her face up to the lift. The swaa of the sea fills her ears and the whitemaas call their greetings overhead, but here in the Dunrobin orchard it’s warm and sheltered.
The cherry trees are closely planted and heavy with dark red fruit.
Lady Jean has encouraged them to eat as much fruit as they like as they harvest, so Elspet’s mouth is full of their sweetness.
She’s climbed a ladder to pick fruit from the higher branches, balancing her basket on the rung above.
Margaret stands below, picking from the lower branches and Elspet steals a glance downward.
Margaret’s reservations about harvesting fruit seem to have disappeared as she pops a plump cherry into her mouth, lips already stained with red. Looking up to see Elspet’s eyes on her, she wipes her mouth self-consciously and starts to put fruit into her basket with greater concentration.
At the tree next to them, Beatrix is chattering away to Jean and Dorothea. ‘It is pleasant to be at Dunrobin, of course, but I can’t wait to return to court. It’s been so long. I wonder if there shall be a masque soon. I do enjoy . . .’
Elspet listens for a moment before glancing back at Margaret. ‘Are your children at court, Lady Margaret? Will you be reunited with them soon?’
Margaret scowls in concentration at the branch in front of her.
‘I suppose so. They are housed with a respectable family close to the Palace of Holyrood.’ She continues to methodically pick the cherries and Elspet thinks she will say no more, but then she continues.
‘I don’t . . . share the passion you feel to be reunited with your children, Mistress Balfour. I suppose you think me unnatural.’
Elspet treads carefully. She reaches for a cherry on a high branch, plucking it from its stem and placing it in the basket. ‘I don’t think you unnatural. I’ve known many women who feel as you do. Motherhood can be hard and often thankless. It’s not always a joy.’
‘I confess,’ Margaret says, ‘despite the difficulties we’ve faced, this time spent away from court has been some of the pleasantest I’ve had for a long time. During my brief time in the islands of your homeland and here at Dunrobin, I can breathe.’
‘You don’t feel you can breathe at court?’ Elspet asks gently.
Margaret is silent, looking at the cherry branch in front of her.
‘I loved my husband,’ she says eventually, ‘but he was a cautious man. He had to be, in his role as the King’s Justice Clerk.
Better dull than dead, he used to say, these nobles would slaughter each other for a bannock.
He taught me to keep to myself – not participate in the gossip.
I know this means the other ladies find me cold. ’
Elspet considers her words before answering. ‘Well, the Queen doesn’t find you cold, that’s clear. It seems to me she must trust you above all her ladies.’
‘When she first asked me to come and find you,’ Margaret says, ‘I thought it a preposterous idea. But I could see how much it meant to her, so I agreed. Now, though, I don’t know . . . this journey has changed something for me. I believe I should like to see the islands of Orkney again.’
Elspet smiles. ‘So would I.’
‘I’m sorry, that was thoughtless. I know how reluctant you were to leave your homeland.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Elspet says. ‘It brings me pleasure to know the islands have found a place in your heart.’ She considers probing further to see if Margaret may be keeping quiet about what lies ahead for them at court, but decides against it.
Asking difficult questions now only risks spoiling this moment of calm.
They pick fruit in companionable silence for a while until Lady Jean walks over with her basket full of fruit.
‘How is the harvesting going over here?’ She surveys their half-full baskets critically.
‘It’s the first time I’ve ever performed such a task,’ Margaret says. ‘It’s not easy, you know . . .’
Jean interrupts her with a laugh. ‘I do indeed know. Your harvest looks respectable enough, Lady Margaret. And it’s a marvellous activity, is it not, for thinking and for conversation.’
Margaret nods in acknowledgement.
‘Now,’ Jean says, turning to Elspet. ‘Can I provide you with anything to replenish your plant supplies, Mistress Balfour – we should fill those pockets of yours. Crampbark perhaps, excellent for strengthening the womb?’
Elspet’s heart lifts at this question. ‘Oh, yes, and do you have any rose flowers? I should like to take a good supply of their syrup with me.’
‘I haven’t used rose flowers in a syrup before,’ Jean says, curious. ‘I mainly use the hips myself. What properties do the flowers have?’
‘They are more cooling and astringent than the hips. Where there is fear a woman may lose her bairn during pregnancy, especially if she has suffered this fate before, a good dose of rose syrup a day can protect against this.’
‘Fascinating,’ Jean says. ‘I have some roses in good bloom in the north garden. Would you show me how to brew this syrup of yours?’
‘Of course, and I should take this opportunity to fill up my supplies of the essentials. I should make sure I have plenty of . . .’
‘Lavender,’ they say simultaneously.
Elspet laughs. So much separates her from this woman – geography, status, age. But it seems when it comes to using plants to care for people, some things are universal.
Dorothea and Beatrix walk over to join them. ‘You’ll have to be cautious at court, Mistress Balfour,’ Dorothea says, frowning. ‘Martin Schoner, the King’s physician, attends the Queen during her pregnancy. He mustn’t know anything of your giving the Queen syrups or herbs.’
Dorothea’s point deflates Elspet’s mood – she hasn’t considered this. Pregnancy and birthing bairns is the domain of women. What can men know of such things?
‘It’s true,’ Margaret says. ‘The King doesn’t usually like outsiders, and Schoner’s a Habsburg man, a foreigner. He must be a competent physician to have gained the King’s trust. But he’s conceited – we should avoid arousing his suspicion at all costs.’
‘There are other medical men, of course, who attend the Queen,’ Dorothea adds. ‘The King must have a healthy heir to the throne, and he’s found the best in Scotland to care for his wife this time – Gilbert Primrose the surgeon and Alexander Barclay the apothecary.’
Who are all these men? The Queen’s bedside must be a crowded place indeed. How will Elspet be able to give the care she’s been summoned from her homeland to provide?
Beatrix puts a comforting hand on Elspet’s shoulder. ‘There may be medical men in attendance, but the Queen wants you, Mistress Balfour. She sent us all the way to the northern isles to find you. She will want the care and medicines you recommend.’
They are due to leave for court so soon, and there’s still so much she doesn’t know; she feels woefully underprepared for the task ahead.
But collecting plants and herbs, preparing syrups – these are practical things she knows, and which will give her the best chance of succeeding in this task.
It is time to fill the generous pockets in Lady Alvah’s gowns.
Elspet hands her basket of cherries to Beatrix and turns to Lady Jean. ‘Please, show me where your roses grow.’